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Muscles knotted with anxiety in Hope’s stomach as she sat down to dinner with the Duke of Denton in one of the private dining rooms at The Brown Hare Inn. Though she was ravenously hungry, she didn’t know if she could eat in front of a man so high on the instep. To say nothing of the fact that since she was here with him alone, they were already skirting the bounds of propriety. If this had been London, nearly everyone would be demanding that the duke ask for her hand in marriage due to the taint of her being compromised, yet here, tucked away in a snowbound inn where they were portraying themselves as a wedded couple, everything was far removed from reality.
As they finished with a chicken velvet soup and a member of the staff placed plates of roast beef with creamed potatoes and roasted carrots in front of them, a hunger pang rumbled once more. Perhaps a man’s status didn’t count when it came to matters of the stomach.
“One would think I hadn’t a meal in a week instead of just a day.” The duke sliced through his meat, speared that chunk with his fork, and then popped it into his mouth and chewed, apparently happy in the moment.
“There is something about travel that makes a person hungrier, I think.” She sampled a forkful of the creamed potatoes. They were decent for a posting inn’s offerings, so she settled into making inroads into her meal. The roast beef wasn’t as tender as it could be, but it had decent flavor and plenty of gravy, and the carrots hadn’t been cooked to complete mush.
Eventually, the mad rush of eating slowed, which made room for conversation. “Where did you come up with Gerard as a surname, especially in haste?” she finally asked, since it was but one question sitting uppermost on her mind.
He took a sip from his glass of red wine. “It is one of my middle names.”
“I see.” Hope took another bite of the potatoes before declaring defeat with a full stomach. “Do you often go about rescuing young women by pretending to be married?”
“Of course not.” The corners of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a grin that never quite materialized. “This is the first time I have ever put forth this bit of fantasy.”
“I don’t know whether to be in awe of how your mind works or wary that you’ve included me in this deception.”
“It was either this or survive the gauntlet of luck for however many days we might be stranded at this inn.” The budding grin vanished altogether, and shadows clouded his eyes.
Unease pushed down her spine. “Do you think we’ll be here for longer than one night?”
“Well, let’s see.” The duke stood up from his chair and moved to the window. Slightly curious, Hope followed until she stood at his shoulder and peered out at the wooded area. “There has been no respite from the snow since we arrived almost two hours ago. And with that wind, drifting will be an issue soon enough.”
“Then the prospect of traveling tomorrow is slim?”
“I’m afraid so.” He sounded as glum as she felt. Why, though?
Instead of seeing the snow outside the window glass, she watched his reflection. Now that he didn’t have the greatcoat on, she could study his form without impediment. Broad shoulders set off by a jacket of sapphire superfine. An ivory satin waistcoat embroidered with blue and silver swirls drew the eye to his flat abdomen, and the buff-colored breeches tucked into the shiny Hessians fairly begged for her stare.
“That’s not exactly how I’d hoped to spend the days leading up to Christmas.” Her gaze shifted in the window reflection to herself and the frown she leveled at the glass. At such close proximity, the scent of his shaving soap—sandalwood and citrus—teased her nose. It was both mysterious and familiar. “And it only postpones the inevitable.”
The duke turned toward her. Those intense blue eyes were slightly unsettling, as if he were peering into her soul. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I am on my way to Yorkshire to fill a companion post to an elderly peeress. Likely, it is what will become of the remainder of my life.”
He snorted. “Well, at least until the peeress succumbs to death.”
“Yes, I suppose, but after that, I will simply move on to the next post. That is all there is for me at this point.” Hope wandered back to the round wooden table where the detritus of their dinner was growing progressively colder. It was a good idea to keep distance between them, for there was something about the man that had flutters flitting through her lower belly. She had no business finding out why. “I know little to nothing about her other than she is a bit persnickety, but I have no choice.” In some dejection, she slipped into the chair she’d recently vacated and frowned at her half-drunk glass of wine.
