When a Duke Says I Do (20 page)

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Authors: Jane Goodger

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical

BOOK: When a Duke Says I Do
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Alexander laughed. “Where can I find you, then, should the need arise?”
“London,” Desmarais said, with sudden certainty. “I shall rent a town house and charge exorbitant fees for members of the ton to learn to paint.” He walked out the door and toward the wagon in which they’d spent so much time together. Inside, the wagon was packed with the tools of his trade, the brushes, the solvents, and also two narrow built-in cots where they’d slept during their journeys. “I can say I will not miss this monstrosity,” he said, even as his throat closed up at the thought of selling it. He would not. He would store it somewhere. “Good luck, mon fils,” he said, clearing his throat lest he break into unmanly sobs.
“Good luck, mon pere,” Alexander said, and hearing those words was Desmarais’s undoing. He let out a sob and pulled his son into a quick embrace before scrambling up awkwardly to sit by the driver. “Au revoir,” he called, then nodded to the driver, who slapped the reins and began the next phase of the old artist’s life.
Chapter 17
 
After the departure of Monsieur Desmarais, Alexander returned to the main house only to find himself confronted by the butler, who stood, arms folded, like a sentinel guarding a palace.
“I’ve been instructed to tell you to leave this property,” the butler said.
“That’s not possible,” Alexander said, puzzled as to why he was being barred entrance. “Let me pass.”
Alexander started to walk by this bothersome guard, but stopped when the older man shifted like a dancer to prevent him from going further into the house, his finely polished shoes tapping on the marble floor. A bit flabbergasted, Alexander said, “Let me pass, sir. I must see Miss Elizabeth.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot allow it.” The man didn’t look sorry one bit.
“I do understand your need to follow orders, so please do not take my actions as a personal attack upon you, but rather on the orders which you are trying so valiantly to obey.”
The butler, who stood perhaps an inch over five feet, widened his eyes when Alexander approached, grabbed his upper arms, and physically lifted the man out of the way.
“How dare you, sir?” the butler sputtered. “Unhand me.” And then: “Lord Huntington! I am being accosted.”
“Physically attacking my servants will not put you in my good graces,
Mr.
Wilkinson.” The baron stood three steps up on the sweeping staircase glowering down at Alexander. “You may go, Mr. Cobbs, and please accept my apologies for this man’s ill-mannered behavior.”
Mr. Cobbs gave Alexander a dark look, dramatically straightening his coat as if he’d just been in a major scuffle. A part of Alexander knew he would take a small bit of satisfaction when he returned to Mansfield Manor as Lord Hathwaite and this same man bowed to him.
When the little butler was gone, Lord Huntington stepped down the remaining stairs. “I thought I saw Monsieur Desmarais’s wagon leaving,” he said, his tone cold.
“Yes, sir. But as I am no longer under his employ and as I consider myself engaged to your daughter, I thought I would return to see her.”
Lord Huntington let out a heavy sigh. “You must understand my position. I’ve no wish to keep you from my daughter in the long term if what you’ve told me is true.”
“It is.”
“Even if it is,” he said in a tone that told Alexander he did not appreciate the interruption, “I cannot act on your claim unless you can prove it. In the meantime, it is in my daughter’s best interests and mine as well, to treat you as a pretender. To welcome you into our home, to allow you to pursue my daughter, could be disastrous for us all.”
As much as he wanted to rail against what the man said, Alexander knew it was true. “I understand.”
“Do you? I think not. You cannot understand what is at stake.” Lord Huntington shook his head. “I do not wish to be cruel, to you or to Elizabeth. And I do believe you love her. But I must be practical. We all must be. Your chances of proving to Kingston and the House of Lords that you are his heir is remote at best. Whereas if he has a death certificate with your name on it, he will have the proof he needs.”
“But if he has such a document, it is fraudulent,” Alexander said, feeling his frustration grow.
“Young man, what you fail to understand is that it doesn’t matter if it is fraudulent. No one is going to believe the word of a nobody over the word of a duke.”
Alexander lowered his head, feeling overwhelmed by the odds he was facing. “I know,” he said finally. “But I have to try. I promised Elsie.” He searched the baron’s face for some understanding. “The crazy thing is, I’ve started to want it for myself. It is my due. My right. And he stole it from me. For so long, I did not care, I hated him and turned that hatred toward the title. He stole my boyhood, but he will not steal my entire life. I will not let him.”
The baron gave him a look that bordered on pity. “You may have to let him, young man. I fear it is a battle you will not win.”
“I give you my word I will leave, but I need to say good-bye to Elizabeth. I will not go until I do.”
Lord Huntington wiped a weary hand across his brow. “Very well. But I pray you do not upset her. She is still very weak.”
Alexander nodded and started up the stairs.
 
