Heir to the Duke (The Duke's Sons #1) Read online

  “I passed her on the stairs and told her Nathaniel needed to speak to her. Most urgently.” James grinned.

  Violet blinked. She had thought James the least striking of the brothers. His smile changed her opinion. It was full of vitality and perfectly charming.

  Randolph sank into an armchair. “What have we done? To expose a gently reared young lady…”

  Alan let out a long sigh.

  “She will have a nervous collapse,” said Robert, sounding rather awed. “She will fall into a fit of the vapors and never come out. Why have we heard no shrieks or running footsteps?”

  Was this what they thought of her? Violet was mortified. Her grandmother would say it was what she got for listening at doors. The same grandmother who had ensured that people saw Violet as a prudish, missish stick.

  “They’re getting married,” James said. “Whatever she sees…well, she’s going to see it anyway.”

  “With a wolf skin?” said Alan.

  Randolph made a choking sound.

  “If the old lady finds out…” began Sebastian.

  “We flee the country,” responded Robert. “James will find us a ship to the antipodes.”

  Violet had to stifle a laugh. She hadn’t realized how much she was going to enjoy being a Gresham. Suppressing a smile, she pushed the parlor door open and walked in. “What have you done with Cates?” she demanded.

  She was met with silence and a circle of staring blue masculine eyes.

  “Cates?” said Robert.

  “Nathaniel’s valet? He appears to be missing.”

  “Missing?” said Randolph.

  Violet turned to him, and he took a step back. “So I am told. Am I not speaking clearly? Perhaps if you returned our bell rope…?”

  “You know about the…” Alan’s voice trailed off.

  Violet raised her eyebrows. “I was just speaking to Nathaniel and—”

  “Nathaniel? In his room?” interrupted Robert.

  “In his room,” she confirmed. “With his lupine companion.”

  Robert’s mouth fell open. James burst out laughing. “I locked the valet in the garden shed,” he admitted.

  From the babble that broke out, Violet concluded that this had not been part of the plan. Pitching her voice to cut through it, she said, “You will release him immediately and send him to Nathaniel.” She fixed each brother in turn with a stern look. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” said Alan. The others nodded.

  With an answering nod, Violet turned and went out.

  Silence followed. Finally, Robert spoke in hushed tones. “She sounded just like her grandmother.”

  This elicited another round of solemn nods. Except from James. “What’s wrong with you?” he said. “She seems like a capital girl to me.”

  Two

  The marriage of Nathaniel Gresham, Viscount Hightower, and Lady Violet Devere took place later that morning at the village church near the Deveres’ country home. His wardrobe returned from its hiding place, the viscount was handsome and composed in a dark blue coat. No one, seeing him stand so calmly before the altar, would have imagined him waking naked under a wolf skin a few hours earlier. The bride looked resolute, and slightly washed out, in a gown of pale pink. Those present were too accustomed to her wan appearance to wonder at the wardrobe choice.

  The simple ceremony was witnessed by the couple’s families and close friends. On one side of the church, the elder Langfords exhibited more genial dignity than visible joy. Indeed, the duke, a tall, spare, handsome man of sixty or so, exchanged at least one unfathomable look with his duchess. Adele Gresham, though well past fifty, was exceedingly striking in a blue ensemble that complemented hair of a deep, rich color between chestnut and strawberry. She sat very straight. Tall, angular, with arching brows and an aquiline nose, she was known for not suffering fools, and the one glance she let slip to the opposite rank of pews suggested that this ability was under considerable strain.

  For their part, the bride’s parents seemed oddly subdued. They looked more often to the earl’s formidable mother than to their marrying offspring. The Dowager Countess of Moreley glowered in the front pew, bent a little forward, both hands resting on the head of her ebony cane. At seventy-six, with her prominent features accentuated by age, her once fine figure sabotaged by gravity, she’d been compared by one quaking sprig of fashion to a cathedral gargoyle. If she had ever exhibited an errant sense of humor, her gown of stone-gray sarcenet might have been seen as wry defiance of this characterization. But no one had ever accused Violet’s grandmother of whimsy. Next to her the stocky, sandy-haired earl and his plump, anxious wife were obviously mere retinue. Only Violet’s younger brothers, sixteen and fourteen, added vitality to the Devere pew.

