Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 (13 page)

“Oh, Daniel, how you fuss.” She kissed his cheek and left him without making any such promise.

She was incorrigible. He didn’t wish to be constantly wondering what she was up to. He’d employ a Runner to follow her about. Keep her safe. Daniel picked up his pen. He dipped it in the inkwell but paused to consider Hope’s letter. He’d liked the sound of spirited young Mercy who seemed to have an inquiring mind. As Hope did herself. He could only trust all would be well. Hope would be distressed, he imagined, and he wished he could be there to offer her some measure of comfort. In his absence, Winslow could act. The duke would be the one to comfort Hope at this distressing time. With the image of her resting her lovely head against Winslow’s chest, Daniel gritted his teeth.

Chapter Twelve

When the carriage arrived at Highland Manor, Hope and Charity hopped out as soon as the groom put down the step. Aunt Amelia waited at the door and held off their frantic questions with a calm kiss on both their cheeks.

“Where’s Mercy?” Hope gasped. “Is she in bed?”

“Certainly not. She is not ill.” Their aunt gestured to the parlor and left them to greet their parents.

A woebegone figure nestled in a corner of the sofa. Wolf stretched out at her feet with a mewling kitten climbing over his back, while Sable watched her offspring with a sharp eye. Mercy held out her arms and hiccoughed. Her cheek was painted with some sort of thick cream, through which her red and blistered skin could be seen.

Hope drew a breath at the sight of Mercy’s fair curls, singed on one side of her head. “Are you all right, dearest?”

“I shall have to remain here with Mama and Father for the rest of my life,” Mercy said, her voice trembling. “No man will want to marry a lady with a scarred face, as well as a horrible nose.”

Mama rushed into the room to gather Mercy into her arms. She drew back to gaze at her with a deep sigh. “The doctor doubts there’ll be scars. And your hair will grow back soon enough.”

“That remains to be seen,” Mercy said with a sniff.

“What were you thinking, Mercy?” Father strode into the room and beckoned to her, his color high.

“I was heating a lotion to soften it.” Mercy climbed to her feet. “But then the candlewax fizzed up!”

“You abominable child.” Father put his hands on her shoulders and gazed sternly down into her face. “You will be the death of your parents.”

“Oh no, Father, don’t say so,” Mercy uttered in a dramatic tone, her eyes awash with tears.

Charity placed an arm around Mercy’s waist and led her back to the sofa. “Father doesn’t mean it, dear heart.”

“Of course I don’t mean it,” Father said gruffly, his eyes squinting as if the light hurt them. “But you must promise never to do something so foolish again.”

Mercy shook her head. “I’ve performed enough experiments. I’m going to write a book.”

Her mother gasped. “Have I another bookish daughter? Good heavens! With Honor about to give birth, haven’t I enough to concern me?”

Mercy nodded. “I shall call the book
Health and Beauty for All Ages
.”

“Excellent title.” Charity perched on the arm of the sofa.

Hope nodded her approval. “Ladies of the Beau Monde will love it.”

“Right now, I’m in desperate need of a cup of tea.” Mama went to pull the bell cord. “Where is that footman?”

“I sent him into Tunbridge Wells for a lotion the doctor recommended,” Aunt Amelia said.

Hot with relief, Hope drew in a shuddering breath. Mercy had escaped relatively unscathed. Hope scooped up the kitten, which had inherited Old Tom’s grey stripes. She sat and stroked the soft fur. “Shall I tell you about London? Mother and Father took me to a rout, where a horrid man trod heavily on my foot, and another kind gentleman helped me.” She dwelt for a brief moment on Daniel’s face then determinedly brushed his image away. “And I played Mozart for a room full of guests.”

Mercy’s face brightened. “I wish I’d been there.”

After Charity’s fulsome description of the Egyptian Hall and the paintings hung therein, Mercy sat up. “Mama, can Cook send some of her queen cakes?”

“Yes, please do. I’ve missed Cook’s cakes,” Charity said. “I hope she added heaps of almonds.”

“Would you like to come to London with us this time?” Hope asked. “You won’t be able to attend balls or soirées, but there are many interesting things to see. I can ask Father.”

