The Dastardly Duke (25 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Three

He thumbed the fragile pages, but the Bible’s record of the family’s unions and births was as barren as ever. A perverse desire for punishment must run deep in him, Julian thought bitterly, ’else why sit here like a fool seeking answers from a book that had previously failed him?

Because a week of marriage to Hannah had made him desperate for answers. She had given him her all, but what did he have to give? A dubious title and a lifetime of uncertainty. He could not encumber her with that burden for the rest of their days. Sooner or later it would eat away at that very precious
thing
that was beginning to blossom between them, that thing so fragile he scarcely knew what to call it.

One word caught his eye as he flipped through the pages.
Forgiveness.
It bothered him, that word, nagged at him like an obligation that would not go away.

Forgiveness.
Octavius had not forgiven his mother for losing her fortune, and Julian had never forgiven Octavius for his cruelty. But the past was done, after all; he could not change what had gone before. The future lay ahead, and it was a future that held Hannah.

Still, Julian knew he would never, ever forgive himself if he saddled Hannah with a bastard’s progeny.

An answer had to be found. Somewhere. Somehow.

With a heavy sigh, Julian picked up the sermons. Though the writing had faded with the years, his aunt’s bold hand was easily recognizable. He could well imagine Octavius consigning her letters to the topmost forgotten shelf between the pages of the book he read the least. Why his father had saved them at all remained a mystery, for they were filled with reproach.

“
Abandoning Helene would be reprehensible
,”
his aunt had written. Julian’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. His father would have been livid at that, for he believed it his right to do what he wished, when he wished to do it.

Abandoning Helene.
It occurred to him that his aunt referred to that very time of utmost importance to him. He frowned. If his mother had been no more than Octavius’s mistress, why would Aunt Eleanor have objected to his ending the liaison?

Fascinated, Julian read on—until he became aware of another presence in his libra
r
y. He looked up to see Higgins in the doorway.

“
What is it?” Julian demanded, irritated by the interruption.

“There is a person in the house, Your Grace.” Higgins allowed a portentous pause. “I believe he calls himself a physician.”

Julian arched a brow. “I gather you do not approve of our visitor.”

“It is not my place to approve or disapprove, Your Grace,” Higgins replied stiffly.

One day soon, his aunt would return to Yorkshire and take Higgins with her. For now, the man stood before him as immovable as a mountain. Julian sighed. “You wish me to rid the house of my aunt’s latest quack, I suppose.”

‘The man is here to see the
duchess
,” Higgins corrected in an ominous tone. “They have been secluded in Her Grace’s sitting room for half an hour. I thought it best to bring the matter to Your Grace’s attention.”

A bolt of alarm shot through him. “Is something wrong with my wife?”

“
I do not know.” Higgins’s expression plainly said that it was Julian’s place, not his, to investigate such a
matter

Julian’s pulse began to race. Hannah had seemed perfectly healthy this morning—and last night, and every other night since their wedding. But perhaps her passion had not matched his. Perhaps he had done her some injury during their love-making that she had, in characteristic fashion, kept to herself.

Tossing the sermons aside, he strode swiftly into the hall,
taking
the steps two at a time up to Hannah’s sitting room. With a feeling of dread, he pushed the door open.

Hannah lay motionless on the divan, curled into a ball. Dr. Itard hovered over her. An oily substance dripped from his fingers. Fear knifed through Julian’s gut.

“What in God’s name have you done to my wife?” He grabbed Itard by the collar and ripped him away from her.

“There is no need to panic.” Indignantly, Itard straightened his jacket. “I have but cut a small hole in her eardrum, into which I have poured boiling eucalyptus oil. It is a very promising method of treatment which I devised myself.”

Julian knelt over Hannah’s too-still form, his heart in his throat. “If you have harmed her, I shall kill you.”

“Oh, no,” Itard hastened to assure him. “She merely fainted from the ... ah, small discomfort of the procedure.”

There was much Julian had yet to learn about his bride, but he knew for certain that no “small discomfort” would make Hannah faint. She was made of sterner stuff. The procedure she had endured must have been excruciating. Fury filled him.

“I will slice you to ribbons, Itard,” he growled, as Itard edged nervously toward the door. Julian rose and followed him. “I swear you will feel every cut—just as she felt that needle of yours.”

“Now, Your Grace, there is no need—”

“Higgins!” Julian barked.

“Yes, Your Grace,” came the breathless response. Higgins leaned heavily against the doorjamb, trying to recover from following Julian’s mad dash up the staircase.

“Send for a doctor at once—a
real
doctor.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“But
I
am a doctor,” Itard
protested
feebly. “And I tell you that Her Grace is in no danger.”

