Desperate for a Duke Page 17

  “Thank you for being so gracious—”

  He put a hand up to silence her, and Heather stiffened.

  “I change my mind. I challenge you to a duel.” He flamboyantly removed his glove and threw it to the ground. “I demand to know the name of my opponent.”

  “Oh, dear.” Heather panicked.

  Violet straightened confidently. “Miss Violet Everly.”

  “Name your second, Miss Everly.” His lips twitched.

  “Miss Primrose Everly.” Violet absently waved at her sister.

  “You surprise me.” He briefly looked in Heather’s direction.

  “She will wed the Duke of Ablehill in two weeks. Dueling is beneath duchesses.” This was followed by laughter. Heather was startled to see his group of friends now joining them. This was getting far out of hand.

  “My congratulations.” He nodded at Heather.

  “And may I know the name of my opponent?” Violet boldly asked.

  “Violet!” Heather whispered angrily. The gentleman was clearly having fun at their expense, but things were bordering on scandalous.

  He bowed and rose. “Lord Weirick Andrews, Marquess of Denton, at your service.”

  “Thank you for your gracious understanding,” Heather rushed to say, “but we must be going.”

  “Pity that.” He handed the kite to Violet. “I look forward to our formal introduction.”

  Heather pulled Violet and Prim away by the elbows. Violet kept stealing looks back. They reached the landau, and Heather looked back to find the mysterious Lord Denton was still watching them.

  “Well done, Violet. Now all of London will know you are a coquette.”

  “I am not!” Violet denied.

  “What’s this about coquettes?” their mother asked with a frown.

  “I’m dreading her come out. You should have seen how she encouraged him. He challenged her to a duel, just so he could learn her name!” Heather fumed as she plopped into her seat and twitched her skirts into place.

  Lady Everly pinned Violet with a stern glare. “Just what was this gentleman’s name?”

  “Lord Weirick Andrews, Marquess of Denton.” Violet answered cheerfully.

  “Well, I’m not familiar with that name. We shall look him up and see if he is worth ‘dueling’ with.”

  “He’s still watching us.” Prim giggled.

  “Ignore him. Clever gentlemen love a challenge.” Lady Everly smiled as she turned her back to him, urging Prim, and especially Violet, to do the same.

  Heather rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  “Lady Everly?” A voice called out. They looked at each other in confusion, and then at their surroundings. A man was striding across the lawn, adamantly waving at them in an obscene manner. Heather wished they could be on their way, but the street was crowded and there was no avenue for a quick escape.

  He was breathing hard when he reached them, leaning on the side of the landau to catch his breath before he spoke. Violet slid away from him in distaste.

  “Lady Everly, I wish to speak with you about a grave matter.”

  “Sir, accosting us in the park is hardly the way to go about it,” Lady Everly said sternly.

  “My apologies, but I thought you should know posthaste that your daughter’s marriage to the Duke of Ablehill is an unwise endeavor, for he is not who he claims to be.”

  Heather felt a cold unease wash over her. Her mother looked fit to box the man’s ears.

  “Sir, I suggest you take it up with the duke himself. Driver, we must leave at once,” she barked. The driver snapped the reins and the landau lurched. It was a jerky and perilous exodus, but they escaped the park unscathed.

  They disembarked quickly once they reached the townhouse, and Lady Everly instructed Cantour to send for Mr. Faegan and His Grace. Mr. Faegan was in residence, so Cantour had him in the drawing room in the blink of an eye. Heather hadn’t said one word. All she could think of was the moment she had found out he was a duke and not Mr. Calder—the anger, the humiliation, and the terrifying uncertainty. She just couldn’t do it again. She had already given her heart to him.

  “What does this mean?” Violet asked timidly.

  “It means nothing until we speak with Mr. Faegan,” Lady Everly assured. “Prim, go to your governess at once. Violet, take Heather to her room, she’s upset.”

  “My lady?” Faegan said with a frown.