Mercy shook her head. “Wolf wouldn’t like London.” She sighed. “I wish you could stay here with me for a little while. I do get lonely.”

Hope squeezed Mercy’s arm. “Then I shall as long as I’m allowed, dearest.”

“I forgot to tell you. Faith and Vaughn have come to stay at Brandreth Park,” Mercy said. “They are riding over to visit us this afternoon.”

“Oh, the darling girl. I can’t wait to see her. I must speak with Cook. They’ll stay for supper I expect, and perhaps…” Mama’s voice faded as she hurried from the room.

Leaving Charity and Mercy together, Hope went upstairs. Strangely, the bedroom no longer felt like hers. As if the girl who’d left for London was no more. She shivered, feeling as if she’d lost her protective coating and was as vulnerable as a lobster without its shell. She sat on the quilt and flicked the tasseled cord holding back the blue damask bed curtains with a finger. The family’s hasty retreat from the city had left everything up in the air. Had the Duke of Winslow been about to propose?

If he did, she had no idea what she would say to him. She sighed. Her whole purpose in life had been to become a duchess and an ape leader. Had she really been so superficial?

The door opened, and Faith popped her head around it. “May I come in?”

“Faith!” Hope leapt up and rushed to throw her arms around her elder sister. “My, marriage does agree with you. You are glowing! Your cheeks have caught the sun.” Hope turned Faith’s hand over in hers. “But look at the state of your hands!”

Faith held out her suntanned hands. There appeared to be a blister on her thumb. “Yes. Mama said I’m as brown as a native. I’m afraid I’m a lost cause. Vaughn and I spend a lot of time outdoors at the farm.”

“What on earth do you do? Pitch hay?”

“I do whatever is needed.” She shrugged and studied her hands. “Mercy has suggested one of her creams.”

“Where is your lovely husband?”

“Vaughn’s downstairs talking to the girls.” Faith tilted her head and studied her. “There’s been some mention of a duke. You should be far more excited than you appear.”

“I don’t want to marry Winslow.”

Faith widened her eyes. “Oh. Then you mustn’t.”

She frowned. “Father has always said I must use my head and not my heart when considering marriage. If I refuse Winslow, I’m not sure I could make Father understand. He and Mother would be dreadfully disappointed.”

“Their disappointment would be brief. Whereas, if you married this duke you don’t appear to care for, yours could encompass a lifetime.” She drew Hope back down onto the bed and squeezed her hand. “Is there someone else mixed up in all of this?”

“No. That is. Yes. Perhaps.”

“Well, that sounds decisive.”

“He’s a Frenchman who lives in France.”

“I see.”

“It doesn’t matter, for I doubt Daniel wants to marry me,” Hope rushed on at what she perceived as doubt clouding Faith’s eyes.

Faith raised her brows. “Daniel is it?”

“I call him the Duke of Darkness.” She flushed with embarrassment at the confession.

“Goodness that sounds bleak. But another duke, my heavens.”

“He has suffered a horrible tragedy. I think he’s quite determined never to remarry.”

“Do you want to change his mind?”

“Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know.” Hope jumped up to stalk the carpet. “I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s so…well, he’s handsome and kind too, I think.”
Kinder perhaps than he wants people to know.

“Two very definite things in his favor.”

“Mama dislikes the French. I doubt Father would welcome him either.”

“Hope, have you forgotten? I married the black sheep of the Brandreth family. A man our father categorically refused to consider. While Honor married his brother, neither of whom have titles. Have we not paved the way for you?”

“But Father expects…and Daniel hasn’t given me any indication….”

“Are you sure he hasn’t?”

“He did say he hoped we were friends. And I rather thought he wanted to kiss me.”

“And that’s not a sign? If you can’t change his mind, Hope, you’re not the girl I always thought you.”

“I doubt I shall see him. Father wishes to remain in the country from some weeks, and Daniel could leave for France any day.” She tapped her chin. “I could invite Sophie to stay.”

“Who is Sophie?”

“Daniel’s half-sister.” She would send a letter to her tomorrow.

