The Duke's Obsession (Entangled Scandalous) (9 page)

Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink.

“Or they do now, at least,” he prattled on. “These rocks were once a great Norman fortress, if legend and family history are to be believed.”

“Norman?” she whispered. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything so old.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you don’t have eleventh century ruins in Boston, Miss Farrington?” he said in a teasing manner.

To his surprise and much to her credit, she laughed, a delightfully wonderful and beautiful sound that filled the air and banished all thoughts of the scoundrel Burnham and his underhanded scheming.

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. But then, there are a lot of fields near my home I have yet to explore. Who knows what I might find? I just may stumble across an arrangement of stones such as this.”

He led her around what remained of the outer wall of the ancient ruin. “You may, but I doubt they housed a prolific line of Norman descendants, one mad Spanish princess, or a captive Scottish bride.

She glanced up at him and back down at the stone and crumbling mortar, the beginnings of a smile playing over her lips. “No, I don’t suppose they would.”

“Nor would it likely contain the specter of that same Scottish lass, who, it is said, can be seen walking through these remains, forever waiting for her true love to free her from the Norman lord and take her back to her homeland.”

Miss Farrington’s brows rose. “The Norman lord was not her true love?”

Edward turned back toward the crumbling ruins. “Not according to local lore.”

“How terribly sad.”

He glanced down at her, admiring the way the breeze lifted and lowered the hem of her gown, teasing him with glimpses of her boot-covered ankle. “What is sad, Miss Farrington? That she eternally mourns for her Scottish love? Or that her happiness was sacrificed to settle land disputes and to proliferate a new breed of aristocrats?”

He had meant to ask his questions in a spirit of lighthearted merriment. They were, after all, discussing folk tales and specters. But the tone of his voice lent his inquiry a mournful quality and a passion for the topic he had not known he possessed.

Her eyes swept to his, their dark blue, almost purple depths swirling with curiosity and concern.

“You do not approve.” She spoke it as a statement, not a question.

Edward tore his eyes away from her discerning ones and stared at the ground. “I do not.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but is not the modern aristocracy based on those principles? Is that not why your mother is attempting to match you with Lady Isabella? To ally the duchy with a woman whose dowry would extend your landholdings and create peace between your families?”

His head snapped to the side. “You know of my mother’s matchmaking?”

Her lips lifted into a grin. “It was only a guess.”

“And a very good one, I might add.”

“But you don’t approve. You don’t approve of marriage as a means of business.”

“Do you?”

She lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “My parents were very fortunate to have a love match. But I know the cost of their union came at a high price. My mother was forced to choose between my father and a foreign land, or her family and her home. And while it is regrettable that some sort of compromise could not be made with my mother’s family, your Scottish lass had it worse in the end. She lost both her land and her love. That is terribly sad.”

“Indeed, but a woman held captive by her hatred is equally morose.”

Miss Farrington gazed at him, her eyes narrowing. “Even if the woman has a valid reason for her malevolence? I should think being forced to marry one’s captor justifies your Scottish lass’s enmity.”

“I do not disagree with your sentiment, Miss Farrington. But to hate is easy. It consumes, robbing an individual of potential happiness. The lass could not control the circumstances thrust upon her by others, but her reaction to them was a decision all her own. I wonder what might have been had she chosen to forgive her captor and allowed herself the opportunity to appreciate the beauty of her new home.”

“Have you ever loved?” There was a slight hitch in her voice, and had the shadow of her bonnet not darkened the upper swell of her cheek, he would have sworn a tear glistened, unperturbed.

Had she lost a love? Perhaps a soldier? A man who had promised to return, but was killed on the battlefield?

It would certainly explain her hatred for him and his countrymen.

“Your Grace?” she repeated, her question interrupting his musings.

“Outside of the love a son has for his mother? No.” He grasped her hand, her gloved palm warm between his own. “But I suspect that you have, and that my country is somehow responsible for causing you pain.”

She pulled away from his grasp and brought them to her sides. “Then I suppose you believe I should purge myself of my bitterness by forgiving the English of past wrongs?”

