The Duke Can Go to the Devil (24 page)

He spread his arms, at a loss. “Like what? What can be taken away?”

“Houses. Wealth. Food. Those we love. It is best not to
become attached when they can so easily be taken from us.”

Food? Loved ones?

In a sudden moment of clarity, understanding dawned on him. He could hardly believe it hadn't occurred to him before. She would have been a child during the French Revolution. If her family had been wealthy, there was a good chance they would have been caught in the upheaval. Had they been affected by the Reign of Terror? Was that why she'd never bonded with her children? For fear that they would be taken away?

He walked toward her, watching her carefully. “Vivian, why did you come to me that night?”

His father hadn't been gone six months, and Clarisse was barely three months old. It was the last time he had indulged in spirits. When he'd climbed the stairs to go to bed, she had materialized at his side, offering to help him. Together they had stumbled toward his room, and the next thing he knew she was kissing him.

In his drunken state, he was slow to react, slow to realize what was even happening. He had pushed her away, but not before he'd been branded with the taste of her. After that moment, he'd vowed never to allow himself to be so vulnerable again. He craved control much more than he did liquor.

He clenched his jaw against the familiar anger about that night. Perhaps there was more to her motives than he ever considered.

“As the new duke, you could be generous to me, or you could take everything. You never liked me, not from the first moment. I saw an opportunity to show you how much I have to offer, so I took it.”

And when he'd rebuffed her, that was when she'd
stopped seeing the children. Not that she hadn't always been aloof, but it was still a noticeable change.

He shook his head, compassion crowding out the anger. It was an emotion he would have never expected to have toward her. “Vivian, you are the widow of a duke. There is no more secure position than that.”

“For now, perhaps. But only until you marry and have your own children. If you are with me, however, then Julian will be your heir, and then all things will be as they should.”

A duke for a son would feel a lot more secure than a hostile son-in-law. He blew out a breath, bowing his head for a moment. He'd never seen the desperation before, not like this. He'd seen the manipulation, the posturing, the things she'd done for his attention, but never the fear behind any of it.

Raising his head, he looked her in the eye. “All of this has to stop. I will never, ever be with you that way, no matter what.”

He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. Despite the way he had always strived to live, things were not always black and white. If nothing else, this week with May had taught him that. With the power he held, he also had a duty to be merciful, when warranted.

Coming to a decision, he said, “But what I will do is buy you a house, in your own name, anywhere you want. You don't have to live there—you can simply know that it is yours. I will also transfer five thousand pounds into an account in your name only. This is in addition to your yearly allowance. No one can touch that money except for you, just as no one can ever take the house from you.”

Her eyes went wider and wider as he spoke, until she
was more or less gaping at him, her hazel eyes bright with cautious hope. “You would do that for me?”

He gave a brusque nod. “As for Clarisse and Julian, they are children of a duke, and will be raised accordingly, per my father's wishes. But you are their mother, and if you wish to live here in order to oversee their upbringing, that is your right.

“My only stipulation is that your chambers must be either on the nursery level, or in the east wing, and that you may not step foot in the west wing. Not ever. Is that understood?” He never wanted to hear her footsteps outside his door again.

She nodded, though he could see she still felt unsure. It would likely be some time before she could feel safe enough to open up to the children, and it was possible she might never do so. But regardless, he had done everything in his power to make things right.

For Vivian, at least.

With May gone, nothing at all felt right for him. Perhaps he should have done more to let her know that he wanted her here. The kisses they'd shared had spoken volumes, but he should have
said
more. Would it have mattered? Probably not. But if he had put forth the effort, at least he would not be left with the doubts he had now.

I
t had been so long since May had been with her father and now that he was here she couldn't bring herself to leave his side. He felt like a real, solid connection to all she wanted and needed in life. To normalcy. He had brought the smell of the sea with him, its salty freshness clinging to him like an aura.

Settled beside her on the prim little sofa centered in the drawing room, he chuckled and patted her hand. “The stars aligned for us today, Mei-li-girl. I wasn't here but five minutes, long enough to know that the pair of you were gone. That barnacle-bottomed butler of yours, Torie, didn't seem too keen to tell me where you'd gone.”

May bit her lip against a bubble of laughter. Hargrove often defaulted to silence. She didn't dislike the man, as he had certainly turned a blind eye to her early-morning escapes, she was sure, but they had never quite become friendly, as she had with many of the maids on staff.

Aunt Victoria was not nearly as amused. “It's easy enough to see where your daughter came by her manners. I'll thank you to have more respect when referring to my servants.”

She'd already exchanged her traveling bonnet for her lace mobcap and was sitting across from them in the
uncomfortable-looking high-backed chair that she preferred.

Papa's pale blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yes, of course. I'm certain he is a perfectly superior butler, given his ability to look down his whiffer at a man. A very important part of the job, I understand.”

May grinned. It was so nice to let go of all the confused emotions of the day and bask in the joy of his return. She leaned forward, eager to speak of things outside of this house. Outside of this
country
. “How was the voyage? What news have you?”

