Page 3 of Forever and a Duke (The Bridewell Sisters #1)

CHAPTER 2

G riffin’s eyes slid open on a shout. He realized it had come from this own throat.

He’d jolted awake from the same dream he’d had since the night Leo died. Breathing deep, he waited for his heart to settle into a regular patter and then let out a groan.

His back ached as if he’d slept on solid marble, and his knees popped angrily when he tried to stretch out his legs. The antique settee in his father’s study—now his study—never seemed a comfortable resting place, but he’d been so bleary-eyed the night before while trying to make sense of the bloody estate ledgers that he’d slumped down onto the sapphire-blue monstrosity anyway.

Anything was better than the ducal suite.

He could not bear to be in that room for long without thinking of Alexander. His brother had only been duke for three years, and yet he’d redecorated many aspects of the edifice their family had lived in for generations. He’d started with the ducal suite, determined to put his stamp on it. Now, every aspect of the room—from the dark maroon wallpaper, to the bucolic landscape paintings his brother favored, to the enormous mahogany four-poster bed with the family crest emblazoned at the top of each post—reminded Griffin of his brother.

The man had dubious taste in decor, but he’d been passionate about every choice he made. Alexander never doubted himself or his own taste. Like most Kingsleys, he had never been wracked with anxiety over how a choice might reverberate into the future.

Griffin had never worried about the future much either. Not until he’d done nothing to stop his best friend from tossing his bloody life away on a misty field.

He surged to his feet as memories flooded back, so sharp he could smell gun powder. His body refused to suffer in stillness. A ball of electricity invaded his belly, and he itched to get out of his own skin.

In his reckless youth, he’d have sought escape—in women, in drink, in gambling, and every reckless endeavor he could find. But then Alexander had died. And then Leo.

Griffin never wanted to be a duke. He’d never been trained and mentored for the role the way his brother had been, but he knew a duke was expected to refrain from drinking himself into stupor. He knew that damned much.

So now he sought relief in the mundanity of a ramble across Edgerton land or a hard ride on Apollo. The enormous bay horse was the only thing he’d inherited from his brother that he didn’t regret acquiring.

The skies looked as if a spring rainstorm was coming, but he told himself he could manage a quick ride before the worst of it bucketed down.

Heading out of the study, he pressed a hand to his back where muscles still screamed their hatred of that damned settee. But he didn’t get more than a few steps before his grandmother called to him from the drawing room across the hall.

“Griffin, darling, won’t you come and greet Lady Harrington?”

He drew in a long breath. The ride on Apollo would have to wait. “Of course, Grandmama.”

He could not regret asking her to come and stay with him at Rosemere, the ducal estate. In the last year, he’d lost his brother and best friend. His parents had passed years before. The last few months had been the loneliest of his life, and he’d welcomed his grandmother’s company and advice. As dowager duchess, she knew what was expected of him, and she was determined to help him take on the role in a manner that would make his father proud.

“Welcome, Lady Harrington.” He nodded at the older woman, who was one of his grandmother’s closest confidantes. The two were forever visiting each other, gossiping about the goings-on in the county, and competing against each other at chess.

“Your Grace.” She offered a warm smile. Almost too warm.

He’d learned from his grandmother that Lady Harrington had an unwed granddaughter she was keen for him to meet. Griffin did not share that eagerness.

All the duties of the dukedom were still a tangle, and he woke each day feeling the weight of all of it. Though he had every intention of marrying—it was one of those duties that had fallen to him—he had no time for matchmaking at the moment.

“We were just remarking on the Godfreys’ new addition. An enormous conservatory,” his grandmother said as if it was the most fascinating tidbit of news she’d heard in months.

“Positively soaring ceilings,” Lady Harrington enthused. “Just imagine it, Georgina. They say it will be the equivalent of two stories high.”

“Not as much square footage as we have in Rosemere’s conservatory, I’d wager.”

Griffin pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.

To his grandmother, everything was a competition, and she was determined that the Kingsleys be the best in every category.

Lady Harrington lifted her teacup and observed her friend. “But do you still use the space, Georgina?”

Oh, she had his grandmother there. Though he knew she’d once fancied herself quite the gardener, she claimed the conservatory was too much fuss to maintain nowadays.

To deflect, his grandmother waved him farther into the room.

“Come and sit, won’t you? We were just musing on how fine a country house party would be.”

Griffin didn’t want to sit. Indeed, anxious energy still had him tapping his foot, rapping his fingers against the arm of his coat while he stood at the drawing room threshold.