Elsie took a sip of water and grimaced. It was still difficult to drink, her vision was still blurred, and she felt uncommonly tired even though all she’d been doing the past three days was sleeping. She hardly had the strength to hold the glass so Missy held it for her. It was the strangest sensation to grow unaccountably weary holding a glass of water.
“Is Mary well?”
“Fit as a fiddle,” Missy said.
Elsie smiled. “And Alexander? He’s well? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Oh, it’s been all of two hours, Miss.” Missy winked at her employer. “How did you manage to fall in love with such a strapper with no one in the house the wiser?”
“He is strapping, isn’t he,” Elsie said, pointedly ignoring the question.
“Here’s yer lad now,” the maid said, taking the glass and scurrying out the door, but not before giving Elsie a cheeky smile.
“Alexander.” Even with her blurred vision, she could tell he looked tired, but he’d changed his shirt and his hair was still wet from a bath. Never had he looked as handsome, his face cleanly shaven, his skin glowing from a recent scrubbing.
He strode to her bed, and gently drew her to him again, holding her silently for a long moment, his hand moving along her back in an almost hypnotic rhythm. “I missed you,” she said, her voice muffled against the soft cambric of his shirt. She could feel the rumble of his laughter.
“I fear you are going to have to miss me more. I am leaving today.”
“No,” she said, holding him as tightly as her weakened state would allow.
“I must. Father’s orders.” She pulled back ready to argue, but he stopped her. “He is right. I should not be here, not until I can prove who I am. And I should begin my search.”
Elizabeth lay down, exhausted and slightly out of breath, her eyes filling with tears. “I cannot see you.”
“What do you mean, sweet?”
“You’re all a-blur. My eyesight is ruined and I cannot see you. I want to see you before you go.”
“You know what I look like,” he said, and she frowned at his smile.
“What if...” She could not continue because her throat closed up entirely and it had little to do with her illness. She swallowed heavily. “What if you do not come back? What if you cannot prove who you really are?”
He picked up her hand and held it against his lips, then put it to his heart. “Then you shall marry my brother. You must do what you need to for the sake of your family. You know this. It may not be my right, but I would have you give me a promise.”
“Anything.”
“Wait for me. Wait until I give you word that all is lost. Will you do that?”
“I promise with my soul, with my life.”
Alexander smiled down at her. “No need for that. A simple promise will do.”
Elsie nodded. “A simple promise, then.”
“And if all is lost, I will come to you to say good-bye and you will marry Hathwaite. You must.”
Elsie sniffed and nodded, even though she knew in her heart she could never marry anyone other than Alexander. They would have to think of something else, some other way to appease the duke. Surely, it was not so much money they could not raise it some way. She kept silent, though, not wanting to start an argument with Alexander right before he left.
“But I will tell you this—I will not give up easily. I will make my father’s life a living hell. I will use every resource, every bit of information I have against him if he refuses me. It is my title. My legacy.”
Elizabeth widened her eyes. She’d never seen this fierce side of Alexander, certainly not when he was speaking of the title. “Then you want it.”
“Yes. I do.”
Elizabeth smiled and felt vastly relieved. “Good. I would not have wanted you to suffer only on my behalf. I should have felt terribly guilty.”
“Oh, God, I do love you,” he said, laying gentle kisses on her cheek, her jaw line, her forehead, and finally her smiling lips.
“Come back to me a marquess, sir, so that I may be your marchioness,” Elizabeth said grandly.
“And some day my duchess.”
He said it with such conviction, such pride, that at that moment, Elsie had no doubt, none whatsoever, that they would someday be together.
Chapter 18
 