  To those who knew them, the groom’s bevy of brothers seemed a bit subdued as well. They put it down to the solemnity of the occasion, unaware of Nathaniel’s mustering of the troops once he was dressed and breakfasted. He’d lined them up in a vacant parlor like a company of soldiers, acknowledged the depths of their ingenuity and the hilarity of the results, and informed them that the remainder of his wedding day was to be prank-free. Walking down the row, he’d fixed each brother with a stern eye, and received solemn promises in return. When he cared to exert it, Nathaniel had a natural authority that could not be denied.

  Sebastian stood up with the viscount at the altar. Alan sat next to their parents with his lovely wife Ariel at his side. The rest filled the second pew with three sets of wide shoulders, and there was not a peep from any of them, not even James.

  Afterward, guests and prominent neighbors joined the family at the house for a celebration of the wedding. Reception rooms filled with a buzz of conversation, and chattering groups spilled out into the beautiful June day through French doors open to the gardens.

  “Oh, my,” declared one lady as the Langford brothers paused on the terrace for a brotherly toast. “I must say that the sight of them all together is quite breathtaking.”

  “It’s the first time they’ve all been gathered in some years. Lord James has been at sea,” responded her friend, who prided herself on knowing every tiny tidbit of gossip.

  “And only the eldest married?”

  “And the youngest, Lord Alan.”

  “How odd.”

  “Oh, it was quite the mystery. Some country nobody called Bolton, from Cornwall.” She bent closer to murmur in her friend’s ear. “Though some say her mother was an actress.”

  “No!”

  The other nodded. “And a dear ‘friend’ of the Prince Regent.”

  “Ah. So that’s how it came about?”

  The gossip looked frustrated. “The details of the match are unclear. But Lord Sebastian, now, he is recently engaged. Announced in a perfectly straightforward way.”

  “He’s the taller one, with the side whiskers?”

  “Cavalry regiment,” was the laconic reply. “He snagged Georgina Stane.”

  “The heiress?”

  “Indeed. Lord Sebastian beat out a whole crowd of suitors.”

  The second lady looked impressed, but dubious. “Has he met her family?”

  “He must have. They courted through most of the season.”

  “Oh, her family does not go up to London. I believe Lady Georgina was staying with her aunt. Or her grandmother?” At her friend’s inquiring look, the lady added, “I’ve heard the Stanes are rather…eccentric.”

  “Indeed?”

  Eyes bright, the lady bent closer to whisper.

  On a sofa in the largest parlor, Violet’s grandmother was holding forth to a captive audience. “Of course, the Devere family goes back to the Conqueror on both sides. The Langford dukedom was only granted in 1683. Charles II, you know. Not what you would call…really sound.”

  Passing behind her, Nathaniel wanted to mutter that his ancestor had already been an earl at the time, but he didn’t. Arguing with the dowager countess of Moreley was useless. She could never be convinced that her opinions wer
e wrong, and she was only too delighted to explain the stupidity of those who didn’t share them.

  Nathaniel moved on, conscious of glances following him and remarks being made. He’d attended scores of parties since his early youth, and attracted notice at many of them, for the sake of his rank and position. He’d never come to enjoy it, and today was worse. As the groom, he was the continual center of attention.

  He paused in a doorway between rooms, looking for Violet, and heard his brother James’s voice from one side. “I put away a goodly bit of prize money during the war, and I’m thinking it’s time to find a nice English girl and get leg-shackled.”

  “If you think of it as ‘shackled—’” began Alan’s wife Ariel.

  “Just an expression,” James interrupted. “I’ve heard you’re quite the matchmaker.”

  “Well, when you come to visit us next month, we shall see,” said Ariel. “I can introduce you to some young ladies.”

  “Not bluestockings, mind,” said James. “Alan’s the one for books and such.”

  Nathaniel grinned as Ariel agreed, and moved on into the crowd.

