Page 3 of The Dark Duke's Virgin

Two years ago, as well as giving a false name, Caroline had told Esther that she had been left at the altar and that was the reason she’d fled her home. Another lie. Another reason to feel guilty. Another instance in which Caroline was forced to wonder if she had made the right decision in all of this and what would happen when the truth came out.

Every day, Caroline was forced to reckon with this eventuality, the only thing keeping her sane being how much she enjoyed her new life. And that was all thanks to Esther.

“There you are!” It was Mr. Jenkins. He stumbled through the doorway, face ashen.

“It is fine, Mr. Jenkins,” Caroline sighed. “I found her.”

“How are you both still down here!” he stammered as he stumbled toward them. His face was beetroot red, sweat dripping down it as if he was melting. “Surely you have heard!”

“Mr. Jenkins, you look awful,” Esther said as she looked at him. “Might I suggest some meat?”

“We have to get out, now!”

“The heat,” Caroline said, suddenly noticing how hot it was down here. And not just hot, boiling. “Mr. Jenkins, did you speak to the staff about the hearths? It is so hot down here, one could boil an egg on the ground.”

“That is just it! Dowager, I have just been alerted. There is a fire in the northern wing of the estate! And it is spreading! Quick, we must?—”

“A fire!” Caroline cried. “Esther! Hurry!” She grabbed Esther, who looked set on not moving, by the arm.

“Oh no,” Esther moaned. “Is it bad?”

“We can talk about it later!” Mr. Jenkins took Esther by the other arm. “Please, we have to hurry!”

“Wait!” Esther wrenched her arms free and snatched at the two shanks of meat she had secured. “We best collect as much as we can, for although Mr. Clancy did not say specifically, I have a feeling that cooked meat will not be nearly as effective. Mr. Jenkins, you start in that barrel, and Caroline, you start in this one!” And then, she spun about and shoved both hands into the same barrel as before, determined to collect another shank of raw meat before the house burned down around them.

To the casual observer, it might have looked strange. Downright bizarre. But after two years of living at Linfield Estate as the Dowager of Thornton’s personal companion, to Caroline, it was as predictable behavior as it was boiling hot.

CHAPTER TWO

“Isabella!” His Grace, Frederick, the Duke of Thornton called as he stormed through his estate, rounding the corner and coming upon the drawing room where he knew his daughter to be “Isabella!”

“In here, father!” her soft voice called out.

He strode into the drawing room, not in the least surprised to find his twelve-year-old daughter with company. Her name was Miss Cecilia Wanton, a governess whom he had hired specifically to help raise his daughter in lieu of a mother. A perfectly acceptable arraignment, if only the same could be said of the outcome.

“Your Grace!” Miss Wanton squeaked at the sight of Frederick striding into the drawing room. “We were not expecting you.”

“In my own home?” he responded coolly.

Her eyes went wide. “I did not mean—I was just—if I had known?—”

“Father…” Isabella sighed and clicked her tongue. “You are scaring her. You know that you are.”

“That was not my intent.”

Isabella snorted. “If you say so.”

“Is it fine,” Miss Wanton said softly, refusing to look at Frederick. Or perhaps she was simply unable? Rarely when Frederick was in the room did Miss Wanton so much as glance at him, as if she worried doing so might burn her eyes out.

“You do not need to be afraid of him,” Isabella instructed. “I know he looks mean, but really, he is not that bad. Is that not right, father?” She winked at him.

He chuckled at the cheek. “Is that your way of saying I have been too soft on you, Isabella? That can change if you like.”

She snorted. “No, no. Forget I said anything.”

The sight of his daughter did much to calm Frederick’s less-than-hospitable temperament, for he was in a mood today and did not relish what he had come here to do. And while a small part of him did wonder if he was overreacting, the greater part knew that this was as inevitable as the sun rising on the morrow.

As a duke, Frederick had been raised to understand that responsibility and discipline was not something that he had the luxury of shying away from. And while some might spurn him for the way he acted, calling him cold and callous and all sorts of horrible things, he knew that ultimately these decisions made were for the best.

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