“What would you say if I told you I already knew who you were?” The duke reseated himself at the table but never took his gaze from hers. “As well as her?”
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?” Was he making jest of her?
“First of all, please call me Brook but only when we are alone. If you wish to remain somewhat formal, you may also refer to me as Denton.” Faint humor shimmered in his eyes that were so blue they reminded her of the lake on her father’s country property. “To the general public here at the inn, I am Mr. Gerard.”
And she was Mrs. Gerard.
A tingle of excitement shivered down her spine. Perhaps the ruse would prove entertaining. “I rather like the sound of Brook.” She gave him a small smile. “You may call me Hope. Now please, explain to me how you knew who I am.”
“The dowager Lady Lesterfield is my aunt. She is my father’s sister. I was the one tasked with escorting you up to Yorkshire.” When he shrugged, his jacket pulled tight over his chest. “Due to the weather, my travels were delayed, and I couldn’t meet you yesterday as my aunt had outlined in her letter.”
“I’d wondered what had happened, but I had no idea I would be met by a duke.” It made the situation better only slightly, and it also assumed he had brought at least some staff with him. So, where were they? “It was happenstance we were both stranded here on the same day.”
“Agreed.”
“If it was true and there were only a few rooms left, what did you do with your staff?” Her family might not have many servants, but he was a duke. There were always people around someone so close to royalty.
“I like the fact you are intelligent.” He lifted his wineglass to his lips, and once more she studied him. Strong aristocratic features, chiseled lips, full blond eyebrows, and a nose that reminded her of similar appendages she’d once seen in Elgin’s Marbles. It was true that he was classically handsome, but not overly so. No doubt one only thought so due to the fact he was a duke. “When it became evident the weather wouldn’t improve, I ordered them all into the second travelling coach and sent them back to London. There was no need for us all to risk the rigors of wintertime travel, and they might as well spend the holiday in comfort with their own hearths and friends.”
That was unexpectedly kind and considerate. “But such a decision left you alone.”
This time, a full-blown grin curved his lips, and she stared for it took years from his face. “It is not difficult to dress oneself, Hope.” The way he said her name, as if he caressed the word with his lips before releasing it into the air, made her shiver with a need she didn’t fully understand. “Neither is it a chore to shave and style my hair without assistance. In fact, I rather looked forward to not having a bevy of servants about me all the time.”
It was an interesting way of seeing life through a different point of view. “I’m glad you sent your staff back, for it would have been a miserable experience staying in a strange kitchen or stables.”
“Indeed, and I hope they have a better time of it than I did as I continued on, but then the winters are often worse in the north than in the south.” When she merely stared at him, for she fell into the trap of watching his mouth as he talked, he continued. “Where is your maid?”
Hope shook herself out of her thoughts. “I don’t have one. Not really. There was an upstairs maid, but my aunt and I shared her.”
“Ah, and your aunt wasn’t about to give her up.”
“Exactly, and as you said, it is not difficult to dress oneself.” In fact, she had only brought one gown that required any sort of assistance—and one that required assistance—for there was every possibility she wouldn’t have need of the others in her position as a companion. Then a new thought occurred. “I do hope the drivers were able to secure help in bringing the luggage to the inn.” Otherwise, it would be a long stint of days with just her traveling ensemble to wear.
“I shall check on the progress when we are done here.”
She nodded. “Thank you. At least there will be some comforts of home then.”
For long moments, he sipped his wine while watching her. “Because I’m curious, I must ask how the devil you thought to be a companion to an elderly peeress. Surely there are other positions you could fill.”
What type of positions? Surely, he wasn’t as crass as to mean a mistress. Heat went into her cheeks from embarrassment. “When my parents died, I traveled to London to live with my uncle and his wife.”
“Ah, and suddenly you were the unwanted, poor relation.” There was no judgment or censure in his voice, only understanding.
