All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke Page 2

  Nathan stood and walked over to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. A drink was often in order when his mother paid a call. “I highly doubt that. You’ve never sat on a rumor a day in your life.”

  The dowager lifted her nose in the air and stamped her cane upon the rug again. “Be that as it may, this rumor has been confirmed, and in fact, I visited the school myself to ensure that it was true.”

  Nathan splashed a bit of brandy into his glass. “By God, if Gena’s got into trouble again—­”

  “No, no. It’s nothing like that. From all reports, she’s been doing exceedingly well this year.”

  Nathan let his shoulders relax. He turned to his mother. “Care for a drink?”

  “Of course not.” She waved it away. “I never drink in the afternoon.”

  “Ah, yes. You prefer to keep your wits about you in order to flay me alive with questions, don’t you?”

  Her nostrils flared. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Let’s see now, where were we?” Nathan scooped up his drink and returned to his seat. “It’s true that I haven’t had half as many letters from Miss Hathaway this term as I have in the past. But I don’t like the idea of you interfering in Gena’s schooling, Mother.”

  “I’m hardly interfering, dear. I was merely confirming a rumor.”

  Nathan brought the crystal glass to his lips. “What rumor?”

  “That Lady Evangeline Hollister had matriculated at Miss Hathaway’s this year.”

  Chapter Two

  Kent, the country estate of the Duke of Hollingsworth

  ELIZABETH MARIE SANDFORD HOLLISTER, the Duchess of Hollingsworth, tapped her foot on the Aubusson rug in the front drawing room of the giant manor house that she called home. She hadn’t been able to sit still for longer than five minutes all day.

  “Any moment now, Sampson,” she said to the large red setter who sat on the carpet next to her feet.

  Sampson made a small whining noise and tapped his paw on the rug. He missed Evie, too. Elizabeth had no doubt.

  The door to the drawing room flew open, and her lady’s maid and best friend, Mary, hurried in. “Your Grace, Lady Evangeline’s coach is coming up the lane.”

  “Evie!” Elizabeth jumped from her seat and hurried out of the drawing room toward the foyer. Mary followed quickly behind her.

  “It would not be ladylike, let alone duchesslike, to break into a run, would it, Mary?” Elizabeth asked.

  “In this case, Your Grace, I think being duchesslike would be highly overrated,” the slender young brunette replied.

  Elizabeth flashed her trusted servant a grin. Mary was right. It wouldn’t hurt to pick up her skirts slightly in order to move a bit faster. Evie was coming home at last. Evie. Her baby. Save for Elizabeth’s brief union with Evie’s father over a decade ago, the few months that Evie had been gone had been the longest of Elizabeth’s life. She had spent the autumn months keeping a stiff upper lip in front of the servants and retiring to her room at night in tears. Only Mary knew the truth—­that being away from Evie for so long broke Elizabeth’s heart.

  Evie was all Elizabeth had. The only bright spot in her life. At the age of thirty, she lived in a gilded cage, essentially a prisoner. But she’d never allowed Evie to feel anything other than love and safety. Elizabeth had to let her daughter go. Evie was the daughter of a duke, after all, and if Elizabeth’s mother-­in-­law, the dowager, had taught her anything, it was that anyone who was anyone in the ton—­a young lady at least—­was required to attend London’s Miss Hathaway’s School for Young Ladies.

  A dozen years ago, after she and Nathan had had their infamous falling out and decided it was best for everyone if they lived apart, Nathan had informed her that he intended for Genevieve to attend the school. So it had been a surprise to Elizabeth when the dowager had arrived for her monthly visit last summer and informed her that Genevieve would, in fact, be going to a new, more sought-­after school in London. That was just as well for Elizabeth. As a result, she was able to send Evie to Miss Hathaway’s. Elizabeth put great stock in tradition. She might have been a miserable failure as a wife, a daughter, and a duchess, but she refused, absolutely refused, to be a failure as a mother. At least to the one daughter she was able to mother. Elizabeth’s throat clenched. She shook away the tears that always threatened when she thought of Genevieve. Regardless, if Evangeline had the opportunity to go to Miss Hathaway’s, then attend the prestigious school she would.

