The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

F rederica ran through the house, past more than one startled servant, and out into the garden. Dusk was falling, but she did not care—she wanted only to be away from her mistakes and the look of despair on her uncle’s face. She ran across the lawn and past the folly into the woods beyond, where she was at last obliged to stop and catch her breath. It did her little good, for her breath would not come, and she found herself gasping for air. It took her a moment to realise she was sobbing. She slumped against the darkened silhouette of the nearest tree and let her tears come, never in her life feeling so utterly wretched.

“Miss Richmond!”

She spun around at the familiar voice to see Penrith jogging towards her through the gloaming. What it meant that he had followed her, she was too miserable to guess, but as always, her first sensation upon seeing him was one of profound relief—always his presence was such a balm to her spirits. She took a shaky breath and wiped frantically at her face to dry her tears, all too aware that she must look an absolute fright and hoping the deepening gloom might disguise her red-rimmed eyes.

The duke slowed to a stride, then a walk, then finally came to a halt in front of her. He seemed uncommonly agitated. “You did not need to do that,” he said almost angrily. “I was perfectly content to let them think it was my idea.”

“You should not have to take the blame.”

“Neither should you, for you are blameless!”

“We both know that is not true! By asking you to act as you have, I have secured their complete ruin.”

Penrith took a step closer. “What you did by asking me for help was clever, and brave, and right . Your brothers clearly intended to duel. And this secret was too large to ever remain undiscovered. It would have come out with or without your help—or mine. Your family will simply have to accept that Damian Richmond is the rightful heir. It may be painful for them, but you have prevented a far greater tragedy.”

“I do not think my uncle would agree.”

“He would—indeed, he does. He has already expressed his regret for losing his temper, but in any case, I would counsel you not to hold it against him. He is afraid, and fear invariably presents itself as anger.” He gave an exasperated little laugh. “Which is precisely why I was trying so hard not to look at you—to avoid anyone guessing your connection to events, thereby saving you the brunt of any such untamed sentiments. ”

The significance of Penrith having come to her, of him staunchly defending her actions, of him speaking to her at all, finally began to dawn on Frederica. She wiped her face again in a vain attempt to make herself appear less wild. “It is?”

“Yes! Though you made it damnably hard, staring at me the way you were, and looking so very, very beautiful.”

Frederica stared at him, too astonished to believe what she had heard. “Your Grace, I?—”

“I thought we agreed you would dispense with that formality.”

She let out a small, doubtful huff of air. “That was before I was so awful to you.”

“Before you were awful to me ?” He shook his head. “How like you to assume the fault is yours.”

The darkness was increasing by the moment, and Frederica did not see him reach for her hand—she only felt the warmth of his touch as he wrapped his fingers around hers.

“Frederica, it was unconscionable of me to come to you as I did that day. It was without doubt the most selfish act of my life. I thought only of my own happiness and spared no thought whatsoever to what you had endured. It was I who was awful to you, and I beg you would forgive me.”

“I thought I had made you hate me.”

“That is not possible.”

“But you looked so unhappy when you left. It has haunted me. ”

“Do not let it. I shall not deny that I have endured many hours of misery since that day for having failed to win your hand—but I did not relinquish my hopes of making you love me when I left Taverstock. I was perfectly ready to wait until such time as you might receive my addresses more favourably. No, my unhappiness in that moment was something else entirely.” He reached for her other hand, holding both between them.

“You said in your letter that I had been an anchor to you, but it is quite the reverse. You have pulled me out of a blackness I did not believe would ever recede. And in return, boor that I am, I forced you to choose between love and duty. And when you had made the only choice your perfect, pure heart would allow you to make, I had no option but to leave you, crying and alone, without any of the comfort you deserved, all the while knowing I was the cause of your distress. Yes, I can safely say that I was outside of unhappy when I left you that day—but it was all my own doing, not yours.”

“Oh, Penrith, I never blamed you for coming. I wish I had let you comfort me.”

He ran his thumbs over her knuckles, sending tingles the length of her arms and releasing a host of butterflies in her stomach. “Frederica, I would be that comfort to you always . I would hold your hand through every travail and be at your side for every triumph—if you would allow me.” He lifted her hand to kiss her fingers. “Will you be my duchess?”

His question was as sobering as if someone had thrown a pitcher of cold water in Frederica’s face. She sucked in her breath and stepped backwards, withdrawing her hands from his and pressing her palms together in agitation. “Your duchess ?”

“Yes.” Penrith’s confusion was clear—as was his sudden apprehension. “Good God, what did you think I was asking you to be?”

“Well, your…your wife.”

His brow furrowed even as he laughed and shook his head. “That is what I am asking.”

“I know, I…I just had not considered before that being your wife would also mean being a duchess.”

“You are surely the only woman of my acquaintance who has not considered it. Did you not see them, throwing themselves at me at my ball? All with the hope of piquing my interest, all with their eye on my rank and fortune.”

“Then are you sure you want me ? I trust you have not forgotten that I grew up in an orphanage and cannot speak French or Italian or do complicated arithmetic. I cannot read music. I can barely dance.”

The gloom notwithstanding, there was no disguising Penrith’s smile, so broad it almost made a stranger of him. “You have never cared that I am a duke, have you?”

Frederica gave him a slight, one-shouldered shrug. “Not really, I am afraid. Only in as much as I was aware that you would be conscious of the chasm between our conditions in life. I have never been much interested in anybody’s rank or birthright. My history has made a mockery of the whole business.”

“And thus, I offered for the only woman in the whole of the ton who would refuse me.” He reached for her hands again and tugged her gently back towards him. “I beg you would not refuse me again. Please say you will marry me. Never mind my duchess, Frederica, I would have you be my dearest friend, a mother to my children, and my wife—in every way.”

