Page 10 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

“She’s coming around,” the duchess said and knelt beside her. “Miss Wright, are you better now? Were you overwarm?”

“Yes,” she said, sitting up, her head woozy.

The duke pressed a cup into his wife’s hands and she held it out to Laurel. “Here. Drink this. It’s strong and sweet.”

Laurel did as she was told, the hot brew coursing down her throat, warming her as it traveled to her belly.

“Duke, do bring her a biscuit. I fear she’s still a tad lightheaded,” the duchess commanded.

Her husband retrieved a biscuit and brought it over. The duchess offered it and Laurel nibbled at it, trying not to eat it too quickly.

The duchess studied her. It was as if she could see down to Laurel’s soul.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my lady.”

The earl quickly filled a plate and rushed it to her. The five anxiously watched as Laurel ate everything. Food had never tasted so good.

“More tea,” the duchess said and soon another cup was given to her.

Laurel sipped it, feeling terribly guilty about what she was going to do to these lovely people.

Finally, she finished the tea and handed the cup to the duchess, who placed it on a nearby table.

“Do you feel like talking with us?” the duke asked gently.

“Yes.” Laurel tried to rein in her galloping thoughts, wondering where she should begin.

The five all took seats near her, concern apparent on every face. Before she could speak, the old woman, who’d taken the place on the settee next to her, took her hand.

“You are my granddaughter. My son’s child. I am sorry it has taken so long to meet you.”

“May we see the note?” the duke asked again.

When she hesitated, he said, “We’ve no doubt you’re a St. Clair, Miss Wright. One look at your hair, eyes, and cheekbones and it’s obvious to us all. I know my father’s handwriting. Would you mind sharing the note with us?”

“What if I hand it over and you tear it up?” she boldly asked.

The duke looked taken aback. “I would never damage something that was yours, Miss Wright.” His mouth set and she knew he was angry with her because she’d seen the same look cross Hudson’s face many a time.

Reluctantly, she removed the reticule still attached to her wrist and opened it, retrieving the note and handing it to the duke. As he read it, his eyes grew hard. He passed it to his brother, who looked just as grim. The earl gave it to his grandmother, who read it aloud.

Hearing the words spoken in front of these people cut Laurel to the quick.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she said quickly. “I’m a by-blow. I have no right—”

The duke came to his feet and then knelt before her. Taking her hand, he said, “You have every right to be here, Miss Wright. You are a St. Clair—and St. Clairs take care of one another. I apologize for my father’s crass behavior. That he took advantage of your mother and refused to claim responsibility. I know her death and discovering this letter has affected you deeply but I want you to know, we are here for you. Me. Luke. Catherine. Caroline.” He paused, smiling at the woman seated next to her. “And Cor, most of all.”

The duke rose. “You see, our father was a bitter man. A wastrel. He drank too much and gambled away most of the St. Clair fortune and unentailed properties. It surprises none of us that he acted in such a reprehensible manner.” He paused. “But you have family, Miss Wright. Two brothers and a sister. Rachel isn’t here today. She is Marchioness of Merrick.”

The duchess chuckled. “She’ll be furious that we got to meet you first. Our Rachel is very possessive when it comes to family. You will have a fierce ally in her.” She smiled at Laurel. “In all of us. Jeremy is right. Since you are alone now, we want to be your family and help you in any way we can.”

Laurel burst out into tears. She had never cried so long or hard as guilt washed over her. She’d come to blackmail the duke and instead, he and his family had welcomed her with open arms. Various St. Clairs took turns embracing her. Stroking her hair. Patting her back. Murmuring words she didn’t even understand but somehow they soothed her. Finally, she composed herself and straightened her spine.

“You’ve all been lovely,” she declared. “I came here today because I was desperate. I have lost my position in the chandler’s shop where I was employed. My mother died. We can’t pay the rent. I was hoping... somehow... to...”

She couldn’t finish the words. Couldn’t tell them she was going to try and force their hand to give her money.

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