His expression softened, revealing the white lines creasing his weathered skin at the corners of his eyes. “The good Lord was smiling down on us this time. Excellent weather, minus a good squall or two, with winds at our sails like the hand of God.”

Aunt Victoria set down her tea and stood. “I'm glad for your calm journey, Michael, but I'm quite exhausted from ours. I'll leave you to talk, and will see you both at dinner.”

Papa stood while she made her way to the door. When she was gone, he turned and extended a hand. “Come, daughter. I cannot abide being inside on such a fine day. Let us take a walk.”

She readily agreed. No one else seemed to understand her preference for the outdoors. Out of nowhere she thought of the duke, of how, in the beginning, he had tried to force her back inside, back down the straight and narrow. But then there was the time they had shared at the folly, and later on horseback. Alone out in nature, just the two of them. She clenched her jaw and shoved the thought from her mind, determined not to ruin this special time. She didn't want to linger on her decisions yesterday, not when her father was here at last.

As they headed for the park, they chatted about various things, enjoying each other's company. He shared details of the voyage and stories of some of the sailors that might or might not be true. Her father always could spin a good tale.

She told him of the festival, and of her new friends. He laughed at her story of how the trio met, and nodded his approval for how she had handled the meddling clerk, Mr. Green. Looking back now, with the security of knowing her time here would soon be over, she smiled with an unexpected hint of nostalgia.

It had somehow shaped up to be a very special summer, and she surely would never forget it.

“And what of any young men?” Papa's question was spoken mildly, but she could easily detect his sudden interest. She knew him better than almost anyone in the world, after all.

She decided to be deliberately obtuse, since this was the very last subject she wished to discuss. “There were young men aplenty at the festival. Sophie married an earl just a few weeks ago, and Charity is betrothed to a former army officer.”

He sent her a chiding look. “You know well what I mean. Though I am happy for your friends, it is not their romances that interest me.”

Curse it all, but she could feel a blush heating her face. All the chaotic emotions from the past week seemed to surge forth, and she ruthlessly tried to tamp them back down. It was ridiculous that she should be so preoccupied with a man who shouldn't even matter. Papa was here now, and soon this time—and the duke himself—would all just be a memory. “Nothing worth speaking of for me, Papa. What would be the point?”

Cocking his head in question, he said, “Why, to marry
and have children, of course. Isn't that always the point of finding love?”

She very nearly choked.
Love?
She knew attraction, desire, and perhaps even lust, but she definitely did not know love. She tried not to think of the way her heart had soared when William's lips had touched hers, or the riot of butterflies in her stomach when he'd pressed her against the wall.

Drawing a fortifying breath, she said, “I can assure you, there is no one in this country I love.” She spoke vehemently, as though that could make it true. No, it
was
true. She was obviously just oversensitive, given the freshness of the separation. “And when I say what would be the point, it's because I won't be here for long. Why begin to court a man when there will soon be oceans between us?”

The moment she looked back to her father, her heart sank. Something was wrong. All of the spark had fled his normally jovial eyes, and his mouth tugged down in a frown that disappeared into his pepper-and-salt beard. Outside of when her mother had died, it was the most ill at ease she had ever seen him.

The dread that had assailed her at her aunt's pronouncement in the carriage roared back with a vengeance. “Papa,” she said, desperate to make her case before he could say what she knew was coming. “This is not the place for me. I'll suffocate if I have to stay here much longer. I want to go home. I
need
to go home.”

“Mei-li—”

“Please,” she said, interrupting him. She could already hear the inevitableness of his voice. “I know you are afraid that I'll contract some dreadful tropical disease like Mama, but there's risk no matter where you live. It
may be influenza instead of ague, but the risk is still there. We can't live our lives in fear.”

“Daughter,” he said, more firmly this time. Damn it all, she knew what came after a tone like that. Disappointment. Heartbreak. Despair, even. All the things she had already had too much of this year. “We all have to face change in our lives at some point. I know you may be scared, but I thought long and hard before bringing you here. This is where you have the best chance for a good future.”

She shook her head, over and over. The green leaves and grass and bushes seemed to close in around them, miring them in the moment as effectively as tar. “No, I can't stay here. Everything I know, everything I love, is half a world away from here.”

It felt like a punishment for ever thinking she might be falling for an Englishman. That because she had dared to imagine it, the rest had been snatched from her hands in the blink of an eye.

Papa was silent for a few moments. He glanced toward the River Avon, though she doubted he really saw it, then drew in a long breath and turned to face her fully. “You don't understand,” he said, his voice gruff. He stroked a hand over his beard, a mindless gesture he always did when he was troubled. “I wasn't just talking about you. I've sailed my last voyage, daughter. I can't take you back because I'm not going back.”

She gaped at him, utterly aghast. “You
quit
?” How could he do such a thing without discussing it? They were a unit. First the three of them, and now just the two of them.