“Yes.” She nodded and dropped her gaze to her plate of half-finished food. “I had a Season which didn’t take as we all had hoped and ended to even more disastrous results.” Of which she didn’t wish to talk about right now. “When it became obvious I wasn’t marriageable material, my uncle and his wife weren’t pleased with the prospects of another mouth to feed. Neither did they want the stigma of an unlaunched family member to hinder their own children’s prospects.” That had been the worst aspect of the years spent there—the lack of pride. Would it have been such a bad thing for her uncle to say he was proud of her for surviving what she had and that he would look after her well-being until she could discover what she wanted from life?
“And the only solution was for you to take a paid position somewhere.” The sound of his voice had her raising her gaze. Truly it was a delightful rumble.
“Also true. My uncle applied for a few positions on my behalf before your aunt answered the letter.”
“Well, she has a reputation for being rather high-spirited and opinionated.” Another tiny grin tugged on the corners of his lips. What would a kiss from him feel like?
Immediately, she shoved the inappropriate thought away. “I am spirited as well and have a rather strong backbone. I am hopeful I can counter whatever the lady choses to throw my way.”
The light of interest sprang into his eyes. “Well, your name is Hope, after all.”
Another round of heat went through her cheeks. “There has been little enough of that to go around in my life, but I do remain positive.”
“How old are you... Hope?”
Awareness of him skated over her skin, bringing gooseflesh with it. Perhaps it was nothing more than the drafts of cold in the air brought on by the howling wind. “I turned five and twenty a few months ago.” Why was that pertinent?
“Ah. I see.” He nodded as if the information pleased him. “My aunt hasn’t had a companion so young before. I wonder if that will make the difference.” A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “Perhaps you will be the one my aunt doesn’t manage to either sack or run off.”
“Oh.” With such a history, her chances of retaining the position lowered by the minute. “I wasn’t aware she was... difficult.” That made her doubly grateful for the delay in travel.
An unexpected laugh issued from the duke, and it was such a rich, vibrant sound that her lower jaw dropped, and she stared in unabashed wonder at him. “Aunt Cynthia is certainly set in her ways. When she resided in London, she could barely keep servants, for she had a bit of a reputation.”
“Was she always like that?”
“No. Not always.” Some of his levity faded, and the customary shadows returned to his eyes. “Once her husband died, she changed, as we all do when grief comes to call. I think she rather misses him terribly. And then, when my father—her brother—perished, that only compounded her anguish.”
“That is understandable.” Hope peered more closely at the duke. Lines furrowed his brow and framed the corners of his eyes. More than anything else, he appeared... tired. Not in a physical sense but in a soul-exhausted way. There were times when she’d thought her uncle had the same look, yet he never spoke about his feelings. “In London, gossip holds you have become a bit of a recluse since your wife died. Is that true?” With the next gust of wind, the candles in the room guttered. There was no doubt it would prove a cold night.
“I suppose it is.” The duke drained the last of the wine in his glass. Though he eyed hers, he didn’t ask for it. “It has been two years and four months. After she died, I suddenly didn’t see the value in mingling amidst the shallow, critical ton any longer.” He guided a fingertip along the rim of the wine glass, and though he looked at her, she doubted he saw her, for he was temporarily lost to the past. “For the whole of my seven and thirty years, everything I have ever done is to help navigate the waters of society, gain connections, strengthen alliances, fill the coffers, amass wealth and power, or beget an heir.” His voice broke on the last word. “And where has it gotten me?” When he shook his head, his gaze came back to the present. “A wife and child in the cold ground, a handful of estates scattered throughout England that I cannot bring myself to visit, and a worn chair in front of my fire in my London townhouse where I spend the bulk of my time because I can no longer bear to visit with my friends.”
“Without her, correct?” It was a guess, of course, but gossip also held that the duke had adored his wife. And going by her own parents’ example of marriage, losing a spouse must have been a terribly painful endeavor.
