Page 7 of Lavender’s Lost Duke

She sniffed as she came back to his bedside. “Yes, father?”

“I know this is all sudden. But it would give me no small amount of peace knowing you are happily settled before I die.”

“Don’t say that.” Lavender’s voice shook.

“I must. It is the way of things, and I don’t intend to pretend otherwise. Now,” he coughed for a few seconds. “You have a large dowry and the beauty of an angel. Go find someone to share your life with before you must enter into the mourning period.”

Lavender leaned over and kissed her father on his forehead. He said it like it would be as easy as going to the market, but she knew better. “I’ll do my best.” She hated that he lied to her: she knew she was no beauty, especially with her extensive scarring. But then, she hated everything about her father’s illness. Who was to be the buffer for her mother’s intense demands if he was gone?

He caught her hand again. “You’ll have to venture further than the library to find someone to marry. There is only so much of life you can learn in a book. I have months yet. Don’t worry about me, but claim your happiness while you can.”

She nodded. He knew her so well. And yet, she’d kept so much from him over the past few years. The last thing she wanted to do was burden him further by admitting how foolish she’d been in love. She may be required to marry, but she was wiser now. She knew more about the selfishness of men. Knowledge was powerful, and she would benefit from applying it in her search for happiness. So long as she kept her heart out of the marriage, all would be well.

She’d been raised her entire life for moments like this. When turmoil raged all around, it was her job to bring peace. Who was she to fight against her fate?

Chapter 4

Thomas rubbed a hand down his face and winced. He hated the feel of the stubble, but he’d deemed it necessary. The dark shadow on his face might be the best disguise he could find. Well, that and the faded hat he pulled low to cover his face. One day, he’d thank the stable master at his estate in Kent. The best way for Thomas to disappear was to do it properly. So he hadn’t told a soul about his plans.

He’d also abstained from any drink for an entire week in Kent. It was the longest week he could recall. After a couple days of headaches and shaking, he finally had a clear mind. And even with it, he decided he still wanted to follow through with his madcap plan.

He put a note on the middle of his desk and simply left . . . on foot . . . in the middle of the night. He’d chuckled about the expected reaction of his staff upon their seeing his note the next morning.

To all who will be concerned,

Rest assured, I am not dead. Nor am I guilty of the charges laid at my door. My steward, Mr. Johns, has full permission to show any man of the law into my study or around my properties to prove my innocence. In the meantime, continue on as usual. I’ll be watching to see how the investigation against my person progresses. Take care, for when I make myself known, I will be thorough in my defamation of any who dare to make light of the situation.

Loyal to the crown,

Thomas Monteclare—Duke of Fenleigh

He’d not even brought more coin than what he would have paid his own servants for a week. If he wanted to look like a servant, this was the best way to do it.

He caught the stagecoach in Rochester early in the morning, learned quickly that his small amount of money would do little more than pay for his passage back to London. He’d done so on purpose. If he didn’t have any money, he couldn’t be tempted to stop in at a pub.

It was now two days later and one night of sleeping in the barn at an inn for the night. He looked as haggard as he felt, and he didn’t try to amend the problem. Now, all he needed to do was find a job. This had been one of the more concerning parts of his plan. But in the end, there was only one person he could trust with his plans—on the chance that he was discovered. If Thomas played his part well, even Samuel would be unaware.

He pulled the hat lower on his brow and climbed the steps to the Duke of Gilfordshire’s townhouse. Taking a slow breath, he knocked.

The butler answered the door but did not say a word in greeting.

That seemed quite rude. “Mornin’. I’m lookin’ for work.”

That seemed to do the trick. “You’d best do it the proper way then and present yourself at the back of the house. What are you thinking, man, to come to the front door like a gentleman?” He began closing the door in Thomas’s face.

“Who is it, Andrews?” a familiar voice came from behind the butler.

Andrews stepped aside revealing Thomas to the Duke of Gilfordshire—one of the only men Thomas could count as a friend.

Their eyes connected, and the Duke of Gilfordshire’s eyes went wide for a moment, but then returned to an unconcerned gaze. “And what is your name, sir?”

“Tom Smith, yer grace.” Thomas looked down to hide his grin, hopeful he hadn’t been recognized yet. He’d thought it would be entertaining to take on a lower-class accent, but he was fairly certain he was butchering it.

“Well . . . Tom. Come with me to meet my housekeeper at the back of the house. We’ll see what we can do for you.”

The Duke of Gilfordshire, or who Thomas knew better as Samuel, stepped out onto the front steps of the townhouse and led the way toward the back entrance. The front door clicked shut behind them.

Thomas followed, kicking himself for using the front door. What had he been thinking? Servants didn’t use the front door.