Page 32 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Edward Everly, the Duke of Hardwicke, braced his boots against the floor and pulled his cloak tighter as the snow lashed against the carriage windows.

The chaise jolted over another rut, its wooden benches biting into his flesh, and he silently cursed himself for ever taking the comfort of his own plush coach for granted.

From the box, the driver leaned down and hollered through the slot, “’Old on tight, sir! Road’s icy an’ ruts all o’er, hid under this blasted snow.”

“That is of no consequence,” Hardwicke answered.

“Dun’t fret, sir. Might look a bit green, but I’ve been at this since I could sit a ’orse. Yer in good ’ands wi’ me.”

“That is reassuring,” Hardwicke replied, his voice even.

“Name’s Argyll, by the way,” the driver shouted over the storm.

Hardwicke suppressed a sigh. He was in no mood for pleasantries, but the fellow was braving a bitter night on Christmas Eve to see him safely delivered when all others had long since retired.

It would be churlish to repay that with silence.

He leaned closer to the slot and said, “Hardwicke. The Duke of Hardwicke.”

The man nearly dropped the reins. “A duke? Blimey! A bloody duke in my chaise? Where’s yer glitterin’ coach and the outriders?”

Hardwicke shifted on the uncomfortable seat.

“A few days ago, the axle snapped in a drift. I ordered my servants to take it home for repair. I thought I’d be quicker on horseback, but I was wrong.

Especially once the storm grew too harsh.

I didn’t think I’d be able to make the last leg of the trip on my own.

Luckily, the innkeeper said yours was the only chaise left standing at the inn.

” He tapped the pistol at his belt. “And I manage well enough without an entourage.”

The driver gave a low whistle. “By ’eck. Never thought I’d be drivin’ a duke. Should’ve charged double.”

Hardwicke let out a bark of laughter. “Do not worry. I will pay you handsomely.”

“Eh, is that so? Well, thank ye kindly, my lord—Yer Grace. By gum, never thought I’d—”

“Please,” Hardwicke cut in. “No need for flatteries. Just treat me like another customer.”

The driver blinked, then gave a sheepish grin. “Reet, then. No bowin’ an’ scrapin’. Jus’—by lad, I’ve never ferried a duke afore. Me missus’ll not believe me if I ever get ’ome through this weather.”

Hardwicke doubted he’d manage to get back to the inn.

He only hoped they’d reach their destination before the roads became impassable.

The poor fellow was more likely to have to spend the night at Thornbury Manor.

“I fear we might get snowed in,” he said.

“Your poor wife might have to spend Christmas Eve on her own.”

“She won’t be on ’er own,” Argyll said. “We live wi’ me mam an’ dad. Got two little lads, we ’ave. House’ll be full o’ cheer even wi’out me.”

Hardwicke felt even worse now for taking a father of two away from his children on this holy night.

“What made ye take the fare in such weather with the possibility of getting snowed in?” he asked.

“Innkeeper said you promised a handsome fare. Couldn’t very well say no, could I? Not wi’ mouths ter feed.”

“Even if it means missing Christmas Eve with them?”

“They’re nobbut bairns yet. Won’t remember if I were by fire or no. But they’ll ’ave warm bellies an’ boots as fit proper.” He cursed as the carriage lurched into another pothole.

Hardwicke prayed the chaise could weather the storm and that he wouldn’t get stuck in the middle of the road with another broken axle.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” Argyll spoke again, “I might’ve no choice but ter work on Christmas Eve in a storm, but what in blazes is a duke doin’ out in weather like this?”

Hardwicke grunted. “I’ve business to settle.”

Argyll snorted. “Business? In a bleedin’ snowstorm? Only business tonight’s a good pint an’ a warm bed.”

Hardwicke hesitated, then shifted onto the bench nearer the slot. He did not know why, but he longed to tell someone the true reason he was riding into the storm to a house party of a man he despised. “I am here to win my wife back.”

Argyll let out such a bark of laughter that the horses flicked their ears. “Yer wife? Thought ye were off ter claim some land or inheritance, not chasin’ after a lady. By ’eck… ye sure she’s worth all this?”

“Beyond worth it.”

“How’d ye lose ’er then?”

Hardwicke grimaced. “Because I am an idiot.”

Argyll cackled. “Aye, that’d do it. I’m daft enough meself half the time. Lucky me missus still puts up wi’ me. So, what’d ye do ter send yer lady packin’?”

Hardwicke drew his cloak tighter, the chill of memory colder than the storm. “We had an agreement, you see. Once our children married, we would separate and be free to seek… companionship elsewhere.”