  Elizabeth had worried over the decision for months, but in the end, she’d decided she must be brave, just as she’d instructed Evie to be. Now she would have two blissful weeks of holiday with her beautiful daughter before she’d be forced to ship her back to school.

  A footman passed Elizabeth on her way to the front door. “Your Grace, one of the outriders just dismounted. He says Lady Evangeline looks to be in great spirits and fit as a fiddle.”

  “Oh, thank you, Thompson,” Elizabeth said, her heart swelling with both pride and love. She lifted her skirts a touch higher and increased her pace.

  The butler opened the door as she approached. “My pelisse, if you please, Broderick.”

  The staid servant’s eyes widened a bit, but he quickly helped her on with that garment. “Do you mean to wait outside, Your Grace?” His voice was tinged with surprise.

  “Indeed I do.” It was true that the wind was piercing and the skies were heavy and gray, but a bit of inclement weather wasn’t about to stop her from seeing her baby.

  Broderick quickly helped her on with her cloak, and Elizabeth pulled a wool hat down over her ears and stuffed her hands into a fur muff. Barely breaking her stride, she marched out the door, sucking in her breath when the frigid December air found the exposed bits of her skin. She shuddered and straightened her spine, then shielded her hand over her eyes to have a look across the vast expanse of the front lawn. The coach was indeed nearing the house at a rapid pace. Evie was home. Elizabeth tapped her slippered foot against the frozen gravel of the drive and squeezed her hands together inside the muff.

  Minutes later, the coach pulled to a stop directly in front of Elizabeth, and she nearly leaped forward to wrench open the door herself. A footman wearing a large, dark wool overcoat disembarked from the back of the conveyance and opened the door instead. A moment later, her daughter, a tangled mass of red wool coat, large gray bonnet, skinny limbs, and flower-­scented hair came hurtling out of the coach directly into her arms. Elizabeth caught her with an oomph. Good heavens. When had Evie ever acted so . . . boisterously? Her daughter was normally the epitome of prim and proper behavior. Not to mention she must have grown two inches since Elizabeth had last seen her.

  “Evie, dear. Wait. Let me see you.” She hugged the girl closely while simultaneously trying to get a good look at her face. Was she indeed well? Happy? Healthy? Had she lost weight? Gained it? Was she—­?

  “Oh, Mother. I’m so, so, so, so happy to see you. You are absolutely beautiful.” The girl’s embrace tightened, and Elizabeth’s heart swelled. Evie wasn’t usually so demonstrative, but Elizabeth reveled in her daughter’s hug. She’d always wished for hugs from her own mother when she’d been a child. Hugs that had never come. She squeezed the girl tightly in her arms, tears pricking her eyes.

  “I’m happy to see you, too, darling,” Elizabeth said.

  Mary, who had tossed a shawl over her shoulders and followed her mistress outside, patted Evie on the back and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Lady Evie,” she said. Elizabeth didn’t miss the tears in the servant’s eyes either.

  “Come in the house where it’s warm.” Elizabeth ushered the girl inside while Evie kept her arm around her waist, and Elizabeth bit her lip to keep her smile from widening. Perhaps the time away had been good for Evie. She seemed much more relaxed (if a bit louder) than before.

  The two entered the foyer, the servants
directly behind them. Evie let go of Elizabeth long enough to assist Broderick in removing her coat. The footmen marched past, carrying her trunks. Sampson ran up and sniffed Evie, then backed up, growled, and barked at her twice.

  Elizabeth stared at the dog with wide eyes. “Sampson, what in heaven’s name has got into you? This is your darling Evie, back from school.” The dog continued to eye Evie warily. Elizabeth paused to allow Broderick to help her remove her pelisse, then turned back to look at her daughter, who was plucking off her bonnet. Elizabeth completely forgot about the dog’s odd behavior at the sight of the mop of short red curls that sat atop her daughter’s head. Elizabeth gasped. “Oh, Evie. What have you done to your hair?”

