One Dance with a Duke
Page 52

Author: Tessa Dare
“Her. I think it’s a girl.” Placing a hand on her belly, she said, “Go on. You said there was a third.”
“The third option,” he said quietly, “would be to give birth and keep the child. You would be disgraced, and your chances of making a good marriage would be slim. You most certainly would never know the excitement of a London season.”
“But I would have my baby.”
“Yes.”
He allowed her a moment’s contemplation.
Leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees, he said, “They are none of them easy choices. Your life will be drastically altered, no matter which you take. But you should also know this. Whichever course you choose, you may be assured of having my support, both material and otherwise.”
“And Amelia’s as well?”
“I … I can’t speak for Amelia.” God, saying her name aloud after so many days apart … He missed her, terribly. What he would not give to have her here. She would know what to say to Claudia, how to comfort her. How to cross the room and fold the girl into a warm hug, in a way that didn’t feel awkward and forced. But she wasn’t here, and he had no one to blame for her absence but himself. What the hell had he been thinking, forcing her to choose between him and her family? Her love for her family was in her blood; it was who she was. It was the reason they’d even met. He should have known he could never offer her anything to compete.
Claudia took the words from his lips when she said, “I’ve made a muddle of everything, haven’t I?”
“You’ve made a mistake. I’ve made my share, as well.” Such as believing she’d outgrown these evenings spent reading aloud, and that he had nothing more to offer her. “But now you must decide how you can live with that mistake.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should make your own choice, in your own time.” He hesitated. He didn’t want to make the decisions for her, but if she asked for guidance, wasn’t it his duty to give it? “I will say this much. We both know what it’s like to grow up without a mother. It isn’t easy. I don’t believe the avoidance of gossip is a good way to choose the direction of one’s life. And as for marriage … How much do you remember of your father?”
“I remember you were always fighting with him.”
He chuckled. “We had our disagreements. A great many of them, as a matter of fact. Most of that was my fault. It was devilish hard laboring under his expectations. Easier sometimes to purposely misbehave, rather than make the effort and come up lacking.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I understand.”
He winced, hating himself for ever making her feel that way. “No matter our arguments,” he said, “I had tremendous respect for your father, and for my own father, as well. They were good, honorable men, and exceedingly loyal. When your mother died, your father could have married again, with hopes of getting a son of his own to assume the title. But he couldn’t bear the idea of remarrying, that’s how much he loved your mother. So he sent for me from Canada instead, and I gave him so much hell in those first few years, it’s a wonder he didn’t reconsider. But he never did remarry. And neither did my father, after my own mother died. That’s why I wouldn’t like to see you trapped in an unhappy union, Claudia. Love, for a Dumarque, is not a passing fancy. We remain devoted to the grave.”
“You feel that way about Amelia?”
“Yes,” he said simply. No matter how many differences he’d had with his father and his uncle, here was one thing they shared in common. He was a Dumarque man at his core. He would love one woman until he died, and there could never be another. God help him if she didn’t feel the same.
Claudia looked askance at him. “If you truly feel that way, you could do a better job of showing it.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I could do a better job of it with you, too. I plan to improve.”
Her eyes shimmered. “Do you plan to start soon?”
When he was seventeen years old, Spencer had spent five miserable weeks aboard a two-masted brig to cross the Atlantic Ocean. That trip had been a pleasant afternoon jaunt compared to the arduous journey he made now. He rose from his chair, crossed the vast expanse of the library carpet, and sat down beside his ward.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever you decide, Claudia, you will always have a home here. And you will always be loved.”
She started to weep. He hoped they were a good sort of tears. Regardless, he slid his arm around her shoulders and gathered her into a hug.
He felt rather proud of himself for it, but evidently he still needed practice to perfect the art. After a moment, Claudia sniffed and said, “I miss Amelia.”
He gathered her even closer then, because he needed to be hugged back. “I miss her, too.”
“When is she coming home?”
“I don’t know. She may not come back to Braxton Hall.”
Claudia straightened, pulling back to stare at him. “Whatever do you mean? Go fetch her!”
“But … I’m not certain exactly where she is at the moment.”
“You’re the Duke of Morland. Find her!”
“I’m not sure she wants to be found.” He could scarcely believe he was discussing this with Claudia … but then again, who else did he have to ask? “I bullied her quite a bit at the outset, and I don’t want to make the same mistake again. I miss her, yes. But I want her to be happy most of all. If she comes back, I want her to come freely. Willingly.”
Her eyes went wide. “Then convince her. Fall at her feet and grovel. Make some grand gesture of apology. Tell her that sweet little story you just told me and profess your undying love. Really, Spencer, don’t you know anything about romance?”
Chapter Twenty-three
It was a fine summer morning on the Bristol docks, and for once a ray of fortune was shining on the d’Orsays. A merchant brigantine called the Angelica sailed with the tide, bound for Boston.
