Page 26 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

Rhett had woken early and was too restless to stay in the house. He’d poked his head into his brother’s room and had been comforted by Peter’s soft snore. The blankets had been tossed aside, so clearly his brother had not slipped back into his comatose state. Rhett’s sisters were likewise asleep, so he snuck out of the house and saddled a horse.

He’d been to see Mrs. Patterson to make sure that she had what she needed for her new paint job. He’d also checked in with the estate gardener to confirm plans for Mr. Jones’s new hedge. Rhett wanted to feel confident that in the inevitable flurry of activity that would occur the moment Peter could sit at his desk, the agreements that Rhett had reached would be fulfilled.

He’d also stopped past the bakery, hoping to erase the emptiness inside him with coffee and pastry, but no amount of pains au chocolat could fill the void. Not here. Not where he’d shared it with her. He would need to go to Paris to find satisfaction. Or to Germany for its apfelstrudel.

He was swirling the dregs of his coffee when he was confronted by three older, angry men and two younger ones, who’d clearly been dragged in by their ears.

“My son will never marry a Smith.” Hack and spit.

Benjie’s ears had flamed red, and he’d tried to interject before the other father pushed forward, dragging his son with him.

“Julia Smith is betrothed to Gabriel. What kind of man steals another man’s bride?”

What kind of man, indeed? “Samson, I presume,” Rhett said, remembering his conversation with Gregory at the pub the day after everything had gone to hell. He rubbed his temples to ease the pressure building there. “Do you love her?” he asked Gabriel.

“She’s all right, I s’pose.”

“All right?” Benjie’s outrage was unmistakable. “She is the sun. She is the moon. She is everything that is good and fair on this earth.”

“She is a Smith.”

“She is already spoken for.”

“She is rather talkative,” Gabriel muttered.

“Is there a contract in place?” Rhett asked. All five men nodded. Rhett took a deep breath, common sense warring with emotion within him. Common sense won. It had to. Look where emotion had led him. He clapped a hand on Benjie’s shoulder. “We must play the cards we’re dealt. Another woman will come along. Many, if you play the game right. This one is not for you.”

The entire way home, he felt ill. Benjies’s outrage had sparked a roiling guilt in his belly, but what other advice could Rhett have given? The girl belonged to another, neither of their families supported the match, and love just wasn’t enough. Not in this world.

Rhett kicked his boots against the doorframe to dislodge the snow, then handed his coat and hat to Daunt. “How is my brother?”

“Remarkably spry for a man who verged on death yesterday morning.”

“Good. That’s good.” He was relieved his brother had survived. Had he passed, Rhett’s grief would have been long and deep. But strangely, it wasn’t a relief that he no longer had to fill his brother’s shoes. The idea had been horrific at first, but he’d warmed to it. He’d come to relish the opportunity to show the world his substance. He would’ve been a good duke. He would’ve been a great head of the family. Now everybody would go back to seeing him as he was prior to his brother’s accident.

“Please tell the family I will be upstairs shortly.”

He’d come home the night before and desperately needed something to take his mind off of Della. So, instead of dwelling on how damn much he hurt, he’d prepared notes regarding the proposed law to transfer responsibility of infrastructure and poor relief to local counties. Over the course of his travels, he’d witnessed the best and worst of local and national governments, and, in his opinion, local governments did a better job of meeting the needs of their constituents than federal ones did.

Rhett pulled his notes from his coat pocket. He was half tempted to chuck them into the fire. What a waste of time that had been. But perhaps it would be useful to Peter as he regained his bearings. Perhaps it would show Peter there was more to Rhett than alcohol, women, and a good time. He had thoughts, and they were worth something.

He would leave them on Peter’s desk. His brother could read them or not as he saw fit. Rhett pushed through the door and immediately sensed the difference in the room. The air no longer felt oppressive. The walls no longer leaned in.

Peter was in the armchair behind his desk, slouched backward, eyes closed.

