Page 96 of Never Dare a Duke
“TheJournalhas never been a newspaper to cater to that sort of thing,” he said indignantly.
“I know, Papa. But perhaps that was why your circulation was shrinking. I heard rumors about the one nobleman supposedly without scandal—the Duke of Madingley.” Even saying his name made her want to weep, the pain was so real to her. She controlled herself. “So Gwen took me to a house party at Madingley Court.”
Her mother gasped in obvious pleasure, and even her father slowly smiled.
“Abigail, what a wonderful opportunity!” he said. “I am certain you met so many eligible men.”
“I didnotcome home with a marriage proposal.”
He seemed genuinely shocked, as if he thought every nobleman would want her for a wife. She could have cried, she loved him so for believing in her.
Abigail held up a hand. “I went pretending to be the daughter of a Durham gentleman. I’m sorry that the lie was necessary, but I needed to help you, Papa.”
“You’ve been there for a week, pretending?” her mother asked in shock.
She nodded. “I was investigating the duke so that I could write my own article. To save the paper, Papa,” she said earnestly.
He rubbed his eyes. “Oh my dear, you put yourself at such risk. It was not necessary.”
“I thought it was. But if you saw theTimesthis morning, you know that someone else wrote a terrible article about the duke.”
“So you were beaten to the story,” he said heavily. “It was for the best. Such a terribly tragedy, and you would have suffered with Madingley’s wrath.” He tried to smile. “But your instincts were good, because obviously therewasa story.”
“There still is, and I’m going to write it. I lived there for a week, and I know more about him than that—bounder, Walton, does. I’ll show the kind of man the duke is, the one who’s changed his life for the better. And I have the duchess’s letter of introduction so that I can interview Mr. Preston, the man who was paralyzed in the fight.”
Before her father could speak, her mother said sharply, “You have the approval of the duchess?”
Abigail tried not to blush. “To write this article, I do. But I don’t have the duke’s approval. He is against any more invasion of his privacy. But he’s wrong.”
Slowly, her father said, “You do not think a duke knows better what would satisfy him?”
How could she explain what she’d learned about Christopher, why she knew him better—maybe better than he knew himself?
“He’ll understand when he reads it. And he’ll be satisfied.” She met her father’s confused gaze. “Do I have your support, Papa? Will you publish this article? After the frenzy of today’s news, surely the public will want my story, and thereby increase your circulation.” She could help everybody.
“I—” He broke off and met his wife’s gaze once again. After awkwardly clearing his throat, he said, “As long as I approve it.”
“As any publisher should,” she said with satisfaction. “Have no fear, Papa. It will be good enough.”
And then she started to eat, for she hadn’t eaten all day in nervous expectation. She knew her parents watched her, but they hadn’t stopped her from her plan. And she was grateful.
Now she just had to write the best article the newspaper had ever published. She gulped.
Chapter 24
Over the next week, Abigail conducted many interviews, the first—and the most important—of which was with Michael Preston. Though she’d been prepared to take the train as far north as she had to, Mr. Preston had already arrived in London, fearing his sister’s plans. The duchess’s letter of introduction made him treat Abigail as a valued friend, and she was so taken aback and flattered that she wished she knew what the duchess had written about her. Mr. Preston humbly admitted that he’d been a bully, and that Christopher was justified in fighting him. After his initial shock and acceptance of his condition, he had not blamed Christopher for what he considered an accident, and it had taken a long time for Christopher to forgive himself, so that they could become friends.
But what was most revealing—and what had made Madeleine truly desperate to take her last chance to marry the duke—was that after many years of effort, Mr. Preston’s condition was improving. He could wiggle his toes and had begun to put pressure on his legs. His doctors felt that in time, he might be able to walk again.
“Certainly not run about, Miss Shaw,” he said affably. “But I know Madingley will share my joy. I haven’t had the chance to tell him about the improvement in my condition yet. I will be satisfied knowing the first place he’ll read it is in your newspaper.”
Abigail could only nod her acceptance because she was too busy fighting back tears. This news would ease Christopher’s mind in a way that nothing else could.
After that, every interview was a joy to her. She spoke to men Christopher had gone to school with, as well as his political allies in the House of Lords. Several charities he sponsored contacted the newspaper in hopes someone would help them publicize the duke’s good deeds, and Abigail gladly interviewed them as well. No one blamed him for his father’s actions to protect him.
With her concentration on Christopher’s life, he was never far from her thoughts. She heard nothing from him, nor did she know if he’d come to London as he’d planned. She didn’t want to ask the people she was interviewing, for fear her reaction would betray her emotions. She would have to get used to knowing that they resided in the same city together, yet could never meet.
But…how had he ended his play? She had finally realized why the plot had seemed familiar to her. The hero represented his mother, a woman who braved a new country for love’s sake. And she triumphed over Society with her happy—if scandalous—marriage. Could he not see that the duchess felt that her family was worth every sacrifice? The hero of his play should live, thrive—but only Christopher could realize that.
