Love Letters From a Duke (28 page)

“You want me to ask—”

Thatcher shook his head. “No, I said ‘beg her.’ Grovel if you must. Think of it, my good man, a household without daughters. Think of the peace and financial freedom you could gain. If you were inclined to approach her with an open mind, you might find that Miss Langley is your salvation. She’ll have your daughters matched before the month is out.”

Now these were arguments Elliott could understand. And catch hold of with the tenacity of a terrier. “It would be quiet around the house,” he mused.

“As the grave,” Thatcher whispered back.

The solicitor sighed, his eyes half closed as he considered such a fate. But like all good men of the law, he was one argument ahead of the conversation. “And when Miss Langley asks for the reason for my sudden change of heart, what am I to say?”

Thatcher nodded. True, Felicity wouldn’t trust this sudden
turn around. “Tell her Princess Jamilla was your inspiration.”

Elliott’s brow furrowed again. “Princess who?”

“Jamilla something. Don’t worry about the rest of it. You’ll meet her when you call.” Thatcher almost wished he could be there to see the proper and prim Elliott when Jamilla strolled into the room and happily took credit for Felicity and Thalia’s newfound fortune. “Oh, and Elliott?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

Why, Thatcher would have sworn the man was cringing. “Send around a case of that whisky, will you? For my troubles, as it were.”

When the bell rang at the Langleys’ borrowed house not an hour later, Felicity flew down the stairs. Not that they were expecting anyone.

Except Thatcher, and he certainly wouldn’t use the bell. She glanced at the door and pressed her lips together. Since he’d stormed out of the house the day before, she’d been on pins and needles awaiting his return.

If he would return.
Worse still, she’d spent a restless night, her dreams haunted by the passionate knowledge he’d awakened in her. Of him touching her, kissing her, filling her, her body shivering and quaking beneath him.

Oh
,
if only…
she’d wished more than once.

As much good as that did! For the man hadn’t shown up for work this morning—not that he was overly punctual to begin with—but much to her surprise, in his place arrived three footmen, four maids, a cook’s assistant, and no less than a butler. All knocking properly at the kitchen door with the explanation that they’d been hired to work, their wages for the quarter already paid.

Yet, no sign of Thatcher.

So as the bell rang, Felicity found herself on the first floor landing, clutching the railing and holding out hope that her unconventional lover had returned. That was until their new
butler, Rollings, pulled open the door to admit none other than Mr. Elliott.

At the sight of their parsimonious solicitor, her stomach sank.

“Miss Langley!” he called out, smiling up at her. Felicity was immediately wary, especially since his jovial countenance bore a startling resemblance to Brutus when he spied a particularly good pair of Hessians. “I see the staff has arrived, good, excellent,” he said, clapping his hands together before he handed Rollings his hat, gloves, cloak, and walking stick. “I have letters of credit and some other business we need to see to, so you can make your proper bow. I believe that is what it is called, is it not?” He smiled again, and Felicity found herself taking a step back from him as he came up the stairs. “Your receiving room is on the second floor, correct?”

She nodded and followed him. Letters of credit? Had she been struck by a coach and not known it? Or rather, had Mr. Elliott?

At the next landing, Tally caught up with them and whispered in Felicity’s ear, “What is
he
doing here?”

“Seems he’s responsible for our newfound staff.”

“I don’t believe it,” Tally scoffed.

Felicity nodded in agreement. “Makes absolutely no sense. But I mean to get to the bottom of it.”

When they entered the room, Pippin bounded up from the window seat, while Aunt Minty continued her morning snooze, her soft snores competing with Brutus’s as he too took a nap in a basket near the lady’s feet.

Mr. Elliott wasted no time getting to business. “Miss Langley, it is with a sincere heart that I’ve come here today.”

Sincere? The man didn’t even know what the word meant.

“For you see, I was most keen to see how I could help you, bound as I am by your father’s instructions—”

“He never would have wanted us living in destitution,” Tally shot back, and looked to continue, but Felicity staved her off with a sharp shake of her head.

“No, certainly not, Miss Thalia, but I am a man of the law and as such cannot go against a client’s express wishes, as I know them to be.”

