The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) (2 page)

Both Thomas and
Amesbury yelled simultaneously, “What?”

Myles laughed.
“Let me finish. Once she falls at your feet . . .” He paused, shook his head.
“No, I take that back; she’s likely a feisty one. I think she’ll try to scratch
your eyes out. Then I think you should marry the chit and bring her here as
your duchess and get her portion of the monies, too. She might forgive you
eventually for stealing her fortune and taking her away from the only home she
has ever known.”

“You’re
enjoying this.” Thomas eyed his two grinning friends and collapsed into his
chair in frustration.

“Well, as a
matter of fact, I am,” Myles said. “Come to think of it, maybe I’ll travel with
you. I’m tired of the marriage-hunting mamas and their silly, witless daughters
all vying for my attention and my title. Not one of them is interested in me as
a man, only the earldom and fortune I’ll inherit someday. I don’t want some
shy, placid virgin in my bed.”

 Thomas stared
in shock at his friend.

Myles continued.
“Yes, well maybe I should explain. “I want a virgin, but I also want an
enthusiastic bed partner. Do you think any of the present debutantes are
anything but frigid?” He shuddered. “If you don’t want the American girl, maybe
I’ll marry her.”

Thomas’s
nostrils flared. “And what, pray tell, makes you think I would let you marry my
ward? I will not even let you near my sisters because you are debauched. Visit
your mistress and stop this nonsense.”

Myles burst
into laughter and saluted him. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“You are
jealous because you will never be called Your Grace, only My Lord,” Thomas
teased his friend. “And for your information, Mr. Hamilton did not appear to be
the type of man who would raise his daughter to be free with her favors. I
doubt she is any different than the frivolous girls we have here in England.
And I have no intention of marrying her.”

“Why not?”
Amesbury questioned. “You need a duchess and an heir; why not marry her and be
done with it? If she’s not comely, you can take a mistress. She’d probably be
glad not to have to submit to your inept fumbling in the bedchamber once you
have an heir and a spare anyway.”

Thomas flung
his head back and roared with laughter. “All this praise from my so-called
friends. What do my enemies laugh about behind my back?” His hand went up.
“Don’t answer that. And I’ll have you know I don’t fumble in the company of any
lady.” He paused and examined his large hands. “I play their bodies until they
sing my praises and beg for a repeat performance.”

“If you say
so,” Amesbury snorted.

“Now if you
will excuse me.” Thomas rose. “I need a bath, food, and a comfortable bed.” Without
waiting for a reply, he left his study and climbed the carpeted staircase two
steps at a time.

Clearheaded and
light of feet for the first time in days, he burst into his chambers with a
renewed sense of purpose. He now knew what he had to do. Honor forbade him from
ignoring his duty to Hamilton. How could he ever look himself in the eye if he
didn’t fulfill the dead man’s wishes?

A trip to
America was in his immediate future.

CHAPTER
TWO

“Emma, Emma,
help me,” yelled Amy Sinclair, as she burst into Emma Hamilton’s room on the
top floor of Miss Beauregard’s Finishing School for Young Ladies in Brookline,
Massachusetts and threw her arms around Emma’s waist.

“What’s the
matter?” Emma asked as she rubbed the sobbing girl’s back. Poor Amy was an orphan
and the niece of Miss Beauregard, and it was difficult for her here. When Amy
was not attending to her studies, she had to earn her keep doing light
household chores. Amy, because she was related to Miss Beauregard and was the
youngest in the school at ten years old, was teased relentlessly and blamed for
any mishap that occurred. “Come, let’s sit on my bed, and you can tell me what
happened.”

“I …I…I didn’t
do it. Please, Emma, you must help me. Miss Beauregard is th…th…threatening to
send me back to the orphanage.” Amy managed to get the words out between
hiccups. “You know my aunt doesn’t want me here, and this will be her excuse to
get rid of me.”

“Miss
Beauregard would do no such thing. You are family.” Emma hoped she was telling
the truth. Would Amy be sent back to that horrible place? Emma tried to ignore
the sudden knot in her stomach. It would not do to let Amy know she was
worried. Emma needed to be strong and help solve this latest dilemma.

“Now tell me
what happened.”

“Well,” Amy
said as she wiped the tears from her face, “I was in the music room by myself
practicing the harp. You know how much I love to play. Well, Mean Jeannie came
in and pushed me over in my seat, and the harp crashed to the floor. I think it
was damaged,” she added, weeping.

“Did you tell
Miss Ipswich what happened?” asked Emma.

“Yes, but you
know how she hates me, too.”

