Page 1 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
WINIFRED
W inifred swore she would never step inside her mother’s residence again… three days later, she broke that vow.
Peering through the coach’s frosty window, Winifred addressed her sister. “You didn’t need to accompany me. I’m perfectly capable of retrieving a portrait from Miss Braddock’s home without assistance.”
“Nonsense,” Nora said, leaning around Winifred and wiping a gloved hand across the glass. “I don’t mind the cold, and with everyone absconding to the Duke of Beaufort’s house to prepare for the engagement celebration, I much prefer this lark to solitude.”
Everyone, meaning the Duke of Roxburghe.
Winifred pressed her lips together, hiding a smile, and glanced over. “Are you admitting the only opportunity I’m afforded to spend an afternoon with my sister depends upon the absence of her fiancé?”
“No!” A flash of scarlet whipped across Nora’s cheeks. “I would never turn you away.”
“I’m jesting,” Winifred replied, regretting her words.
After Winifred’s arrest last year, Nora fought to prove the charges false, enlisting the aid of the Duke of Roxburghe through a scandalous wager that ended in Nora’s engagement to the nobleman and Winifred’s freedom.
The coach slowed, then stopped at the fence line separating Miss Braddock’s rented property from their mother’s residence.
Without waiting for the driver’s assistance, Winifred opened the door and leaped from the cabin. She landed on the slick pavement, her shoes sliding on the ice. Waving her arms in wide circles, Winifred struggled to remain upright.
She failed.
Tumbling backward, she fell onto a filthy pile of rags abandoned beside the street.
“Ow!” The bundle of cloth shifted, pushed Winifred onto the ground, and rose onto its knees, revealing a gaunt, dirt-stained face.
Winifred’s eyes bulged. “Mother?”
“Winifred?” Mrs. Webb latched a skeletal hand onto Winifred’s fur-lined sleeve and dragged her daughter closer. “Have you come to assist me?”
“Help you?” Nora slammed the coach door, spun, and advanced on her stepmother. “After you falsely accused Winifred of theft and had her imprisoned?”
Tightening her grip on Winifred’s pelisse, their mother turned toward Nora and held out her free hand. “I made an error in judgment. Please forgive me.”
Nora’s eyes flicked down, and she folded her arms into her chest, taking one step away from her stepmother.
“I will never,” Nora whispered. “You are solely responsible for the tragedies that befell this family. You introduced Mr. Hollingsworth to Winifred. You encouraged the relationship. You paid him to seduce her, and then, when he refused to continue the ruse, you accused them of theft and had both arrested.”
Jerking Winifred from their mother’s grip, Nora placed her body between them, creating a formidable barricade of flesh. “As our mother, your role was to protect us from men like Mr. Hollingsworth, not arrange afternoon tea with them.”
Their mother tugged at a loose thread hanging from her tattered shawl. “Everything I did was to ensure your future happiness.”
Winifred reacted quicker than her sister, wrapping her arms around Nora’s waist and holding her in place.
“You swore,” Nora seethed, chest heaving, “that you wouldn’t present the evidence to free Winifred until my wedding day. How does that encourage happiness in either of us?”
Their mother recoiled. “My methods may have been unconventional, but the result was your engagement… to a duke, no less.”
“A connection that will offer you no benefit.” Dismissing her stepmother, Nora turned, her gaze finding Winifred. “Let us complete the task and be on our way.”
Winifred nodded once, looped her arm through Nora’s, and they strolled down the sidewalk, neither of them looking back.
“I’m destitute.” Their mother’s quiet admission caused them to pause. “Have you no compassion?”
Nora glanced over her shoulder. “That’s a lesson our mother neglected to instill in us.”
A strangled cry erupted from Mrs. Webb as Nora twisted away. Without another word, she half-dragged Winifred toward Miss Braddock’s rented home.
“Shouldn’t we help her?” Winifred asked, lowering her voice as Nora dug a metal key from her reticule.
“She hasn’t earned our forgiveness,” Nora said, turning right and striding into the snow-covered gardens of the neighboring house. “Don’t forget, Amelia’s greatest skill is deceit. Do you truly believe she is as impoverished as she claims?”
Winifred didn’t reply, her mind whirling around Nora’s question.
Have I been duped by Mother again?
“Where,”—Nora unlocked and pushed open the front door—“do you believe we’ll find your father’s portrait miniature?”
Her voice echoed in the deserted foyer as a gust of freezing wind whipped around them, disturbing long white linens blanketing hidden pieces of furniture.