Terror tore through Rhett’s body. “Brother, are you all right?” He rushed to Peter’s side, crouching down to be face-to-face with him. “Brother?”

Peter opened his eyes. At first, they were dazed and unfocused, and Rhett worried his brother was slipping back into illness. But then they sharpened, catching Rhett in a piercing stare, a stare that might have made Rhett quake in his boots five years ago but that had less impact now.

“You should be in bed,” Rhett said.

Peter raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t used to anybody telling him what to do, especially Rhett. “I’ve had enough time in bed over the past week, don’t you think?”

“Has the doctor cleared you to be up and moving?”

“The doctor wasn’t given a say in it.”

“Then, no, I don’t think you’ve had enough time in bed. Come on, let’s go.” Rhett dumped the notes he was holding on his brother’s desk and took Peter by the elbow, urging him upward. As much as they might be of similar size, Peter had been weakened by his ordeal. In a physical battle of wills today, Rhett would win.

“Please,” Peter said as he resisted Rhett’s tug. It was the first time in memory that Rhett could recall his brother begging for anything. “I’m going to lose my mind if I have to spend one more minute with them.”

“The girls?” Rhett asked, letting him go.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Their obsession with this wedding borders on hysteria. I cannot handle another moment of flowers or fabric or breakfast menus.”

Rhett swallowed. “So, you’re going through with it, then?”

“The archbishop is on his way. Andrew sent for him the moment he thought I would not wake. I’ll marry the chit as soon as he arrives. There’s no point stringing it out.”

A knot formed in Rhett’s throat that words could barely squeeze past. “Congratulations, brother.”

Peter didn’t pick up on Rhett’s hesitation. “Thank you.”

“I should leave you to your rest.” He should leave, period. The south of France was nice this time of year. Plenty of things there to distract himself with.

Peter shook his head. “Don’t. Sit with me for a while. We need to talk.” This time, he actually reached for Rhett’s arm, welcoming the steady support as they walked over to the armchairs by the roaring fire.

Once he’d seen to his brother’s comfort, Rhett took a seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs, waiting for the lecture. “If this is about those sketches…”

Peter frowned. “What sketches?”

“Never mind.” If Peter couldn’t remember having to round up naked pictures of his younger brother, Rhett would not remind him.

“I need to thank you.”

“ Thank me?”

“Andrew has given me a report of the last few days. You stepped into my shoes and kept the estate functioning. You were a pillar of support for your sisters, and that is not easy. He said you even read through the proposed bills that will sit before parliament next year.”

Rhett had been prepared for a thorough dressing-down and more threats of military service, not approval. “My notes about them are on your desk.”

“I would like to read them.”

“You would?”

Peter frowned. “Of course I would. I’m keen to hear your perspective on these things. I’ve never heard you comment on politics with anything more than an off-color joke.”

Peter wasn’t to blame for that. Rhett had never previously ventured an opinion. What would have been the point? He wasn’t his brother. His thoughts had had no value. At least, that was what he had told himself. Maybe, possibly, he’d been wrong.

Rhett brought the papers to Peter and sat anxiously tapping his foot against the coffee table, trying to read his brother’s inscrutable expression. At one point, Peter looked up with a frown, and Rhett stilled for a whole fifteen seconds.

When he’d reached the end of the pages, Peter folded them and dropped them onto the table between them. “That statement was carefully considered and well executed.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d like to know what else you have to say. What are your thoughts on the Housing of the Working Classes Act?”

And so began the oddest conversation Rhett had ever had with his brother. They talked for hours on every conceivable matter that could affect the lives of the people who lived on the duke’s estates—from new farming innovations, to taxes, to women’s rights, to Britain’s foreign policy. They did not necessarily always agree, but they found common ground in most places and new insight where they differed. Peter might have more political experience, but it became increasingly clear that Rhett had more lived experience—and that was, in and of itself, valuable.