Faith nodded her approval. “That’s a devilishly good idea; now tell me more about this Daniel.”

“When he smiles, his dark brown eyes are like warm chocolate,” Hope said with a rush of remembering. “When we listed what we wanted in a husband, we always said a man’s hands were important. Daniel’s are large with long, tapering fingers. He could hold a babe tenderly in those hands, but I also sense his strength, his physicality. He would fight for me if he had to.”

Faith gave a wry smile. “That’s very comprehensive. I feel I know him already.”

Hope’s eyes widened. “But Faith! I should hate to leave you all to live in France.”

“Don’t think of that now. Wait and see what happens.”

Hope smiled wistfully. “Let’s go down; I want to see Vaughn. Is he still very good looking?”

Faith laughed. “He’s browner than I am, but it’s attractive.”

****

The arc of sky was an inoffensive pallid blue as the captain navigated the ship across the channel’s rough waters. Daniel leaned over the rail, watching the swell of white-crested waves slap against the hull. He rubbed his stinging eyes as the salt spray dampened his face and braced himself for the whirlpool of sorrow he knew would come.

Hours later, when Daniel stepped ashore on the French coast, he felt better than he’d expected.

A carriage and a letter awaited him. A private meeting had been arranged with his friend, French Prime Minister, Jean-Baptiste de Villèle, at Comtesse du Cayla chateau north of Paris. The Comtesse’s protector, Louis XVIII had rebuilt the chateau and it was now the venue for meetings of the Ultra-royalists. Daniel had thus far resisted involving himself with French politics, and the comtesse was a stranger to him.

The next day, the carriage approached Paris offering him a glimpse of sunlight on the Seine. Being in his country again tugged inexplicably at his heart as the carriage drove through the gates of the Château de Saint-Ouen. He vowed to visit his home before he returned to England. And all the while, in the back of his mind, was Hope, had her engagement been announced?

At the end of a long road, he stepped down before a pale-stone, three-storied chateau. The comtesse, Zoé Victorie, greeted him graciously and escorted him to the salon where Jean-Baptiste awaited him. Daniel strode forward and shook the hand of his friend. “Good to see you,
mon ami.”

A servant brought a tray with a bottle of Cognac and two glasses.

“I will leave you gentlemen alone with your Cognac and your secrets.” Zoé closed the paneled double doors behind her.

Daniel took the Cognac handed to him. “How does your Spanish campaign progress?”

Jean-Baptiste raised his glass. “It goes well, although I didn’t want France involved in restoring that
méprisable
Ferdinand to the throne.” He tapped his strong nose. “But my curiosity overwhelms me, Daniel. What is the reason for your very welcome visit?”

“As France is considering assisting Spain to recover its South American colonies, Canning wants you aware of a pact between America and England to employ the British Navy to prevent any aggressive action. Any vessel that attempts to enter American waters for such a purpose will be sunk. England has valuable trade at stake in that region, which must be protected. The American President, Monroe, is soon to announce a policy preventing the European powers attempting to reestablish their influence in the western hemisphere.”

Daniel sat back and crossed his legs. “Given the might of the British Navy and the stance of the Americans, it would be very inadvisable for France to partake in such a venture. We cannot ignore the danger of a war between our two countries.”

Jean-Baptiste lit a cheroot and drew on it deeply. “I can give you no assurances until I have consulted my colleagues.”

“I urge to do your upmost,
mon ami,
as the consequences for both countries could be devastating.”

“Should I prevail, you will have my assurance of France’s co-operation.”

“
Merci, Prime Minister.
”

His message delivered, Daniel spent a pleasant hour in conversation with Jean-Baptiste. Then noting the lateness of the hour, he rose. “You can reach me at my estate.”

“Watch your back, Daniel, until you reach English shores. The Spanish have a lot at stake.” Jean-Baptiste stubbed out his cheroot and rose to shake his hand. “Now, on a more pleasant subject, when you next return to France, and I am not so troubled with events elsewhere, we shall spend some time together,
oui?
We can discuss much more important matters, like
l’amour
.”