The Seduction of a Duke (42 page)

The tall shrubs rustled by the side of the porch, then Thackett stepped into the doorway, a shovel in his hand. His gaze narrowed, focusing on the rope tied to her wrist. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

She nearly collapsed with relief. Perhaps she did as Thackett was suddenly there, supporting her. “You best sit, Missy,” he said.

Her father had always called her by that name. That Thackett should do the same gave her a needed comfort. “Thackett . . .”

“Just sit here while I get that rope off ye.” He pulled a folding knife from his pocket and sawed at a spot that would still leave almost a foot dangling from her wrist. “This should work until the Duke can remove the bracelet.”

“Don’t take me back!” Her eyes widened. “Something terrible will happen to the Duke if you take me to the abbey.”

He paused in his cutting and glanced at her. “What do you mean?” He nodded toward the door. “You don’t want to stay with that fellow, do you?”

“No. No. I don’t want to stay with him,” Fran quickly asserted. “I just can’t go back. I . . . I don’t know where to go.”

Thackett continued his work on the rope. “Let’s get this off ye and we’ll figure it out.”

“Is Randolph dead?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. It was bad enough she was responsible for causing injury to William, to add the death of another to her burden . . .

Thackett glanced toward the door. “No. I didn’t hit him hard enough to do that kind of damage. He’ll wake up with a powerful headache. We’ll have you gone by then.”

“How did you know where to find me?” she asked, thankful nonetheless for his interference.

“I smelled your fire and saw horses where they had no business being, so I’ve been watching. I thought maybe you were poachers.” He smiled. “When that fellow lit the candle, I saw you in the corner with a rope and knew something was up.”

“Thank you for your rescue.” She felt a wash of compassion for the old man. But then tears threatened again. Randolph was right. She had no place to go.

He glanced at her face, then shifted uncomfortably. “Come on then. I’ll take you back to my cottage.”

He’d hidden his rig in the surrounding woods. After helping her up to the buckboard, he disappeared for a few moments. Just as Fran was beginning to wonder what he was about, he returned with the Duke’s horses and tied them to the rig as well. “He won’t be needing these.”

She assumed he meant Randolph.

 

 

SHE KNEW THAT THACKETT’S CONCEPT OF A COTTAGE would not rival her mother’s Newport concept. Still, his residence pleasantly surprised her, the sort of cottage one might encounter in a fairy tale. He helped her off the rig, then led her inside. An oil flame cast a low flame inside the small abode. Within moments, he had more lamps lit and water boiling on a stove. She glanced about at his cozy surroundings. She felt safe here, comfortable. He hadn’t a great deal of furnishings in the manner of the typical cluttered parlor, but he had a few baubles, a plant set here and there, and a series of sketches on the wall. Flowers and herbs—the beekeeper’s pantry—some had swabs of watercolor, one had a bee about to land on an outstretched petal. She noted a few books scattered about, so it was obvious he read. Yes, a cozy habitation indeed.

He called her to the kitchen table, then laid out butter, jam, and, of course, honey. He set a plate of coarse bread on the table and some sort of cold meat. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten. It’s not worthy of a duchess, but—”

“This is wonderful, thank you.” She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the scent of the meager repast reached her nose. She lathered honey onto a thick piece of bread and indulged. Once the water was ready, he made tea in heavy earthenware mugs. She spooned some honey into her tea and sipped the hot brew. Heavenly.

“Are those your sketches on the wall?” She wasn’t ready to explain what had brought her here. “They’re lovely.”

He nodded.

“The Duke’s brother is an artist. Did you know that? He’s been teaching me to sketch so I can illustrate fairy tales.” She was babbling, but it was easier than talking about the things that would have to be said.

He seemed to understand. He sat patiently waiting for her to finish, then he refilled her cup.

“Now suppose you tell me why I can’t take you back to your husband.” He settled down across from her. “I think he’ll be madder than a swarm of angry bees if he found that I kept you away without good reason.”