Jack would be on it.
Amelia’s nose wrinkled as she squinted at her brother through the blaring midday sun. She wished she’d thought to purchase him a hat with a wider brim. With his fair skin, he’d be crisped to currant red after one day at sea.
“Well?” he said.
In a last sisterly gesture, she smoothed the lint from Jack’s coat sleeves with her gloved hands. “What a grand adventure you’re going to have. I believe Hugh would be very envious.”
“I like to think he’s coming with me.”
“Perhaps he is.” She threw her arms around her brother and hugged him tight. “I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “Don’t ever dream otherwise. But I just can’t take care of you any longer. It’s time you learned to take care of yourself.”
“I know,” he said. “I know.”
She pulled back and withdrew a small bundle from her reticule. The knotted handkerchief contained a heavy clutch of coins. “Your passage is already paid. This is all I have to give you for expenses.”
“Thank you,” he said, reaching for the makeshift purse of gold and silver. “I’ll do my best not to lose it the first night out from land.”
She tried to laugh, but she knew the danger of him doing just that was great. She kept her hand on the handkerchief, refusing to let him take it yet.
“If you do lose it, don’t write me for more. If you wander home a few months from now, having landed yourself in trouble again and looking for my help … I won’t give it.” Much as it pained her to speak those words, she knew she had to say them. Cut the leading strings. Perhaps if Jack understood she wouldn’t be there to catch him, he might take greater precautions not to fall. “This is the very last time I save you, do you understand? I will pray for you and always love you. But after this, not a penny more.”
With that, she let go of the handkerchief. It was much easier to release her grip on that bit of linen than it was to let go of her responsibility for him. But she had to do both. She deserved to be happy, too, and she couldn’t imagine happiness without Spencer. She simply couldn’t risk letting Jack come between them again.
Spencer was right; she did have to make a choice. But this wasn’t a matter of deciding between her brother and her husband. It was a matter of deciding to seize happiness and let go of guilt.
Amelia was choosing herself.
“I’d best be going, then.” He glanced over his shoulder at the Angelica’s gangplank. “I hate to leave you alone here. Is Morland coming for you?”
She shook her head. “He’s taken Claudia home to Cambridgeshire. I’ve sent an express to Laurent. He’ll help me close up the cottage, and then we’ll travel back to London together.”
“Amelia?” He chucked her under the chin. “When I said no one’s good enough for you, I meant it. And I include myself. I know I haven’t deserved half the help you’ve given me, but …” His lips twitched at the corner, tugging on Amelia’s heart. All the d’Orsay men made that face when they were struggling not to cry. “I’m grateful for it. Thank you for loving me, even when I’ve done my devil’s best to be unlovable.”
The look in his eyes, the catch in his voice … her heart squeezed. She was a breath away from flinging her arms around his shoulders and vowing to take him back home, solve all his problems for him.
Taking a step backward instead was quite possibly the bravest thing she’d ever done. But she knew in her heart, it was best for them both.
“Goodbye, Jack,” she said. “We’ll miss you. Please take care.”
Then she turned on her heel. Took one step. Then two. Every pace she took away from him felt like a step taken on wobbly foal legs, but as her boots clopped hollowly on the planked dock, she slowly gained in coordination and confidence. It had taken a little time and much sorrow, but she’d finally mastered the lesson Spencer had given her the night they first met:
Turn those hapless d’Orsay fortunes around. Learn when to walk away.
“Where shall I take you?” As they neared Charing Cross, Laurent turned to her on the carriage seat. “Home?”
Home.
Amelia mused on the word. She wondered which house her brother referred to: the Duke of Morland’s, or his own? Which one was “home”? That was the question for her to decide, she supposed.
“I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.” No house felt like home without Spencer in it. And though he would still be at Braxton Hall, she couldn’t abide the thought of rattling around that cavernous town house alone.
“Of course you’re welcome. Winifred’s planned some sort of party tonight. Lucky for me we’re returning in time for it. She’d have my head if I left her alone to host.”
“Is it a large party?” Now this might change Amelia’s mind. After two days of carriage travel and a week’s worth of melancholy, a busy social gathering wasn’t really how she wished to spend her evening.
“No, no. A few couples over to dinner. Perhaps a bit of cards and dancing after, you know.”
Well, that didn’t sound too dreadful. As a matter of fact, dinner itself sounded most welcome. And as for the amusements afterward—she could easily plead a headache and slip upstairs. It wouldn’t even be a falsehood. She’d done so much ruminating and pondering and reconsidering in the past two days, her brain ached.
“Did I do the right thing?” she asked her brother, for likely the tenth time since Jack had sailed with the Angelica. “Will he be all right?”
“I don’t know how he’ll fare,” Laurent answered, reaching for her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “But you did absolutely the right thing.”