The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) Read online

  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 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.