Page 5 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

Chapter Two

February 1816

Laurel handed Hudsontheir last apple. “Take it,” she ordered.

He started to argue and thought better of it. Ever since Mama’s death, things had gone from bad to worse. A man had showed up, demanding triple the rent they were used to paying. She knew Farmon had sent him and it was only the beginning of the harassment. When Laurel told the man she would need more time, he’d slapped her hard. Bruising had occurred around her eye and her face swelled on the side the blow landed. He’d laughed and told her he would return tomorrow and that she better have payment in full.

Or else.

Thank goodness Hudson hadn’t been home at the time. Her brother’s temper flared even more swiftly than Laurel’s did. He would have killed the man for touching her. She’d lied and told her twin that she’d slipped on the ice, causing the injuries to her face. As it was, Hudson wanted to murder Julius Farmon. After their mother’s burial, Laurel had confessed to her brother that she had no job to return to—and why. Her brother had cursed loud and long, telling her exactly what he would do to the man. She’d convinced him to stay far away from Farmon, explaining how Farmon had threatened to fabricate charges to be brought against Hudson so that he would branded a criminal and be transported halfway around the world. All the poor in London knew being sent to Australia was a fate worse than death. Only that knowledge had kept Hudson from finding Farmon and beating him senseless.

“I can’t lose you,” she’d told him. “Not after losing Mama.”

Knowing the danger they both faced, they’d moved their few possessions and taken a room in a boardinghouse miles away, hoping to hide from Farmon. Hudson continued to work his two jobs but Laurel hadn’t been able to find employment. She’d left without references and with Farmon buying out Mr. Cole, she had no idea where her former employer might have gone. She wouldn’t chance returning to the old neighborhood to ask anyone because she didn’t want informers to detain her.

“I’ll see you tonight,” her twin said. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ll find something today, Laurel.”

With that, he left the room.

She waited a few minutes, making sure he was gone, and then went to the bed. Reaching her hand under the thin mattress, she withdrew a folded piece of parchment, the seal on it broken long ago. She sat on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the tiny room, and opened it. She’d read the brief letter so many times, the brutal lines were emblazoned in her mind.

Do not contact me again or you will regret it. It is your word against mine. I am a duke, a peer of the realm. You are a slut toiling in a shop. No one cares what you say and would never believe you over me.

My solicitor will be waiting for you tomorrow afternoon three blocks to the west of the dress shop. Make sure what he gives you lasts. No more will be forthcoming.

Everton

Her heart told her the terse message came from her father. No, the man who had violated her mother. Laurel supposed once Dinah found herself with child, she must have tried to get in touch with her attacker, telling him of her circumstances and asking for monetary help. Though she must have received some compensation, based upon the contents of the letter, it was obvious this Duke of Everton chose not to take responsibility for forcing himself on a young girl. Laurel had never given any thought to the men and woman of theton. They moved in a world of their own making, their lives never touching someone like her. Now, though, since she’d found this letter Mama had hidden for so many years, resentment filtered through her, eating away, knowing this lord had ravished her mother and never given a second thought to the offspring he’d created, much less claimed responsibility. She wouldn’t have expected a duke to give them his name but the aristocrat could at least have seen they were fed and clothed properly.

Desperation now forced her to act in an unsavory manner. She couldn’t find work. She wanted Hudson to have the chance to attend university. Though her mother had raised her to know right from wrong, hatred burned brightly inside Laurel for Everton and all those like him who took advantage of the less fortunate and tossed them away as if they were rubbish. Her mother had said the man who had hurt her was dead but there would be a new Everton. Most likely, her father’s son had taken his place in the House of Lords and assumed the title of duke.

Her half-brother...

A duke would have money. Lots of it.

And Laurel planned to blackmail him into giving her enough to ensure her and Hudson’s survival.

With a bit of money, Hudson could sit for the upcoming exams. Win a place at Oxford or Cambridge. They could leave London and take a room near the university. Her twin could attend classes. She would find work and keep house for them. The money she would ask Everton for would be a pittance to a man in his position—but it would help change the course of the twins’ lives. By leaving London, it would also guarantee that Farmon would never find them. He’d never be able to accuse either of them of wrongdoing. Once Hudson graduated, they could go anywhere in England. York. Canterbury. Leeds. They could make a new life for themselves—with just a little money from Everton to tide them over until they could stand on their own two feet again. It wouldn’t do for two bastards to make themselves known to Polite Society. Surely, a duke would part with a few pounds in order to avoid such a scandal.

Laurel was counting on it.

She folded the letter and slipped it into her reticule. Smoothed her skirts and pulled on Mama’s cloak, which was over two decades old. It didn’t matter that she didn’t cut a fashionable figure. What counted was that she would carry out her scheme without Hudson being any the wiser. She would get the money from this duke and they would escape the city and begin a new life.

If she could go through with blackmailing a peer of the realm.

She hated it had come to this. That Farmon drove her to do something she never would have done if she hadn’t lost her job. If Mama hadn’t died. Drawing on the little courage she had, Laurel left the room. She descended the stairs, wavering for a moment with dizziness. She hadn’t eaten in two days and the smell of the morning meal their landlady provided as an extra for the tenants who paid for it wafted through the air. Clutching the banister, she closed her eyes, steadying herself. After a moment, she’d recovered and continued down the staircase.

Laurel left the boardinghouse and headed for Mayfair, the winter wind biting her cheeks and numbing her fingers. She knew the area to be the most fashionable part of town. Somewhere, a servant or hansom cab driver would be able to tell her exactly which house belonged to the Duke of Everton. She would show him the letter the previous duke had written and threaten to reveal the existence of his bastard children unless this duke gave her ample payment. Then she would give him the letter and disappear. His reputation—and the dead duke’s—would remain intact.

She only hoped her plan succeeded.

*

Jeremy St. Clair,Duke of Everton, listened carefully to Matthew Proctor. His former tutor, who’d escorted Jeremy on his Grand Tour years before, had become estate manager of Eversleigh, the Everton country seat, and now functioned as Jeremy’s man of business.

While most of thetondidn’t bother to dirty their hands with matters of business, he thrived on it. His father, the previous duke, had squandered most of the St. Clair fortune. Jeremy had learned upon his father’s death how little was actually left. It had taken several years but he was blessed with a keen business acumen and patience. He’d restored the family’s wealth and hired Matthew to manage much of it on a daily basis. Still, he liked having his hand in all matters and made critical decisions when necessary.

“I think it is a wise investment, Matthew,” he said when his friend finished speaking. “Go ahead.”

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