Secrets of an Accidental Duchess (40 page)

She was going to be a duchess. But that was simply an accidental side-effect of what she was truly going to become, of what she truly wanted: to be Max’s wife. His companion, for the rest of her life.

Olivia and Max hurried back toward Stratford House to inform her family… and to inform the world.

Portsmouth, England

S
erena hadn’t been on a ship for six years. She’d had no desire to go near a ship. But she’d spent the past several, miserable weeks on the
Islington,
watching over her younger sister Phoebe with hawk’s eyes, ensuring she kept safely away from the deck’s edge.

Phoebe liked her freedom, and she was on the verge of wringing Serena’s neck out of frustration, but Serena didn’t care. It was far better to have a sulking sister than to have the unthinkable happen again. These weeks at sea had brought back so many memories of Meg. Each day had served as a painful reminder of the hole left in Serena’s life.

Serena stood at the rail, keeping her back to her fate—a fate she hadn’t asked for and had never wanted.

She stared out toward the open sea. A lone ship was passing the round tower that marked the harbor entrance and making its way out to sea, its sails puffed full with wind. A part of Serena wished she were on that ship, headed
away from England. Cedar Place was a safe haven, a refuge, a place where she could be herself. England was none of those things. Here, she’d be nothing but a fake. A poor replication of a priceless original.

Once she disembarked from the
Islington,
Serena would begin to spin a web of lies that would ensure her three living sisters’ futures. A person who admired honesty above all else, she nevertheless intended to live a life of deceit.

How would she manage it? Especially in London, a place fraught with danger, with its society and parties and ladies with sharp eyes looking for an opportunity to spread any scathing bit of gossip. If she was caught, society would rip her to shreds.

Serena and Phoebe would be staying with their aunt Geraldine in St. James’s Square. Aunt Geraldine was a viscountess, the widow of Lord Alcott, one of the most respected members of Parliament in his day. Serena knew from her last visit to London that her aunt was ruled by the expectations of society, and she bowed to its every whim.

When the sisters left in disgrace six years ago, Aunt Geraldine had loathed Serena and despised Meg by association. Even worse, she lived two houses down from the Earl of Stratford, Jonathan Dane’s father. This time, Serena had begged her mother to arrange housing elsewhere, but they couldn’t afford suitable lodgings in London. Aunt Geraldine was the only reasonable choice.

Serena squeezed her eyes shut. Jonathan Dane probably wouldn’t be in London. Six years ago, his father had ambitions for him to take holy orders, and if that had happened, he’d be residing at his family seat in Sussex or at
some other vicarage far away from Town. She fervently hoped Jonathan wasn’t in London. If he was, he could only be a reminder of all the pain and heartache of the past, and of her willful deception of the present.

If he was in London, she would avoid him at all costs. Because, as much as she aspired to be more like Meg, she was still Serena. If she came face-to-face with Jonathan Dane, it was likely her claws would extend and tear him apart. If that happened, all would be lost.

She must remember that. There was more at stake here than just her reputation.

With shaking hands, Serena drew out the letter from the pocket of her pelisse. Careful to pin it tightly between her fingertips so the breeze wouldn’t tear it from her grip, she read it for the hundredth time.

Carefully, Serena folded the letter and replaced it in her pocket. She returned her gaze to the horizon and the ship slowly slipping away through the waves, becoming smaller with every moment that passed.

She hated lying. She hated herself. She hated her mother. She hated England. She hated everything about this situation.

“This! This very moment is the most exciting moment of my whole, entire life!”

Serena turned to see nineteen-year-old Phoebe grinning at her, her face young and alive, and her expression bright with happiness.

More than anything, Meg would want to see Phoebe and their other sisters, Olivia and Jessica, well situated. All Serena wanted was their happiness. She couldn’t stand it if anything horrible happened to them. She’d do anything to shield them from an experience like she’d had on her last visit to London.

She’d do this for her beautiful, innocent, lovely sisters. To ensure their future.

“It is very exciting,” she said to Phoebe, her voice grave.

Phoebe didn’t perceive the sadness leaching into Serena’s voice. With a pang, Serena remembered she’d never been able to hide such things from Meg. Now, though she possessed what most people would consider a tightly knit family in her mother and sisters, no one really knew her.

Nobody would ever really know her. It was too late for that. She’d sealed her fate in stone in the summer of 1822. From that point forward, she’d been the only person in the world to know her true self. Even after six years, the loneliness that thought provoked was nearly unbearable.

Blinking hard, she turned to gaze back out to sea. Looking in the opposite direction, Phoebe clapped her hands together and stood on her toes, craning to see through the thick lines of rigging blocking her view. “Oh, do look! There is a boat approaching. Can it be the one meant to bring us ashore?”

Serena looked over her shoulder in the direction her sister was pointing. The long boat, filled with empty seats, with abundant room in the stern holding area for their luggage, bobbed toward them, its rowers driving the oars through the murky water in long, precise draws. “I believe so.”

“We should make certain we’ve packed everything, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes.” Serena didn’t move, though. Rooted to the spot, she stared at the horizon, where the dark blue of the ocean faded through haze into the crystalline blue of the sky. She was about to become someone she’d despise. She was about to do something unforgivable.