  * * *

  Violet wondered if the toasts and congratulations and evaluating glances would ever end—particularly those from the people who clearly wondered how she’d managed such a match. Those made her want to pour red wine down the front of her wretched pink dress until it turned a more flattering color. Except she also wanted to drink the wine—lots of it. And from the way her grandmother occasionally frowned at her, she probably knew it. Violet was surprised Grandmamma hadn’t marched over and taken her glass away from her.

  Looking happy, making happy meaningless conversation, was exhausting. Not that she wasn’t happy. She was. Of course she was. Or, at least, she was very glad the wedding was done. She was excited to get on with her new life. She appreciated Nathaniel’s steady presence and the good wishes of her real friends. But how she longed to get away! None of these people could imagine the pressure that had been building up in her over all these years of being the good girl—even years after she didn’t feel like a girl at all. They had no notion of the familial conspiracy that made certain every hint of rebellion was squelched. She’d been part of it; she knew that. She’d given in to the frowns and orders.

  But that was over now, and with freedom so near, the desire for it was pushing at her like floodwater straining at a dam. She hadn’t understood precisely what it would be like once she was actually married. She was afraid something would burst out before all these wedding guests, and she would go whirling and chattering among them like a bedlamite. The image called up the memory of Nathaniel naked with the wolf skin. Here were scenes to set all of society on its ear. The idea had a strange attraction. She could almost wish to see the faces of Nathaniel’s brothers, who thought her such a buttoned-up miss. But it wasn’t going to happen. She retained more self-control than that.

  The minutes and hours dragged interminably, but finally they were going out to the carriage. People followed to wave and call farewells. The door was shut, the horses given their heads, and they were off on the three-hour drive to the manor where they were to spend the first two weeks of their marriage. Violet watched until the gates of her old home disappeared around a bend in the road. “Thank God that is over,” she said then, referring to the entire chapter of her early life.

  Nathaniel looked a bit surprised at her vehemence. “Are you worn out? Your mother thought a country wedding would be less tiring…”

  “No, Grandmamma would not be so unfashionable as to remain in London an instant after the season ended,” she corrected.

  “Ah.”

  There was no need to say more. Her grandmother was an established sore point. She had found things to criticize even in the estimable Viscount Hightower. “And I’m not tired. Except of…” Violet let the sentence die. There was no need to burden Nathaniel with complaints about her endless “girlhood.” Particularly now that it was over.

  After waiting politely to see if she would continue, he said, “I think you will like Hightower. The countryside thereabouts is thought to be very beautiful.”

  “Your title comes from there?”

  “Yes, the manor was one of the earliest Gresham land holdings.”

  “Before Charles II?” When Nathaniel looked startled, she smiled. “Yes, I heard Grandmamma disparaging the date of the dukedom.”

  Nathaniel smiled back. He had a wonderful smile. She’d noticed that before, but not quite so vividly. When he truly smiled, his handsome face gained warmth and depth, and she felt as if she could fall forever into his blue eyes. As they shared a moment of conspiratorial glee, Violet’s heartbeat stuttered. She saw her new husband smiling before her, and standing ruefully naked in his empty bedchamber this morning. Something in his gaze suggested that he might be thinking of that moment too, when she had been unable to tear her eyes away from his sculpted form. Violet felt bits of her body tighten in response to the notion.

  They were alone together. For hours. Quite close together, really, in the confines of the traveling carriage. They hadn’t been alone before, not for more than a few minutes, due to her grandmother’s antiquated notions. Violet felt as if the air was thickening around her. If he wished to touch her now, he could. She wished he would. And yet, she had made a plan for their first moments of intimacy. She’d seen each step in her mind’s eye a hundred times. Should she throw it to the four winds? Should she cast herself into his arms, here in the moving carriage? Part of her cried out, “Yes!” But Violet found she was not quite that daring. She wished she was. Perhaps she could become so?

  The silence had begun to seem long. She should say something. “Is there actually a tower?” It came out breathless. Nathaniel’s smile broadened. Could he read her mind?