When the conversation reached a natural lull, Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “You still need employment.”

Rhett sighed and slumped down in his chair. “I know.” He could not go back to gallivanting around the world with no purpose. “There just has to be something I’m more suited to than the military, and it can’t be the clergy.”

“I think there is an alternative,” Peter said. “It would take some wrangling, but the prime minister owes me a few favors.”

Rhett perked up. He would take any alternative to the paths he’d been shoved toward his entire life.

“Everett, you speak more languages than anyone I know; you’ve keen political insight and a natural way with people that I could only dream of. You made Mrs. Patterson and Mr. Jones cease arguing in less than a week when I’ve been trying to negotiate a ceasefire between them for years. You can see all sides of a situation and find middle ground. You would make an exceptional foreign diplomat.”

Rhett’s jaw dropped. “A diplomat?”

“Think on it,” Peter said. “But it would suit you.”

Work as a foreign diplomat would still allow him to travel, but his time would be spent doing something meaningful, and it would get him out of England, away from Della. “I don’t need to think on it. Sign me up.”

It was snowing when Adelaide walked from the cottage to Strafford Abbey. She shook her head every few minutes to dislodge the snowdrifts forming on the hood of her coat, causing it to sink down over her eyes. Her shoulders were likewise dusted, and not even two pairs of stockings could stop her toes from freezing. The rest of her burned hot, and not because of the vigorous walk. Her heart thrummed at the thought of what she needed to do today—admit the truth to the duke and ask for his forgiveness.

Then she needed to talk to Rhett.

She should have done it last night. She’d had every opportunity. And perhaps if she had, he wouldn’t have left looking so stricken. But if Rhett had chosen not to forgive her, she might well have been turned away this morning. Then the entire debacle would have been for naught. She needed to talk to the duke first and fulfill her bargain with Cordelia. Only once that was done could she go to Rhett and explain, lay herself bare, and wait for his decision.

“Good morning, Daunt.”

Daunt bowed, and it sat uneasily the way it always had. “The family is in the breakfast room, my lady.”

Thank God. With Rhett and the girls distracted by food, she could have the conversation she needed without risk of interruption.

“I shan’t go in. I was hoping to see His Grace privately.”

“Of course.” Daunt took her coat and gloves. As she walked toward the stairs that led to the family quarters, he cleared his throat, and she turned. “His Grace is no longer taking visitors in his bedroom.”

Embarrassment touched her cheeks. “Of course. That’s entirely appropriate. Pardon.”

Daunt escorted her to a sitting room. In all the time she’d spent in the house, she’d never visited it. The Christmas tree was planted in the dead center of the room with the chaise longues and armchairs arranged in a semicircle around it. Damn, moving that must have been difficult.

“The footmen had a difficult time,” Daunt said, noticing her reaction. “But His Grace was insistent that the Christmas festivities be moved out of his quarters.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t take the decorations off first and then redecorate.” She touched the Paris ornament. It was the only thing out of place. Someone had moved it from Adelaide’s branch of the tree to Rhett’s.

Daunt bowed. “I will let His Grace know you are here.”

Too nervous to sit, Adelaide wandered around the room. It had a distinctly feminine touch, unlike the parts of the house she was accustomed to. She wondered who had decorated it. Rhett’s mother, perhaps?

The room had large double bay windows that opened out on a garden. Despite the roses having been pruned to bare stalks, there was still color as crocuses broke through the snow. Seeing the burst of purple in the winter tundra made her smile. Mrs. Patterson, as disagreeable as she might have been with her neighbors, had a good point. Color during this season could lift the mood, even her mood—a kaleidoscope of regret, longing, and apprehension.

“I would have thought you’d be halfway to the continent by now.” Frank’s voice was slimy and made the hairs on the back of Della’s neck rise to attention. “Or are you here to salvage what you can of your schemes?” he continued.

Della turned. “There are no schemes, Frank. I’m here to have a conversation with the duke on Cordelia’s behalf, as I told her I would.”

