Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 (3 page)

In the morning at breakfast, Hope nibbled a bread roll. Her father was in his study, and her mother took hers in her bedchamber.

Charity put down her teacup. “I had a letter from Mercy yesterday. She asked me to send her some strange chemical called acetone. I haven’t a clue where to find it.”

Hope frowned. “What does she want that for?”

“I don’t know. I wish she’d come to London with us. I don’t know if Aunt Amelia’s able to control her. Shall I tell Father?”

“No. He might drag us all back to the country and be in a fearful temper.”

“I’d hate to get her into trouble with Father,” Charity said, buttering a roll.

“Better just to ignore her request,” Hope said. She sipped her tea and went over the last evening again. It didn’t improve in daylight.

****

It was raining, and a dreary fog sat heavily over London, blanketing the Thames. The weather matched Daniel’s mood and did little to raise his spirits. He was only too aware of what he’d become. His father had been a bitter, silent man, and at his lowest, Daniel feared he was tarred with the same brush. He didn’t believe in happiness, but he could settle for a peaceful life.

As his tenants were yet to move out of his Mayfair townhouse, he put up at Reddish’s Hotel in St James’s Street. Daniel disliked hotels; even the grandest of them was impersonal. The walls seemed to close in. He’d hire a hack and ride in Hyde Park every day to be out in the air. The prospect of riding hack horses brought his gelding, Tonnerre, to the forefront of his mind. He’d left instructions to be kept informed of his injured horse’s progress. Sighing, he sat down at the desk and wrote to accept an invitation to a meeting this evening with Canning and the French Ambassador, Jules de Polignac.

Daniel had noticed a young woman in the foyer of his hotel earlier. She’d hung back, but he sensed her interest in him. That evening, when he left the hotel to join Miles, Jules de Polignac and George Canning at in the Countess Lieven’s salon, she was there again dressed in servant’s garb. As he walked to the Russian embassy in St. James’s Square, her footsteps echoed somewhere behind him. He turned with the intention of addressing her, but at that moment, a hackney pulled up and deposited George Canning and Miles onto the pavement, and when Daniel looked back, she had gone.

Music and a buzz of conversation drifted into the square as they peeled off their coats and loaded them into a footman’s arms in the entry. Guests mingled in the elegant rooms lit by gaslight. The countess was famous for her salons. She would have made a splendid diplomat with her deft political skills, and she was fond of gathering an odd mix of interesting people together. Philosophers, artists, poets, and politicians often attended.

Countess Lieven greeted them. She was handsome rather than pretty, and as usual, she’d flaunted fashion with her odd choice of dress, inspired perhaps by a naval uniform.

“Your Grace, what a pleasure to see you in London. As you see, there is a crowd here.” She extended an arm to encompass the well-dressed throng of people. “I pride myself on the diversity of my guests and trust you will find them entertaining.”

“I’m sure the evening will prove vastly entertaining as always, Countess,” Daniel said, as he kissed her hand.

After a lengthy private discussion in one of the rooms set aside for the purpose, the men joined the guests. A few débutantes stood out in their white gowns, their hands clasped tight, their gazes darting about. One young woman caught Daniel’s eye. She coolly nodded to him while the other young women around her blushed and dropped their gaze. They’d met before. He remembered those eyes of the purest blue. She had a pretty mouth, which would curl up at the corners if she smiled he felt sure. She was not smiling now. The heavy coil of hair exposed a swan-like neck. His gaze dropped to her softly rounded bosom displayed by the low neckline of her gown and the pale expanse of skin between her glove and her capped sleeve. A desire to stroke that skin, which would be velvet soft, shot through him. The flash of lust, hot and heavy, surprised him.

He turned to Miles at his elbow. “Who is that young woman with the gold sash? I believe I met her in Paris.”

“Lady Hope, one of Baxendale’s pretty daughters.”