Edward suppressed a chuckle. “I do not presume to tell you how to act. I’ve learned that you will likely not heed my advice.”

Her lips wavered, the slight tremor of a smile appearing as quickly as it vanished.

“But,” he continued. “I would like to know what I can do to help you find some resolution. I do not wish to have two ladies haunting my grounds, moaning their aggrievements against the English and rallying the dead to vengeance.”

She leaned down and plucked one of the wildflowers that had sprung up alongside the path. “Unless you can somehow bring the captain and the crew of the HMS Seraphina to justice for their iniquitous impressment of American sailors prior to the last war, I find it doubtful there is anything you can do to sway my loyalties and change my opinion.”

Edward staggered on the path, momentarily losing his balance and causing Miss Farrington to give him a wary eye.

The bloody Seraphina? The one blasted ship in the entire Royal Navy to which he held ties? That was the boat she blamed for her heartache and loss?

God dammit all to hell.

Edward lifted off his fishing hat and ran a hand through his matted hair. He should have known Captain Geoffries’s cruelty would have far reaching consequences. But that Miss Farrington should be a victim of Geoffries’s greed…well, damn.

“Was he your intended?” Edward asked, certain he already knew the answer but needing to hear it confirmed.

She blinked, no doubt to stall the drop of an unwelcome tear.

“Who, Your Grace?”

“The man you lost, Miss Farrington.” The man, who despite being deceased, Edward envied. The two must have had a deep and intimate bond for her to be so affected. That she would react the same if something were to happen to him…

“Thomas and I lost our brother, Samuel, to the Seraphina.”

A brother. Not a man potentially bound to her by marriage. But family.

Edward gripped the rim of his hat, his arms aching to wrap around her, to comfort her in her time of need.

He settled instead on returning his hat to his head, and handing her his monogrammed handkerchief. “You have my condolences.”

She stared at the proffered square of white linen before lifting it from his hand. “Thank you, Your Grace. Now you see why I am incapable of forgiveness. At least toward the English.”

Edward returned his hat atop his head and stared in the direction of the house. “The only thing I think you incapable of, Miss Farrington, is allowing yourself to accept that change is inevitable.”

…

Daphne blinked. Hard.

Surely she had misheard the duke, for he could not possibly think her capable of change after what she had just shared. She had lost her brother. To the English.

“I am fully capable of not allowing myself to be swayed, Your Grace. Change may be inevitable in the physical world, but not in the realm of a woman’s heart.”

“No?” he asked as he led her away from the ruins and toward what she presumed was the general direction of the house. “I should think you more open to change now more than ever.”

“But you heard my reasons,” Daphne persisted. “Samuel was taken from our family by a cruel captain under the orders of his incapable and mad king. Surely you can understand—”

“What I understand, Miss Farrington, is that you are a woman wronged. And now I must work harder to convince you that despite my ancestry, I am not like the men aboard the Seraphina nor those in London, Brighton, or wherever else the monarchy wishes to reside.”

“While I appreciate your efforts, you cannot possibly think—”

“Your Grace!” A round and robust woman with a faded and slightly skewed mobcap bounded down the path. Wrapping her arms around the duke’s tall frame she said, “Your Grace, it has been ages since we’ve seen you last!”

“And yet, you look as lovely as when we last parted, Mrs. Hersham,” he replied.

She swatted a large hand across his upper arm. “Still a naughty one, I see. Have you come to see how that sow of yours is holding up? Her last litter yielded a dozen. And all healthy and comely ones at that. Why, I’ve just come from Mrs. Green’s to see how big the piglets have grown.”

The duke eased himself out of the woman’s embrace and extended his arm toward Daphne. “Miss Farrington, this is Mrs. Hersham, the finest purveyor of pork this side of the Atlantic, who also happens to be my former nursemaid. Mrs. Hersham, this is Miss Farrington.”

The elderly woman gave a warm smile and dipped into a curtsy. “Miss Farrington, it is a pleasure to meet you, even if it is over a discussion of swine.”

