A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin (Duchess Deals #5)

Chapter 1

THORNHILL ABBEY

“Your sister is missing.”

Christian looked up from the letter he was reading very slowly.

It was the last in a long line of tedious invitations to various functions.

Some were less respectable than others. For example, Mrs. Murman had invited him to play cards at her house, which would certainly end in something scandalous, considering that he was not generally invited when her husband was home.

The current invitation, however, was to a musical evening hosted by the Marquess of Hawton.

Choosing between cards (and potentially more) at Mrs. Murman’s and an endless, tedious evening of ‘music’ at the Marquess’s home was certainly not much of a choice.

He let the invitation slip from his fingers and stared at his mother.

“Missing?” he echoed. “Laura cannot possibly be missing, Mother. She’ll be at the lake, as usual.”

His mother shook her head vigorously. “She is not, I am telling you. Do you think I would not have checked?”

A tendril of unease unfolded in Christian’s chest. He leaned back in his seat, eyeing his mother thoughtfully.

It occurred to him, as it usually did, that he was now sitting where his father once had, and his mother was standing where he once had, almost like a supplicant.

“Are you listening to me?” Celestia snapped.

Generally speaking, she spoke mildly and softly to everybody, so her sharp tone indicated that she was thoroughly upset.

But Laura couldn’t possibly be missing. She was a little flighty at times, certainly, but she wouldn’t be foolish enough to go running off.

Would she?

“Laura will simply have wandered off,” he said sharply. “I am sure you are worried over nothing.”

Celestia tightened her jaw. “Then look at this.”

She withdrew a piece of paper and slapped it down on his desk. He leaned forward, staring. Sure enough, there was Laura’s handwriting, a ridiculous, looping script that was simply too frivolous for a lady. And the scent.

Why must she scent her writing paper so aggressively? Did she hope to inspire wheezing in everybody who read it?

As for the note itself, it was simple and to the point.

I am sorry if you look for me and find me missing. Try not to be too distressed. I have to do something which is extremely important and shall return soon.

He tightened his jaw. “She says that she will return soon.”

“Oh, Christian, enough!” Celestia groaned, covering her face with her hands. “She has gone missing. A delicately bred young woman simply cannot roam the streets with impunity. It is dangerous.”

His mother was right. Christian rose to his feet, concentrating on remaining calm. Panicking would only ratchet up her anxiety. Her nerves had never been strong.

Probably on account of life with my father. That would fry anyone’s nerves.

Enough of that. Clearing his throat, he squared his shoulders and smiled reassuringly down at his mother. “I shall find her.”

“But Christian…”

“I do not want you to worry. Laura is being foolish, as usual, but we’ll find her, I’m sure. Now, shall we look at her room? There might be some correspondence there that hints at where she has gone.”

Celestia chewed her lower lip anxiously. “You seem very certain.”

“I am certain, Mother. Don’t fret.”

Even as he spoke, Christian knew that he was wasting his time. His mother would fret, he was sure of it. And so would he, as a matter of fact.

What is she thinking? he thought grimly, climbing the stairs. His mother clattered along behind him. Where has she gone? And why?

He was careful to keep those questions to himself.

Their footsteps echoed through the cavernous rooms of Thornhill Abbey with its high ceilings and endless drafts. There was a chill in the place that no amount of roaring fires could ward off.

Like most old abbeys, there was a resident ghost. Christian wasn’t entirely sure of the story—no doubt some woman wearing a wedding dress, roaming the halls and wailing.

Or perhaps a headless horseman. He was sure he had terrified poor Laura until she could not sleep that night with a story about a headless horseman.

A pang of nostalgia shot through him, but he manfully fought through it. Anxiety and regret would not help him find his sister.

He reached the white-painted door that led to her room and pushed it open.

Carnage waited inside.

“Good God,” he breathed. “Don’t the maids tidy in here?”

“They do,” Celestia responded mournfully, leaning against the doorframe. “But Laura is so very untidy. No sooner have the poor servants returned order to the room than she arrives like a whirlwind.”

“Whirlwind, indeed,” he murmured, stepping carefully into the room and over a pair of discarded slippers.

Several drawers hung open, with pieces of clothing spilling out. A dress lay piled on the floor, and another two were crumpled on the bed. He could only assume that Laura had tried on several outfits and found herself displeased with them all.

“Have you any idea of where she might have gone? Some suitor, perhaps?”

“Suitor? Not that I know of. You know Laura.”

Christian paused, placing his hands on his hips.

“Father never let her change this room, did he?” he murmured.

He sensed, rather than saw, his mother stiffen.