  “I must speak with you urgently, Mr. Faegan. Cantour, a pot of tea, please.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Cantour moved along and Violet tried to tug Heather up the stairs.

  “No. I need to hear what he has to say,” Heather said defiantly.

  Violet stared at her then nodded. “The music room.”

  Heather followed Violet to the music room, where she was surprised to learn there was a connecting door. Violet opened it just a hair, but her mother’s alarmed voice could be easily heard.

  Chapter 21

  Why would that man make such a claim, Faegan? Why is he coming forward now?”

  “My lady, it is not true. I’ve known His Grace since the moment he came screaming into this world. I knew his mother since she was a girl. There is ample proof of His Grace’s birth and the marriage of his parents, but ‘tis all in Scotland.”

  “Who was this man?”

  “I don’t rightly know. The old duke cut all ties with his family. He had a brother, but that’s about all I know.”

  “We need proof just in case that man has the gumption to take his claim to the courts.”

  Cantour arrived with tea. “The gentleman in question has arrived with a card asking to see His Grace. He is waiting outside.”

  Lady Everly took the card from the tray. “Mr. Bell,” she said with a grimace. “Please inform him the duke is not at home.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “That is all we can do for now. I must check on Heather. She looked quite upset when we left the park.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll begin preparations for returning to Scotland immediately.”

  “No, not before His Grace addresses Mr. Bell. We’ll want to hear exactly what he has to say.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Just then, there was a commotion in the hall, and Heather and Violet shared a glance and tiptoed to the doorway of the music room. There were masculine voices arguing, and Cantour was ushering everyone to the drawing room. Violet and Heather rushed back to the other door.

  “I demand to know the reason for this intrusion, before I lay you out,” Fallon growled. Draven stood at his shoulder.

  Mr. Bell stammered, “Tis my good fortune you arrived, Mr. Calder, so this matter can be corrected immediately.”

  Everyone took offense, except Fallon. “What matter?”

  Mr. Bell was scrunching his hat in his hands, but he looked irately back at Fallon. “The matter of your devious inheritance. I have it on good authority that the previous Duke of Ablehill’s son died as a boy. My father, the duke’s nephew, told me so.”

  Fallon spread his arms wide. “It would appear you are wrong, Mr. Bell. I am alive and well. I did suffer from illness as a boy—an impertinence to my father—but I regained my health.”

  “So you say,” Mr. Bell sneered. “I took the liberty of informing your betrothed that marriage to you would be—”

  Fallon lunged for Mr. Bell and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. He lifted him off his feet. “You accosted my soon-to-be wife with your lies?”

  “Yes, he did,” Lady Everly affirmed.

  Fallon shook him like a doll, and then dropped him. Mr. Bell landed with a thud, turning beet red, the thin strand of hair combed over his bald pate flopping. “This is an outrage.” He stood and dusted his derriere. “I will take this to the courts. You are a fraud.”

  “Remove this garbage, Cantour.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Cantour snapped his fingers and a brawny footman stepped forward, taking Mr. Bell by the arm.

  “Wait,” Draven spoke up. “I am Viscou
nt Draven. I can testify that he is who he says he is.”

  “And why should I trust you?” Mr. Bell sneered as he struggled against the footman’s hold.

  Draven stiffened. “I am a gentleman. My word is my honor. You, sir, are no one. Take your case to the courts, but it will come to nothing but embarrassment against the word of a duke and a viscount.”

  “We will see about that!” Mr. Bell exclaimed as he was dragged from the drawing room.

  Fallon turned to Lady Everly and took her hands. “I swear on my life, I am who I say I am.”

  She nodded hesitantly. “It’s Heather who will need to be reassured. She’s taken quite a shock.”

  Fallon clenched his jaw and strode from the room. He was about to reach the stairs when Heather ran out of the music room.

  “Fallon,” she called to him.

  He froze. Turning to her, he approached her slowly then reached for her hands and held them against his heart. “I swear to you, I haven’t lied.”