Winifred wrestled the door closed, cutting off the icy blast. “I suspect I dropped the painting in my chamber when I was packing my trunk last week. I should have verified that I had the miniature before Miss Braddock left with her brother for the Duke of Beaufort’s residence, but I didn’t think to look for the portrait until this morning. ”
“We’re fortunate that she remembered to retrieve the key from her housekeeper before releasing the woman from service; otherwise, the key wouldn’t have been in Miss Braddock’s trunk.
” Nora pulled her pelisse tighter around her shoulders and shivered.
“And since Miss Braddock’s brother refuses to leave her side until she is wed, our presence won’t disturb anyone. ”
“You could ease her brother’s overbearing tendencies,” Winifred said, setting her hand on the banister as she climbed the staircase.
“Me?” Nora gestured to herself. “How would I influence his decision?”
“You could give Miss Braddock your wedding date.”
Nora snorted. “Even if I were that generous, the Duke of Roxburghe wouldn’t allow the change. He refused the Duke of Lennox’s query thrice and swore a trouncing would follow the next request.”
Chewing her lower lip, Winifred paused on the second-floor landing, her gaze sliding to her sister.
“You should invite Mother to the wedding.” The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.
Nora’s mouth popped open. “Have you so quickly forgotten Amelia’s abhorrent behavior?”
“N—”
“She paid to have you whipped!” Nora’s hands balled into trembling fists.
“And she’s suffering for that decision.” Winifred strode toward the chamber she had previously occupied and opened the door.
Nora didn’t follow.
Winifred twisted around, crossed the corridor, and took Nora’s hands, unclenching them. “I’m not suggesting that we forgive her or forget the horrible manner in which she raised us. But if we react in kind, we are no better.”
“If her destiny is poverty, I wouldn’t prevent it.” Nora pulled free. “I might even encourage it.”
“Even if it meant losing my father’s house to a debt collector?” Winifred asked, her voice cracking.
The hard mask fell from Nora’s face, and she yanked Winifred into a crushing embrace. “We won’t allow that to occur.”
Winifred pulled away. “You cannot commit the Duke of Roxburghe to such a sizable purchase, and I forbid you from asking him.”
“You forbid me?” Nora’s eyebrows hovered near her hairline.
“Please, for once, don’t take my request as a challenge.”
“He was my father, too...” Sighing, Nora inclined her head. “For the moment, I will say nothing, but if the situation becomes dire, you must allow me to speak with the Duke of Roxburghe.”
“Agreed.”
Winifred opened the bedchamber door and strode into the room.
She turned in a full circle, inspecting the linen-covered armoire, dressing table, cold fireplace, and the bed, which seemed the portrait miniature’s most likely hiding place.
Kneeling, she set her reticule on the rug, lifted up the comforter, and peered beneath the bed frame.
Shining through the window beside the fireplace, the afternoon sunlight crept along the floorboards beneath the mattress and highlighted an edge of the painting’s brass frame. Winifred crawled into the tiny space and stretched out her arm, her fingers brushing against the cool metal.
“Did you find the portrait?” Nora’s muffled question caused Winifred to start, and she struck her head on the underside of the bed.
“No.” She shouldn’t have lied, but she couldn’t think of another solution that would occupy Nora long enough to sneak next door and speak with their mother privately.
After stuffing the tiny painting into her bodice, Winifred inched backward on her elbows. When she emerged, Nora laughed, leaned over, and plucked several large, fluffy pieces of dust from Winifred’s hair.
“Do I look frightful?” Winifred asked, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead.
“Worse than after Amelia locked you on the attic floor for three days.” Nora helped Winifred to her feet.
A shudder rolled down Winifred’s spine. “Without Father’s old clothing to keep me warm, I would have frozen to death long before she released me.”
And yet, I still possess this unexplainable desire to help her.
Winifred moved to the armoire, picked up the edge of the white sheet, and ducked beneath the material, hiding her face from Nora, who could read Winifred’s emotions with a glance.
“Do you believe Mother feels remorse?” Winifred asked, opening the carved wooden door and pretending to search the shelves.
“I do not.” The scrape of the dressing-table drawer accompanied Nora’s response. “She takes no responsibility for her current situation.”
Winifred pulled the sheet aside and peered through the small space between the material and the armoire at her sister’s hunched form. “We didn’t allow her opportunity to state otherwise.”
Shoving the drawer closed with her hip, Nora’s narrowed gaze jumped to Winifred. “And how would you know Amelia’s words were not another fabrication meant to manipulate?”
“Did you notice Mother’s ruined clothing?”
Nora shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time she donned a costume and played the role of actress.”