Page 4 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
Lennox spoke, startling Silas. “For someone who claims to be against supernatural guests, barring visitors from entering your residence seems a sufficient yet slightly cruel method to go about causing that result.”
“Your eye looks horrific,” Silas said, twisting his head to the right. “I hope it doesn’t frighten the ladies.”
He jerked the door open before Lennox countered and stepped aside, hiding the grimace that accompanied the revelation of the identity of the ladies—neither of whom possessed the dark brown hair he hoped to find, and bowed.
“Mrs. and Miss Wilmington,” he said, forcing a grand smile. “Welcome to my home.”
“Your Grace,”—Mrs. Wilmington offered a stiff curtsey—“we were honored to receive an invitation.”
“After holding your daughter on suspicion of murder at the Venning’s ball, inclusion in this week’s celebration seemed the proper step toward making amends.” Silas shifted his attention to Miss Wilmington. “I do hope you accept our apologies.”
“Your Graces,” Miss Wilmington curtsied, her unusual violet eyes sliding between Silas and Lennox. “Thank you for your concern. However, I was not offended. I appreciate the logical manner in which the situation was handled.”
“I wish others shared that sentiment.” Silas exchanged a glance with Lennox.
Another detainee, Mrs. Creasey, penned her vehement refusal, stating that until a social event was hosted without a death, neither she nor her daughter would attend another function.
Silas supposed the threat was meant to encourage him to beg for their presence, but he didn’t consider the loss of either lady to be a detriment.
Therefore, he set the missive aside without sending a reply.
Footsteps crunched outside, causing the ladies to spin around. They parted, revealing a scowling Mr. Aylett, balancing two trunks, one on each shoulder, his steel-gray hair dusted with fresh snow.
Silas’ mouth twitched. “While we await the remaining guests, you may retire to your chamber where you can rest and prepare for tonight’s banquet.”
Exhaling a heavy sigh, Mrs. Wilmington favored him with a smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. As you know, the journey from town is quite wearisome for someone of my age.”
“You cannot convince me that you have more than thirty-six years,” Silas replied, lifting her hand to his lips.
Mrs. Wilmington beamed.
“If you would follow me.” Mr. Aylett bumped the door closed with his hip, adjusted his grip on the chests’ handles, then trudged across the foyer.
As Mr. Aylett and the Wilmingtons disappeared up the staircase, Lennox leaned over. “Neither lady mentioned my injury. You claimed I looked horrific.”
“You do.”
Another knock sounded at the door. Silas’ heart skipped. Then, he growled.
“No one forced this event upon you.” Lennox reached around Silas and depressed the handle. “You volunteered for the madness.”
He didn’t correct Lennox, preferring the misconception over the realization that, in the past few weeks, Silas’ interest in Miss Fernsby-Webb had shifted from platonic to possessive.
“Your Grace?” Paling, Mr. Venning froze in a half-bow as the door swung open to expose Lennox’s discolored face. “I thought you’d recovered from the encounter with my nephew.”
Touching his fingers to the edge of the bruise, Lennox winced. “A different man caused this injury. However, the incident did concern the same woman.”
Leaning forward, Mr. Venning’s daughter combed a lock of thinning white hair behind her father’s ear and murmured, “The Duke of Lennox is referring to his fiancée, Miss Braddock. You met her at our ball.”
“I may not be as clever as I once was, Arabella,” Mr. Venning said, turning toward her, “but I can still retain memories from the past fortnight.”
She flushed bright red and dropped her gaze. “Of course, Papa.”
Silas gestured toward the parlor. “Mr. Aylett will retrieve your trunks and escort you to your chambers in a few moments. I’ve had some libations prepared, if you’d like a cup of punch while you attend him.”
Mr. Venning removed his greatcoat and hung the snow-saturated article on one of four hand-carved wooden coatracks stationed near the entrance. “Do you have anything stronger than punch?”
“I can provide you with anything you desire.” Silas grinned, closing the door.
“A husband for my daughter?” Mr. Venning raised two bushy eyebrows.
“Papa!” Miss Venning hissed, the blush returning to her face.
Three sharp raps sounded, and Miss Venning, standing the closest to the entrance, turned and opened the door.
“Your Grace?” The clipped words zipped into the foyer.
“No.” Miss Venning shook her head and stepped backward. “I’m not married.”
A woman, garbed head to toe in black, entered. “I’m seeking the Duke of Beaufort.”
“I am he.” Silas moved around Miss Venning. “What business do you have with me…”
“Mrs. Upton.” She offered a brief curtsy. “And I’m delivering something that belongs to you.”