“Yes.” Brook shot to his feet in order to pace the length of the small dining room. “All of my friends knew me as a happily married man. Many of them are also married. How do I fit into that world now I’m a widower?”
Poor man. “They are still your friends, Your Grace.”
Once he turned, he glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “Brook.”
“Right. Brook.” Heat went through her cheeks. His presence seemed to fill the room, and she was all too aware of him. “I am certain they wish to support you regardless of your marital state, and undoubtedly they can help you navigate your grief more fully.”
Or so she hoped. It was something sorely missing from life in London, where it was frowned upon to talk about one’s feelings and emotions, especially if one was part of the ton. But to whose detriment? For that matter, why were people taught to keep a stiff upper lip to begin with? Was it merely an English tradition or did the general populace simply not understand how to support others when their distress smacked even the slightest bit of mental disturbance?
“I would rather not try.” He resumed pacing. “Besides, it was my wife who adored balls and routs and the like. She was ever the social butterfly, the true face of the title. Without her by my side, I am quite ill at ease.”
“That surprises me. I assumed every man who held a dukedom was naturally poised and possessed of self-confidence.” This was a fascinating glimpse into the life of someone she would never have met if it weren’t for this trip.
“My dear girl, even a duke can feel anxious.” When he paused at the window, he once more looked out on the snow-frosted world. “That was kept largely at bay by my wife’s steadying presence.”
“How have you managed for the past two years, then?” As much as wanted to know how his wife had died, she kept the questions to herself. Perhaps he would tell her as time went on, for if he was correct and they were stranded here, it would give them plenty of time to talk.
“I haven’t.” Brook rested a curled hand on the window glass and propped the other on his hip. “I rarely leave my house, and if I had a cat, I would be the perfect image of an old, doddering fool afraid of going beyond his front doorstep.”
She blew out a breath. “You are not afraid; you are merely a bit lost at the moment. And you are hardly old.” Though he might be twelve years her senior, there was nothing ancient about his form. In fact, he was much too vital for her peace of mind. How would she be expected to share a room with him when he left her all too confused and dare she say excited?
“Ha! While I don’t fully believe you, I appreciate the thought all the same. There are too many well-meaning people in my circle who are trying to see me matched again.”
“You don’t want that? After all, you will still require an heir.”
“I know.” A noise that was suspiciously like a sob echoed slightly in the room. The duke bowed his head and for several minutes, quiet weeping filled the air. Hope sat frozen to her chair, unsure of how to help. Finally, he heaved a long-suffering sigh. He wiped at his face with a hand, but he didn’t turn. “I am not certain I can survive that risk a second time.”
Before she could respond, a brief knock sounded on the door, then the panel swung open, and one of the inn’s employees poked his head inside. “Mr. Gerard? If you are finished with dinner, we really do need the room, as I should clean up and set it for the next seating.”
“Right.” Brook turned slowly about with his pocket watch in hand. “That hour passed rather quickly.” With a sigh, he looked at the footman. “Very well. We are finished here. Thank you.”
After a nod, the other man disappeared, presumably to give them privacy.
Hope frowned. “What now?”
“It is seven o’clock.” He returned the watch to his waistcoat pocket. “Unless you fancy sitting in the common room again, we can retire to our bedchamber for the night.”
Oh, dear heavens. Tremors of unease twisted with tingles of anticipation down her spine. For what, she couldn’t say, for they were certainly not a couple. “I suppose that is our only option. It has been a rather traumatic day, and I’m a bit fatigued.” How would she be expected to sleep with such a man lying beside her? To say nothing of the fact she would need to undress at least to her shift, and then he would see the burn scars on her skin, realize just how horrid and ugly she truly was, know why she remained unwanted and unloved.
And if he doesn’t? her mind argued as it planted a kernel of hope deep in her chest.
Then this temporary delay would be considered an adventure that would make Christmastide more tolerable before she resigned herself to the dull life awaiting her in Yorkshire.