It had been a while since Frederica felt anything but worry or guilt—it had been even longer since she felt contentment—and she could not recall ever feeling happiness such as she felt at that moment. Every part of her thrummed with it, her heart so full she thought it must surely burst. She had barely completed one full nod of her head before Penrith swept her into his arms. He held her as though he was worried she might slip away again, his usual composure evaporated as he crushed her against his chest, murmuring soft words of love and devotion that moved her deeply. Tentatively, self-consciously, she wrapped her arms around his broad back. She thought that she had erred when he stilled, yet when he drew back to look at her, his expression banished her concern.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I should be honoured to be your duchess.”

Clearly moved, he lovingly cupped her face with both hands and kissed her. It was a less restrained embrace than they had shared at Cedarvale, savouring more of relief and urgency than tenderness. His caress was ardent and possessive, and when his lips moved to her neck, Frederica gasped with pleasure. His hands moved from her face to her shoulders to her back to her hips, pulling her against him in ways that inflamed her, body and soul. So affecting was his touch that she shivered at its withdrawal, not yet quite returned to her senses.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” she answered, too distracted by the taste of him, lingering on her lips, to think about much else. “I suppose we ought to go in, though. It would be unwise to give my uncle any more reasons to be displeased with me, and he will not like that we have been alone together.”

“You need not worry. I secured his consent for a private audience with you before I followed you out here—and your brother’s . They know perfectly well what my intentions are—and your sisters were adamant that they agree to it.”

She smiled at that—dear Adelaide and Scarlett! Penrith held out his hand for hers, and when she gave it to him, he raised it to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers. Then he placed her hand on his arm and set them off towards the house, whose windows were now aglow with candlelight—a beacon in the darkness.

“Besides,” Penrith continued, “I daresay your uncle will not object to having our favour in the coming months. Your family face an uphill struggle, but as a duchess, you will be able to protect them from the worst bite of the scandal merely by standing by them in town.”

Frederica looked up at him, beyond delighted by his observation. Finally, she might be of some use to her family, instead of a constant nuisance. “I had not considered that!”

“I know,” he replied, and though it was by now too dark to see his smile, she could hear it in his voice. After a brief pause, he said, “There is another benefit to being a duchess that I know you have not considered.”

“Oh?”

“You could become patroness of Taverstock. It would be a different manner of involvement, but with your knowledge and my fortune, you could make a vast difference.”

Frederica had thought her present happiness unsurpassable, but everything Penrith said gave her yet more joy. “You are right, I did not think of that. Why did you not suggest it before?”

“I did not wish to influence your decision.”

With this declaration, Frederica knew she had found the very best of men to love her. Feeling almost overwhelmed with her affection for him, she tugged gently on his arm, slowing his steps enough that she could kiss his cheek. This was encouragement enough for him to stop walking altogether and kiss her again as passionately as he had before, to which she had no objection.

Afterwards, the duke did not hasten to pull away, instead placing the tenderest of kisses to her forehead and staring at her, close enough that the nighttime made no difference; it still felt as though he was looking into her soul. “Will you reward me in that manner every time I say something that pleases you?”

She nodded shyly, too embarrassed to openly admit how well she liked his attentions, even in the dark.

“In that case,” he said, “you might like to know that I received a letter this week, from the housekeeper at Stubbington Hall in Southampton. She has a young lady in her employ by the name of Miss Patty Robins.”

Frederica let out a little squawk and clutched at his arm. “You have found Adelaide’s friend?”

“I have—though I shall not take the credit for the idea of searching for her. In any case, it seems she has been learning her letters and is, I understand, very good with her mistress’s children. I thought perhaps you might like to invite her to take your position as matron at Taverstock, when you leave.”

Frederica grinned broadly, already envisioning her sister’s raptures when she heard this news. “You have thought of everything! You are too clever, Your Grace.”

“Only as clever as you, Your Grace , for your idea to have Richmond arrested,” he replied. “But then I have noticed that you are often the voice of reason when everyone else is losing their heads. It is one of the first things about you that I fell in love with.”

He could not have done any more to demonstrate his affections, but Frederica was nevertheless enchanted to hear him say it. She felt she ought to repay the compliment. “I first admired you for your way with children.”

“In that we are perfectly aligned, for I think it was only about our third encounter before I knew that you would make the very finest mother to mine.”

“I hope I shall! I mean to try. They are such wonderful little souls.”

“They are—although, I have been thinking…You are used to so many more children that three is probably not en ough for you, is it? A few more would be a fine thing, do you not think?”

Frederica was momentarily silenced by the flood of sentiment that overcame her. The desire to be a mother in her own right was something she had never allowed herself to dwell upon, for it had seemed such an unattainable wish. Yet anybody who cherished children as dearly as she did could not deny the yearning to hold her own child in her arms. She did not think she would ever be able to express to Penrith how profoundly the prospect pleased her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “That would be a very fine thing indeed.”

She fancied Penrith heard the waver in her voice—or perhaps he simply knew her well enough to comprehend her sentiments—for his next kiss, when he gave it, was tenderness itself.

Frederica was still in high emotion as they returned to the house; she was thankful to have her beloved at her side, for she did not feel equal to facing her family’s anger alone. The duke had been correct, however—now that the initial shock had passed, there was no ill will, only stoic resignation that the truth was always likely to be discovered. And all their imminent tribulations notwithstanding, to a piece , the Richmonds welcomed her and Penrith with open arms and heartfelt congratulations at their happy news. For the first time in her life, Frederica truly knew what it was to be a part of a family, and she had never felt more blessed.