“And you wouldn’t lie?” He smirked.

“Not anymore.” The truth would be out, as it should have been days ago. It would no doubt destroy everything, but at least it wouldn’t be hanging over her head, ready to drop.

“I’m going to enjoy watching this.” He moved further into the room, as if to take a seat to see a bloody play.

Enough. She stepped so close to him that he was forced to take a step backward. “Stay away from me, unless you want me to tell the duke that you knew I wasn’t Cordelia from the beginning. I’m sure he’d love to hear what your plans for his brother were.”

Frank paled. It was all she could do not to hiss at him.

“ Hehemm. Frank.” The duke stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

Frank quickly plastered a smile on his face. “Your Grace. Della and I were merely discussing the latest gossip to come out of London.”

“The family is in the breakfast room.” It was a curt dismissal, and Frank’s smile thinned.

“Godspeed, my lady.” As he left the room, Della realized her fingers were digging into her skirts, and she worked them loose.

“Apologies for my uncle,” Peter said, crossing the room and taking a chair, gesturing for her to do the same. “He has all the patina of a gentleman with none of the fundamental structure.” The duke’s voice was deep and thick like honey. It sounded nothing like the hoarse, scratchy voice he’d had yesterday when he’d woken.

“I’ve dealt with men like Frank my whole life. There is no need for you to apologize.” She took a seat near him. “Should you be out of bed? I can’t imagine the doctor having given you leave to roam the house.”

The duke raised an eyebrow. “Young women rarely question my decisions.”

Adelaide blushed. “Of course. I was out of line. I apologize.”

He regarded her for a long moment before shrugging. “I suppose since you were so instrumental in saving my life, you earned the right to question how I’m treating it—in the short term. It would be unpleasant to have it held against me for the rest of our lives.”

This was the moment. She took a deep breath, trying not to pay attention to the way her hands shook or her throat pinched together. “Your Grace. I have a matter of importance to discuss with you.”

“If it’s about the wedding, you are best off talking to my sisters. They have taken complete control over it.”

Della shook her head. “It’s not exactly about the wedding. Not precisely.”

The duke sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’re not about to cry off, are you? I’ve heard that’s a habit of yours.”

She winced. “It’s a little difficult to cry off from an engagement you never agreed to.”

The duke’s brows knitted together, and Adelaide could see the cogs turning in his brain as he tried to recall his proposal. “I have it written in my journal.”

“Which you wrote before you proposed.”

“Surely you said yes. Your father and I discussed the possibility of a match two years ago, before he settled on Hornsmouth.”

Patience, Adelaide. You are not here to correct his arrogance. “You didn’t actually propose, Your Grace. You walked in and told Cordelia that she was to marry you because she was convenient, as though she had no free will of her own. It was an assumption, an arrogant one, and she took umbrage with that.”

The duke cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you speaking in the third person? I’m confused. Blast, I wish I could remember that day.”

“I wish you did too.” Then Adelaide wouldn’t be forced to recount the entire mess. He would have recognized her charade the moment he woke. “The truth is—”

She got no further before the sitting room door opened. “Della’s here?” Jac asked, not pausing to see if she was welcome before entering.

Meg followed, dropping a kiss on top of Della’s head. “Good morning. We missed you last night. Shove over, Jac. Give me some room.”

Damn, shit, fuck. The only thing that would make this worse would be if…

“I was called to the—” Rhett grimaced when he saw Adelaide. His entire body swayed in the doorway as if physically repulsed by the sight of her.

Leave. Please leave.

Frank came up behind Rhett and slapped a hand on the back of Rhett’s shoulder, propelling his nephew into the room. He winked at Adelaide. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing—finding the most excruciating way for Adelaide to die of humiliation. “Now the family is all here.”

“Almost,” Meg said. “Where’s Winnie?”