J
ulian
seized him by the lapels. “A pain sufficient to overwhelm her senses will linger, Itard. She will suffer the results of your folly long after you have departed. And what of the risk of infection? Can you guarantee she faces no danger?” Itard tried to shrink inside his coat.

“Get out of my sight,” Julian said softly, “before I forget that it is unlawful to wring a man’s neck like a turkey at Michaelmas.”

Itard paled. In the next instant he was gone.

Lifting Hannah into his arms, Julian carried her into their chamber and gently laid her down on the bed. He tucked the covers carefully around her. At that moment, he would have given anything to see those gray eyes regard him with their unsettling intensity. An unfamiliar moisture clouded his vision.

“
Hannah,
”
he murmured, his voice breaking on an anguished sob, “you foolish, foolish woman.”

Pain, sharp and unforgiving, ripped through her. A hot stabbing needle danced through her dreams, taunting her. All her powers of concentration failed to control the agony it wielded like an invincible weapon.

Her head throbbed. Her body twitched restlessly. Every time her mind lured her toward wakefulness, pain drew her deeper into its embrace. Even sleep did not banish that searing pain or the icy chills that accompanied it.

Determined, she swam upward through layers of awareness and willed her eyes to open. Her husband sat at her bedside, his head in his hands.

“
Julian?” Hannah felt her voice emerge from somewhere deep in her chest. He did not move. She tried again, expelling his name in what must have been an unsteady croak.

Instantly, his gaze met hers. His dark, brooding eyes searched hers relentlessly.

“How ... do you feel?” he said slowly. Hannah was stunned to see fear in those midnight depths.

The pain receded to a faint throbbing in the vicinity of her left ear.
“
Better, I think.” She hesitated. “Have I been ill long?”

“Ten days—an eternity.” Harsh circles of fatigue rimmed his eyes. His face was pale, save for that angry, jagged scar. His mouth thinned into a bitter line. “An infection set in from the wound in your ear.”

His grim, vengeful mask almost made her yearn for the tormented ignorance of sleep, but Hannah knew she must face the consequences of defying her husband.

“I am sorry,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I had to try one last time. Will you ever forgive me?”

Strong fingers touched her chin, firmly bringing it up so that she must needs look at him. His gaze was as bleak as a moonless sky.

“
I was afraid you were gone.”

She stared, uncomprehending. His hand moved to her hair. With excruciating tenderness, he began to stroke it. Then, like a vengeful god, his brows drew together like thunderclouds.

“I would never have forgiven you for dying.”

Hannah closed her eyes. She had lost him. Her foolish, selfish act had lost him forever.

His thumbs brushed her lids. Afraid of what she might see, Hannah nevertheless forced her eyes to open. His gaze bored into hers.

“I would not have forgiven you for dying,” he said slowly, distinctly, so that she absorbed every word, “but I will forgive you anything else, Hannah.
Anything
.”

That slashing mouth curved into a tentative smile. In wonder,
Hannah
reached out to touch his lips. He caught her hand and sof
tl
y kissed her fingertips.

For a breathless moment she studied him uncertainly. “I did not like to defy you,” she said, willing him to understand, “but you deserve more than to suffer a deaf wife for the rest of your days.”

With a helpless shake of his head, he gathered her into his aims. Hannah sighed as his comforting warmth stole over her. But even as she relaxed into his embrace, her lashes fluttered shut and sleep claimed her once more.

“What a horrid man!”

“Yes, madam.”

“Julian has much to thank you for. If you had not come to
him
when you did, goodness knows what might have happened to Hannah.”

Higgins did not speak.

Lady Huffington regarded him over the rim of her teacup. The majordomo was surveying the trunks and boxes that had been assembled for the return trip tomorrow. “Is something wrong, Higg
ins
? You do not seem yourself today.”

Higgins stiffened. “I am perfectly myself, madam.”

“You need not poker up.” Lady Huffington sniffed. “I was only concerned for your welfare. You have not said two words to me all morning.”

“I have been thinking about our journey.”

The countess smiled. “Yes, it will be good to be home in Yorkshire, will it not? Among our own things and friends.”

“
Your
things, my lady.”

“What? Oh,
well ...
”
Her voice trailed off. She eyed Higgins sharply. “What
is
it Higgins? I know you too well. Something is bothering you—I am sure of it.”

Rigid as a stone, he faced her. “I am giving notice, madam.”

Lady Huffington gasped. “What? But—you cannot!”

He arched a brow.

“That is,
well ...
we have been together so long,” the countess sputtered. “I have come to depend on you.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “rather like a faithful lapdog.”

Frowning, the countess studied him. “I believe you
are
out of sorts, Higgins.”

“Not at all.”

“I have not sufficiently appreciated your work—is that it?” She brightened. “I will increase your wages, effective immediately.”

“
Thank you, but I still must give notice. I will see you home to Yorkshire and help you find a replacement, but I must leave your employ.”