Daphne smiled in return. “I adore ham, Mrs. Hersham. And I must admit that a squeal from a piglet forever amuses me.”

Mrs. Hersham’s swollen bosom bounced with laughter. “Oh, child. That reminds me of the time when His Grace toddled right into the pen, mud and all. He squealed just as loud as the piglets.”

His Grace? Piglets? A gale of laughter spilled from Daphne’s lips. “Did he now?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Hersham continued. “He was a very curious lad. But always a helpful one, too. I’ve never seen a man who could wash dishes as quickly as His Grace.”

“Wash dishes?” Daphne asked, dumbfounded. Surely the elderly woman hadn’t meant that the duke had actually dirtied his hands—

“Sure as I’m standing here. Even after I married my Mr. Hersham, His Grace has always found the time to visit and help me about the house. He’s not above wringing out the linens either, are you?” she asked, patting the duke on the back.

His Grace let out a hardy chuckle. “Mrs. Hersham is a very convincing woman. I think she could talk me into bathing in the Thames had she the inclination.”

Washing dishes? Wringing out the linens?

Such kindness of character made little sense if her beliefs about the moral turpitude of the English were true. The actions of the vile captain of the Seraphina, of Mr. Burnham, and indeed, those of almost every other Englishman in her acquaintance, confirmed her belief in the depravity of the nation’s men. And yet, with the revelations of the morning, and the sweet tenderness His Grace had displayed, she could not deny he held some virtues. The Duke of Waverly was unlike any other Englishman she had met before, as generous with his time as he was with his thoughtfulness.

Daphne’s eyes wandered to the man beside her, his warm smile greeting hers.

Mrs. Hersham placed her hands on her wide hips. “Now then. Did you come to see the finest pork this side of the Atlantic?”

The duke’s face fell. “Regretfully, no. I’m afraid Miss Farrington and I have business up at the house.”

The elder woman’s eyes twinkled as though she were privy to some secret or scandalous bit of gossip.

“Well, I best not be keeping you, Your Grace. I know your mother has no tolerance for the tardy.” Mrs. Hersham dipped into a curtsy. “Miss Farrington, it was a pleasure.”

“It was indeed, ma’am,” Daphne replied, returning the gesture, her mind whirling. “Thank you. For everything.”

The elder woman chuckled. “You’re most welcome, dear, though I’m not entirely certain for what.”

“Mrs. Hersham.” Edward bowed. “I hope to look in on you and Mr. Hersham soon. I expect a full report on that sow.”

“And so you shall, Your Grace,” she said, her mobcap flopping as she nodded her head. She gave one last smile before tottering down the path.

Daphne stared after the woman, not quite certain what to make of her…or the duke. Perhaps she had misjudged the man.

“Your Grace,” Daphne started, returning her attention to his blue and amused eyes. “I don’t understand. Did she…”

“Come, Miss Farrington,” he replied, taking her hand and affixing it on his arm. “I think it’s time you and I take a trip to Emberton. Perhaps there we can delve into uncovering precisely how the few extra pence burning a hole in Mr. Burnham’s pocket was spent.”

Chapter Nine

Be it pence or pounds, if Burnham was spending it, Daphne would discover where. It was she who had uncovered his very clever and inconspicuous deductions, and it would be she who would ascertain how the pilfered funds were being spent.

But she had thought the library, where the ledgers were kept, and where the other guests provided a ready distraction against her growing attraction to the duke, would be the most logical place to begin her inquiry.

The duke, however, appeared to have a different idea, leading her away from the safety of the house and toward the same pebble-covered path Mrs. Hersham had disappeared down only moments before.

“I thought we could begin our search in the library,” Daphne said, peering longingly in the direction of the house behind her. “Is that not where Burnham keeps his records?”

The duke shrugged, the small movement bringing her gaze back to him. “Perhaps. But if Burnham is spending above his salary, the evidence will likely be in Emberton. Staff who do not reside within Thornhaven’s walls live in its village, including him. I allotted Mr. Burnham a small residence there when he was hired on.”

