Page 43 of Tamed By a Duke
Thomas was triumphant as he finally grasped the elusive moniker, though Hugh felt less victorious. Lord Marshdon, father of Charles Deveraux, was not the name he had expected.
"How old is the babe?" he queried gently, hoping that Thomas would not leap to the same conclusion as he. Though how could he, Hugh thought, when he was not furnished with the same knowledge as the duke.
"Little Molly? Why, she must be coming up on two," the footman speculated, more cheerful now that they had moved to a safer topic. "She's quite the little hellion. I don't doubt she causes her mama all sorts of trouble."
"I don't doubt it either," Hugh replied heavily.
They had reached the end of Barbour Street, and Thomas was now free to leave. After cautioning the footman not to breathe a word of their exchange to anyone—least of all Miss Drew—Hugh turned in the direction of St James' Square.
His step was heavy as he traversed the footpaths which led home, and his heart even more so. Poor Charlotte, Hugh thought, as light drops of rain began to fall from the sky above. What a heavy burden to carry alone, and what a big secret to have kept hidden for so long.
There was no doubt in Hugh's mind that little Molly was the fruit of a union between Charlotte Drew and Charles Deveraux. The timing was too perfect; just over two years ago, Charlotte had been discarded by Deveraux—no doubt after the cur had seduced her for sport and had left her to fend for her growing belly alone.
Her family would not have made a fuss, Hugh thought sagely; they would have sent Charlotte away until the babe was born. How it had come to live on Barbour Street, with one of Deveraux's maids was another matter, but Hugh did not doubt that there was an explanation for it. Perhaps she had been supplied by Deveraux, for honour demanded that a gentleman provide for all of his children, even the baseborn ones.
Hugh's gut clenched in anger as he thought on Deveraux and he fervently wished that he had called him out the night of Lord Jacob's ball. How could a man simply use a young lady and discard her and his child so easily?
No doubt Charlotte lived in a world of agony, separated from her daughter by the rules of society, which would never allow them reunite.
But they could reunite, Hugh thought with a start. He could claim Molly as his own, could take her to live with them on one of his estates. His title was enough to protect the girl, he could give her the life she deserved.
That he was willing to take on another man's daughter, was something of a revelation to Hugh. He preferred things to be orderly, desired everything to be exact and perfect, but when it came to Charlotte all his preconceived ideals flew out the window.
He wanted her as his wife, virgin or not. And he wanted her to be happy, which would only happen if Molly was taken under the protection of his name.
With a far lighter step, Hugh hurried home, hoping that he might outrun the impending downpour. Penrith House stood imposing itself over the square, same as ever, but Hugh paid no mind as he raced up the steps.
The door was opened by his butler, who did not bat an eyelid at finding his master rain-soaked and on foot.
"Harlow," Hugh ordered, as the man helped him out of his coat, "Take note. I wish to hold a ball as soon as it is possible to arrange."
"Yes, your Grace," Harlow answered, folding Hugh's coat over his arm.
"I want the whole of London in attendance," Hugh continued, running an agitated hand through his thick hair to disperse the raindrops which dampened it. "Blast it. Actually, I don't care for all of London, just make certain that Miss Drew is there."
"Yes, your Grace," Harlow repeated, nonplussed by Hugh's demands, "Er. There is someone here to see you, your Grace."
"A visitor? Dash it, Harlow, I don't have time for visitors."
"Well, he has made a rather long journey."
"Just a thousand miles and seven years," another voice added dryly, "But if his Grace is too busy, I might call back."
Hugh stilled at the familiar, deep voice, which was so like his own. He turned on the heel of his Hessian and found Leo—tall, tanned, and healthier than he had ever looked—standing in the open doorway of the drawing room.
"I see you haven't changed," Leo said with a tight smile, nodding at poor Harlow, who was awaiting a reprimand from the duke.
"I think you'll find you're wrong," Hugh replied, as he traversed the distance between them in two long strides and pulled his brother into a bone-crunching hug. "I think you'll find me very much changed, dear brother."
Chapter Thirteen
It had been nearly a week since Charlotte had last seen Penrith. She had received a note, dashed off in a messy scrawl, explaining that he would be away for a few days with his brother, viewing the ducal estates.
A part of Charlotte had mourned the loss of the duke's company, but she had also celebrated, for surely it meant that the two Abermale brothers were now reunited.
You had some small part to play in that, a voice whispered proudly in her ear. Charlotte was not a boastful young woman, but she did allow herself to feel briefly satisfied at the idea that she had helped Penrith to mend ties with his sibling.
Then, just yesterday, an invitation had arrived at Ashfield House, addressed to Charlotte.