“She will be down in just a moment,” Jac said. “She’s gone to get the you-know-what.” Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Adelaide wasn’t the only one with secrets, apparently. “Has anyone called for tea?”

“Jac, you just had tea not sixty seconds ago in the breakfast room.”

“Yes, but has Della had tea?” She called out to the footman waiting outside the door. “Can you bring a pot of tea?”

“Two pots,” Meg added.

“Make that three,” the duke added.

“And a whiskey,” Rhett muttered.

“What have we missed?” Jac asked, turning to face the duke. “Nothing interesting, I hope.”

Peter’s expression was grim. “Lady Cordelia was just explaining the minutiae of my proposal, since it seems I am missing some crucial details.” His tone was cold and sharp like steel.

Jac shook her head. “You should be more friendly toward your future wife, brother. Della is resourceful enough to find a curious way to murder you.”

“Maybe she’s a samurai,” Rhett ventured.

“Both of you, enough,” Meg snapped. She, at least, had sensed the ominous undertones in the duke’s statement.

The five Montgomery siblings stared at Adelaide.

“It all happened so fast,” she said, the words barely making it past the lump that had formed in her throat.

“The accident? You’re finally going to spill it?” Jac drew her legs up beneath her, hunkering down for a story.

“We were in hiding. After running away from Hornsmouth, we tried to go to France; that’s when I met you.” She gave Rhett a small smile, but his was guarded, untrusting. As it should be. “When we couldn’t get a ship that morning, we came here.”

“Why here?” Rhett asked. “No one knows it even exists.”

“I like maps. Berwick is only found on a few. Most maps of Kent don’t bother to mark it, so I knew we were unlikely to be discovered. We pretended to be spinster sisters.”

“You and your lady’s maid,” Meg said.

“Me and”—she took a deep, shaky breath—“Lady Cordelia.”

The siblings exchanged glances, their expressions displaying various levels of confusion. Adelaide avoided looking at Rhett and instead stared at her hands, lacing and unlacing her fingers.

“Wait. What are you saying?”

“You’re not Lady Cordelia?”

“But I saw you leave the church.”

“Rhett saw you in that dress by the docks.”

“How could you not be—”

“Shush.” When the duke raised a hand for quiet, the room fell silent.

Adelaide ventured a look at Rhett then. His face was pale, and his expression inscrutable. More than anything, she wanted to take hold of his hand. She wanted to convince him that not all of it was a lie, because the way he was looking at her caused literal pain, as though it were splitting her in two.

Swallowing hard, she carried on. “When Peter fell, Cordelia panicked. She is young and not particularly sensible, and she doesn’t have the mettle to face a difficult conversation, so when the doctor arrived, she told him I was her.”

“And you went along with it?” Peter asked incredulously. “That is quite a decision, even for a lady’s maid.”

“No! Not at first, at least.” Why, why, why did you agree? You’re a damned fool, Adelaide. “The idea was preposterous. Then she begged me to play along until you woke up so I could keep the situation out of the newspapers. We thought you’d wake in an hour. Neither of us expected you to be out so long, or for your family to arrive. When I agreed to be Cordelia, I hadn’t anticipated lying to you all. But then I did, and I didn’t know how to undo it.” Her voice cracked at the end. She needed them to understand. She’d never meant harm.

Rhett stalked to the window, his fingers gripping the frame. “We don’t know you at all. We don’t even know your name.” Rhett’s bitter tone hurt to hear.

She stood, torn on whether or not to go after him. “You know me,” she pleaded. “I’m still Della. I’m still who I was these past few days. I just have a different name.”

“Which is what?” he asked, still refusing to face her.

“Adelaide Rosebourne.” A sense of relief washed over her. The truth was out completely.

“And you’re a maid ?” Jac asked, leaning forward, so clearly starving for more details. Unlike her brothers, there was no anger in her tone, just rampant curiosity. Meg was looking at Adelaide with a mixture of pity and concern.