“You’ve heard from our father?” Felicity asked. For certainly that could be the only explanation for the man’s change of heart.

His jaw worked back and forth. “Not exactly—”

Just then, Jamilla arrived, floating into the room like a butterfly, still in her morning
dishabille
, a fur-trimmed wrapper tied loosely over her night rail—a lacy confection of black silk and satin. “Darlings, here you are! And entertaining yet again.” She eyed Mr. Elliott, and apparently his well-cut, albeit plain coat, stiff white cravat, and polished boots, didn’t leave her cold for she smiled as a cat might, a tempting feline curl to her lips that had wrecked havoc on more than just Napoleon’s marriage.

It also didn’t hurt that Mr. Elliott had bounded to his feet and produced an elegant and courtly bow. Who would have thought the stuffy solicitor capable of such social prowess?

Then again, Elliott was well off, and that alone was enough to put the man in Jamilla’s good graces.

“Princess Jamilla,” he said. “To meet you
again
, and so soon, is an honor and a privilege.”

Again? “You know our nanny?” Felicity asked.

“Nanny?” He took his glasses off and cleaned them before taking another glance at the exotic and glamorous lady before him.

“’Tis more a term of endearment than an actual title,” Jamilla said, taking the man’s arm and pulling him down on the settee beside her. “But you were saying something about a meeting and I—”

“I know you didn’t expect to see me again, but I wanted to
know that the arrangements you requested for these young ladies met with your approval. The servants, and now I’ve brought over the letters of credit—”

“Letters of credit?” Jamilla scooted closer. “I think I know what these are, though my English is not always perfect. They are used for shopping, no?”

“Yes. Exactly,” he told her, extracting himself from Jamilla’s grasp and smoothing out his wrinkled sleeve. Reaching inside his valise, he plucked out a packet of papers. “Ah, yes, here they are. The financial matters, as well as the staffing arrangements. I think you will find them all in order.” But instead of showing them to Jamilla, he held them out for Felicity—though for a second he seemed reluctant to release them.

After a momentary tug-of-war, she discovered why. “You’ve released father’s money!”

The man’s eye twitched nervously. “Yes.” He dropped back down to the settee and mopped at his brow with a handkerchief he’d plucked from his waistcoat pocket.

“You mean we have access to our funds?” Tally asked.

His eye twitched again before he answered. “Yes. I believe you will find the amount more than adequate.”

Felicity thumbed through the papers she’d finally managed to wrench from his grasp, and realized they had been handed everything—everything Elliott had claimed not a fortnight earlier he would never surrender to them before they came of age (and some good sense to boot), and then only over his dead body.

No, this was too good to be true. She handed the letters back. “I don’t believe this.”

“Duchess, don’t be foolish,” her sister hissed, reaching over and retrieving the documents—their very freedom—before Mr. Elliott recovered from whatever mental breakdown had caused this miraculous reversal.

“Why this sudden change of heart, sir?” Felicity asked.

“Um, I had an unexpected visitor.” He glanced over at Jamilla, his gaze wandering from her darkly kohled eyes to the bounty of cleavage sitting nearly level with his nose. “And when they…I mean, when the princess appealed to my sense of honor—”

What a pile of rubbish
, Felicity thought, dismissing the man’s fustian and trying to determine who might have exerted enough force and influence over their solicitor to get him to release their funds. She rose from her chair and wandered toward the window, only to find a line of wagons pulling to a stop before the house—laden with furnishings and rugs and crates. Along with the servants and the foodstuffs that had been arriving by the basketload since dawn, there was only one explanation.

Only one person who could have wrought this miracle.

Hollindrake.

But how would the duke have known of their financial woes?

“…and then when the princess related the terrible conditions you had been reduced to live in, and with her guarantee against your father’s estate for any excessive expenditures—”

“Oh, Jamilla, you’ve done all this for us?” Tally exclaimed, rushing over to their former nanny and embracing her like a beloved long lost relation.

“Yes, yes, darlings, it is all my doing,” the lady said, smiling over at Mr. Elliott as if they were old friends.

