Page 4 of His Runaway Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #3)

CHAPTER 4

D aphne had been told, by several different people in many different ways, that she had a habit of talking too much. This brought with it many other problems. For example, she often found herself in the middle of a sentence without knowing how she got there or how she intended to finish it.

Generally, this led to embarrassing conversations, which she cringed over or laughed over with her sister.

On this occasion, however, her big mouth might have much more serious consequences.

For example, she was cold, wet, alone in an unfamiliar part of the countryside with no way of getting home, and she had just been extremely rude to the only person who could possibly help her.

The Duke of Thornbridge. That name is familiar, but I can’t think where I might have heard it. He certainly hasn’t been out in Society these past few years. I would have remembered him otherwise.

He was a tall man, and while Daphne generally hated men who loomed over her, she had to admit that the Duke’s form was impressive. He had broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the sort of figure that Society dandies padded their suits to achieve. It never quite looked right on them, not like it did on the Duke of Thornbridge.

His black hair was damp due to the mizzling rain, curling ever so slightly and grazing his jaw. He had a dusting of stubble on his cheeks, too—the beginnings of a beard.

Now, that was careless. The fashion for gentlemen was to be clean-shaven, or else to sport carefully curated mustachios. This man seemed not to care whether he shaved or not.

Then again, he also seemed to spurn fashion, judging by his clothes. When he turned his back, Daphne noticed that his coat was tight around his shoulders. Not because it was a fashionable cut, but because of the powerful muscles in his back.

She cleared her throat. He wasn’t bad-looking exactly, but certainly not handsome enough for her . And yet she found herself getting ready to speak. Of course.

The words were out of her mouth, as usual, before she could stop them. “Your Grace, wait!”

He paused, and for a moment, she thought he was going to ignore her and stamp away. Then he heaved a sigh and bent down to speak to Alex.

“Go ahead of me. Mrs. Trench is waiting for you—I can see her on the patio down there. Join her immediately. Do you hear?”

Alex bit his lip, looking mutinous. “But the lady?—”

“Alex, I do not want to have to tell you again.”

Alex met Daphne’s eyes, and she raised her eyebrows helplessly.

He sighed. “Yes, Papa.”

Shooting Daphne an apologetic glance, Alex turned and ran down the hill. As he entered the more brightly lit patio area at the foot of the hill, where the field bordered the grounds of the house, a number of servants came forward. They all seemed pleased to see him, smiling at him and patting his head.

Mrs. Trench, as she’d been pointed out, was a stern-looking woman with a stocky frame, but her face relaxed into a smile when she saw Alex. She offered him her hand, and he took it. They turned to go inside, and then Daphne was alone with this man. With the Duke of Thornbridge.

The penny dropped.

“I know where I heard your name before,” Daphne murmured. “You’re a recluse. I heard your name mentioned in town, and people say that you shut yourself away. They say that you’re odd.”

The Duke’s mouth tightened. “Did you call me back to insult me, Madam?”

Daphne flushed, to her chagrin. “I am sorry. I… I often speak without thinking.”

He grunted. It wasn’t an acceptance of her apology, but neither did he stamp away.

“The thing is, I am a lady, and I need your help. I… I’m lost, and I’m soaked and covered in mud, as you can see. I haven’t had a lot of luck today,” she added, and he snorted. No reply seemed to be forthcoming, and so Daphne continued. “I was hoping to find a house or something like that—somewhere I could get help. Could you… ahem. Could you help me?”

“You say you’re a lady. Who are you, exactly?”

“My name is Daphne Belmont. My father was the late Viscount St. Maur. Perhaps you’ve heard the name?”

He grunted again. “I have. And what help do you want from me?”

“Well, I came from London, and?—”

“London? You’re hours from home. What do you want, then? Come along, it’s late. Want me to send you home in my carriage?”

“N-No, I can’t go back in this state, or at this hour. I was hoping…”

She swallowed hard, studying his face. He had strong features, not entirely fashionable. No button-nose or pink lips on this face. He had dark eyebrows hanging low over his eyes. She couldn’t make out the color and was briefly horrified that she had wanted to make out the color.

Really, a gentleman would have offered to let me stay by now, and not let me stutter and stammer my way through an awkward situation.

The fact was that he was not going to offer, so Daphne was going to have to go ahead and say it.

“I was hoping you’d let me stay the night,” she said in a rush. “And… and maybe give me some fresh clothes.”

He stared down at her for a long moment. Why was his face so difficult to read? Daphne did not consider herself a connoisseur of human expressions, but she liked to think she could work out what the average person was thinking in most situations.

This man, however… Well, it was like trying to read a blank slate.

He heaved a sigh. “No,” he said shortly.

Daphne was flabbergasted. “I… You…” she stammered ineffectually.

