Page 24

T he summons came in the early morning, well before most of the house was awake. But Zoe was an early riser as was her father, and so his valet passed the message to her maid who brought her chocolate in the morning.

Would Lady Zoe please visit her father as soon as she was dressed?

Zoe didn’t need the message. She’d heard her father’s hacking cough throughout the night. Their bedrooms were separated by a thin wall, and so she had started awake every time he’d wheezed.

“Good morning, Papa,” she said as she breezed into his bedroom. It was as lovely a morning as could come in London, so she threw open the curtains to let the light in. Then she steeled herself to look at the figure on the bed while she forced her smile to its absolute brightest.

There was her father, looking as small and frail as it was possible to appear and yet still be alive. His chest was sunken, his thin whiskers poked through gray skin, but his eyes were bright. Or so it seemed through the sheen of her tears.

She was the youngest of his children, born when he was well past fifty.

Everyone had thought Mama past childbearing age, and yet out Zoe came, a tiny, bawling girl too fierce to die.

That was what her father had said. She’d been too fierce to pass on for all that she was small enough to fit in his one hand.

Her brothers were already at school and her mother remained frail after the birth.

Zoe grew strong, thanks to a wetnurse, a loving governess, and her father’s attention at the stable.

He adored a morning ride, so she did, too.

He loved horse racing, so she did, too. And because their stable was modest, she could learn the running of it when she was barely old enough to read.

Her father had never been one to study the science of horse breeding, but he praised her when she did.

He also had never learned the details of doctoring the creatures, but he listened attentively when she explained it.

He indulged her when she begged to learn about poultices from the local witch woman.

He overruled her mother when it was thought that no girl should go to the horse market.

And when he grew sick three winters ago, she’d sat by his bed and read him the racing news.

They discussed it as passionately as Mama spoke about fashion.

At the time, she’d thought it merely a winter illness, and perhaps it was.

But he’d had several of those sicknesses over the last three years, each attacking his lungs, each leaving him weaker than before.

His hands shook now. He sat up to sleep to ease his breathing.

And the smell that filled his bedroom grew a little worse every day.

It was why Mama slept in a bedroom down the hall.

“You’re looking well this morning, Papa,” she lied. “Do you come dancing with me tonight?”

Her father snorted, or he tried to. It ended as usual in a cough that left blood on his handkerchief. He folded it away so she wouldn’t see it, but she knew it was there nonetheless. Even more so because when he collapsed backwards against the bed, his gaze was sad and a little afraid.

Strange to think that two days ago, they had opened up her ball together.

She didn’t know if he’d seen the tears in her eyes then.

If so, he’d probably thought it was because she was finally out in society.

The truth was, she knew it was likely the last time they would dance together.

The last time she would feel her hand in his and his arm about her waist.

He had taken to his bed that night and not risen since. But maybe he would rally again as he had all those other times. Maybe the potion for lung strength ordered from My Lady’s Apothecary would help him soon. And maybe he wouldn’t live through another winter.

He tapped the side of the bed, and she didn’t want to see the spots on his hands or the thin, knobby shape of his knuckles. His riding gloves would be loose now.

She smiled even more brightly and settled on the side of his bed. She was careful not to jostle him, but a little movement was inevitable.

“Do you want more tea?” she asked as she reached for his teacup. It would be cold now, but maybe—

He shook his head. It took him a moment to pull in a breath, and when he spoke, it was with a semblance of his former strength. “Will the duke propose?”

She winced. “I don’t know. I’m trying.”

“Is there anyone else?”

She and Mama had gone over the list of eligible bachelors several times. “A few.”

“Do you want them?”

No. None had decent stables. None could talk horses at a credible level, though the duke failed in that as well.

“You marry the man,” he said. “Not their horses.”

Clearly, he knew her very well. She shrugged. “Maybe not this Season—”

He gripped her hand. His was cold and skeletal, but she cherished it for the memory of all the times she’d been surrounded by his warmth. “I want you settled—” he rasped.

“I can be settled in a year or two. There’s plenty of money to keep me and Mama. Even if Gregory gives me nothing—which you know won’t happen—we can live happily off of Mama’s money.”

“Your dowry is set. And Gregory will do right by you.”

“Exactly. And you’re going to get better…”

She might as well not have spoken because a coughing fit covered her words.

She jumped to her feet and brought his cold tea forward.

She looked for the medicine from the apothecary, but she didn’t see it anywhere.

Then she waited in agonizing silence as he continued to hack and hack.

The handkerchief when he drew it away from his mouth was dark red with blood and his hand shook as he tried to take the tea from her.

She helped him drink. She helped him resettle on the bed. And inside, she cursed and screamed. Two days ago, he’d danced with her. Today, he couldn’t get out of bed.

“You pressed too hard at my ball.”

“I wanted to see my girl. The belle of the ball.” His expression darkened. “Until your cousin.”

“It wasn’t Kynthea’s fault. People trip. The duke’s spat—”

He waved her comments away. “It was your night.”

