Redemption of the Duke (3 page)

“Aunt Theodosia,” he said, “you know my female admirers do themselves no favors by
pretending to call upon my sister and mother only.”

“Some girls are foolish in their youth,” she insisted, her turban a crown upon her
head, her necklaces stacked upon each other so much that only perfect posture could
keep her from slumping forward. “You cannot hold that against them.”

“And some
men
are foolish as well.”

That subtly bitter voice could only be his sister-in-law, Marian, Marchioness of Tunbridge,
his eldest brother’s widow, who’d been betrothed to the heir in childhood, and had
reigned in her mind as a future duchess. But his brother Cecil had died an hour before
their father, never having inherited the title. Adam would pity her crushing disappointment
if she weren’t so effortlessly disagreeable. Marian was too thin, as if she starved
her life away for an enviable waist. Her dark hairstyles, elaborate as cake decorations,
sometimes left the maids in tears. But Marian did her best to seem regal and stoic,
the tragic heroine of a novel.

He glanced at her, his mouth curved with amusement. “Do not paint all men with the
same brush, dear sister. And I will do the same for your fair sex.”

“Oh, I do agree that there are foolish women, Adam. Look how many pretend to call
upon you?” she said in an overly sweet tone.

She’d never once called him by his title, and he knew it was deliberate. It didn’t
bother him, which secretly bothered her.

And suddenly it seemed very petty and pointless, especially when he thought about
Miss Cooper, who worked to earn her keep. But not much longer, if he could help it.

Sophia approached him, took his arm, and led him toward the window. “You’re frowning,
Adam. What’s wrong? I don’t think I ever saw you frown when you were younger.”

He patted her hand on his arm. “A title and its responsibilities will do that to a
man.”

“War will, too,” she said softly, studying him with true concern. “You don’t talk
about it much. Nor did you write about it. From your letters, I would have thought
you were marching through jungles to sketch the scenery.”

He smiled. “It is in my past, not something I want to dwell on. And I certainly don’t
want my lovely sister knowing of the dark side of life.”

“I’m not
that
sheltered,” she insisted. “Aunt Theodosia takes me with her to her charities, and
it’s not all about sipping tea and discussing what balls to host. I’ve been to the
East End. I’ve held babies as their mothers died. I’ve—”

He frowned down at her. “Where have you been, Sophia? If Aunt Theodosia thinks this
is proper for a young lady—”

“Adam, helping people is important to me. Having the funds to do so only makes it
imperative. I just want you to understand that you cannot always protect me, just
as I can’t always protect you. Although I wish I could have . . .” She trailed off,
still gazing at him as if she could read into his soul.

He briefly glanced out the window at the carriages passing by. His little sister wanted
to protect him. The sweetness of it tightened his gut. He remembered being twenty
to her ten years, and leaving the room instead of punching his elder brother, only
to find out later she’d been eavesdropping and rushed in to kick Cecil hard in the
shin. Cecil turned her over his knee for that, and she hadn’t made a sound—or so his
other brother Godfrey had told him, enjoying Adam’s fury that their little sister
had been the subject of their punishment of him.

“We want to protect the world, Sophia,” he said quietly. “Sometimes all we can do
is one little piece of good.” He thought again of Miss Cooper, and knew that Sophia
would understand his focus, his need to make amends for all he’d cost this one lonely
woman.

“Lord Shenstone left his card for you, Adam,” Marian called as if she’d just remembered.
“You and he used to make quite the fools of yourself. He says you have avoided his
invitations. But we all know it’s only a matter of time before you enjoy the pleasures
of London again,” she added lightly, perhaps slyly.

Adam thought of Shenstone, the scrapes they’d gotten into, the women they’d corrupted,
the gaming hells where all of it had taken place. He didn’t want to go back to those
places, but in some ways those were the innocent, exciting times of his life. Now
he dutifully escorted his aunt and mother to balls and musicales, where even touching
a woman’s bare hand was practically a proposal of marriage. Once he’d been ignored
as a younger son; now he was the focus of the marriage-minded mamas and their eager
daughters, even as others whispered behind his back. It almost made him long for the
old days of excitement and temptation.

