Chapter Eighteen

 

That night, after a late solitary supper in her rooms, Serena reread the note she’d received from Phillip. It was a playful invitation for her to meet him that night but after her encounter with Trent she was in no mood for dalliance. Instead, she wrestled with the phantom of her appetite and the earl’s vague threats while pushing her food from one side of the plate to the other.

I will need to choose the venue and then push him past reason if—

Serena was startled by the distant sound of a bell at the front door. She bolted to her feet, instincts jangling.

Trent!

Scandal be damned, he has circled back after stewing all day.

Her hands shook as she adjusted her hair combs, grateful that at least she hadn’t yet undressed for bed and could face him quickly—but this time she would give Quinn the nod to arm the footmen and let the chips fall where they may.

There was a soft knock on the door and Albert stepped inside. “The Duke of Northland has arrived, your ladyship. Would you like—“

She pushed past him, running down the stairs to hurl herself into her father’s arms who stood in the grand foyer with his arms outstretched and waiting. He enfolded her in his embrace, his hands stroking the silk of her hair, and a dozen endearments whispered into her ears.

Here and for her, the most reserved man in all of England, clung to her and allowed her to do the same. “You came.”

He nodded, relinquishing her only to make a parental inspection of his child, his approval shining from his eyes. “I’d have been here sooner but muddy roads are no respecter of rank. I am unhappy to report that cursing is also not effective in increasing one’s speed. I left a cloud of obscenities over Surrey that may wilt gardens and destroy crops.”

Serena laughed. “I knew I longed to see you but—until this moment, I didn’t realize how very much it meant.”

“Come, then. Let’s sit and talk for a while and see if we cannot settle my nerves.”

“Yes, of course. Mr. Quinn, can you ask Mrs. Holly to bring up a supper tray for the duke and see that a draft of fresh lemonade is included. We’ll be in the upstairs study.” She took his arm and they climbed to the second floor together. “It is one of my favorite rooms and best suited to conversation.”

“Then lead on.” He shook his head. “How in the world did you know of my fondness for lemonade? After all, it is not the usual drink of choice for a man my age!”

“You are teasing me, Your Grace. What diabolical mastermind would I be if I did not retain a few resources within your household?”

“Who? Who are your spies?”

“A woman never divulges all of her secrets.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Keep them, dearest. Oh, what a Walsingham you would have made!”

They settled by the fireplace in the sitting room, the dinner tray and drinks delivered before they’d shifted the cushions for comfort. Serena glowed with pride at the responsiveness of her staff, aware that Mr. Quinn was beside himself to have the Duke of Northland under the roof (even for a scandalously late call).

“Was there anything else, Your Grace?”

“No, thank you. I sent my luggage on and will be heading out later to my Town house, so please don’t scramble the staff to prepare rooms or make a fuss. I will not impose on Lady Wellcott for long.”

Quinn retreated with a bow and Serena sighed. “You are never an imposition, Your Grace.”

“Says the gracious hostess,” he countered. “But what an oaf I am! I meant to wish you a happy birthday as my first words and then the sight of you bolting down those stairs like a colt drove every civilized blessing from my head.”

“Is it?” Serena asked. “I…missed it completely.”

Northland shook his head. “You are twenty-five years of age today, my darling, and I—I could not have forgotten the day even if I tried.” His eyes took on a sad and faraway look. “No, nor should I.”

She reached out to touch his hand, a small gesture of comfort. She had learned from him that her mother died giving birth to her and the pain of it haunted him to this day. The Duke of Northland had never recovered and never married. She tipped her head to one side to study him quietly. He was not yet to his fiftieth year and a part of her wondered if fate might provide for his happiness.

He looked up, startled at his own lapse into silence. “I’m apparently more tired than I knew if I’m reduced to a maudlin fool in front of you.”

“You are never foolish.” Serena smiled. “Again, I am just glad you received my letter.”

“I love all your letters. Even if they are generally sweetly fictitious,” he sighed.

“What are you accusing me of, Your Grace?” she asked.

“Your heart betrays you, Lady Wellcott. I think you love your father too much to write of a single melancholy thought or incident. Your letters usually would have me believe that you are touched with nothing rougher than butterfly wings…”

“My last note must have been a jarring change then,” she conceded. “Is that why you came so quickly?”

He nodded. “I would give you the moon if you dared look at it longingly in my presence, and you know it. And so you ask for nothing, wary of taking advantage of an old man’s firm attachments, Lady Wellcott. Imagine my surprise when you requested that I come to London to publicly appear next to you for some innocuous musical performance and party.”

“Not a terrible surprise then?”

“It was a joy to feel needed—by my independent and beautiful child.”

“It is a terrible tangle, isn’t it?” she said softly. “I would do anything to make you happy but I cannot be less independent. I wish to keep you from worry and repay your kindness by shielding you from the madness of my world.”

“Change nothing.” He took a sip of his lemonade and grinned at her. “Just be yourself.”

“I love you, Your Grace.”

“Then call me father.”

“Father.” She smiled. The word pleased them both and she gently replaced one hand over his, wishing that there had been a simpler path to saying it to him. She had avoided the word in public for fear of humiliating him and then privately, stepped around it to cushion her heart from pain. “You deserve a better daughter.”

He smiled, his eyes sad. “God help me, that you would love me despite our past, it still razes me to the bone.”

“It would be unnatural to do any less, than care for you as I do.”

“Then ask me to do more for you, Serena. A simple appearance and show of my acceptance of you is too paltry a thing.”

She shook her head in wonder. “Did you have an example in mind?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “A new carriage? Another house? No, even as I hear myself talking, my soul is cringing. If I could I would wrench apart the heavens to give you whatever your heart desired.”

She gripped his hand, her eyes filling with tears. “The only thing I desire is revenge against Geoffrey Parke and I must do it alone, Father. I would never inflict on your dear sweet person the agony of it. But I...have a plan in motion.”

“Do you?”

“I only need you to remind Lord Trent that I have your full support and devotion. I want him to respect me and temper his familiarity with my past with a renewed understanding of my father’s interest in my happiness. He cannot see me as a vulnerable orphan somehow still in his debt.”

“Does he?”

She shrugged. “I suspect he does and in his warped view, no show of wealth alters his opinion. But you… My instincts tell me that the sight of you will pull him up.”

“That I can do easily. I will appease him and even make an insincere offer of friendship if that is what it takes. And,” he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. “I will do so wearing the new waistcoat you sent me for Christmas.”

She smiled. “You do look more stately in that brocade.”

“More like a duke? My wardrobe has improved in the last seven years to such an extent that my tailor confessed he was convinced that there was a new woman in my life.”

“And there was,” she said softly.

“My daughter.” He looked down into her eyes, so very much like his own. “My life come back to me and my heart restored.”