“And I loved every second of it.” She smiled into his eyes. “I loved that you stayed up for me. And you loved the deviled kidneys.” She’d made sure they were served at the midnight buffet just for him. He’d eaten them from the seat she’d had set for him at the head of the ballroom.

“A father watches over his daughter,” he wheezed. Then his eyes grew moist. “I want to walk you down the aisle.”

“Of course, you will!”

He shook his head. “It must be soon.”

Her throat tightened. “You must take your medicine. You must rest more.” She lifted his near hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Papa, I want you there, too. I want you to give me away.”

With his free hand, he patted the top of her head. Then when she straightened, he cupped her cheek. It was a gesture he’d done since her earliest memory. He tapped her head, then cupped her cheek.

“My girl,” he said.

“My papa,” she returned.

They said the last part together. “Get the racing forms.”

Then they laughed. The paper was on the table beside his bed, and she grabbed them. She looked them over with him. She discussed the strength and lineage of each contender. And she kept talking even when he closed his eyes and drifted off into a light sleep.

He’d get better soon, she told herself. This was no different than any other time he’d over-exerted.

He needed better air. London was no place for him with the coal ash everywhere.

He needed to go back to the country, but he would never leave while she was husband hunting.

He wanted to be here to negotiate the marriage contract.

Which meant she had to get the duke to propose today.

A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door. She looked up to see her mother step quietly inside. Her nose wrinkled at the scent. Everyone’s did. She pressed a lavender scented handkerchief to her nose as her expression turned exquisitely sad.

According to Zoe’s governess, her parents’ marriage hadn’t been a love match, but affection had grown between them. And now Zoe could see her mother’s heart breaking.

“We need to get him out of London,” Zoe whispered.

Her mother shook her head. “Not until you’re engaged.” Then she gestured for Zoe to come out of the room. She did, nodding as a maid went in to sit beside the bed. Her father was never left alone anymore.

“The duke will be here in an hour to take you to his country estate.”

Zoe glanced at the clock and mentally calculated what she needed to do before he arrived. “I’ll be ready.”

“Are you sure you want Kynthea to go? I can insist she stay here.”

“No, no, I need her to help me.”

“With the love potion? You have it, don’t you? The newest mixture?”

“In my pocket,” Zoe said as she touched the small bottle where it lay heavy against her thigh.

It had been her mother’s suggestion months ago that as soon as she picked a man, she should use a love potion to ensnare him.

Zoe had thought it was a joke at first, but when they both decided the duke would be the best option, her mother had repeated the idea of a love potion.

Her friend’s daughter had gotten an earl that way, or so she said.

That was how the thing had begun, and now it was a touchstone in which they invested all their hopes and dreams. Zoe wasn’t an idiot.

She knew this was a ridiculous idea, but she couldn’t stop herself from smoothing her fingers up and down the vial.

Especially since it was her best hope for catching the duke.

Certainly, she knew how to dress pretty. She had a maid who was a great help at that. So long as she smiled and wasn’t obnoxious, her dowry attracted all the gentlemen she could possibly want.

Except for the one she did want.

The duke didn’t need her money, didn’t seem to care about her looks, and was never more than polite to her.

She’d tried everything she could think of to bring him up to scratch.

She’d flirted, he’d seemed bored. She’d flashed her cleavage, he’d looked vaguely appalled.

She’d asked about his interests and had listened as best she could to his fondness for a well-run society, by which he meant well-paid workers who were happy and not rebellious.

He also enjoyed the engineering behind canals as it pertained to trade routes.

Why couldn’t he just like horses? Or even dogs? Half of what she knew about horse breeding came from studying dog breeds.

Which was to say that the man was not interested in her.

She knew it down to her bones. Fortunately, a duke’s marriage had little to do with interest and everything to do with outside influences.

The Crown had already approved their union.

If that didn’t sway the man, then she had to use alchemy—the love potion.

And if that failed, well, her mother had one more plan.

“I’ve packed a bag for you,” her mother said. “Clean underthings. Your first time can be…well, it can be bad, but clean clothes will help. And Kynthea will be there. She knows what to give you for pain.”

Her mother wanted her to ruin herself with the duke. If that happened, then it would be easy to force his hand.

“We’re not supposed to spend the night,” Zoe began. “It’ll look odd to have brought a bag.”

“Say it’s for the horses. You’re always mixing things for them.”

True.

“Are you sure you don’t want me instead of Kynthea? If the ton has already labeled her a hussy, I’m not sure her word—”

“The duke is an honorable man. If we… If he…” She swallowed. She’d seen horses mate, and it was not a tender process. She was terrified of what it would be like for her. “He’ll do the right thing.”

“Of course, he will.” Her mother bit her lip. “But maybe if I—”

“I won’t be able to do it if you’re there.” The idea of seducing the duke while her mother paced in the next room horrified her. It would be hard enough with Kynthea nearby, but at least her cousin wouldn’t make a huge dramatic scene after it was done. “Let me do this my way. Please.”

Her mother nodded. “Just so it gets done.”

“It will,” she said as she looked back at her father’s bedroom. “For Papa’s sake, the duke and I will be married as soon as the banns can be read.”