But he wasn’t going to be that man again. The army had taught him honor—or at least
he thought it had, until his terrible mistake. But he didn’t just have Society to
focus on. He’d taken his place in the House of Lords, and soon he’d convince them
all that he had knowledge of the world, that his experiences would be useful. He’d
find something meaningful to do with his life, to fill the void of something . . .
missing.

“How concerned you are about others, Marian,” Aunt Theodosia said, not looking up
from the letter she wrote in her slow, laborious hand. “Do you have so little to focus
on that you can call your own? Perhaps your daughter would like more of your time.”

“You know she’s in the schoolroom yet,” Marian said. “She and I walk the park when
her governess has her afternoon off. We have lovely discussions about her future.”

“Or rigid outlines of rules,” Sophia murmured for Adam’s ears alone.

And that made Adam melancholy. He didn’t want his niece raised to emulate her mother,
who was fixated on her own life and still full of self-pity. She was out of mourning,
yes, but she was looking backward, and that couldn’t be good for her daughter.

Then with a sigh, Sophia rested her head against his shoulder. “I hear others talking
about you.”

“Still eavesdropping?” he teased.

“How can it be eavesdropping when they’re speaking in normal tones? But I am not the
only one who noticed the change in my big brother when he returned home from India.
They keep asking when the real Adam will return.”

“Never,” he said simply.

“I don’t know about that. I’m not sure you’ve quite found the
real
Adam.”

He frowned and would have questioned her, but the first callers were introduced by
the butler, and he had to don the face of the duke. His mother brought him forward,
full of pride and delight, as if he could do no wrong.

She didn’t want to hear the wrong he’d done—had never wanted to hear it, even in the
old days. Then, she’d called him high spirited. What would she have said about his
thoughtless confidence in India, where men had died because he was convinced he was
right?

Chapter 3

T
wo days later, Adam was strolling Bond Street, waiting for his sister to emerge from
the dressmaker’s shop, when he saw the familiar bonnet of Miss Faith Cooper. He found
his boredom gone, his mind alert for how he could approach her. He watched her enter
a bookshop, and while he knew she didn’t wish to be accosted by him again, he was
convinced she was wrong to decline his help. It was up to him to change her mind.

She emerged onto the street again at the side of a delicate young lady, who immediately
loaded a package wrapped in string into Miss Cooper’s waiting arms, even though several
packages already dangled there.

As if Miss Cooper was a servant, rather than a companion. He felt affronted on her
behalf, guilty that her predicament was partly his fault, then filled with renewed
determination to make things better for her. His own sister would never treat a companion
that way—

And that was the perfect solution, he realized. Miss Cooper would not accept money
or an open-ended offer of help, but perhaps she would accept a new position, a gentle
one where she would enjoy his sister’s companionship—and he could make sure Miss Cooper
wasn’t worked too hard.

He watched as she deposited the parcels in a carriage with the help of the coachman,
then rushed to catch up to her young charge, who was entering a milliner’s shop.

Adam made sure he was right in Miss Cooper’s line of sight before she entered. He
rested his shoulder against the brick wall, arms crossed over his chest, and grinned.
She pulled up short upon seeing him, eyes wide and distressed, and he tipped his hat
to her.

Pressing her lips together, she focused on the doorway as if she meant to go through,
then whirled toward him. She passed by without speaking, stopped near the street as
if looking for someone, and spoke quietly over her shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Your Grace, following me?”

When he straightened, she immediately said, “Do not dare to act as if we’re speaking!”

He went back to lounging against the wall. “Very well, but I do assure you, Miss Cooper,
that I did not follow you. Your appearance was simply fortuitous.”

He nodded at two women who strolled by and blushed upon seeing him.

“If you’re not following me,” she continued softly, “then I suggest you turn around
and leave.”

“I cannot do that. We have unfinished business.”

“We do not, sir. I want nothing to do with your halfhearted apologies and offers of
assistance. As if I’d take money from you!” She inhaled a gasp and looked around as
she realized her voice had risen.

Adam understood her anger—hell, he was angry at himself. But he wouldn’t let that
anger keep her from seeing what was best. “I promise I do not offer money, Miss Cooper,
but a chance at a better life. I see how Miss Warburton treats you, like a lady’s
maid.”