“I was just heading out for a ride. Perhaps later?”

She made a little noise. One he’d become quite familiar with in the past months. A harrumph of unmistakable disappointment.

Griffin gritted his teeth and proceeded into the drawing room. “Very well,” he said to appease her.

After settling into one of the elegant armchairs, he gestured in a rolling motion toward his grandmother. “Go on. Tell me about this house party. Who’s invited us?”

She smiled at him. “You misunderstand, my dear. We were discussing how grand it would be if you hosted a house party here at Rosemere.”

Griffin shook his head before his mouth had a chance to form words. “I don’t think…”

Her silver brows both winged up. He could feel Lady Harrington staring expectantly too.

“A house party? At Rosemere?” Griffin understood precisely what she expected of him, but he still wanted to retreat from the notion.

He hadn’t yet made sense of the bloody ledgers, and now she wanted to bring a dozen visitors to Derbyshire? For weeks?

“It would be an excellent way to set the tone for the dukedom and allow a few of the finest families to see what a gracious host you are.”

Was he? He’d lived in a London townhouse for years and rarely entertained except for a paramour now and then. He was a chronic soiree attendee and very rarely sought the role of host.

But he knew why he should be one now, even if none of it sounded appealing.

Duty.

Of course, his grandmother was right. His father had been a leader in the Lords and a popular member of the community around the local village. Alexander had been on his way to following in those footsteps.

“Let’s begin the discussion at dinner, Grandmama.” He cast his gaze at her friend. “Will you join us this evening, Lady Harrington?”

She blinked as if surprised by the question and then offered a warm smile. “Thank you, Your Grace, for the kind invitation, but I cannot tonight.”

“Soon then?”

“Perhaps I could bring Alina when I return.” Her eyes had taken on a strategic sort of gleam that made Griffin’s skin itch.

He’d seen that look before among marriage-minded mamas at society balls during the Season.

What the hell could he say to that?

“Of course, she’s welcome too.” One glance at his grandmother told him that he’d pleased her, and that was satisfying enough to put any worries about Lady Harrington’s matchmaking urges aside. “Now, ladies, please forgive me, but I have an appointment with Apollo.”

“Have a care when you ride that beast,” his grandmother said warmly.

He stood and then bent to brush a kiss against her cheek on his way out of the room. Rain clouds were darkening the sky, but they were still off in the west, and he’d choose a short route for his ride. He strode into the hall, preparing to turn past the staircase to head out to the stables.

“It’s a terrible shame about the Bridewells.” Lady Harrington’s voice carried from the drawing room.

Griffin stopped short as if he’d struck a wall. He stilled, listening for his grandmother’s response.

“No one expected the cousin to come so soon,” she finally said. “Are you quite certain?”

“Their housemaid and ours are cousins, and the information passed to my lady’s maid.”

“Dreadful.”

Griffin’s gut clenched. Leo’s words rang in his head. Take care of my sisters. Among all the other responsibilities he’d taken on, he’d failed in fulfilling that one. The last time he’d seen them had been at Leo’s funeral, the pain he’d seen on the sisters’ faces haunted him.

A protective urge welled up. Nothing dreadful would befall the sisters if he could help it. Turning back, he stepped into the drawing room once more.

“What’s happened to the Bridewells?”

His grandmother’s eyes widened. “We thought you were off flying across the countryside.”

“I was just on my way and heard you mention the Bridewells.” He glanced between the two women. “You sounded concerned for them.”

“The loss of their brother was such a tragedy,” Lady Harrington said before taking another sip of tea.

Griffin clenched his jaw, tightening his fist around the riding gloves he held. “Indeed.”

Out of the corner of his eye, his grandmother give the tiniest shake of her head at her friend. She alone knew the darkness that had all but swallowed him after Leo’s death.

“But why are you discussing them?”

Lady Harrington started to speak and then cast a glance at his grandmother questioningly.

“Their cousin has arrived, apparently,” Grandmama said softly. “He’s inherited the title and their home.”

“He could cast them out if he wishes to,” Lady Harrington rushed to add.

“No one will cast them out,” Griffin insisted. Over his dead bloody body would anyone harm the Bridewell sisters. “Excuse me.”

He didn’t wait for the niceties of leave-taking this time, marching out of the room and straight out the front door, which pointed him in the direction of the Bridewell home. It was a short walk.

He’d been a preoccupied fool.

Leo’s wishes should have been a priority long before now, but Griffin would rectify that. The Bridewell sisters needed to know he would assist them in whatever manner he could.