He gave a rusty chuckle, but no humor reached his light eyes. “There's saltwater in my veins, Mei-li-girl. I'd planned to sail until I dropped dead at the helm, as old
and crusty as ancient shoe leather. But the world is changing, and unfortunately I've gotten caught in the transition.”

The world is changing.
She clenched her jaw. Wasn't that what Radcliffe had said when he'd taken her to the mill? Shaking her head, she said, “But I don't understand. You work for the Company. They
own
the textile trade.”

“Not anymore,” he said with a shake of his head. “Parliament stripped the Company of its exclusive trading rights to all but China a few years ago, and that change is catching up to us now. The private free traders have been building momentum, and with new mills popping up in England, there are many who are anxious to do business with them.”

May stood there, reeling, barely able to process the change to everything she knew. To everything she expected in her life. To everything she
wanted
.

Her father put his arm to her shoulder, the tired lines of his face reflecting deep sadness. She wasn't the only one in anguish. He too had just suffered a great loss, and her heart broke all over again for him.

“I'm sorry, May. I've put some inquiries in, but I'm a rusty old sea dog by now. Not likely to be many new opportunities out there for me.”

Nodding, she turned and hugged him, grasping him tight as she fought to hold her composure. No matter how much she wished to the contrary, things would never again be the same.

There would be no going home for either of them.

*   *   *

“Are you leaving us, too?”

William started at the sound of his sister's tiny voice. He turned from the window to find her standing several
feet inside his study, hugging her favorite little doll to her chest.

“What are you doing down here? Where's Julian?” He'd been completely lost in his own thoughts, staring out at the path that led to the lake. Letting the curtain drop, he came around the desk to pick her up.

“He's playing with his toy soldiers,” she said, clearly unenthused about the boy's choice of toys. “So I came downstairs to see the pinofort and your door was open. You look like you want to go away.”

“Pianoforte,” he corrected as he sat on the sofa and set her on the cushions beside him. “And you know better than to sneak away. To answer your question, no, I am not going away.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and guileless. “Mama left, but she said she would be back soon. Mei-li left, too, but she said she wouldn't see me again because she's sailing far away. She gave me this,” she said, pointing to the ivory comb in her hair that was shaped like an elephant. There was a tiny scrap of purple ribbon tied around its neck.

William sat back, his heart squeezing at the thought of May doing such a thing. He hadn't even realized she had told them good-bye, but in hindsight, he probably should have known. She might never follow the rules, but the kindness in her heart was unmistakable. Forcing a smile to his lips, he said, “She did? That was very nice of her.”

Clarisse nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “Yes, I know. I told her thank you. She said it is very special, because it's good luck.”

“Well, I suppose that makes you a lucky girl.”

Her grin was huge. “I hope so. She gave Julian a compsess, but I don't know how to use it.”

He raised his eyebrows, not sure about that one. “A compass?”

More nods. “She said it is so he won't get lost when he becomes a sailor.”

These were not small gifts. They were thoughtful and of true value, and unbearably kind gestures to two lonely children that she would never see again.

A lump formed in his throat, just thinking of how much life she had brought to this place during her short visit. Had he ever laughed so much? Been more frustrated, or passionate, or exasperated? His title and his home hadn't impressed her, yet he felt as though she saw the true him. And she had certainly seen the goodness in his siblings. Somewhere along the way, she had truly earned his respect.

Not that she was without flaws. She had huge ones, glaring in their intensity. But then again, no matter what he tried to show the world, he did too. He was nothing if not imperfect, in fact.

Take, for example, the fact that he hadn't gone to see her off. Instead, he had brooded in his study like some sort of tragic literary figure. She hadn't deserved that. More to the point, there was not closure to their unconventional relationship. He hadn't wished her well, seen her smile, told her all the things he'd been too proud to say.
Don't go. Stay with me.

“What did she give you?”

He blinked, looking back to his sister in question. “I beg your pardon?”

“What did she give you when she told you good-bye?”

Oh, the innocence of a child. He smoothed Clarisse's hair from her forehead and smiled. “Can you believe that I forgot to tell Miss Bradford good-bye?”

She tilted her head to the side and scrunched her nose. “Why did you do that? You always tell us good-bye when you leave.”

“I know. Maybe I will send her a letter before she sails away.” But even as he said it, the thought of putting to paper all the things he wanted to say seemed impossible. “Or perhaps I can go to Bath and tell her good-bye in person.” The words were out before the idea was even fully formed, but he grasped it like a lifeline. The thought of having one more chance to see her made his heart slam against his ribs.

“You should do that. And then you can give her another hug for me.” Her grin was wide and toothy.

He'd like nothing more, but that would be up to her. Nodding gravely to his sister, he said, “I shall pass along your sentiment. Anything else?” His mind was already racing ahead to how soon he could be there, and what he would say when he saw her. Of all the things he
should
have said before.

Clarisse bit her lip, then looked down at the doll clutched in her arms. Picking it up, she kissed it on its head and handed it to William. “Give her Dolly, too. She might get scared on the ship, and since I have her good luck elemphant, she can have this.”