The Duke turned on his heel and began to walk away from her without another word.

Daphne scrambled after him. “Wait! Wait a minute! You can’t say no… Well, that is, you can say no, and you have, but please reconsider! What am I to do?”

“I’m not sure that is my concern, Miss… Belmont, was it?”

He didn’t slow his pace, and Daphne was forced to slip and slide down the slope beside him, her arms occasionally windmilling to keep her balance.

“Surely one night can’t hurt? I shan’t get in your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Even if that were true, which I doubt,” he added, shooting her a sidelong glance, “you forget about propriety, Miss Belmont. I am a widower living here without any ladies in the house. You couldn’t possibly spend the night under my roof. You’d be ruined. So would I, for that matter.”

Daphne cursed herself. She had forgotten about all those ridiculous rules.

“How about,” she said, beginning to run out of breath, “if I just promise not to try and seduce you?”

He stopped dead, and she nearly skidded down and into his broad back.

“I am not the sort of man who is seduced , Miss Belmont,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

She held up her hands in surrender. “I just promised that I wouldn’t even try , Your Grace.”

He stared at her for a long, tense minute, then rolled his eyes.

“I can’t help noticing, Miss Belmont, that under those layers of mud, you’re wearing what appears to be a wedding dress.”

She winced. “You’re very sharp, Your Grace. Astonishingly so.”

He shot her another sideways glance. “I cannot decide whether you’re mocking me or flattering me.”

“Which would make you more likely to let me stay the night?”

“I don’t know what happened to your husband-to-be,” he continued, ignoring her question, “but I can’t help but feel that he had a lucky escape.”

Daphne bit her lip. “Let’s just say that both of us had a lucky escape and leave it at that. Look, Your Grace, I’m sure women have tried to catch you before with all sorts of tricks. I’ve been in Society—I’ve seen it. But believe me when I say that I am not trying to catch you. Really, I am not. I just… just nearly married somebody, and it terrified me. I could scarcely breathe at the altar. I shan’t bore you with the details, since I imagine you’ll read about it all in the gossip columns tomorrow. But, truly, if I was coming to ruin you, would I come to you looking like this ?”

She held her arms out to either side so that the full horror of her filthy, ragged self could be appreciated. Daphne had not looked in a mirror lately, but she thought that was probably just as well. No doubt she looked like a raving madwoman, dragged through several hedges and a pond, then left out in the rain for a week or two.

The Duke’s gaze traveled over her frame from head to foot. Daphne’s skin seemed to prickle as he looked her over—a curious and unfamiliar sensation. She wasn’t sure whether she liked it or not. It was, however, notably different from the pin-prick sensation she’d felt at the church when everyone was staring at her.

At last, he let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“You’ll catch your death out here tonight. The woods get deathly cold, even at this time of year. And then I would be blamed for your death, and that would be tiresome. You had better stay.”

Daphne’s knees nearly buckled with relief. “Oh, thank?—”

“Save your thanks. I am not doing it as a favor to you, but because I am a gentleman, regardless of what you have to say about it.”

Daphne flushed. “Perhaps I was a little ungracious.”

He grunted. “Follow me.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and began to stride down the hill, faster than ever. She was forced to almost run to keep up.

Down on the terrace below, most of the servants had gone in, except for a handful.

“You won’t be staying under my roof without a proper female presence,” the Duke said, without turning around. “My stepmother will stay the night. I expect you to be gone before breakfast.”

“B-Before breakfast? Could I not have a little…?”

He sighed heavily. “After breakfast, then. But directly after! I don’t wish to see you.”

“Understood.”

They reached the patio. A tall, thin man with a mop of whitish hair stood there, his eyes nearly popping out of his head at the sight of Daphne.

“Your… Grace?” he ventured timidly. “Who…?”

“This is Miss Belmont, she’ll be staying the night,” the Duke rapped out. “Send word immediately to the Dowager Duchess that she must stay the night, too. I shall explain everything once she gets here, but let her know that it’s of the utmost urgency. Put Miss Belmont in one of the bedrooms, as far away from my wing as possible. She’ll require food, tea, a bath, and some fresh clothes.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” The man bowed, eyeing Daphne out of the corner of his eye, then turned and scuttled inside.

For a moment, Daphne dithered on the doorstep, until the Duke shot her an annoyed look.

“Well, don’t dawdle, Miss Belmont! Go with him!”

She gave a most undignified squeak and scurried after the steward.

Edward’s headache was pounding merrily behind his eyes when a knock sounded at his study door.

“Enter.”

It was the Dowager Duchess, of course, as composed and tidy as if being urgently summoned in the evening in this manner was simply a matter of course. Lady Clarissa Beaton, the Dowager Duchess of Thornbridge, was not the sort of woman who allowed herself to get ruffled over anything.