Emma certainly
knew what it felt like to be the focus of Miss Ipswich’s wrath. “Did you
explain to Miss Beauregard what happened?”

“She would not
listen to me. She penned a letter to the orphanage telling them she was sending
me back.”

“I’m quite
certain you will be forgiven.”
At least until next time
, Emma thought
.
Would the girls, with the exclusion of Penelope Fontaine, ever stop teasing
and blaming Amy for everything? Penelope and Emma did what they could to help
Amy, but they were of different ages and not together all the time. It was time
to talk to Penelope and come up with a way to get back at Jeannie. It would not
be long before Emma and Penelope graduated from here. Who would look after Amy
then? And what would happen if Miss Beauregard sent Amy back to the orphanage?
Emma shuddered at the thought.

***

Later that
afternoon, Emma’s heart palpitated as she knocked on the headmistress’s door.
It was certainly not the first time during her three years in residence she had
been summoned. It was more a weekly occurrence. Miss Beauregard was forever
scolding her, too. Emma could almost hear the headmistress’s nasally voice even
now taking her to task. “Miss Hamilton, you missed dinner again. Miss Hamilton,
you skipped your music lesson. Miss Hamilton, get your head out of the clouds.”

This time she
wondered if Miss Beauregard had found out about the revenge they planned on
Jeannie. Or maybe Emma’s papa had arrived early. That must be it. Emma’s heart
beat more rapidly at the thought of seeing her beloved papa again. She could
hardly contain her excitement as she knocked on the door.

Miss Beauregard
ushered her in and closed the door quietly. “Miss Hamilton, I’m afraid I have
some rather distressing news for you.”

Emma, her heart
pounding now but for a different reason, forced herself to look at Miss
Beauregard. The headmistress appeared distressed, her face pale as she played
with the quill in her hand.

“I am sorry to
have to tell you this, child, but I received a letter from your papa’s
barrister with news about your papa. He passed away during his travels in
England.”

Tears instantly
burned Emma’s throat and pooled in her eyes.
My papa gone
.
He
couldn’t possibly have died. Did she not receive a missive from him just this
past week?

“There must be
some mistake,” Emma stammered with a quivering chin.

“No mistake,
child. I am very sorry.” The headmistress held out a letter. “This arrived this
morning from London. It is addressed to you.”

Emma, chewing
her bottom lip, took the parchment and ran up to her private room on the third
floor. Once her door was closed, she bent over, arms folded under her chest,
and sobbed for what seemed like hours. Several times she heard knocking on her
door. Each time Emma sent whoever stood on the other side of the door away. Exhaustion
eventually took over, and she flung herself on her bed. She curled up with the
unread letter, afraid to read it because it would make her papa’s death real.

When Emma
awoke, moonbeams lit her room with their soft glow. From the silence of the
school, she guessed it was past curfew. Still clutched in her hand was the
unopened letter. Taking a deep breath for bravery, she tore the crushed missive
open, drew close to the window, and read the words. Then, with heart pounding
and hands shaking, she reread it.

Dear Miss
Hamilton;

I am
extremely sorry for the loss of your father. Mr. Hamilton was a true gentleman
and will be missed by many here in England and in America.

You and I
have never met, but apparently my father and your father were childhood
friends. Your father named me his heir in his will. Therefore, I have become
your guardian, and you are now my ward.

 I will
travel to Boston soon to take care of his business affairs and will then
collect you before traveling back to my home in London. You will be glad to
know that I have two sisters near your age, and they are looking forward to
making your acquaintance.

Please
accept my condolences on the loss of your father. I hope this letter finds you
well.

Your
guardian,

Thomas
Seabrook, Fifth Duke of Wentworth.

Emma tried
without success to keep the letter dry. Her vision blurred, causing the words
to run into and over each other. No matter; she’d memorized it. A strange man
named Thomas Seabrook and a duke no less––
should I be honored––
would
collect her much like a person did luggage and then take her across the
Atlantic to his home. Her insides knotted. What would he do with her? Visions
of her in servants’ garb cleaning out fireplaces flashed in her mind.

A guttural cry
escaped her throat. “Papa.”

Sitting there
feeling sorry for herself would not bring her papa back. She wiped dry tears
from her stinging cheeks. Her stomach growled.

Emma lit one of
the many oil lamps her papa had donated to the school before creeping out of
her room and down the stairs toward the kitchen. She silently prayed the cook
was about and she could beg some bread and cheese or even a bowl of soup. Emma
also needed the comfort of the old woman. If there was ever a time she felt
alone, it was now. Was this how Amy felt on a daily basis?