The duke’s logic appeared to be sound. It did, after all, make perfect sense to visit with Burnham to see if his residence bore any traces of exceeded wealth. But the sun was almost at its highest, and she had been away far longer than she had intended.

“Will we call on him now?”

The duke covered her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Not before I make a few inquiries in Emberton.”

Daphne swallowed, doing her best to ignore the pleasant tingle his touch elicited. “And how far away is Emberton?”

She glanced back at the small shadow of the boy acting as her chaperone. A few minutes strolling in the duke’s company was one thing. Hours traipsing across the countryside in close proximity to the tempting man was another beast entirely.

“About a fifteen minute walk if the company is pleasing.” He glanced toward her, the azure color of his eyes rivaling those of the late morning sky. “I’m certain we’ll be there in less than ten.”

Her cheeks ablaze, Daphne turned her head away, praying the trim of her bonnet hid her face in its shadow.

“And what of my family?” she asked, rather perturbed at the ease by which the duke seemed able to affect her. “They are no doubt wondering where I’ve taken to without a proper chaperone.”

The duke grunted in agreement. “Yes, of course. We wouldn’t want them beside themselves with worry. What do you say we give them cause to join us?”

He paused and gave a slight flick of his hand. The crunching sound of hurried feet on gravel met her ears. She turned to see the young boy, who had been trailing behind them, now clutching his chest beside the duke.

“Yer Grace?” the boy wheezed, his straw hat askew on a mop of brown curls.

“William, your sister Jane married this spring, did she not?”

“Yes, Yer Grace. To Mr. Green. On the fifth of May.”

“And a delightful bride she was, William. I’d like you to run ahead and ask if she’d act as chaperone to Miss Farrington while you make your way to Thornhaven and notify the staff of our presence in Emberton. Make sure to tell them, and Her Grace especially, that I discovered Miss Farrington straying a bit too far from the house and escorted her to town where we will be waiting on the rest of the guests to join us at Fanny’s. If you hurry, I’ll make certain to set aside an extra treat or two for you there. ” He gave the boy a wink.

William smiled, his head near rattling off his neck with his enthusiastic nod. “Yes, Yer Grace. I’ll be as quick as I can. Promise.”

Daphne watched the boy’s legs carry him over the path, his flailing feet kicking up a flurry of loose stones as her one last vestige of protection made his way toward the village.

And away from her.

She adjusted her shawl, its silken tassels swinging as she hitched it tighter around her arms. “I’m not certain if my virtue should be thankful for your thoughtfulness or fearful of your ingenuity in ridding me of my chaperone until the new one arrives.”

A slow grin curled over his lips, the movement somehow both wicked and innocent in the same moment. “I believe that depends on you. And whether or not you wish me to take advantage of his absence.”

Daphne swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Despite her feeble protests, she would very much like the duke to repeat his earlier offense. The idea that she might once again indulge in the sweet hint of peppermint that lingered on his tongue sent her heart racing.

“Miss Farrington?” the duke asked.

Daphne grappled for a reply, something that would not reflect the true nature of her indecent and wicked thoughts…

“Who is Fanny?” she blurted, her cheery tone belying the direction her mind had taken.

“Fanny?” he asked, blinking.

“Yes. You said we would meet the others at Fanny’s.”

“So I did,” he said, lifting her hand and settling it back down upon his sleeve. “Prepare yourself, Miss Farrington, for the truly fantastical. I have cause to believe that Fanny is a sorceress. Of the highest order.”

“A sorceress?” she asked, a giggle escaping her lips. Was he absurd?

“Indeed. How else do you explain how my clothes fit comfortably when I walk into her shop but feel tight upon my exit?”

Daphne peered up at him, the laughter in his eyes matching those on his upturned lips. Returning his smile, she said, “I’m not entirely certain. Does she sell all manner of spells and potions?”