“Ah, yes.” Something about Lady Hope made her stand out amongst the other attractive ladies in the room. The confident lift of her chin, perhaps, and her challenging gaze, unusual in one so young. Feigned perhaps. She was an innocent barely out of the schoolroom, here to find a husband. He could not slake his lust with that pretty armful. “Can you see our hostess?” he asked Miles. “I wish to take my leave.”

As they left one room and threaded their way through another, the dark-haired woman who’d followed him earlier, stepped into Daniel’s path. Her black eyes flashed, before she fell into a deep curtsey. “Your Grace.”

“
You followed me from my hotel. Did you not
?”

“Yes. I needed to speak with you.”

“How did you manage to get inside?”

“I came through the servants’ quarters. No one stopped me.”

He cocked a brow. “Forgive me, I’m about to leave.”

She stood her ground, defying him to push past her. “It’s to do with your father, Your Grace.”

Daniel stared, nonplussed. “My father?” Some sort of ruse he had no time for. He would send her on her way. Daniel touched Miles’s arm. “I shall be with you shortly.” Miles nodded and left the room.

The woman led Daniel to a deserted corner and turned with a swish of her black skirts. She was no ingénue, in her mid to late twenties. Prepared to repel her, he paused, caught by her novel approach. “Who are you?”

A slight smile hovered on her mouth, making her somehow familiar. “Your father, Your Grace, is also mine.”

“
Pardon
?”
He stared at her, his shoulders tightening at her effrontery.
He was about to move away, but again, something held him back. He’d discovered another similarity in the diamond shape of her face. The portraits of du Ténèbres women in the picture gallery in France had the same broad cheekbones and pointed chins. Could she be his father’s by-blow?

She gave him a level glance. “I am not what you think. Your father married my mother here in England. I am the result of their union. My name is Lester, but I was born a du Ténèbres.”

Daniel huffed out an exasperated laugh. “That’s absurd. I would know of it.”

“After my mother died in childbirth, I was sent away to be reared by a family in the country.”

“My father would never do such a thing.” Marry an Englishwoman and keep the marriage secret from his son? Unthinkable.

She gazed around. “We cannot talk here. Meet me tomorrow. I have a room at The Feathers, an inn near Russell Square. I shall be there to receive you at noon.”

Would she indeed? Bemused, Daniel shook his head. “Mademoiselle, if you wish to put your case to me, I am staying at Reddish’s Hotel in St James’s Street. I shall receive
you
tomorrow at noon.” He bowed and left her. There were always those seeking to improve their lot. He hoped she would think better of it before he was forced to prove her ridiculous claim to be false. He hesitated. What could she hope to gain by such a ruse? He wanted no complications, no attachments. Was the world conspiring against him?

****

The French duke was in London. Hope fought to slow her breath. He remembered her, of that she was sure. She hoped it was favorable and he was not recalling how awkward she’d been in Paris. His slow appraisal from her head downward quite made her toes curl. For a moment, their gazes locked and something lingered in the air between them. Hope was sure of it. But then he’d turned away as if dismissing her very existence. Of course, he wasn’t interested in her. He considered her a green girl. She would bore him. Annoyed, she shut her fan with a snap. Well, she did not want
him
. To leave her family and live in France was unthinkable. And he obviously had no such intention. She watched his broad shoulders as he disappeared from the ballroom. If they met again, she would take care to show him what he would miss!

Chapter Three

The young woman shown into his rooms at Reddish’s Hotel looked different today. The servant’s attire gone, she wore her simple clothes, with a proud, ladylike air. Her lively black eyes challenged him, her hair as dark as his. Again, something stirred within him, some tiny recognition, which perplexed him, and he softened his stance toward her. He’d been about to send her packing.

“Please sit, mademoiselle. May I offer you tea or wine?”

“Coffee, thank you.” She sat on one of the brocade-covered chairs by the fire.

Daniel signaled to his servant and took the seat beside her. He tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. “Now, your story, if you please. I promise to listen.”

“I am exceedingly grateful, Your Grace.”

Ignoring the trace of mockery in her tone, Daniel sat back and folded his arms.