The kitchen
stood empty. Her heart sank. She was about to return to her room when she found
a tray covered with a cloth napkin. Peeking beneath the fabric, she sighed, and
her stomach made more unladylike noises. Upon the tray sat a feast of bread,
cheese, and cold chicken—no doubt left there for her.

Emma flopped
lifelessly down on the table bench and nibbled on a piece of cheese. Her
throat, clogged with unshed tears, caused her to spit the cheese out into a
napkin. Emma’s stomach still made noises from being empty, but eating didn’t
agree with her, and she pushed the tray away. Visions of her papa, alive,
smiling and laughing with her, pained her insides. Where was her papa’s body
now? Had he died alone in a hotel room in a country full of strangers?

“Oh, God,” she
cried. “Why did you have to take him? He’s all I have in this world.”

Once upstairs
again, Emma climbed beneath the covers and let her mind wander to her years
spent in this room. Many nights Emma would lose herself in her readings. She
especially loved the novels written by the English writer Jane Austen. And if
she were not reading, she would be lost in daydreams about the characters from
the stories and how she would become a young woman of Society and be whisked
off her feet and fall helplessly in love with the dashing Mr. Darcy.

But now that
could never happen. Her papa had promised to take her to London next year,
after she turned ten-and-eight and had graduated from Miss Beauregard’s, to
seek a husband for her. Yes, she had wanted to travel to London and beyond. And
even though she hoped to marry one day, she knew her future husband would have
to be a patient and understanding gentleman because she was a bit eccentric and
liked to do some unexpected things.

Emma liked
reading and writing, daydreaming, and even doing numbers. Many of her friends
told her that when she married, her husband would forbid her to do that sort of
thing. She would have to learn her hoops and how to play the pianoforte, two
things she was appallingly bad at. Every time she tried to embroider she
pricked her fingers and bled all over the delicate muslin. Miss Ipswich was
always scolding her in front of the other girls for her clumsiness, and that
made her insides burn.

The pianoforte
lessons were worse. When Emma played she was told she sounded like a sick
goose, as if they knew what a sick goose sounded like. Mrs. Gertrude, the cook,
her only true friend here, explained they were all jealous because her papa was
one of the richest men in America. Emma did not think that was it, because most
of the girls here had rich papas. Except for Penelope, who had a rich mama.

Penelope
confided to her once that when a girl married she had to obey her husband and
share his bed, and she might even have to let him insert his sugar stick
between her thighs. Penelope boasted she once saw her mama and her lover doing
such a thing. Emma’s body shivered at the thought of sharing a bed with a man,
not to mention where she thought his sugar stick was going to go. And why would
he want it to go there anyway?

She liked to
sleep alone. It was a luxury, and she liked luxuries. And Emma planned on
sleeping alone as long as she lived, even when she married.

Her last words
before sleep and exhaustion overtook her were, “Please, Lord, let today be a
dream, and tomorrow please bring my papa home to me.”

CHAPTER
THREE

“I knew I
should have hauled your ass overboard when we first set sail,” Thomas moaned as
Myles barged into his cabin. Fortunately for them, they had booked two cabins
aboard the merchant ship
The Weymouth,
bound for Boston, and were now
somewhere on the Atlantic. Giles, Thomas’s valet, was with them, but as usual
Myles traveled without his.

Thomas had
sailed on the first available ship because he needed to get as far away from
England as he could before he changed his mind about the whole Hamilton affair.
And Myles invading his privacy now was just what he didn’t need. “Make yourself
comfortable,” Thomas ordered, “and do not disturb me.”

“Yes,
Your
Grace
,” Myles replied as he took a seat in the only chair in the small
cabin.

Thomas settled
in his bunk with the correspondence he’d received prior to his departure. His
eyes squinted in the low candlelight. No matter how many times he read the
letter, the words and their impact did not change one bit.

Dear Duke of
Wentworth,

I received
your letter, and I must admit to being in shock over my papa’s untimely
passing. Could you please explain to me how he died? I had just received a
missive from him the previous week, and it seemed as if naught was wrong. I am
pained with grief at the loss of my dear papa, and not knowing how he died is
only adding to the numerous knife thrusts shredding my heart.

A bit overly
dramatic, Thomas mused. He still envisioned a young girl crying copious tears
and shrilling like a banshee when her needs were not met in a timely manner.
After sighing loudly and ignoring Myles’s questioning stare, he continued
reading.

And could
you be so kind as to tell me again your connection to my papa? I believe, a
long time ago, Papa told me about a friend of his back in England. Is that
friend you? Is that why you came to inherit all that belonged to him?