Lily swiped a dangling hair out of her face and bent to scoop up another shovelful of dirt. Sweat trickled down her neck and the muscles in her arms and back burned.

She only hoped she’d picked an appropriate spot to dig. The location, out of view of the house, lay hidden behind a little grove of beech trees. Burying the trove of their most prized personal possessions had been Ivy’s idea, and it had taken a great deal of persuading for Lily to agree. But each of them had only chosen items that were well and truly theirs—items that should rightfully never belong to Edwin.

Ivy chose books on detection and a set of tools she claimed would allow her to pick locks. Lily prayed she’d never practiced on any lock beyond those in the Bridewell home. Daphne chose a few botanical books and a sewing machine Leo had purchased for her last birthday—the largest and heaviest item. But who could deny Daphne anything? Marigold selected her old sketchbooks and watercolor paints and brushes. Hyacinth insisted on a book about paleontology and the box of shells and rocks she’d collected on a family holiday to Margate.

And Lily, of course, had added her father’s medical books. If she had her choice, she would follow in his footsteps and study medicine formally, but there was certainly no money for that now. She couldn’t even say for certain where she and her sisters would be living in the coming months.

At the sound of footsteps, she glanced over her shoulder. Through a light layer of fog, Ivy approached in a determined stride, arms swinging at her sides, brow furrowed.

“Go back to the house, Ivy.”

“I want to help,” she said in an uncharacteristically pleading tone. “You needn’t do it all yourself. Why are you so stubborn?”

Lily chuckled and arched a brow at her sister. “Are you truly asking me about my stubbornness?”

Ivy was almost wholly composed of tenacity and persistence.

She rolled her eyes and cocked a hip, pressing a hand to her waist. “Fair point. But this will go much more quickly if you allow me to help.”

“You already helped me transfer the trove out here.” Lily blew at the tenacious wisp of hair that had somehow found its way into her face again. “And I’m not playing the martyr. I want you and Daphne and the twins to remain inside so as not to raise Edwin’s suspicions. I asked you to watch him. Distract him if necessary.”

Ivy left out a huff of frustration. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Should we add that one?” Lily pointed to the book clutched in her sister’s left hand.

“No!” Ivy lifted the book and tucked it close to her chest, wrapping both arms around the cloth-bound volume to hold it safe. “I’m reading this one. I’ll hide it under my damned skirts when he throws us out if I need to.”

“Language.”

Ivy growled but turned around, stalking back toward the house. “I shall go and watch over Edwin.”

“Thank you,” Lily called to her retreating form.

They’d collected everything into a trunk that had once held some of their father’s old suits, wrapped the trunk in oilskin to keep the rain from soaking through, and then used a wheelbarrow to transfer it to the spot beyond the grove. Lily looked at the trunk and then back at the dimensions of the hole she’d dug. It didn’t have to be deep. Just shallow enough to cover the case with a bit of dirt. She carved away a bit more at the sides, tossing the soil out of the hole. Then she climbed out of the depression.

The distant rumble of thunder drew her gaze up. Storm clouds had gathered overhead, and she’d been so occupied, she’d hardly notice how the sky had dimmed and the fog had thickened across the field. She had to finish before the rain came or before Edwin noted her absence.

At that thought, she heard footsteps approaching and instinctively moved back, ducking behind the trunk of a beech tree.

Would he search the grounds for her? And how did he ever get past Ivy? Her sister would sooner tackle the man bodily than let him discover their plan.

“Are you hiding from me, Miss Bridewell?” The low, masculine voice wasn’t anything like Edwin’s reedy tones. And it was one she recognized all too well.

A man she would rather not face with dirt on her hands and disheveled hair.

Lily lifted a hand to tuck a few stray hairs into pins, then she stepped out to face him. “Your Grace, I am not hiding. I’m here. As you see.”

“Glad to know you’re not eager to avoid me.” The lightness in his tone made her mouth dry, and then her cheeks heated.

Good grief, the man was irritatingly provoking, but she didn’t have time to be affected by him.

Griffin Kingsley, now the Duke of Edgerton, had always been the handsomest man she’d ever known. Even when he was younger, she’d thought her brother’s closest friend was far too attractive. Distractingly so. Maddeningly so.

His presence made her breathless, and she loathed that her body betrayed her whenever he was near.

Now, he strode toward her with purpose, and she got caught up in staring. He did too, surprisingly. Their gazes seemed to lock, neither of them willing to look away.

“Wait!” The word burst from her.

But a moment too late.