What would Meg do?

That question had guided Serena’s life for the past several years. She had grown calmer, and she gave far more forethought to her actions than she had before her sister’s death. Phoebe was the one who’d taken over the role of hellion in their family.

For Phoebe’s sake, she’d do this. For Olivia’s and Jessica’s sakes. If she betrayed her mother now, her sisters
would be the ones to suffer. Mother was no fool—she knew exactly what drove Serena. She knew that Serena would never willingly cause pain to her sisters, and she knew exactly how to use that truth to manipulate her eldest daughter.

“Well?” Flicking a tendril of blond hair out of her face, Phoebe stamped her foot lightly on a deck plank. “Are you coming or aren’t you?”

“I’ll come down in a moment, Phoebe. You go ahead and make sure Flannery has gathered all our things, all right?”

“Humph. Very well, then.” With a swing of her jewel-blue skirts, Phoebe turned and disappeared.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Serena curled her fingers around the deck rail. She didn’t want to do this. She despised lying. Despised even more that she would aspire to standards she couldn’t attain. She could never succeed in living up to Meg’s goodness.

What would Meg do?

Meg wouldn’t risk their sisters’ reputations. Phoebe, Olivia, and Jessica needed freedom from their mother, and from Antigua, once and for all.

Serena’s sisters needed to marry, and marry well. They could never do so if Captain William Langley discovered the truth and revealed it to the world.

Jonathan Dane, the Sixth Earl of Stratford, stared broodingly at his ale. The delicious brew at the Blue Bell Inn had lured him to Whitechapel tonight, and the smooth amber liquid shimmered in his glass.

No, he fooled himself. It wasn’t the ale that had drawn him here. He’d been a frequent customer at the Blue Bell
Inn for years, but he hadn’t come for a while. And he knew damn well why he’d come tonight.

Meg Donovan.

She would arrive in England soon—within the next day or two. Jonathan had little previous connection to the lady. The problem was that on the outside she was identical to her twin sister. Serena… the woman whose death he was responsible for. The woman he’d loved… and betrayed.

Meg would be in London. He’d undoubtedly see her often, considering the fact that Langley had asked him to be the best man at their wedding. And each time he looked at her beautiful lips or gray eyes or blond curls, he’d be reminded of Serena… of kissing those lips, of gazing into the depths of those eyes, of sifting those curls between his fingers.

Suppressing a groan, Jonathan thrust away the sudden flood of memories. This happened on occasion—just when he thought he was free of her, she swept through his memories, blazing a trail through his dark, cloudy mind and leaving a bright, glittering stream of happiness in her wake. After all these years, the memories served nothing but to remind him of how worthless he had become.

“I’ve been searching for you all evening. Suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised you decided to come here, of all places.”

Jonathan blinked at William Langley, Post Captain in His Majesty’s Navy, as if he were viewing a ghostly apparition. The man standing at the end of the table was so strictly composed and so straitlaced, most people didn’t hesitate to call him priggish. Jonathan knew otherwise. Langley wasn’t priggish, he just had a strong sense of a man’s moral duty. He was a good man, but a human one,
through and through. Still, he wasn’t one to go chasing after Jonathan at such a late hour. Something was wrong.

“Why are you here?” Jonathan asked, his senses going into full alert. “What has happened?”

“It’s… well, it’s Miss Donovan.” Langley slid onto the bench across from him, his face twisted in consternation.

Jonathan’s gut churned. He’d tried to be happy for Langley. Really tried. But every time his friend mentioned his betrothed, he felt the sour burn of jealousy scraping over his throat.

Langley placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I received word that her ship arrived in Portsmouth today. And, well, I thought I’d come find you.”

“Seems you succeeded in that, at least.” In one long draught, Jonathan finished his ale.

“I remembered this was the tavern where you… well…” Langley’s voice trailed off. “It was just a guess.”

Jonathan rubbed his thumb over a bead of condensation on his glass. “A good one.”

Langley nodded.

Jonathan finally looked up at him. “So why are you here, Langley?”

Casting his gaze to the table, the other man adjusted his cravat. “I was wondering… well, you were acquainted with Miss Donovan.”

Jonathan pressed his lips together. Unable to speak, he gave a slow nod. “Yes. I was acquainted with her.”

“Well… will you accompany me? To Portsmouth, I mean. I’m to escort her and her sister to London.”

“Accompany you,” Jonathan repeated, enunciating each word carefully. “To Portsmouth.” He stared hard at Langley. Was the man sotted? No, Langley rarely drank.
But other than the deep gray circles beneath his eyes, he looked pale as death.

“Yes. Today. I’ve received word that her ship has arrived.” Langley’s Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “I thought you might… you know… help. If it became… difficult between us. Awkward. If I say something—”

Jonathan raised his hand, stopping the man midsentence. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. You’ve sought me out
here,
at this hour, to ask me if I might travel with you to Portsmouth later today to meet your betrothed.”

“Yes. That’s right.”

Jonathan stared at Langley incredulously. The man had been a captain in the Navy. Accustomed to barking out orders and having them obeyed without question. Accustomed to having the lives of hundreds of men under his control. Accustomed to leadership.