  Chapter Three

  “LADY GENEVIEVE HAS arrived, Your Grace,” Winthrop announced from the doorway of Nathan’s study.

  A smile spread across Nathan’s face, and he quickly tossed aside his quill. The ledgers and paperwork could wait. His daughter was home. The only daughter he would come to know, at least. He scrubbed a hand across his brow. He had no idea why Elizabeth had changed her mind and decided to send Evangeline to Miss Hathaway’s. Shortly after his wife had left London all those years ago, he’d drawn up extensive paperwork with his solicitor detailing the exact plan for each child—­where she would go to school and what she would receive for her dowry and marriage settlement. He’d also settled a considerable sum on Elizabeth in the event of his demise. His wife might have chosen to live separately from him, but he had ensured that all three of the females in his life were well taken care of. And damn it, they’d had an agreement. The least Elizabeth could have done was inform him of her decision to change her plans.

  Gena was an imp and likely to turn Miss Hathaway’s hair gray before she left school, but he’d missed his rambunctious daughter. He’d missed her a great deal.

  “Has she gone up?” he asked Winthrop.

  “Indeed she has, Your Grace.”

  Nathan pushed back his chair and made his way out of the study, through the corridor, and up the sweeping marble staircase at the front of the house. Minutes later, he knocked on his daughter’s bedchamber door.

  “Come in,” came Gena’s voice, more quiet than he’d ever heard it.

  He turned the handle and pushed open the door. Gena stood still as a statue in the middle of the room, her trunks stacked near the bed. She gazed at her bedchamber as if she’d never seen it before. Instead of launching herself into Nathan’s arms as she normally did, she stood silently assessing him. Were those tears in her eyes?

  “Oh, Father,” she said softly, folding her hands calmly in front of her. “It’s so very nice to see you.”

  “ ‘Father’? So formal?” Nathan grinned at her, but his throat tightened. Perhaps his little girl was growing up. She was becoming a young lady now.

  “Papa . . . I mean.” She returned his smile.

  Yes, there were definitely tears in her voice. That was unlike her, too. He’d never known Gena to be sentimental. He walked over to her and crooked his finger to tip up her chin. He looked down into her blue eyes, which were swimming with tears. They were her mother’s eyes—­but he quickly shook that unhelpful thought away. “Are you all right, Gen?”

  Her hair was still short, courtesy of her unfortunate tussle with some pine sap. It had upset the proper Miss Hathaway far more than it had upset him, despite the headmistress’s insistence that it should cause him great concern. Gena’s hair had grown a bit. That would make her grandmama happy. The wayward curls also seemed more tamed than usual.

  “I’m quite well, Father, er, Papa.” Her eyes searched his face.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

  “Like what?”

  “So . . . seriously.”

  “I want to remember your face forever.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Are you feeling well, Gen?”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Yes. Why?”

  He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Imp.” He grinned at her, waiting for her to make some equally whimsical rejoinder. Instead, she just blinked at him evenly. Imp. He must remember to stop calling her that. Somehow, the nickname didn’t seem appropriate any longer. The girl standing in front of him was no imp. She had transformed into a regal, poised young lady. His chest tightened again.

  “Have you, Papa? Have you missed me?” she asked.

  He furrowed his brow. “Of course I have. And your grandmama’s missed you, too. I expect she’ll be by for a visit any moment now.”

  “Grandmama?” Gena’s eyes turned into wide blue pools. “Grandmama is coming to visit? Truly?”

  Nathan laughed. “Yes, and I must say I’ve never seen you so eager to see your grandmama.”

  Gena snapped her mouth shut. “Oh, it’s only that I haven’t seen her in so long and—­”

  Nathan cocked his head to the side. “That’s odd. She mentioned that she paid you a visit at school.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. How could I have forgotten?” Gena bit her lip. “Papa? What are our plans for Christmastide?”

  “I thought we’d spend it here in London, for a change.”

  “With Grandmama?” Gena asked.

  “Your grandmama intends to spend Christmas in Surrey.”

  “Why doesn’t Grandmama live at the dower house in Kent . . . with Mother?”