“My mother’s father was a member of the clergy,” she began. “Mother was only seventeen when she met your father.” She paused. He supposed his face betrayed his doubt. The social divide would have been impossible to cross. “It was after your father’s carriage lost a wheel on the road north,” she explained. “My grandfather, who was traveling with his family, came to the duke’s rescue, and they subsequently put up at the same inn. After that, your father pursued my mother with the intention of taking her as his mistress. But when my grandfather resisted, your father married her.”

Mon dieu!
No doubt a complete fabrication. With a sigh, Daniel prepared to pull her declaration to pieces. “And where might this marriage have taken place?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She dug into her reticule and extracted some papers, holding them out to him. “They were married in London by special license.”

He took the documents and scanned them, checking for a flaw that proclaimed them to be forgeries. “Why wouldn’t my father have kept hold of these?”

“I suspect the Lesters wished to keep proof of my birth to ensure the payments continued.”

Ludicrous.

“Although my adopted father was a farmer, we never went without, and I received a good education. I believe the recompense ended when the duke died.”

He would consult the family solicitor. “And where was I during all this, I wonder?”

“Away at school, I believe.”

The date on the marriage certificate certainly fitted. He’d gone away to boarding school when he was eight years old, and according to this, Mary Cunliffe had married his father later that same year. Daniel hadn’t returned home for even a holiday until he was twelve. He raised his head to look at her but couldn’t detect any sign that she lied. In fact, she merely jutted out her chin. “Odd that my father neglected to mention this marriage.”

She met his gaze levelly. “I suppose he had his reasons, but I assure you they were married. My mother died in childbirth a year later. I was packed up and sent away to York like an unwanted piece of furniture.” She sounded bitter.

“Why didn’t you contact either the duke or me before this?”

“I grew up believing the Lesters were my real parents. It wasn’t until after my father, a widower, died a few months ago that I learned the truth. He left me this record of the marriage, along with my birth certificate.”

He’d send a Bow Street Runner north to uncover the truth. “Should this be true, you shall be compensated,” he said his vexation evident. This needed to be resolved speedily.

She scowled, dark eyebrows snapping together. “I didn’t come here for your money.”

“Then why did you come? You can’t expect me to welcome you into the family with open arms, surely. You are a stranger to me. What, then, do you want, mademoiselle…?” He glanced at the certificate. “Sophie.” He frowned. His grandmother’s name. “If not money, in what way might I help you?”

Sophie stood. “I’ll leave you to think about what I’ve told you, Your Grace. It’s a dreadful shock, and no doubt, you’ll wish to investigate my claim. There might be servants or friends of your father’s still living perhaps, who will verify it.”

“I will look into it.”

“When you are sure, we shall speak again.” She curtseyed. “I shall write and advise you of my address. I cannot stay in London for long. It is a very expensive city.”

She left the room as the servant brought in the tray. Daniel gazed after her, wondering what the deuce had just happened. He couldn’t countenance any claim on his affections. It couldn’t be true! Daniel glanced at the certificate again. He couldn’t dismiss it out of hand, however. Was his carefully constructed world in danger of crumbling?

****

Several nights after the soirée, Hope attended Lady Stewart’s musicale. It was held in her lavishly furnished salon decorated in Delft blue with gilt-painted cornices, and golden draperies. Hope’s father, who disliked the lady, had not accompanied them. She and her mother sat on gilt chairs upholstered in satin. The last notes of the spirited opus, which Hope had been too distracted to follow, died away.

She’d been staring at the back of the Duc du Ténèbres head, where he sat in the row in front of her. His thick black hair settled in attractive waves against the nape of his neck. Perhaps he wasn’t enjoying the music, for his broad shoulders in the dark-blue coat looked tense, as if he would spring to his feet at any moment. When he did so, after the applause ceased, and turned, his dark gaze rested on her. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. Remembering their last meeting, she was determined to remain cool under his scrutiny, and lowered her chin in brief acknowledgement, then followed her mother over to join the others grouped around the pianist.