Page 2 of Disguised Desires of a Scarred Duke
“All the more reason we decided to tell no one that we’re back in London yet.” Edward winked. “And for you to make camp at the townhouse instead of the family home for a while, of course. Is anyone expecting your arrival tonight?”
“Not even Mr Byrd, the butler who’s been with my family since I was in leading strings. He must be ancient by now,” William replied.
“And just as in need of more brandy and a good knotting as the rest of us!”
William and Edward clutched their sides in laughter over the loud and rapid patter of insistent rain. Then, their bodies suddenly flew several inches into the air and back down again.
“Whoa there, good man! What just happened?” Edward knocked on the ceiling of the carriage after a large jolt sent him and William bouncing out of their seats. The wagon came to an abrupt stop, which made the sounds of the rainstorm all the more menacing as it droned on.
The coachman opened the carriage door to report that a wheel had broken. Fortunately, they were fairly close to the duke’s townhouse, and the repair was minor. The driver promised they’d be on their way again momentarily.
But the Duke of Ashbourn’s fill of carriage travel had reached its limit.
William tipped the coachman extra coins for his trouble, then told his travel companion that he’d walk the rest of the way from here.
“Are you mad, Your Grace? This weather isn’t suited for duke or beast!” Edward protested, but William was already standing on the street, getting drenched.
“Meet you there! I’ll have the brandy ready!”
With that, William dashed quickly toward his new home while the heavens seemed to christen him with the noble title his father had left behind.
As he navigated the dark, unfamiliar streets, memories of his strict father came flooding back. William had been sickly as a young boy, which displeased the elder duke to no end.
Archibald St Clair wanted a strong and powerful heir to take hunting and show off to his peers. But his only child had spent most of his early years in bed, recovering from the latest illnesses going around.
William tucked his hands into his coat pockets to warm them as his family’s townhouse finally came into view. He smiled as he approached the front door, thinking he was the one with the last laugh. Though his father banished him to boarding school when he was a weak and quiet young man, William returned to London twenty years later stronger and more powerful than either of them could have imagined possible.
The fact that he now looked more like a beast than a duke was a setback, yes. But maybe it would make his mother’s effort at matchmaking a lost cause.
Besides, the new Duke of Ashbourn had no interest in marriage or children. Nor did he have the same goals or mind for business his father had enjoyed.
At three and thirty years old, William was a skilled and respected ship captain who preferred the unpredictable life at sea. He had no interest in returning to London for good and walking in the footsteps his father once took.
For now, he would finally heed the solicitor’s demands to come back and attend to some “irregularities” in the family’s finances. Once that task was completed, he would be on the next ship out of England. Perhaps never to be heard from again.
William rechecked his pocket watch. It was only half-eight, so the staff would still be awake. This townhouse had been his father’s private space, which meant the staff was probably quite small now after his death less than a year ago.
Still, lamps flickered in the windows. They were a welcome sight for a long-lost son whose body felt soaked to the bone.
William knocked on the large ornate door several times and then waited. When a footman he didn’t recognize pulled the creaky door open, another shocking bolt of lightning sizzled across the sky above his head.
The young footman took one look at the duke and let out a blood-curdling scream.
Chapter 2
“Eleanor Whitfield, listen to me! Do you want to be responsible for all of us losing everything? The future of this household depends onyou.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened with amusement, which made her younger sister, Regina, hide a smile behind her pale blue linen napkin.
“My dearest stepmother, I am listening. But I don’t understand your urgency. Cousin Harrison has taken good care of us since Father died. So, my getting married in a rush isn’t necessary. Especially to scoundrels like Cecil Phillips, who I’m very glad to say is finally gone.”
Her stepsister’s gaze turned dark and downward toward her plate at the mention of Mr Phillips’ name. If Eleanor could reach past the steaming roast between them to give Regina a reassuring hug right now, she would.
Instead, she tried to lighten the mood by flicking a buttery green pea across the table. It landed in Regina’s auburn curls and made them both giggle again.
Margaret Whitfield’s stern expression turned to red-faced rage, nearly the colour of her dark red hair pulled back in a chignon. She pressed her palms on the dining table and pushed herself slowly to her feet until she towered over the two young ladies in her care.
Eleanor studied Lady Whitfield’s vintage black silk dress with a high lace collar as she waited for her stepmother to unleash another lecture. Margaret’s clothing was too formal for their small family dinner. But she rarely wore anything modern or casual.