Argyll gave a rough harrumph. “Why in God’s name would ye agree ter summat daft like that?”

“Did I mention I was an idiot?” Hardwicke let out a mirthless chuckle.

“Ours was an arranged marriage. Arranged by our parents. We were young, and I wasn’t very clever or perceptive.

I didn’t want to marry her. I was just doing my duty.

So as soon as our son was born—my heir—I purchased a commission and went abroad.

But before I left, I thought myself wise to insist on fidelity…

until a second child was secured. I wanted to make sure that I would not come back to my dear wife carrying a spare who was not of my loins.

Fiona, my wife, was offended, and rightly so.

And when she demanded I hold myself to the same terms, I agreed. ”

Argyll whistled low. “So ye tied knots round both yer necks, eh? That’s how ye ended up livin’ apart?”

“Not exactly,” Hardwicke admitted. “When I returned, we tried for the second child, for that spare that would set us both free.” It wasn't the most pleasant of times.

Fresh from the battlefield, Hardwicke was moody and temperamental.

He also had an ugly bayonet injury across his chest and right shoulder.

He was so ashamed of it that he insisted on making love in the dark, with his nightshirt on.

And aside from their nightly attempts to bring a child into the world, he avoided his wife as much as he could.

“And?” Argyll prompted.

“And the second child turned out to be a girl. My Leslie.” His lips curved despite himself.

He loved both his children equally, but in different ways.

Edward Jr. had a lot of responsibilities as an earl and a future duke, so Hardwicke might have been harder on him, expecting him to excel at everything he did.

He was very proud of him, in everything he’d managed to achieve, of the man he had grown up to be.

And Leslie… well, she was still his little girl.

“She was and still is… perfect. But since she was not a boy, the pact remained. Outwardly, we presented a perfect family. No liaisons, no scandals.”

They were a perfect family. He and his wife continued sharing a bed and later started spending evenings together as a family. They weren’t particularly vulnerable with each other, but they were a great team when it came to running estates and taking care of their children.

His expression soured. And then it all went awry. Failed pregnancies, silent tears. Eventually, they drifted apart. “After years of a cold marriage, I offered my wife one last deal. We could pretend to be a perfect family until our children married. And then we would go our separate ways.”

“Yer idea, that?” the driver asked.

Hardwicke’s eye twitched at the memory. That was the last feather that broke the horse's back. His wife completely withdrew from him, waiting for the time to run out.

“As I said, I was an idiot. Leslie married four months ago, and a day later, Fiona left. I quickly discovered that without her, my life is bleak. She is my morning thought and my night’s ache.

I miss her laugh, her smile—hell, I even miss arguing with her.

” He allowed himself a fond smile at the memories.

“You know she never agreed with me on anything. Used to make me mad. She always had to convince me there was a better way to do things…” A pause.

“And she was always right. It’s too quiet without her.

Too… empty. It feels as if a storm has swept through my life, leaving nothing but cold in its wake.

I miss her. And I am willing to do anything to get her back. ”

Argyll chuckled, shaking his head. “By gum… ye’ve more grit than sense. Ridin’ through a blizzard for summat like that. She must be a hell of a woman.”

Hardwicke’s jaw flexed. “She is.”

The carriage rounded the last bend. Through the blowing snow, a great country house loomed, windows blazing with light and music.

Hardwicke straightened his cravat and set his shoulders. “And tonight, she’ll know she’s still mine.”

The carriage stopped in front of the main entrance to the manor. The footman came to help Hardwicke down.

“It seems the snow is getting worse,” Hardwicke said. “Is there a place for the driver to dine and spend the night?”

The footman looked at the chaise with disgust. “There’s a small shed right behind the winter garden. He and his vehicle can spend the night there.”

“No, that won’t do,” Hardwicke said, his voice hard. “He shall have a place in the servants’ quarters. He has braved the storm in my service. You will see to it he is fed properly, and if he’s not, I will hold you accountable.”

The footman stuttered something under his breath, but Hardwicke had already turned away and strode to Argyll. He pressed coins into the man’s palm—four times the fare. "I will look in on you during supper.”

Argyll stared at the money as though it burned. “By thunder, Yer Grace! That’s a king’s ransom. Thank ye kindly.” He swallowed hard. “I’ll see t’ the ’orses first, then I’ll join the servants’ hall. God bless ye fer this.”

“Merry Christmas,” Hardwicke said, clapping him once on the shoulder before striding into the blaze of Thornbury’s house, heart thundering with resolve.