She stiffened with each word, until he thought her shoulder blades would meet, her
back was so straight.

“My position is none of your business.”

“Except that I can offer you better. Come work for me. My sister is in her first Season,
and often feels lonely away from our country seat.” That was an exaggeration—his sister
made friends everywhere she went. “There are servants aplenty to deal with her clothing
and her hair.”

Miss Cooper blushed, proof that she’d been assigned such chores.

“I’m sure you believe you know what’s best for your sister,” Miss Cooper said impassively,
“just as you seem to believe the same about me. I assure you that you’re wrong. Good
day, Your Grace.”

She marched into the milliner’s shop without another glance at him, and he almost
followed her inside before catching himself. Such an error in judgment would not win
her over.

“Adam?”

Upon hearing the call from behind him, he realized he’d almost forgotten his sister.

W
ith a cloth wrapped about the handle, Faith guided the iron and pressed it against
the skirt of Adelia’s gown. She sucked in a breath at the sudden sting as she burned
herself. Carefully, she set the iron back near the hearth instead of throwing it,
like she wanted to.

She wouldn’t have burned herself if not for the duke and his proposal. Who’d have
thought she’d find another position alluring and forbidden all at the same time?

But all day long, as Adelia prepared for a dinner party and had Faith changing her
gown and gloves and slippers over and over again, Faith had thought of nothing other
than the duke’s offer.

She imagined he would pay her more, too, and his guilt would keep him from overworking
her.

She sucked on her burned finger and silently berated herself. She could not allow
herself to be dependent on one man again. Oh, Lord Warburton was certainly her employer,
but it wasn’t the same thing as having a young, handsome bachelor take control of
her life.

Handsome
? Where had that come from? What did his looks matter, compared to what his behavior
had wrought in her life? And now he was trying to make it worse.

But he thought he was trying to make it better.

That night, Faith almost begged leave to stay home, but for some reason Adelia seemed
to need her nearby early in the Season, and Faith could not resist being needed. Young
women at this stage of their lives could be so fragile. Occasionally, a title name
slipped Adelia’s tongue, or she couldn’t remember who was related to whom and needed
Faith’s growing expertise. Adelia was the little jewel of her very plain family, the
one upon whom all expectations of family prominence rested. For that, Faith pitied
the poor girl and thought she could make things better.

Sometimes Faith found her own in-between status awkward, but she was learning to deal
with it. If she were a lady’s maid, she’d have eaten with the servants, but as a companion,
she sat with the guests, where occasionally, no one spoke to her. She didn’t mind;
the food was usually delicious and listening in on conversations was the perfect way
to learn more about Society. She planned to become the most sought after chaperone.

But that night would be different, because while she was seated with an elderly lady
in the corner of the Randolphs’ small drawing room discussing needlework, the Duke
of Rothford was introduced. The whispers buzzed outward from him like the rays of
the sun. Charlotte, standing with her charge, shot Faith a wide-eyed look.

“I did not think I could be surprised anymore,” Miss Bury mused upon seeing the duke.
“But then again, I did not think this party could be anything but dull.”

She tittered and elbowed Faith, who forced a pained smile to her lips.

“He’s trying too hard to be good,” the old woman continued in a loud whisper that
could surely be heard by the next couple. “It won’t last long—it never does with young
bucks. Perhaps he’s just trying to get himself a wife.”

Or perhaps he’s trying to prove something to himself, Faith thought. Was Miss Bury
right? Was it only a matter of time before something bad happened? If she went to
work for him, she’d be caught right in the middle.

Three women entered with him, two blondes and a brunette. As if Miss Bury read Faith’s
thoughts, she said, “Those women are his mother, sister, and sister by marriage.”

“Oh,” Faith murmured, eyes widening.

The youngest woman must surely be his sister, and Faith watched as she was surrounded
by other young ladies and led away, laughing.

And he thought she needed the help of a companion? she wondered cynically.

And then his gaze swept the crowd and landed right on her. She flushed with heat as
if he’d touched her. No, surely it was the worry that others had noticed. How would
she explain herself?

But even the old woman at her side noticed nothing, so focused was she on the duke
himself. Faith couldn’t even look at Charlotte, who knew all about her improper meetings
in the park with the duke.