  Nathan nearly choked. Had he been drinking something, he no doubt would have choked. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, each one more disturbing than the last. In the end, he decided a vague answer was best. “The Hollingsworth holdings include many properties, Gena. Your grandmama prefers the house in Surrey.”

  “And Mother prefers Kent?”

  “Something like that.” He regarded his daughter down the length of his nose. “Now, may I ask you a question?”

  “Yes, of course. Anything.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you meet Evangeline at school?”

  Chapter Four

  ELIZABETH HAD NEVER had such a talkative shadow as Evie proved to be. Normally, her daughter preferred to rest quietly in her room in the afternoons, reading a book or practicing her embroidery, but the new Evie, fresh from boarding school, was filled with both questions and information. Perhaps going away to London had been good for the girl. Elizabeth feared she had kept her daughter pent up in the countryside for too long, where her only friends were animals and servants instead of other children.

  As for animals, Sampson continued to eye Evie with a mixture of distrust and wariness. Even now, he lay on the rug, quietly growling at Evie, when normally he would have been cuddled up to her side. Elizabeth shook her head. Perhaps the dog was getting senile in his old age. He was nearly eleven, after all. She’d purchased him when Evie was a baby, an inadequate attempt to replace a sibling. Elizabeth sighed.

  “Tell me all about it, dear. Tell me everything,” she prompted as she set about pouring tea from the elaborate ser­vice Broderick had laid out for them in the drawing room on their third afternoon together.

  Evie’s eyes sparkled, and she clasped her hands together. “Well, we learned manners and comportment and we studied the peerage and we—­”

  The teapot clanked against the cup. “You studied the peerage?”

  “Yes.”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together and refocused her attention on not spilling the tea. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. “Did you learn about your father?”

  “Just a bit,” Evie replied. “Miss Hathaway says Father’s title is one of the oldest in the country. Is that right, Mother?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Elizabeth set down the teapot and picked up the silver tongs to grasp a lump of sugar.

  Evie’s voice was bright and loud. “And that he is one of the most vocal voices in Parliament. Is that right, Mother?”

&
nbsp; “I’ve always known him to be vocal,” Elizabeth mumbled under her breath.

  “Miss Hathaway seemed quite impressed by Father,” Evie added.

  A bit more mumbling. “I’m glad someone is, dear.” She picked up the teapot again to pour the next cup.

  Evie blinked at her. “Mama, why does Papa never visit?”

  The teapot clattered to the silver tray, its porcelain lid popping up to sit haphazardly on its side. “Wh-­what? Whyever would you ask that?” Elizabeth replied. Not to mention the fact that her formal daughter had just referred to herself and her estranged husband as “Mama” and “Papa.”

  “I’m curious about him,” Evie replied. “He’s not hurt, is he? Unable to travel? Or excessively old?” Was it her imagination, or was Evie hiding a grin?

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No. Of course not.” In fact, he’d been excessively healthy, virile, and, ahem, good-­looking the last time she’d seen him. She tugged at the collar of her butterscotch day dress. Was it hot in here suddenly?

  Evie ran her fingers through her bright curls. “Then why does he not visit? He lives in London, does he not?”

  Elizabeth righted the teapot’s lid and dropped the requisite two lumps of sugar into Evie’s cup. “Your father is quite a busy man.” There. That was vague enough, wasn’t it? She handed Evie her cup.

  “Yes, I know. He’s a duke, and Miss Hathaway says dukes are the highest ranking of all the peers, but surely even a duke has time to visit his wife and daughter.”

  Elizabeth concentrated on stirring the sugar in her own teacup. “It’s not quite that simple, dear.”

  “Why not?” Evie blinked at her.

  “Your father and I . . .” She pursed her lips. “It’s difficult to define, dear.”

  “Why?” Bright blue eyes blinked inquiringly at her.

  Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She’d always known this day would come. She and Evie had never discussed Evie’s father, at least not the reasons why he didn’t live with them, but certainly as the girl aged, she was bound to have questions about him. Elizabeth merely wished she had a bit more . . . time. She did the only thing she could think to do: change the subject.