  Violet had followed her sister out of the room and paused behind her. A small audience had gathered outside the drawing room as well.

  “Miss Violet,” Draven drawled, “is that a new dress? I’d be delighted to see it in the light of the drawing room.”

  Violet hesitated then acquiesced to his obvious ploy to give her sister and her betrothed some privacy. The others followed them into the drawing room and curious servants departed.

  “I believe you, Fallon.” Heather reached up and touched his face.

  He brought her against him. “I’m sorry this has happened. Whatever evidence he has won’t stand against my birth certificate and the marriage certificate of my parents. Even the doctor that cared for me as a boy is still alive. I won’t let him hurt you.”

  “It isn’t me he is trying to hurt, it’s you.”

  “But he embarrassed you in public today,” Fallon reiterated. “I couldn’t care less what he says about me, or even does to me.”

  “I promise I’ll survive.” Heather smiled.

  “We were so worried about the events of the house party causing scandal, and now this,” he continued. “I will never forgive myself if a word of slander is said against you.”

  “Hush, Fallon. We will weather whatever storm comes our way.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “I will protect you no matter what.”

  She kissed him lightly. “I trust you.”

  He pulled away with a groan. “I should speak to Faegan about what’s to be done.”

  Heather followed him to the drawing room, and they all sat and took tea. She was surprised by Draven’s presence but couldn’t find her usual contempt for him after he had defended Fallon. She thanked Draven for his help, and her mother invited him to stay for dinner.

  “I will leave for Scotland immediately. By boat, I can reach the castle in under a week and will seek Dr. Logan. He’s getting on in age, but his son has taken over, and he will know where all the appropriate records are kept. The marriage certificate is another matter. The old steward may have it somewhere other than the castle,” Faegan explained.

  “My parent’s marriage isn’t in doubt. He thinks I died as a boy—as my father wished,” Fallon added bitterly.

  Heather slipped her hand in his. They now sat beside each other on the sofa. She hated the pain she saw in his eyes. Surely, an emotional wound was being re-opened all over again.

  “We will consider this a minor inconvenience and continue as we mean to go on. We’ve still a wedding to prepare for,” Heather’s mother declared with a firm nod. She was reassured. If her mother wasn’t worried then she wasn’t either, but it was the way Fallon looked, like a lost little boy, that worried her. She wanted to hold him, comfort him in any way he’d let her, but she couldn’t just now. She will take a cue from her mother and act equally as confident that all would be well instead.

  Chapter 22

  The following morning at breakfast, her mother reported that Faegan had departed before dawn. Heather wished she found the news reassuring but didn’t. Fallon had been distant the rest of last evening. It troubled her that he was pulling away when they should be closer than ever. He did not come to breakfast, which wasn’t unusual, but she wished to see him, to feel assured that he was as confident as they were, or at least to show him that she had every faith in him. She still had her own secret to tell, yet she hadn’t found the courage or adequate time. Their wedding grew closer, and she was too much of a coward to bring it up.

  Her mother tried to distract her with gossip, but Heather could feel the tension in the air, the strain of yet another hurdle in their future. She needed Fallon. He always made her feel stronger, better. She excused herself after a few bites of her eggs and wandered the halls.

  She found herself in the music room, blinking at the bright sunlight shining through the windows and remembering the events of yesterday. Heather pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to push the thoughts away. Spying the harp, she pulled a chair from the wall and sat. She strummed aimlessly at first, but soon found herself playing the chords that resonated in her heart. She should tell him she was in love with him. Perhaps that would prove her faith in him. If he had her love, would that heal the wounds his father had left as well? She was scared to say it, unsure of his response. She knew he cared for her. He was very caring in his words and touches. But did that equate to love? Her heart hurt just thinking of it. What if she told him, and he said nothing in return? It would be humiliating.