How to tell this story. Speaking of her discoveries to one of the estate’s tenants seemed another possible form of betrayal. But if she didn’t say anything, he could take her back, triggering an even greater treachery.

“Some malicious people have uncovered scandalous information that will ruin the Duke. In order to keep the information secret, I had to agree to go away with that man, and . . .” This was difficult. Much more difficult than she had imagined. Her throat constricted, and tears formed in her eyes. “I had to make it appear that I had run away. That I didn’t truly love my husband and planned to shame him.” The tears overflowed her eyes; apparently she hadn’t cried them out after all. “They said if I go back, the information will be made public.”

She glanced up into the kindly face of the beekeeper. “So you see I can’t go back. I can’t do that to him.”

“So these malicious people, they’re still back there, surrounding him, and he doesn’t know it?”

She nodded. “One is. The other you left in the mud at that shelter.”

He dropped his head and mumbled something that sounded like “should have bashed in his brains,” but with his heavy accent she wasn’t sure.

“So you decided for him? You didn’t give him a chance to decide for himself whether this scandalous information was worth the loss of his wife?”

She read the accusation in his glance. “I was protecting him. You don’t understand. Honor is everything to him. If he were to discover his bloodlines were not . . .” She caught herself before she completely spilled the secret.

Thackett looked at her intently. “Are his bloodlines so important that you can’t love him knowing the truth?”

“No. I love William. How he came into being is of little concern. I never wanted to be a duchess. He could be anything and I’d still love him.”

His lips tightened a moment, then he idly stirred his tea. “I’m just an old farmer, Missy, not the sort to be giving advice to high-and-mighty dukes and duchesses. But I know what it’s like to lose someone you love, someone who loves you, and it’s a pain like no other. I would think my . . . Duke would be able to deal with whatever this malicious person wants to do, as long as you were by his side.” He glanced up at her with a sympathetic expression. “When you lose the one you love, you’re lost. Utterly, totally lost.”

“I know,” she said quietly. Wasn’t she experiencing that same emotion? She was lost and alone and miserable. She knew William felt the same almost as if they had a special connection to each other’s thoughts.

Thackett raised his brows in the same way William did, and it wrenched her heart. She’d noted Nicholas had that ability as well. Could all men do this? Or was it something unique . . .

Puzzle pieces slipped into place in her mind. William had said Thackett had farmed the estate alone for as long as he could remember, the sketches on the wall, the way he lifted his brows . . .
he could be a farmer
. Fran’s eyes widened.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” she said. “You’re the father.”

He looked away and squinted. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

But she knew. She was as certain that this man was related to the one she loved as she was certain she could never love another.

“The diary said the old Duke couldn’t produce children so his wife found someone who could provide the Duke with an heir. That was you.”

“A diary? Grace kept a diary?” His eyes narrowed. “Did she mention my name? Where is the diary now?”

She was right! She knew it. Excitement bubbled within her. “I don’t believe your name was mentioned, at least Lady Mandrake didn’t know of your identity. I imagine she’s read every word written in that book in her eagerness to blackmail William.”

His lips tightened. “Grace and I were of a similar age, but worlds apart. She being a lady and everything, and me the son of a farmer working the Duke’s soil. Her parents negotiated the marriage. It was never a love match. The day she approached me with her request, I thought I was the cock of the walk. Neither of us had been with another so we learned the ways of the night together. It takes more than once for the seed to take and even then, it takes time to know it’s growing.”

Fran smiled, remembering how William was so obsessed to know the signs of the growing.

“I was living in that croft you were in earlier. She’d show up on my porch at night and leave in the morning. In the process of begetting, I fell in love.” He smiled with the memories of a happier time. “She was so good and kind. It didn’t matter that I had calloused hands or dirt under my nails. She taught me to read. I taught her about the flowers.”

Fran reached out and took his hand in hers. She remembered how she had been impressed with William’s calloused hands and strong, muscular frame. Yes, she could understand a woman of quality falling in love with this gentle man.