  “Yes, indeed,” he said. “A ruined one. It’s said to be quite ancient. Hightower is not far from Chichester, you know, which is full of Roman remains.”

  This bit of geography steadied Violet’s senses as it reminded her of other plans. “It’s not too far from Brighton either, is it?”

  “About fifty miles.”

  About what she’d estimated; not a difficult journey.

  “You know that the house isn’t grand,” Nathaniel added. “Nothing like Fairleigh.”

  Violet nodded. Fairleigh, their eventual home, was just five miles from Langford Abbey, the duke’s main seat. She had visited it, and approved some renovations that were in train. She knew that Nathaniel needed to be nearby to help his father administer the ducal lands. She also knew that the duchess hoped to enlist her in a variety of charitable ventures. She and Nathaniel had a host of duties laid out for them that would last the rest of their lives.

  Violet suppressed a sigh. She didn’t object to responsibility. She’d known full well that it lay ahead. She only wanted a little time before all those duties descended. She deserved it. Nathaniel did too. Surely he would enjoy a bit of freedom? The pent-up energy that had surged in her at the wedding breakfast swept through her again—that fierce longing to make her own choices, plunge into experience. “I should so like to spend the summer in Brighton!” The words had escaped her, unstoppable, propelled by that energy. She hadn’t meant to bring this up so soon. But she’d waited so long!

  “Brighton?” Nathaniel looked surprised.

  “I’ve always wanted to go.”

  “I didn’t realize you were fond of the seaside.”

  “I love it.” Violet actually had no idea if this was true. She’d never spent any time by the ocean. But she knew she wanted balls and excursions and bride visits and… She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “It would be such fun!”

  Their eyes met, and intense awareness filled the carriage once more. His coat sleeve seemed hot where her fingers rested.

  “I don’t know,” said Nathaniel slowly. “The good places will all be leased by now.”

  “Surely something could be found?”

  Nathaniel blinked at the hint of a snap
in her voice. For a moment, he seemed to hear an unsettling echo of her grandmother’s steely tones. But that was ridiculous. No one could be less like the dowager than his gentle bride. “I’ll have some inquiries made,” he conceded.

  “Wonderful.” Violet smiled, and sternly repressed a desire to insist. She mustn’t let her longings get out of hand. There would be plenty of time to convince him in the days ahead.

  * * *

  They arrived at Hightower in the golden light of early evening, which gave the house of mellow red brick, built in Tudor times, the look of a painting. The building was set on a gentle rise in the middle of a wide valley. Below lay a small lake, shimmering with reflected reds from the sunset. A little sailboat was tied to the dock there, and sheep and cattle grazed in nearby fields. The ruined tower that Nathaniel had mentioned crowned the farther rim of the valley, as if placed there by a discerning artist, its fallen stones and empty windows silhouetted against the banded sky.

  Nathaniel pointed it out to Violet as their carriage wound its way up to the front door. His memories of this place were fond, though not lifelong. Ownership had come to him on his majority, and he had used the house as an informal respite in a formal life, visiting now and then with a few good friends, sailing and fishing and riding in the countryside. Here he had a good steward and no particular duties. He could set aside responsibility in simple pleasures. He had chosen it for the first days of marriage because he had always felt easy and contented within its walls. There was no crowd of onlookers to scrutinize and evaluate, no pressure to be a worthy representative of an ancient line.

  They were welcomed by the housekeeper and their personal servants, who had come ahead in another coach with their luggage. Cates had hot water and towels ready in his dressing room, and Nathaniel supposed Violet’s maid, Renshaw, did in hers. He washed off the grit of the journey and went back downstairs to await his bride.

  As he’d ordered, a light supper was laid out in the main parlor, with champagne and a bowl of strawberries. The food was plain, so that there was no need for attendants. A small fire burned in the hearth, more for coziness than warmth on this mild June night. Nathaniel had tried to anticipate every awkwardness associated with the new intimacy of marriage, and ease it. Although, after Violet’s frank gaze this morning—had it really been this same day that she opened his bedchamber door?—he wondered if he had been too scrupulous.