Good gracious.
Thomas could just picture the young girl’s face if he broke the promise he’d
made to Mr. Hamilton and imagined her response if he explained just how he
acquired all that belonged to her papa. The chit’s lips would tremble, and she
would turn into a watering pot until her eyes puffed and her nose turned an
unattractive shade of red. His body quivered violently at the thought of having
such a ward in his care. He’d welcome
e
grave
bodily injury before a weepy female in his home. To avoid such a scene, he
would do whatever he must to keep the truth from coming out. Thomas would honor
Mr. Hamilton’s wishes. Nothing good would come if the truth were known, even if
he told her how reluctant he’d been to take on all this.

He ignored
Myles’s devilish smirk and continued reading the letter.

I do not
want to sound ungrateful for your kindness in stepping into my papa’s shoes,
but I believe I am of an age to look after myself. If only you could find it in
your generous heart to give me a meager allowance, I shall find a small cottage
near my previous home where I lived so happily with my papa. There I will live
a simple, quiet life alone.

She could not be
serious. At ten-and-seven, could she really think herself mature enough to
manage all on her own? Mr. Hamilton would haunt Thomas until his dying day if
he agreed to anything as preposterous as to allow her to do that. As happened
during other readings of the missive, his teeth began grinding of their own
accord. Thomas tightened his grip on the parchment and closed his eyes,
envisioning his hands gripping the shoulders of Miss Hamilton and shaking her
until she came to her wits. This gel was driving him crazy, and he hadn’t even
met her yet.

God forgive
him, when did he start having violent thoughts against women? He swore not to
read the missive again until he landed in America. But first he had to finish
this reading of it.

Please
forgive me if I have overstepped the boundaries of propriety. It is just that
Papa raised me to be my own person, and that is what I indeed intend to be. If
you decide I must accompany you and leave the only home I have ever known, then
I suppose I must. But understand it is only until I come of age, and then I
intend to travel back to my homeland. Also, if you would be so kind, please
explain to me what you intend to do with me once you collect me from Miss
Beauregard’s. Toss me onto a ship bound for England and have me deposited at
your doorstep? I would like to remind you gently I am not a piece of baggage. I
would like to be treated as a young lady with preferences and a mind of my own.

Graciously,

Your Ward,
Miss Emma Hamilton

He flung the
letter across the way to Myles. “Read this. You won’t believe the nerve of this
chit. She insulted me numerous times without any regard for social graces. If
this is how they teach ladies in finishing schools in Boston, I will have to
procure her enrollment in one of London’s elite finishing schools. If she
speaks her mind in person as she does in her letter, she will scandalize the
ton
within moments.”

When Myles did
not react, Thomas continued.

“I have high
expectations of sending her off with Mama, Amelia, and Isabella for a season,
in hopes of marrying all three of them off at once. I almost pity the three
gentlemen who manage to win their hands.” He shrugged. “But then again, the men
will be all the richer for it with the handsome dowries they will receive upon
their marriages.”

Myles was
absorbed in his reading. When he finished, he looked at Thomas and smiled as he
offered the letter back.

“Well?” Thomas
glared at Myles. “Have you nothing to say?”

He waited and
waited, but for naught, because Myles did nothing but laugh uncontrollably
until his eyes watered and he gasped for breath. So much for Myles standing by Thomas
in his time of need. He would remember this moment the next time his friend
asked for a boon.

***

Standing at the
deck railing, Thomas got his first glimpse of America, and the view suspended
his breathing. The coastline, full of beige sand, went on for miles and miles.
The captain had informed them the storm they had struggled through had pushed
them a bit south of their destination, and they were presently off the coast of
Plymouth. With a spyglass he was able to glimpse large, stately homes in the
distance as the ship tacked north. The large houses were set a good distance
from the water’s edge along beautiful desolate beaches.

Sometime later
Myles joined Thomas deck side and requested the use of the spyglass. Soon they
would be docking at Boston Harbor, scene of the infamous Boston Tea Party.

“It does not
look quite as savage as some have depicted,” Myles commented. “Rather, it looks
quite like any other bustling port in England. Do you think we will encounter
Native Americans while we’re here? It will be to the disappointment of everyone
back home if we don’t.” Myles passed the glass back to Thomas. “How many days
are we staying in Boston?”

“Three. I’m
anxious to travel to New Bedford and glimpse my holdings and meet with Mr.
Hamilton’s solicitors.”

