The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

Sarah swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I don’t want your thanks. I want your company. Will you travel to Markham with us?”

For the briefest of instants, Sarah appeared torn, struggling with some internal conflict. At length, she nodded. “With pleasure, ma’am.”

“Wonderful!” Daphne beamed. “I need a few minutes to pack. Then, we can be on our way.” Half turning, her gaze fell on the nightstand, and she smiled, tenderly picking up the ragged doll. “I’ve spent a dozen years wondering—what is her name?”

A wistful look. “Tilda. Actually, Matilda. It was my mother’s name.”

“Tilda,” Daphne repeated softly. “ ’Tis a lovely name.”

“Mama gave her to me the morning she left me on the workhouse steps.” Sarah’s voice broke. “ ’Twas the last time I saw her. Her body was found the next day, floating in the Thames.”

Daphne hugged Sarah fiercely, vowing then and there to ensure this frail yet courageous girl nothing but happiness from then on. “Come,” she managed. “Let’s collect my things. We can talk while we pack. I can already envision precisely which of Markham’s bedchambers will be yours. It has a lovely view of the gardens and a wide ledge at the window just perfect for Tilda to sit and look out—”

“Wait.” Abruptly, Sarah stayed Daphne with her hand. “I can’t do this to you, not when you’ve shown me more kindness than I’ve ever known in my life.” She lowered her lashes to hide the pain her refusal evoked. “I can’t go with you, Your Grace. I want to—more than you can ever imagine—but I can’t.”

“Why?” Daphne was taken aback by the rapid turnabout. “Why can’t you go?”

Silence.

“You can trust me, Sarah,” Daphne murmured. “Tell me what this is all about.”

“I’m with child.” It was an admission of fact, not shame or remorse. “That’s the reason I’ve been constantly weak and lightheaded. It’s also why I can’t accept your offer, no matter how much I might want to. To burden you with my condition, and eventually my child, would be dishonest and unfair to you, to the duke, and to the children I’d be instructing.”

“The babe’s father?”

“Isn’t interested in acquiring a wife or a child,” Sarah finished. With proud defiance, she raised her chin. “I’d be lying if I said James hadn’t made that fact clear from the start. He did. But it changed nothing. Not my love for him, nor my aching need to have his child. I want this babe, Your Grace, want it more than anything on earth. And not only because of James, but because I long for the chance to give my child what I never had: a mother who loves him enough to never leave him.” Sarah lay a protective palm over her still flat abdomen. “Can you understand that?”

“Yes. Far better than you think.” Daphne’s cheeks were damp with tears. “And I greatly appreciate your candor. Now, are you ready to go?”

Sarah gaped. “You still want me?”

“More than ever,” Daphne replied fervently. “Anyone who can speak of children with such tenderness and commitment is the ideal candidate to teach them. Moreover, you’ll need proper care for yourself and your babe. We’ll see that you get it. So,” Daphne swung open the door and scooped up Sarah’s bag, “if that’s all settled, we’re off to Markham.”

Pierce was deep in thought as he paced before the waiting carriage. He’d reached his breaking point tonight, thanks to Benchley’s disdainful remarks and arrogant boast. No longer could he dismiss the inner voice that urged him to act.

Conflicting emotions or not, the Tin Cup Bandit would strike.

Instinctively, Pierce began plotting out details.

He’d nearly completed his strategy when Daphne emerged from the manor thirty minutes later, accompanied by the serving girl Lady Benchley had been chastising earlier.

“Would you please load this as well?” Daphne paused to ask the footman, handing him the maid’s suitcase.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Daphne turned to her husband, her gaze saying far more than her words. “Pierce, this is Sarah Cooke. She’s just accepted a position at Markham that will solve all our problems concerning the children. In fact, as luck would have it, she’s able to travel home with us right now. Sarah, my husband, Pierce Thornton.” A twinkle. “The notorious Duke of Markham.”

“Your Grace.” Sarah curtsied.

“We’re delighted to welcome you, Sarah.” Blindly, Pierce followed his wife’s lead. “Notorious?” he added with a grin.

“Indeed.” Daphne leaned conspiratorially forward. “Evidently, your colorful rise to the ranks of the nobility has become quite a topic of conversation among members of the ton.”

“I’m flattered.” Pierce wasn’t fooled by his wife’s purposeful banter. Scrutinizing her face, he read her unspoken plea and answered it. “I’ve made our excuses.” He opened the carriage door, beckoning to both ladies. “Shall we go?”

The carriage made its way through Benchley’s iron gates. With keen insight, Pierce watched Sarah knotting her hands in the folds of her dress, nervously awaiting Daphne’s explanation.