Alexander stood outside the gates of the place where he’d been brought more than twenty years earlier, feeling nothing but a sense of overwhelming sadness. He still remembered being led by Farnsworth, his father’s secretary, toward what had seemed at the time a foreboding and dangerous place.
“It’s not so bad, Mr. Alexander,” Farnsworth had said. Even though Alexander was now Lord Hathwaite, the secretary had been given strict orders to not use his title. At the time, Alexander hadn’t cared. How could he be Hathwaite when that title was his brother’s? Farnsworth’s face, despite his reassurances, was etched with worry as he gazed at the building, a large stone structure with tall, narrow windows. It looked, Alexander had thought, like a prison. Indeed, that’s what he’d thought it was, believing his father was putting him away for killing his brother. He remembered an overwhelming feeling of panic that he would never see his beloved mother again, that he would never know what it was like to lay his head on his own pillow and stare out his mullioned window at the moon.
Alexander should have hated Farnsworth, but he knew instinctively that the secretary disliked the duke and stayed only because the salary was good. Even then, at ten years old, Alexander knew him to be a weak man, not a wicked one.
Now, he stood, a man grown, staring at a building that held more charm than danger, and he smiled slightly at the remembered fear. Alexander pushed through the gates, for they were not barred, and walked on a graveled drive to the large entrance, nerves boiling like acid in his stomach as they did every time he knew he would have to speak to a stranger. He swallowed down his disgust and took a deep and shaky breath, telling himself to relax, be calm. Still, his hand shook as he reached for the bell and gave it a hard twist.
The door opened, revealing a small middle-aged woman, whose fine clothes told him she was not a servant. “My name is Alexander Wilkinson. I’m here to see Dr. Stelton.”
“Is he expecting you?” she asked, her tone soothing, her expression merely curious.
“No.”
She stood looking up at him as if she expected him to say something more, but Alexander, already uncomfortable, remained silent. “What is your business, sir?” she asked.
He could feel his cheeks redden. “I was an inmate here when I was a boy,” he said, and watched as her gaze went from curious to surprised. Then she let out a gasp.
“Alexander Wilkinson,” she said, as if the name suddenly meant something to her. “Oh, goodness. Yes. I’ll go get the doctor immediately.” She turned to go, clearly flustered, then turned around. “I think it would be better for you to come along.” She beamed a smile at him and Alexander smiled back uncertainly.
“Doctor,” she said, walking into the doctor’s office without even knocking. “You will never believe who I have out here. In the flesh.”
“The queen,” came a dry reply.
“Better. Alexander Wilkinson.” Then she turned so that the doctor could see him, her hands clutched in front of her as if she could barely contain her excitement.
The doctor stood immediately, pushing back his chair, his eyes on Alexander, his mouth opened in surprise. “My God,” he muttered. “Is it you?”
Alexander actually backed up a step. “I believe so,” he said uncertainly.
The doctor stared at him another beat, then said with enthusiasm. “Well, come in, my boy. Come in.” Dr. Stelton stared at him as if trying to see the boy inside the man he’d become. “It is you.”
Alexander let out a low chuckle. “In the flesh.”
The doctor indicated he should take a seat, then turned his attention to the woman who hovered in the doorway. “My wife, Cecelia.”
He gave her a slight bow. “Mrs. Stelton.”
“I’ll fill you in later, my dear,” the doctor said with a teasing smile, as if he knew she was dying of curiosity. With a slight scowl, she closed the door, and he called out: “Away from the door, darling.” Then they both heard the sounds of her heels tapping away down the hall.
“What brings you to Wickshire?” Dr. Stelton asked as Alexander took his seat across from the desk.
“I’ve come to find proof of my identity and I believe you may be the only person on earth who knows who I am and who my father is.”
Dr. Stelton sat back in his chair, looking steadily at Alexander, a smile slowly spreading on his face. “It’s about damn time,” he said, then burst from his seat and walked over to a cabinet, pulling out a leather portfolio after a brief search. He slapped it on his desk and said, “What do you need to know?”
A small thrill went through Alexander as he looked at that portfolio, which just might contain everything he would need to prove his identity and prove his father’s misdeeds.
“Do you have a record of who placed me here?”
“Yes. And a record of who has been paying for your care for the past twenty years. Edgar Wilkinson, His Grace, the Duke of Kingston.”
“I beg pardon? He is
still
paying?”
Dr. Stelton’s face flushed with anger. “No one has ever inquired about your well being,” he said, his voice laced with disgust. “Not one letter, not one visit. Just a quarterly check made out to this institution for your care. You’ve been gone more than twenty years,” he said, pounding one fist upon the portfolio. “I will do whatever it takes to prove your identity, even if it means testifying before Queen Victoria herself.”
“I sincerely hope it does not come to that,” Alexander said. Alexander stared at the floor, trying not to let the news that his father thought him still institutionalized seep into his brain. He’d been completely, thoroughly abandoned. My God, a man selling a horse to a breeder would have had more care for that beast than his father had had for him. He didn’t want the realization to hurt, but it did, an unexpected pain in his heart. He’d thought he was incapable of being hurt by his father again, but he’d been wrong.
“I am sorry, sir. It is unconscionable. I do want you to know that each check was deposited in a special account. I prayed this day would come, when you would return and could claim it. No one deserves that money more than you, sir. You have been ill used by a man who no doubt is held in high esteem by most.”
Alexander looked up at him, gratified that the doctor was so angry for him, that he’d had such a champion all these years. “Money?”
“Quite a large sum, actually. Four quarters, twenty-two years, with interest.” He pulled out a ledger. “Approximately ten thousand pounds.”
“Ten thousand...” It was a small fortune. “Sir, are you certain you want to ...”
Dr. Stelton held up his hand. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. However, I would be remiss if I handed over this amount of money with absolutely no proof whatsoever of your identity. So, tell me what you remember of your time here.”
Alexander closed his eyes and pictured his ten-year-old self walking through the halls, crying himself to sleep in his little room. “I was delivered here by my father’s secretary, Mr. Farnsworth. I had a room on the second floor. There were two hallways, one went to the right, the other to the left, and my room was first on the left hallway. Downstairs, there is a parlor. It seemed rather large to me then. The other children, the best behaved ones, would gather there in the evening. I hated every moment I spent here until one night you called the children over to sing while you played the piano. Badly, if I recall. I wandered over and you asked if I wanted to play. I think you asked if I wanted to make some noise. And I played Mozart. That night, you came to my room and told me that I didn’t belong here. The entire time I was here, I never spoke, for I was very frightened. After that, I was here a bit longer,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Perhaps a month or two? And one day, you brought me out and introduced me to Monsieur Desmarais, the great muralist.”
Alexander opened his eyes to see the doctor looking at him with raw emotion. “Yes. Exactly.” He let out a breath and shook his head. “What father could do that to a son?”
“It does not matter. It was a gift. I have been with Monsieur Desmarais until very recently. I had a good life with a man I came to think of as a father. I was happy.”
“What has happened, then, to bring you here after all these years?”
Alexander felt a silly grin spread on his face, but couldn’t stop it. “I fell in love with my brother’s fiancée. Of course, I didn’t know until it was too late.”
Dr. Stelton steepled his hands in front of his face. “So, this is for love?”
“That is how it started, but now I want my rightful life back. I was hiding behind my affliction and now I must face it, face who I am.”
The doctor smiled. “That is good to hear. But tell me. How is it that you are able to speak so well now? I detect nothing in your speech that would hint of childhood difficulties.”
Alexander explained about his difficulties, how even now he found it rather terrifying to walk into a roomful of people he did not know well.
The doctor narrowed his eyes. “Some sort of severe shyness. I daresay I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I wonder if some of those children whom we believe are rude or afflicted are having the same difficulties you did.” He flipped open his pocket watch. “It’s too late to get to the bank today, so I beg you to stay with my wife and me. We’ve a small cottage on the property and I know Cecelia is very curious about you. Many times we have thought about you over the years. I’m so glad you finally decided to come here.”
Truth be told, Alexander would rather have traveled to a nearby inn and stayed in his own room, but he could not refuse the doctor’s hospitality. These last few days had been agonizing tests. Hiring a horse, walking into taprooms, renting out a room, had all proved to be exceedingly trying. He hated being out among people, without the comfort of Monsieur and his blessedly silent world. “Thank you for the invitation. As I said, you are my one link to my past.”
The doctor handed the portfolio over to Alexander. “This is yours now. I hope it can help you.”
Alexander clutched the leather case as if it were a lifeline.
 