Myles frowned
and grabbed the rail just as the ship nudged the dock. He looked around at the
bustling waterfront. “Do you see what I see? I want to spend more than three
days here. Visit a brothel or two and see if American ladybirds have different
skills than our courtesans.”

Myles could not
be serious. Thomas hadn’t traveled numerous weeks, through a violent storm no
less, just to visit a brothel. He’d come to find out about his newly acquired
fortune, not to mention the situation with Miss Hamilton. Leave it to his
friend to think of his body’s pleasure needs first.

“Why am I not
surprised you have nothing on your mind but arranging an assignation with a
courtesan?” Thomas complained. “Actually, it might not be a bad idea. We have
been long on the ship. A little drink and taste of exotic flesh might be just
what we need.” Myles slapped him on the back.

Thomas
continued. “But first we’ll make inquiries for lodging and then hire a team so
we can visit Miss Hamilton.” He had no intentions of visiting a brothel, but if
it made Myles more agreeable to his suggestions, he would pretend to go along
with it.

The sound of
Myles’s growling, deep in his throat, did not surprise him. “You want to see
the chit now, before we’ve slaked our thirst for drink and occupied a woman?”

“Exactly what I
had in mind.” Thomas had never shared his friends’ taste for brothels. He
preferred widows and unhappily married ladies of the
ton
. He liked to
think he did them a favor by servicing them, rather than the other way around.
Thomas took great pains to be an attentive and thorough lover. No female left
his bed without experiencing multiple pleasures. And he took his pleasure in
return.

Besides, he was
extremely particular about the women he bedded, for he did not want to contract
any diseases. Hence he rarely visited establishments centered on the pleasures
of men. His father had taken him to a brothel when he was ten-and-five. He paid
a young ladybird, not much older than Thomas, to take his innocence. After that
experience he was half in love with the gel. She had not, however, appreciated
his penned poems and the serenades in the dark. The owner of the brothel
finally sent word to his father. Thomas remembered the thrashing. He’d been
unable to sit a horse for a fortnight, and thus had ended his love of ladybirds
and their favors.

Ahhh, jaded
by the tender age of ten-and-five.

“Wentworth, are
you even listening to me?” Myles interrupted his reverie.

Thomas turned
to his friend. “What were you saying?”

Laughter sprang
forth. “I was saying that our luggage has been off-loaded, and we need to
disembark.”

“Oh, sorry…lost
in thought.”

“If only I
could be privy to the thoughts going around in your head.” Myles paused and
shook his head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know your twisted and sadistic
mind. I might have to beg off our friendship if I did. What say we find our
lodgings and stretch our legs for a bit before we venture forth to meet Miss
Hamilton? I, for one, need to be rested and in good form so as not to miss your
reaction when you meet your new ward.”

“I’m so glad
you find my situation humorous. Just you wait until you inherit the earldom. If
I recall, you have three, no, four…Make that five younger sisters to marry off
if your father does not manage that before you inherit.”

“Yes, well…”
Myles winced. “My father is still considered somewhat young and in fine health.
I have complete faith that he will foist my sisters off on suitable young bucks
long before I inherit.”

Thomas laughed
and stepped inside the hackney Giles hailed to take them to the Concord
Colonial Inn. Once settled on the seat, he faced his longtime friend.

“Why don’t you
mention to your father that Lord Amesbury would be an excellent choice for
Marissa?” Thomas suggested. “She is coming out this season, is she not?”

The scowl Myles
gave him had Thomas laughing again.

 “Why the face?
What is wrong with our dear friend?”

 “Amesbury
would never suit my regal sister. She maybe only be ten-and-seven, but she is
mature beyond her years. I can’t see them together. Nor would I wish my sister
upon him. I know her too well, and poor Amesbury would never have another
moment’s peace if he wed her. Marissa is the most opinionated and stubborn
chit.” Myles snorted.

“She actually
made a list of husband-to-be qualities. I found it tucked inside a book in the
library. You would not believe the long list of qualifications Marissa expects.
There is not a gentleman alive who could possibly live up to them.” Thomas
smiled in amusement. “It will be my undue pleasure watching all the gentlemen
chase after her only to be sent packing with their pride stuffed up their
arses.

“All right
then, Marissa is wrong for Amesbury. Maybe he would be interested in my sister
Amelia. She is of marriageable age now. I’m not looking forward to every single
man in all of England sniffing around her skirts. I hate thinking about having
to entertain all those suitors who will surely have the audacity to call upon
her at my residence. Most are not worthy of an introduction, never mind the
privilege of courting Amelia.” Myles burst out laughing. “We might never marry
off our sisters and wards if we don’t lower our expectations.”