“Yes, indeed. Her jellied fruits, salted caramels, and elderberry pastries are positively occult. They cast a spell on me every time I visit, making it impossible for me to refuse another bite.”

Daphne burst out laughing. The duke joined in her merriment, his jollity intensifying her own. Pulling out the handkerchief he had handed her earlier, she dabbed at her eyes, drying the moisture his teasing evoked. “As magical as Fanny’s sounds, how do you think eating treats will aid in discovering how Burnham spent your pounds?”

With a quick glance around, the duke peered down at her, all traces of mirth vanishing from his face. “Because if I were swindling pounds, Fanny’s is the first place I’d spend my extra earnings.”

Daphne clamped down on her lips to prevent herself from smiling. She wasn’t entirely certain of his sincerity, so serious was the tone in which he spoke. And if he weren’t teasing, she would hate to laugh at his suggestion.

The duke chuckled at her silence, his merriment reflected in the attractive crinkles around his eyes. “I’m only jesting, Miss Farrington. It is likely Mr. Burnham has better business sense than I do, and does not invest in such frivolities.”

A glimmer of sadness dimmed his eyes, muting the earlier glints of gaiety. He had been betrayed, after all, and it was only natural that he would feel sadness and even anger.

Daphne, however, was determined not to let Burnham steal anything more from the duke, including his good humor.

“If Fanny’s is as good as you claim. I’m certain Burnham is a frequent client. Perhaps she has noticed someone with whom he shares his indulgence. Or how he might spend a bit more than a man of his salary should.”

The duke’s smile deepened, sending a warm shiver down her spine. “Yes, perhaps. I guess we’ll just have to visit and see for ourselves.”

…

The opportunity to spend an entire day in Miss Farrington’s enchanting and idyllic company amidst the narrow aisles and treat-covered counters of Fanny’s shop, was almost enough to distract him from his mother’s murderous glares, the earl’s snide comments, and his guilty conscience over his ties to the bloody foul Seraphina.

Almost.

Heaven knew all he wanted to do was forget about the ill-fated crew of the blasted ship and whisk the alluring Miss Farrington into the nearest enclave to watch her pulse throb against the soft, shallow indention of her neck as he claimed her for his.

His remorse-riddled conscience, however, continued to pester him with an intensity that no number of Fanny’s caramels could quash. His role in the Seraphina debacle hung over him, dark and gloomy, like a storm cloud boiling on the horizon on an otherwise bright and sunny day.

Ignoring the nagging of his conscience, he focused instead on his guests as they milled about Fanny’s sweet-smelling, drool-inducing shop, their cheeks, even those of his mother, filled with the colorful assortment of candies and pastries Fanny made sure to keep well-stocked.

Well, if he were to be perfectly honest, he only truly focused on one patron.

“Tell me, Miss Farrington, how do you like Fanny’s caramels?” Edward asked, lowering his voice as he maneuvered her past the cluttered shelves of jars stuffed to overflowing with peppermints and licorice strands. “Are they every bit as magical as you imagined?”

He watched as the tip of her tongue flicked across her lips, wiping away the last remnants of salt. Desire, hot and sweet, coursed through him, lingering in the lower area of his body that he did his best to hide behind the crown of his oversized hat.

“That, and more. No wonder your clothes feel tight upon your exit. These are positively divine.”

Caramels were not the only thing making his clothes tight at the moment.

Mr. Farrington joined them, his wide shoulders barely fitting between the shelves of treats. “These candies are quite remarkable, Your Grace.”

“Comparable to those found in Boston, I’m sure,” Edward added, unable to stop his raillery.

To his delight, Miss Farrington laughed, the light tinkling sound further adding to the discomfort in his loins. “On this, you might have us beaten. I’m not sure I’ve tasted any caramel quite as delicious on either side of the Atlantic.”

Edward was certain the shock registering in Farrington’s eyes was reflected in his own.

“A compliment most welcome, Miss Farrington,” he exclaimed. “I’ll be certain to pass it on to Miss Fanny.”