“Are you certain it’s mine?” he asked, a faint wrinkle carving its way across his forehead.
“Quite.” Mrs. Upton stuck her arm out to the side, then jerked, yanking a small girl with mousy brown hair into the house. “I’d like to present Miss Juliette Ridlington… your daughter.”
A chill slithered down Silas’ spine, the name jarring faded memories. Had he sired a child without his knowledge?
“I think,” Lennox said, placing a hand on Mr. Venning’s shoulder, “that we should leave Beaufort to deal with this issue. Can I tempt you with a whiskey?”
“You most certainly could,” Mr. Venning offered his elbow to his daughter and followed Lennox. “Arabella can treat your eye while we wait for Mr. Aylett.”
The Duke of Warwick’s amused voice flowed out of the parlor when the trio entered the room. “Who struck you this time?”
“Come with me.” Silas crooked his finger and led Mrs. Upton and the waif-like child down the corridor to his office.
Once they’d entered, he closed the door behind them and gestured to two extra-large plush chairs near the fireplace. Mrs. Upton took the seat to the left, but the girl hovered beside the armrest, hiding herself between Mrs. Upton and the fireplace.
“Thank you for seeing us, Your Grace,” Mrs. Upton said, pulling her gloves from her fingers, “I know you’re a busy man.”
He inclined his head, indicating she should continue.
“I’m currently employed by Mr. Spencer Hill and have been with the family for nearly two decades.” Her gaze on Silas, she pulled open the top of her reticule. “Ten years ago, a young lady took the position of governess; we didn’t know at the time we hired her that she was with child.”
Mrs. Upton stuck her hand into the purse, rummaged around, and withdrew a crumpled letter.
“By the time Miss Ridlington’s condition became evident, the Hills’ children had taken quite strongly to her. They couldn’t send her away.” Mrs. Upton leveled her gaze at Silas. “Miss Ridlington apologized, explaining war had claimed the baby’s father and desperation drove her to take the job.”
Holding out the letter, Mrs. Upton licked her lips. “Miss Ridlington passed away last month. We didn’t discover that she’d lied about her past until this morning when Mr. Hill uncovered a missive in her hand, stating you were the father of Miss Juliette.”
Silas’ hand refused to take the paper. “There’s nothing that could be written to prove this child is mine.”
There may be one thing…
“Please, Your Grace.” Mrs. Upton slid from the chair and dropped to her knees. “If you don’t take Miss Juliette, the Hills will send her to a workhouse.”
“Why?” Silas’ eyes flicked to the child.
“After discovering the extent of Miss Ridlington’s falsehoods, Mrs. Hill demanded the immediate removal of Miss Juliette.” Clasping her hands together, Mrs. Upton crawled on her knees toward Silas. “I’m to return without her.”
“Then I suggest you do as your employer requested.” The words carved up his mouth.
Pressing her lips together, Mrs. Upton nodded, rose, and brushed off her skirt. She dug her fingers into Juliette’s thin shoulder and steered the girl toward the exit.
“I apologize for taking up your time,” Mrs. Upton said, depositing the letter on Silas’ desk as she passed.
“But he didn’t read it,” Juliette whispered.
Mrs. Upton shushed her. “His Grace is an extremely busy man. We should be grateful he agreed to see us.”
Juliette tugged free of Mrs. Upton and spun around, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She said you were her savior.”
“Pardon?” Silas’ chest constricted.
“In the letter,”—Juliette stepped forward, her fingers folded into a jumbled knot—“why would Mother write that?”
“I don’t know.”
Except, he did. Because he’d rescued a Miss Ridlington from a runaway coach ten years ago, and she’d repaid his kindness with six blissful weeks of adoration, until she vanished.
“Come.” Mrs. Upton grabbed Juliette and yanked the girl out of the study.
Silas crossed his study and peered around the doorframe, his gaze zeroing in on the braids hanging down Juliette’s back, the same shade he recalled winding around his fingers ten years prior.
Was this child his?
“Mother said?—”
Mrs. Upton cut off Juliette with a sharp slap. “Your mother was a liar who took advantage of her employers’ kindness, my kindness, and attempted to foist you on an unsuspecting gentleman.”
Juliette howled, drawing Lennox, Mr. and Miss Venning, and, after a minute, Warwick to the doorway of the parlor. Varying levels of confusion colored their faces as their heads oscillated between Silas, Mrs. Upton, and the crying child.
Before anyone reacted, Juliette stomped her heel on Mrs. Upton’s foot, pulled free, and raced down the corridor toward Silas.
She flung herself at him, wrapped her arms around his legs, and sobbed, “Please don’t send me away, Father.”