Edgerton’s boot slid at the edge of the hole and he pitched forward with a shocked yelp, throwing his hands out to brace his fall. The thud as his tall, muscular body hitting the ground made her wince.

Lily rushed to him. “I should have warned you. Good heavens, are you injured?”

“Did you set a trap for me?” Edgerton glowered up at her.

“Of course not. You must stop assuming you inspire all my actions.” Lily held a hand out to help him up.

She guessed he might refuse her assistance. He was a duke now and oozed a disconcerting masculinity. But apparently he was also practical, for he immediately grasped her hand in his.

Lily bit back a gasp. He wasn’t wearing gloves. Neither was she. His much larger hand enveloped hers, his skin tantalizingly hot against her own.

Lily got so distracted thinking about how it felt to touch him that she forgot her purpose in reaching for him until he planted his free hand on the ground and pushed himself up.

Lily finally tugged, nearly pulling him off balance. He stumbled toward her. She reached out to brace him against another fall. But he only listed toward her, his breath whispering along her cheek as he steadied himself.

“Damn,” he grumbled.

“What is it?” Lily looked up into his blue-gray eyes and swallowed hard.

He winced as if in pain. “I’ve twisted something.” Easing away from her, he lifted his hands as if he feared giving offense. “Forgive me for lunging at you?—”

Lily ignored him and kept one hand on his upper arm, the other pressed to his waistcoat. “Can you put weight on it?”

He tried, but it clearly caused him pain.

“I’d like to get a look at your foot and ankle.”

“No.” Eyes wide, he shook his head. “Not necessary.”

“Please don’t be stubborn.” She closed her eyes a moment, willing him to be cooperative. But with her eyes closed, she noticed the scent of his shaving soap, felt the comforting warmth of his body as he stood close enough that his boots brushed the hem of her day dress.

A rumble of thunder rolled again, closer now, and she opened her eyes to see lightning stretch across the sky.

Lily glanced back at the trunk. “Hurry. Lean against this tree,” she told the duke. “I need to finish this.”

To her shock and relief, he obeyed, reaching an arm above her head to place a hand against the trunk of the tree at her back. It brought him closer to her, but he’d turned his gaze toward her father’s case too as he examined the hole she’d dug.

“What exactly did I fall into?” He looked down at her. “Miss Bridewell,” his voice had gone low and teasing, “are you digging a grave?”

“Don’t be silly.” Lily ducked under his raised arm and approached the trunk. Pushing it seemed more logical than pulling, so she positioned herself behind it. “But I do need to bury this quickly.”

Lily bent, gripped the trunk’s top edge and pushed. It moved but a few inches.

“Let me help you.” Griffin limped closer, nudging her arm with his. “Please, allow me.”

With a little huff of frustration, Lily let him take her place, and he heaved the trunk to the edge of the hole she’d dug. It gave way under his strength as it if weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, wait, I should…” Lily scrambled down into the freshly dug earth and clasped the leather straps on the edge of the trunk. “Now push.”

“Watch yourself.” He checked to make sure she was well back, then he pushed while Lily pulled to keep the trunk from toppling on its edge as it settled into the ground.

He reached out a hand. Lily took it and then climbed out again.

“Now that I’ve helped,” he said, limping a step closer, “you have to tell me who we just buried.”

Lily huffed out a gasp. “Are you accusing me of murder, Your Grace?” She pushed at him playfully as she’d done when they were younger, but there was nothing childish about the broad, muscled chest that felt hard and warm beneath her palm.

She snatched her hand back, then found she couldn’t meet his gaze. Yet he focused on her intently.

“I never mentioned murder, Miss Bridewell,” he said, his mischievous and quiet, as if they were sharing a secret. “It might have been an accident.”

Lily wasn’t in the mood for playfulness and rolled her eyes. “Stop teasing me and help me cover this, will you?”

When she went for the shovel, he beat her to it, snatching it up and scooping huge heaps of heavy earth easily before depositing it on the trunk. It took him only moments to have much of what she’d taken an hour to excavate filled around the edges of the hole. He favored his good leg while he worked, and Lily still wanted to get a look at the injured one. She suspected it was nothing more than an sprain, but some ice or a poultice would ease the pain.

After dropping clumps of earth on the trunk, he smoothed it with the shovel until it was completely covered.

Then his eyes narrowed as he stuck the shovel’s tip into the ground and leaned his elbow on the handle. Pointing to the disturbed patch of earth, he mused, “Perhaps it’s that cousin who’s causing you so much trouble.”