“There is no need, for I’ve already told her so myself. After, of course, she regaled me with information regarding a certain gentlemen of interest and his monthly purchase of two dozen crumpets made with the finest sugar she brings in from London just for him.”

“Is that so?” Edward asked, surprised by Miss Farrington’s ingenuity. They had been in the shop for a half hour at most, and the minx had already coaxed out evidence of Burnham’s greed. Was there nothing this clever woman couldn’t do?

Or that he didn’t want her to do? Edward’s eyes couldn’t help watching her as she licked the last vestiges of the sticky confection off her bare fingers, his mind evoking far too many images of what he would like her to lick off of him.

“I’m guessing if we ask at the other shops, they’ll have comparable stories,” Miss Farrington continued, thankfully unaware of the course his mind had taken.

“Then we’ll just have to stop in at each one,” he replied. “Do you think you can bear a day of treat sampling, ribbon buying, and excessive shopping?”

Another ripple of laughter was her response, making him, if it were at all possible, even more aroused.

Unfortunately, he was not the only one affected by her gaiety. Westbrook sauntered toward them, his hat perfectly perched atop his head, a cluster of sweetened almonds in his proffered hand.

“Would you care for some candied nuts, Miss Farrington?”

She shook her head, a golden curl slipping out of her bonnet and landing provocatively against her cream-colored neck. “No thank you, my lord. I have far exceeded my treat allowance for the day.”

“It is for the best, I suppose. These nuts are rather small and not quite as large and gratifying as those found in Sussex.”

Were Westbrook an inch closer, Edward would have pummeled his fist into the man’s face, removing, once and for all, the smirk that seemed to be a permanent fixture upon its surface. As it were, Edward’s teeth ground, his nose flared at the crude insult.

Lord Colwyn stepped beside Westbrook and adjusted his gloves. “I believe I’ve relieved Miss Fanny of all her crumpets, Waverly. Now that you have me fully sated, Lord Satterfield and I thought we would head over to the butcher. Apparently your groundskeeper is there. Miss Fanny says he was in not long ago, bragging of an excellent fishing spot. Would any of you care to join us as we ask the man to divulge his location?”

Mr. Farrington slipped his sister a sidelong glance before saying, “I would be delighted, thank you.”

“Where are you headed, Miss Farrington?” Westbrook asked before popping one of the apparently inferior almonds into his mouth.

Her eyes lifted to Edward’s before directing them toward the earl. “To the ribbon shop. One of the ribbons on my bonnet is starting to fray and I fear it will have to be replaced.”

“Then I shall accompany you. I have assisted my sister in making more than one purchase of ribbons. Perhaps I can do the same for you.”

Farrington lifted his top hat and held it to his chest. “Actually Lord Westbrook, I wondered if you might accompany us fishing. My sister has made mention that you are the leading expert in all things relating to Sussex. I was hoping you could educate me on the exports of the area and the local goods produced there.”

Edward hid his chortle behind a well-timed cough. Miss Farrington, it seemed, was not the only clever one in the family.

Westbrook frowned. “I certainly wouldn’t label myself an expert.”

Miss Farrington laid her gloved hand on the earl’s sleeve, the action irritating Edward far more than it should. “Nonsense. There is no need to be modest, my lord. I would be much obliged should you regale my brother with your knowledge of the area.”

Westbrook’s eyes slid to her hand, after lingering on the fichu-covered swell at her neckline. “It would be my pleasure.”

And Edward’s, to have the scheming man out of his way.

Miss Farrington removed her hand and gave the earl one of her devastating smiles. “Thank you, my lord.”

Farrington replaced his hat and clasped his hands together. “Well then, it seems everything is settled.”

“Almost, Mr. Farrington,” Edward’s mother interjected. She waited as Farrington, Colwyn, and Westbrook made room for her in the narrow aisle. Her golden eyes pierced into Edward’s. “Lady Isabella appears to have come down with a stomachache, likely wrought from her over-indulgence in Miss Fanny’s delicacies. I was hoping His Grace might escort her back to the house while the rest of the ladies continue their shopping.”