  She closed her eyes, her fingers unfaltering, and the movements now as easy as breathing. She felt the swelling urge to cry, and she allowed it. She was alone; she could let a little of herself go. It felt necessary, a release of the awful tension that had been sitting inside her for so long. Her tears fell in hot rivulets down the curves of her cheeks, and she let them have their way, leaving salty stains on her bodice, sleeves, and lap. The tears eventually eased on their own, and she felt better, stronger even. The weight had lessened. She was still worried and confused, but she could breathe easier now, and her thoughts were clearer.

  She left the music room and returned to her room. She wasn’t going to spend the day moping. She needed to speak with him, to tell him how she felt, but she also wanted to give him time. He was obviously hurting, and she didn’t need to add to his burdens just yet. She was sure she would see him at some point today, if not at lunch or tea, then it would be tonight for dinner and a play. They had been invited to join Anabelle's family in their box. There wouldn’t be time to talk then, but surely she could convince him to come inside for just a moment. It would be late, and they would be alone.

  Heather’s plan did not come to fruition. She wanted to pout petulantly when Fallon sent his excuses but refrained. She would be joining Anabelle’s family by herself.

  When their carriage arrived, she squeezed in beside Hazel and pasted a smile to her face. Nothing fueled rumors more than a sorrowful appearance. She wasn’t sure there were rumors, but given Mr. Bell’s behavior in view of all of Hyde Park, and Lord Brightly, who was still lurking somewhere in society, she wanted to be on the offensive.

  Anabelle and Hazel were cheerful and had her genuinely smiling by the time they arrived at the theatre. Following the stout figure of their father, the three girls linked elbow to elbow to fight their way through the crowds. Once in their box, there was room to breathe, and Heather settled into her seat to enjoy herself and not think about Fallon for the duration of the play.

  She succeeded for the most part, except when she would spot a gentleman with Fallon’s shade of hair or similar height. She mentally shrugged. She did her best. Anabelle and Hazel were none the wiser of her pensive mood.

  At intermission, they stood to stretch their legs. Heather was nosily observing the other patrons when a note arrived for her. She read it in confusion then excused herself to the hall.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked testily, perhaps more so than he deserved.

  “I thought to see how
you’re faring, given the latest incident,” Draven drawled.

  “Oh.” Heather felt guilty now. “I’m fairing…” She shrugged noncommittally. She didn’t want to admit to being miserable.

  “You’ve nothing to worry about, you know. Mr. Bell’s claims will be easily disproven.”

  “It’s not Mr. Bell I’m worried about.” Heather found it odd that she was about to confide in Draven, of all people. Somehow, he had weaseled his way into an odd friendship with Fallon, and that meant with her too. “I’m worried about Fallon.”

  “Is something amiss?” Anabelle appeared from behind the curtain leading to the box. She spotted Draven and visibly stiffened. Heather likened it to a cat spotting a dog.

  “Lord Draven came to speak with me about Fallon. They’ve become well-acquainted of late.” Heather looked back and forth between Draven and Anabelle with growing puzzlement. There was an odd tension between the two. They were simply staring at each other. Anabelle with a mixture of curiosity and hostility, and Draven with… Well, Heather wasn’t exactly sure.

  “What could you possibly have in common with the duke?” Anabelle questioned.

  “Horse breeding, for one. I also introduced him to my lawyer today over a personal matter.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Heather put her hand on his arm. “What personal matter?”

  He looked at Anabelle awkwardly.

  “You can say it in front of her. I trust her completely.”

  He shrugged. “We are going to do our own investigating of this Mr. Bell. For all he claims Ablehill to be a fraud, he could very well be a fraud himself. I’ve heard of it in similar scams.”

  Heather put her hands over her mouth. Of course! Mr. Bell could be the one who was the fraud, and Fallon just a target. But, why didn’t Fallon tell her this himself? Why was he confiding in Draven and not her? All of a sudden, she was angry all over again. And as she looked at Draven, who was getting increasingly closer to Fallon, she felt a tinge of jealousy. Once again, Fallon had left her floundering in the dark.