“I have only been a maid for the past few months. Before that, I traveled the continent. I wrote articles and sold them to magazines.” I’m like you , she wanted to tell Rhett. We share something. But if the shake of his head was any sign, that knowledge didn’t help. In fact, that she’d failed to disclose her travels when he talked so openly of his was just another betrayal.

Finally, he turned around, and the agony in his expression elicited the tears she’d been holding back. “So you’re a professional storyteller,” Rhett said. “That’s good. That’s better than having been fooled by a novice.”

“Rhett—” What could she say to him? Her lies had been indefensible.

“Della, why didn’t you tell me?” Meg asked, standing to take Adelaide’s hand.

Her throat tightened. “I wanted to—every day, I knew I should—but I was afraid that I would lose you. All of you. I was so alone, and then suddenly, I was a part of a family.” She wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her jacket. “I was a sister. I was a friend. I knew it would all come crashing down eventually, but I couldn’t give you up. I love you. I love all of you when I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Meg sniffled and nodded her head, reaching into her sleeve for a handkerchief.

Adelaide took two steps toward Rhett, but he shook his head, and she froze. “I’m so very sorry for lying to you.” She willed Rhett to please, please see the truth of how she felt about him. He remained motionless, staring at her as if she was as nasty as the river they’d fallen into.

She had known that telling the truth would be hard, but she had not known that it would shatter her. This feeling was why she refused to become close to people. This was the reason she’d always held herself apart from others.

She’d lost Rhett, and she’d lost his family. Never again.

She would go back to moving from town to town. Roots kept you pinned down, unable to flee the storm.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I should go. It was very lovely to get to know you all.” She gave a colorless smile and walked quickly to the door. Her fingers had just closed around the handle when the duke spoke.

“Marry me anyway.”

She froze. “Pardon?” She turned and faced the family. Jac was beaming. Frank looked as though he’d bitten into a lemon. Meg was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.

“ What? ” Rhett said, horrified.

The duke shrugged. “I need a wife, and I don’t want to spend the next season on the marriage mart having to listen to mindless debutantes parroting my own thoughts back to me. My sisters have spent the past twelve hours convincing me you are perfect. You seem to have a mind of your own. So, marry me anyway.”

“But she’s a maid ,” Frank spat.

“Barely,” the duke continued. “We’ll tell people she was Lady Cordelia’s companion. Perhaps they are distant cousins. Lord knows Thirwhestle owes me a favor now. He’ll maintain that story if he doesn’t want the world to know about his daughter’s abominable behavior.”

“This is perfect!” Jac leaped from her seat to envelop Adelaide in a bear hug. “Please say yes.”

“I…” Adelaide was stunned into silence. Her arms wrapped around Jac by reflex. Over Jac’s shoulder, she stared at Rhett.

He said nothing, just looked at her coldly.

Jac hopped from foot to foot, jiggling Adelaide with joy. Meg looked apprehensively from Adelaide to Rhett and back again, her lip caught between her teeth. The duke sat there, waiting for an answer.

He’s offering everything you’ve ever wanted, Adelaide. A house, more furniture than you can use, and a family you never even knew to ask for.

When Cordelia had run from her wedding to Hornsmouth, Adelaide’s first thought had been stupid . Marrying a duke would have ensured Cordelia always had a roof over her head and food on the table. It would have given her position, power, security. Cordelia had been a fool to give that up. So what does that make you, Adelaide? Are you a fool?

But was all the furniture in the world worth sitting across from Rhett over dinner as his sister and not his wife?

The door banged open, and Winnie came skidding into the room, almost colliding with Jac and Adelaide. Her arms were full of ruffles. “I have the dress!” She came to an abrupt stop at the sight of Meg’s tears and Rhett’s angry expression. She turned to Adelaide. “Della, what did I miss?”

Rhett cleared his throat. “She’s not Della, Winnie.” With that, he strode out of the room, and with him went a piece of Adelaide that she would never find again.