“Leave?” Lady Huffington looked stricken. “But Higgins, you cannot! I would not know what to do without you. You are ... you are irreplaceable.”

“Is that a fact?” He met her gaze.

Lady Huffington looked away.

Higgins returned his attention to the boxes.

“Have
you ...
have you been unhappy, Higgins?” the countess asked in a small voice.

“Yes, madam. I fear I have.”

I am sorry,” she said. “I know I am a difficult woman but I
thought ...
you did not mind being with me.”

He turned. “I have been privileged to serve you,
madam
.
But there are times when a person must change the course of his life to save his own sanity.”

“Sanity?’ The countess looked bewildered. ‘Is there anything ... anything I can do to persuade you to stay?”

Higgins regarded her for a moment, then shook his head. “My mind is made up.”

“Oh, dear. I am sorry, Higgins.”

“So am I.” Without another word, he picked up a box and carried it from the room.

Sipping a restorative brandy, Julian mentally recounted this week’s victories, small and large. Hannah had recovered her appetite, her color, and her indomitable spirit. Not bad for his
first effort at nursing.

She was sleeping now. It was not the unnatural sleep that pain wrought, but the well-earned oblivion that came from a day of
taking
her first turn about the garden since her illness, bidding farewell to Aunt Eleanor and Higgins—who were, thank God, finally on their way to Yorkshire—and planning menus with the cook.

A strange peace had descended over his household that had nothing to do with his aunt’s departure and everything to do with the wonder that was Hannah. Without any discernible reason, the weight on his shoulders had grown lighter. All that mattered now was that she regain her health. They would weather whatever else fate sent them.

Julian wished he understood what was happening to him. He wished he had words to describe the unfamiliar feeling that washed over him when he looked at her. He wished he did not fear that its fragile beauty would vanish, as everything he had ever counted on had vanished.

Long ago, he had taught himself not to care. Now, he knew he would care forever. The knowledge chilled him, even as it warmed the brittle edges of his frosty soul.

Idly, he glanced at the words that had leaped off the pages and across the decades at him in the moments before Higgins came to tell him of Itard’s presence. They seemed unimportant now. Because of Hannah, the past had somehow lost its sting.

Still, he had nothing better to do while Hannah slept. He took another sip of brandy and tried to decipher his aunt s faded scrawl.

“
You ought to have brought her here long ago. It is not Helene s fault that a group of insane Frenchmen deprived her family of their property and their heads. The Bible teaches that we must show compassion and mercy. Where is your compassion, Octavius
?
”

Again, that concern, wholly incongruous had Helene been Octavius’s mistress. Julian skipped over several pages of his aunt s tirade, which consisted of passages of Scripture interposed with her own ste
rn
axioms. If his aunt had been
born
a male, he decided, she would have made a fine bishop.

On the last page, his gaze lurched to a halt on a paragraph that was sharp and direct:

“
Know this: Octavius: You wed Helene for life before God. You must accept the consequences. I have therefore taken your marriage documents into my keeping to prevent you from destr
o
ying them should another woman catch your eye. And if you try to get a bill of divorcement through the Parliament, I will not send you another penny
.”

He must have been holding his breath, for suddenly it expelled in a great whoosh of air. His redoubtable aunt had taken the papers to Yorkshire. Doubtless it never occurred to her that he would care to have them, for Julian had never told her of his father’s deathbed denunciation.

How Octavius must have hated the son who bound him to an unwanted wife and the sister who held his manhood hostage. How he must have hated the fact that the rich wife he eventually wed produced no heir. Long before they met, hate had poisoned the paternal bonds between Octavius and him; when his father at last claimed him, it was too late. Octavius had looked into his son’s eyes and seen his own hate reflected back at him. To make certain Julian would never enjoy his legacy, he had told that vengeful lie.

The shame that had stalked Julian most of his life had been unnecessary. He was not a bastard.

Where was the boundless happiness he should feel?

For his entire adult life he had sought to prove his legitimacy, yet when proof came, it was nothing to the joy that Hannah had brought into his life—a gift more precious than any marriage papers. He did not understand: Why had a generous, strong, courageous, intelligent, talented woman married a man who had been selfish, ill-tempered, manipulative, and occasionally cruel?

Not to gain wealth and position, for she had known those things could have been ripped from a bastard duke. Not to save her reputation, for she had been immovable until he had dropped to the dirt and pleaded for her hand.

Suddenly, the truth cut like a blinding beacon of light through the lost years of dissipation and bitterness.

Love had somehow come to him, even though he had not dared to believe, even though he had spent a lifetime of creating a seamless veneer over his pitiable soul.

Abruptly, he cast his aunt’s sermon aside. Precious, unspoken words haunted him as desperately as those taunting lies his father had spoken so easily from his deathbed.