“Faith!” Adelia hissed as she approached. “I caught my hem and tore it. I need your
help sewing it.”

Faith followed her out of the drawing room to the ladies’ retiring room with relief.
By the time they returned, the duke was already leading their hostess in to dinner,
and everyone else followed according to rank. She trailed at the end along with someone’s
young male cousin from the country, who blushed to the roots of his hair when she
smiled absently at him.

She sat on the far end of the table from the duke and his family, and she couldn’t
quite hear what was being said, only the laughter his words evoked. For a man concerned
about mistakes he made in war, he put on a good show, entertaining the guests, flirting
harmlessly with elderly women, and behaving more reserved with the debutantes. Faith
overheard his mother praising his attributes, the seriousness with which he’d returned
from war. Faith cynically thought the duchess didn’t have to work so hard. When the
ladies retired to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port, they could talk
about nothing else but the Duke of Rothford. Everyone was ready to believe him reformed
and eligible.

But she knew better, especially when Adelia sent her to retrieve her reticule and
the duke appeared out of the shadows when she emerged into the corridor.

Faith gasped and put a hand to her chest, glancing up and down to see if they were
alone before frowning at him.

And they
were
alone, more so than they’d been in the park or on Bond Street. They were dangerously
alone.

“Can Miss Warburton work you any harder?” he asked softly.

She took a step backward. “Believe me, Your Grace, I would fetch a reticule for a
sister or friend, why not Adelia? You make too much of how I help her.”

“I don’t think so. I saw your bare hands at dinner.”

She clutched them together, though they were now hidden under gloves. “You could not
have—we were too far apart.”

“Not that far. You are embarrassed about their roughness, embarrassed about what you
do.”

“I may not like the look of my hands,” she insisted, “but I am not embarrassed by
respectable employment.”

“I’ve offered you
better
employment.”

“And I’ve refused.”

He took a step closer. “I could push the matter.”

She groaned and wished she could childishly stomp her foot. “And I will still refuse.
I cannot make you feel better about yourself.”

“That is not the point—
I
can make your
life
better.”

She stared up at him in confusion, wondering how long it would be before he’d take
her at her word. And then she realized she was standing too close, that he was leaning
over her to make his point, that if anyone saw them—

And worst of all, she was actually
flattered
by his persistence.

Outraged at her own ridiculous sentiments, she mustered her dignity, stepped away,
and said coolly, “No, thank you, Your Grace.” What was wrong with her? The man’s folly
had caused the death of her brother, had made her what she’d become. “I do believe
it’s time you return to your triumphant tour of London. You are the talk of the town,
which you must certainly enjoy.”

He shrugged and leaned against the wall with that indolence that grated on her nerves.

“You know it is meaningless and it will soon die away. No one discusses anything of
importance with me; after all, I was a scapegrace before India, and returning as the
duke is of more interest to them than anything I might have experienced in the jungles
of a foreign country.”

She hesitated. “Anything you experienced—you mean anything you did.”

“Yes, as you know, there are things I don’t wish to relive by speaking of them,” he
said somberly.

She didn’t want to hear that he suffered for what he’d done—it shouldn’t matter to
her. She took her leave, but couldn’t get away from him, certainly not that evening,
when the carpets had been rolled up in the drawing room for the dancing to begin.
Adelia was flushed with excitement and happiness, more than once gushing into Faith’s
ear about possibly dancing with a duke. Faith at last moved away from Lady Warburton
and her daughter and retreated to the row of chairs that followed one wall into the
corner. It was the wallflower row, where girls without partners waited with the elderly,
the chaperones—and the companions. Charlotte was already there, an open seat waiting
for her.

Sweet Miss Bury, the wispy-haired lady she’d conversed with before dinner, patted
a chair beside her and Faith smiled as she sat, sending an “I’m sorry” glance at Charlotte.
Not that Charlotte would stay seated for long. Her respectful employers consulted
her frequently for her knowledge of eligible men, the best families, and everything
Charlotte had learned over a lifetime in London. She was in demand and respected—the
things Faith wanted for herself.

“I see your Miss Warburton is all atwitter about the Duke of Rothford,” Miss Bury
said conspiratorially.