The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,64
rubbish at the side of the Thames or learn to pluck it directly from the pockets of those who never noticed my presence.”
“Which path did you choose?”
“Both. I was six, seven, eight. There were rumbling bellies in every cot, and I shared whatever food I’d scavenged with the other children before tumbling exhausted into my own bed. And then one day…”
Her lungs seemed to close.
His hand covered hers protectively. “One day…?”
She fought the pricking in her throat. “One day, when I sneaked back through the dormitory window with an entire loaf of bread to share, my bed was full. The minders had given the cot to someone else. I had been gone for three hours, and already those in power had forgotten there had ever been a little girl to save it for.”
Lawrence’s face contorted with horror. Before he could respond, a footman appeared at the open doorway.
“Pardon the interruption, Your Grace. You’d asked me to remind you when it was time for your engagement.”
Ah. Chloe blinked quickly. The York ball, of course. The sand had run out of the glass. Her shoulders crumpled. She’d kept the duke longer than she had a right to. His bride awaited. It was time to be replaced and forgotten.
Yet again.
21
Chloe plodded out of the Duke of Faircliffe’s residence with a heavy heart. She flung herself up and into the family carriage and into her sister’s arms.
“Are you all right?” Tommy cupped Chloe’s face in alarm. “What did that scoundrel do to you?”
“Nothing.” Chloe buried her face in her sister’s shoulder and willed herself not to cry. “Absolutely nothing.”
Tommy stroked her hair. “What did you want him to do?”
Everything.
Chloe hugged her close rather than answer. Lawrence hadn’t even kissed her good-bye. He belonged to Philippa already.
The coach wheels started rolling.
Tommy slid open the panel to the driver. “Home, please. We shan’t be going to the ball.”
“No. We have to go.” Chloe’s stomach rebelled against the idea. “I don’t want to watch him propose to Philippa, but I need to see it happen. I have to know.”
Tommy gave her a tortured look and then nodded. “All right.” She craned her head back toward the driver. “York residence, please.”
Chloe sagged against the back of the carriage. “Tell me you found our Puck.”
Tommy shook her head. “I looked over every inch of that library. I peeked under chairs and even inside books in case they’d been hollowed out to make hiding spaces. Puck & Family isn’t there.”
Chloe’s skin turned cold. “Not there?”
“I looked everywhere I could think to look. Twice. The housekeeper almost caught me locking up after myself. I’m sorry, Chloe. It’s somewhere else. We have to go back.”
Back to the house but not back into Lawrence’s arms.
The next time they came to call, he’d be spoken for, and might not be alone. Chloe’s arrival could disrupt private time with his new betrothed.
She wasn’t certain she could bear to witness him with someone else after all.
* * *
Lawrence retied his cravat for the third time and glared at his reflection.
Chloe had left just moments ago, and here he was primping for her, rather than for the young lady he hoped to make his bride.
Did he wish to wed Miss York? He turned away from his looking glass. He didn’t want to marry for money, no matter how practical and commonplace it was. But one’s wants did not signify when one must also consider tenants, staff, and a familial estate that would crumble before his eyes without timely renovations.
Even if he were willing to give up his hard-won respectability and accept the scandal and censure an alliance with the Wynchester clan would bring, Chloe still was not an option. She had no dowry.
The unfortunate truth was Lawrence needed an heiress. Miss York did not seem particularly keen to wed him, but she needed a title. Neither would be getting what he or she really wanted, but beggars could not be choosers, much as he might wish that were the case.
When he reached the front door, Hastings handed him a letter.
“This came a few minutes ago. It seemed important.”
Lawrence glanced at the seal and handwriting, and his stomach sank. It was important. Nor was it the first message he’d received from the bank that held the mortgage to the town house.
Father had apparently stopped making payments years before. To repay the debt, Lawrence deposited three months’ worth at a time, with the proceeds from selling items of value from the estate.