That night, Alexander went through the contents of the portfolio, sickened by the regular payments made to the institution. It was as if his father were paying a coal bill. He’d done nothing to hide the source of the checks that arrived with such regularity; even though he was paying for the upkeep of a son he’d told the world was dead. It showed the man’s complete arrogance.
Arrogance, not stupidity. Even with such evidence in hand, Alexander knew it would be difficult to prove his claim. He needed help, and now had the funds to get it. Once he had money, he would hire a solicitor and perhaps even an investigator to prove his father’s perfidy. If the duke had filed a death certificate, it would be false, obviously. Alexander need only go to the register office and find the name of the informant, or the person who filed the certificate. He hoped his father had had the document certified by a doctor, giving him one more person to question.
Alexander raked a hand through his too-long hair. Twenty years had passed since that grave was dug. What was the likelihood that whoever had supplied the document was even alive? His head ached from thinking about all that he must do before returning to Elsie. He wished he could go now, take her away and leave this all behind.
Alexander stood and looked in the small mirror above a chest in his room. He hardly remembered what his father looked like, so he couldn’t know for certain if there was even a resemblance. He prayed not. He knew only that he had his father’s gray eyes, eyes that had looked at him so coldly and with such loathing. To think his father’s blood ran through his veins made Alexander physically ill.
What would his brother do? Would he have two powerful foes to go against, or would his brother gracefully give up the title. And his mother? What would the news he was alive do to her? His brain went in circles for hours until finally, exhausted, he fell into a fitful sleep, waking just before dawn. Outside a soft mist fell, frosting the grass and branches. A deer grazed in a nearby field, lifting its head and bounding off as a wagon rode by. The entire world was going on as if he wasn’t in the midst of this turmoil. People were making fires, preparing for the day, and he stood at the precipice of a cliff that would change his life forever.
More than anything, he wished Elsie were with him, giving him strength with her unwavering faith in him. He tried to imagine himself as duke, Elsie as his duchess, but he couldn’t conjure the image. He always ended up in that little cottage of his imagination, that safe cozy place where he lived with his Elsie alone.

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