She was a tall woman, well-built and handsome for her age, with graying hair that had once been blonde and amber eyes. When she was first widowed, Society gossiped over whether she intended to remarry or not. Apparently, the role of Dowager Duchess of Thornbridge was a finer position than any man could offer her.

Edward was grateful for her help over the years. It had occurred to him more than once that he ought to show it more.

“I have heard a rather shocking story from your steward,” Clarissa said, her voice cool and even. “Is there a madwoman in your attic, Edward?”

He grunted. “Not exactly. Miss Belmont, to be precise. I’m not familiar with the name, but I know the St. Maurs.”

Clarissa pursed her lips, no doubt consulting her encyclopedic knowledge of the ton and their families.

“Which Miss Belmont? The eldest Miss Belmont made a most remarkable match and married the Duke of Langdon. There was quite a scandal about her at the time. The family is said to be on the up and up. There are two Miss Belmonts left. Twins, I believe. Which one is it?”

“Daphne. I can’t imagine it makes much difference.”

Clarissa settled herself in a chair by the fire. “No, it does not. And she is here?”

“In quite a state, yes. Wearing a wedding dress.”

She stiffened. “My, how intriguing. Would you like me to get the story out of her?”

“No, better not. It’s none of our concern, after all.”

Clarissa pursed her lips in obvious disagreement. “She is under our roof, Edward.”

After a tense pause, she cleared her throat and corrected herself.

“Your roof, that is.”

Edward sighed, raking a hand through his hair again. It was still damp from the rain. Outside, he could see that mist was swirling thickly through the gardens, reminding him of nothing so much as the tide coming in. This time of year was always damp and dank, with endless mud and rain and cold. It was enough to make anyone melancholy.

Sometimes I remember why I used to like spending part of the year in London.

No, he didn’t mean that. Did he? London was noisy, crowded, and smelly. It was full of people whom one did not wish to talk to, but who talked incessantly anyway.

“I brought a gown and some other linens for the girl,” Clarissa said, interrupting his thoughts. “Just one gown, just one change. We don’t want to encourage her to stay longer.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll have my carriage ready to take her directly home, straight after breakfast. We don’t even need to see her.”

Clarissa pursed her lips. “ After breakfast? You are entirely too kind, Edward.”

He smiled tightly. “I don’t think you believe that.”

There was a brief pause after that.

Edward had never quite known how to speak to his stepmother. Really, she was the only mother he’d known. She’d tried hard to mother him but never had seemed cut out for it. Not her fault, naturally.

Of course, now that the late Duke was gone, Clarissa was somewhat cut adrift. The bulk of the money and all of the land went to the heir, and Clarissa’s widow’s jointure was not as generous as she’d been led to believe. They’d both suffered from the late Duke’s choices, it seemed.

Edward did not worry too much about right and wrong in his daily life, not like those endless philosophical tomes his late wife used to enjoy. But he did know his duty, and it was not fair that Clarissa should be plunged into poverty. He supplemented her mean jointure with an allowance of his own and gifted her the dower house and the land it stood upon. Besides, it was pleasant to have Clarissa so close. He had no other family left, anyway.

Except for his son, of course, but that relationship was prickly at the best of times.

Edward got up from his seat and moved over to the window. He wished Clarissa would leave. It had been a long day, and his mind was reeling.

I’m the one who summoned her to my house after dark . I can hardly send her away now.

“Let’s not worry too much about that conniving girl,” Clarissa said suddenly, rising and crossing the room to stand behind him. He could see her reflection in the window, pale as a ghost. “I am more concerned about Alex. He is our future, after all, and I do think he is running wild.”

“I think my son can hardly be described as wild . He sketches and plays the pianoforte, and likes to read poetry.”

Clarissa’s lips tightened. She wisely kept her opinions to herself, however.

“Well, whatever you like,” she said, flashing him an insincere smile. She reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I would be more than happy to take a more active role in his education and care if you prefer. I do have a good deal of time on my hands these days.”

Edward shot her a sideways glance. “No, thank you. I have it in hand.”

Clarissa’s expression was skeptical. “It’s your choice, of course.”

Her hand slipped off his shoulder, but she continued to stand behind him.

Edward cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Was there anything else, Clarissa? It’s just that… well, it’s late, and I do have work to finish before bed, and…”

“Of course,” Clarissa said, taking a step back. She smiled benevolently at him. “I take it that my usual room is prepared?”

“Of course. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Edward.”

She slipped out of the room, leaving him alone.

He sighed, leaning forward and resting his forehead against the cool glass.

She told me not to think of the ‘conniving girl’. By that, I suppose she means Miss Belmont.

But I cannot stop thinking about her.

What is wrong with me?