Felicity bit her lips together. Obviously Jamilla had no idea what “guarantee against your father’s estate” meant. For if she had, she might not have been so willing to take all the credit.

Not ones to look a gift horse in the mouth, Pippin, Tally, and Felicity set to work immediately, ordering gowns and
shopping well into the late afternoon. Dusk came early in the winter, and it was nearly dark as they cut across Grosvenor Square toward Brook Street.

Felicity paused across from Hollindrake House. “I would wager my new garters that
he
had something to do with all this.” They had debated all day whether Jamilla could truly be the source of their newfound riches and were divided on the issue. “I have half a mind to march up there and demand an explanation—”

Much to her sister’s horror, she did just that, starting off toward the palatial stone mansion.

“Felicity, what are you thinking?” Tally said, catching hold of her arm and towing her to a stop. “Have you thought for a moment what a fool you will look if it wasn’t Hollindrake?”

“Gammon! It must be him, there is no other explanation. Who else do we know who has the influence to force Mr. Elliott into submission? And not just influence, but a bank account large enough to act as a guarantee? Mr. Elliott would never have released a ha-penny of father’s money without some way of covering the amount.” She glanced again at the duke’s residence, suddenly unsure she wanted to be the recipient of his largesse. For with it came an obligation…one she wasn’t as keen upon as she had been a few days ago.

“What if it was someone else other than the duke?” Pippin ventured. “Like Mr. Thatcher?”

“Thatcher?” Felicity ignored the pang in her heart. “Wherever would he get such a princely sum?”

“Perhaps when he sold out his commission,” Tally offered. Pippin nodded enthusiastically at this suggestion.

“And he’s using every farthing he has to see me marry another?” Felicity shook her head. “Even if he was worthy—which I am not saying he is—I would cross him off my list for being such a fool!”

“Who’s a fool?” a deep voice behind her inquired. “Or rather shall I say, whom?”

Felicity spun around.
Thatcher.

Tally and Pippin shared a glance and then like a pair of traitors retreated, leaving an indecent amount of space between her and him…this man she’d fallen in love with.

“Whatever are you doing here?” she asked, still furious over the disaster his kiss had wrought…and furious that he’d left her.

“I’d ask the same of you, but I’m sure the reason is obvious.” He sent a glance over her shoulder toward Hollindrake House.

“You’re late for work,” she said, not knowing what else to cast at him and feeling foolish at saying even that.

“I assumed that after yesterday I’d been dismissed.” He drew closer to her. “That is, unless I was mistaken…”

She shook her head. No, he hadn’t been mistaken. She couldn’t…

“Actually, I just came from your house—”

He’d come to see her? She pressed her lips together. Botheration, why did such a thing fill her heart with hope?

“What did you do, Duchess?” he said, using her nickname, his dark eyes alight with mischief. “Pick every pocket in Mayfair to affect such a transformation?”

“Hardly,” she said, knowing she should be offended at such a suggestion, but rather delighted down to her toes to be teased.
By him.

But looming behind him stood a reminder of why she shouldn’t be delighted or even mildly amused. Hollindrake. And now she owed the duke so much more…That was, unless…

“Mr. Elliott released our money. He claims that Jamilla convinced him to do it, but that’s absurd.”

Thatcher crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed her. “You don’t believe him?”

“Oh, I believe we have the money, but because of Jamilla? Only a fool would believe such a clanker.” She paused, and
decided to test the other theory. “Tally and Pippin think you did it.”

He glanced up at her sister and cousin, then back at her. “And you don’t think me capable of such a gesture?”

Felicity let out the deep breath she’d been holding. “Why would you? Now I can go out in Society and meet—”

“And meet your duke like the duchess that you will one day be,” he said, drawing closer and reaching out to take her hand in his. She’d replaced her red mittens with a fine pair of leather gloves, but in truth, Aunt Minty’s plain homespun mitts were far warmer than the elegant ones gracing her hands now, just as Thatcher’s hands, callused and broad, were so very warm and masculine. No pampered prince of society was he.

“Are you so sure it wasn’t me?” He drew her closer still, until the warmth of his body enfolded hers.