“The day she knew she was carrying, she brought a letter from the Duke. It promised that her child would be considered legitimate and noble born. He would be the heir to the dukedom and the secret of his true parentage would die with the old Duke. He promised me a lifetime tenancy for my silence and money besides, but I could never tell the boy that I was his father.” He glanced at Fran. “Do you know what that’s like? Watching your own flesh and blood grow up in another’s house? Seeing them but never able to touch or talk without waiting for them to talk to you first? But as long as I kept my silence, they got the benefits that I could never provide—fine food, fancy clothes, an easier life. They got a good education.” His face radiated that of a proud father. “William was a fine boy, and he turned into a fine man . . . and duke.”

He didn’t need to convince her of that. She squeezed his hand. “And Nicholas?”

“After William was born and growing like a weed, Grace appeared at my door again. There was sickness in the city that could spread out. The Duke felt they should have another child, just in case something happened to William. It was important, of course, for the two boys to look alike, so it was necessary that she come back to me.”

He hung his head. “I should have said no. I had suffered so much with not seeing William, you know? I knew that Grace was my love, and would always be my love. There wouldn’t be another.”

He paused to wipe the dampness from the corners of his eyes. “After William was born, she couldn’t come to the croft. Now that he wanted another son, I had a chance to be with my Grace again. I’d be able to leave something behind for when I leave this world, and they’d have such a better life than me. Such opportunities. I couldn’t deny her, and so we had Nicholas.” He smiled. “Nicholas was my father’s name. Grace insisted she name this one.”

He sipped his tea, most likely cold by now, but it didn’t seem to matter. She imagined this was the first time Thackett could tell his story. Once he started, he seemed determined to finish.

“The Duke was like a man with two heads. He remained true to our agreement, but he treated Grace badly. I think he blamed her for obliging his requests. When times were bad, Grace would come to my door, not always for sporting times but just to be held, for speaking kind words, for listening. But sometimes we naturally fell into the old ways. It’s hard to forget the comfort that comes when two are like one.”

Fran knew exactly what he meant. Being with William in that way was more than finding pleasure. It was more than the acts mentioned in her courtesan’s journal. It was more about the unconditional giving and acceptance, of bearing one’s soul and knowing it would not be rejected. It was comfort and more.

“We tried to be careful. Grace had some ‘mother’s helper’ solution that she said would keep the seed from taking root, and it worked for a number of years. Then it was obvious she was carrying again and it wasn’t by the Duke’s direction. I think he might have been afraid that I’d spill his secret about the others, so he made the same sort of agreements for this babe, which was a girl.” He smiled. “A little girl who looked just like Grace.”

Then his face grew more serious. “The Duke never forgave her after that. She never returned to the croft. I saw her once or twice in the distance, never touching close. She looked withered, sad. I don’t know that he did anything to her, but she was dead in a living shell. Eventually, she passed, and a part of me went with her.”

Tears streamed down Fran’s cheeks, though she hadn’t been aware she was crying till Thackett handed her a clean flannel handkerchief.

“I’ve been happy to see my boys back at the abbey, and I’ve been honored to meet you as well. A beekeeper! I was smiling for days after learning that.” He squeezed her hand that time. She grinned as she swabbed her cheeks.

“I made a trip to the Royal Academy when they hung my boy’s painting. I was so proud of him. I only wish my daughter would come back to the abbey in a way that I could see her. I haven’t seen her since she was a young one.”

Fran remembered her locket and detached it from the chain and handed it to Thackett. “I’ve not met her, but here’s a likeness.”

He pushed the clasp and opened the locket the size of a pocket watch. Gratitude that the larger size allowed a larger picture seized her. It was an amazing gift.

Thackett balked at first when he glanced at Rosalyn’s picture, but his eyes softened the moment they met the likeness of Arianne. “That’s my Grace,” he said. “As I live and breathe.” A tear slipped from his eye.

“You have a grandchild, did you know that?” Fran asked, excited on his behalf. “Nicholas and Emma—you’ll like her—have a baby girl named Sarah. They have an adopted daughter as well, I believe her name is Alice, who is grown up. You have a whole family who, I’m sure, can’t wait to meet you.”