“No. You know how your father abhorred change.”

“Well, that is not quite true,” he snorted. “He made changes all the time. He simply didn’t like the rest of us changing things.”

Celestia didn’t bother to argue.

“Since you have returned, Laura has made some changes to her room. She put on new wallpaper, you see, and those pictures are new.”

She gestured to a trio of pretty little flower paintings hanging above Laura’s bed. Absently, Christian reached out to touch one. It shivered, threatening to fall, and a white thing fell out from behind it.

He blinked. “Is that a letter? I thought Laura attended to her correspondence at the writing desk in the library downstairs.”

“She does. And I haven’t the faintest idea of what that might be.”

Christian retrieved the white thing, which was indeed a slip of paper. Further investigation revealed some more pieces behind each picture.

Celestia inched behind him, peering over his shoulder. He set the papers on the bed and stood back, hands on his hips.

“I believe that’s German,” he murmured. “Why on earth does my sister have secret messages in German?”

“Well, we don’t know that they are secret messages.”

“Don’t we? Then why did she keep them hidden up here and not down in the library with the rest of her correspondence? And why German?”

“Well, Laura has always had a real knack for German.”

Christian paused. “Has she? Last I recall, she was struggling with French.”

His mother glanced up at him with a soft, wry smile. “When you left, Christian, she was a gawky fourteen-year-old who scarcely dared look people in the eye. You have been gone for a long time, my son. Things have changed, and so has your sister.”

He said nothing, clenching his jaw.

The plain fact was that the Laura he had returned to from his travels was not the girl he remembered leaving.

She was four-and-twenty now, tall and slim, with a torrent of rich golden hair and half-narrowed, smiling blue eyes.

At some point in his absence, the awkward little girl who bemoaned being taller than the boys had disappeared, only to be replaced by a young woman.

A stranger.

And I missed it, he thought with a pang. I missed it because I refused to come home and face Father.

As always, memories of the old Duke brought up a jumble of emotions. He remembered their last meeting in the study. He remembered his own grief and rage.

He thought briefly about Sophie and the baby, and his chest tightened.

Perhaps Father didn’t arrange their deaths, but it was his fault that they were in that carriage in the first place.

Clearing his throat, he pushed aside those thoughts. It would do him no good.

“Mother, there must be somewhere Laura feels comfortable going,” he heard himself say. “She won’t have gone out alone; she’s not a fool. She must have gone to a friend. Are you sure she’s got no suitor?”

“You know how Laura frightens away the men. And the ladies, too. She’s far too wild. Do you know, I hear mothers warning their debutante daughters away from her?”

Christian growled. “They had better not do so in my hearing. So am I to understand that Laura has no friends at all?”

This thought was accompanied by a distinct twinge of guilt.

When he had left home, he had known all of Laura’s friends.

She had never had many, but there were some.

In the first days after his return, after a shocking eight-year absence, he had tried to ask her about her friends and been rebuffed.

The girls, apparently, had mostly married and gone about their lives, leaving her behind.

Is my sister lonely?

“Now, there is one,” Celestia murmured, brightening. “She’s such a strange little thing, but she and Laura are close. Lady Thalia Hamilton is her name.”

Christian frowned. “The name sounds familiar. Am I acquainted with Lady Thalia?”

“I doubt it. She’s an odd woman. A spinster, of course, and shows no interest in marriage. I daresay that is why she and Laura are such friends.”

Christian sucked in a breath. “Hamilton. Of course. Is she a relative of Lord Jonathan Hamilton, the Marquess of Hawton?”

“Her older brother.”

He sniffed. “I can’t say that he and I are particularly friendly, but he would never be one to pass up an acquaintanceship with a duke if I remember correctly. However, I don’t believe that I’ve met Lady Thalia. Is she out?”

“Of course, she is two-and-twenty. But I don’t believe she cares to move much in Society.

Her brother is always bemoaning her reluctance to marry.

I don’t believe he approves of her friendship with Laura.

I daresay he assumes that she will encourage Lady Thalia to stay unmarried.

But Lady Thalia has a mind of her own; I know that much. She’ll do as she pleases.”

“And she’ll encourage Laura to do the same,” he muttered sourly. “Well, can you find me Lady Thalia’s address, please?”

Celestia clicked her tongue. “You cannot possibly mean to simply turn up at their home and demand that they turn over Laura.”

Christian cleared his throat. That was exactly what he had intended to do.

“My sister is my responsibility,” he said shortly. “I will do what I can to keep her safe. I will go where I must and do what is necessary to find her. The Marquess had better not get in my way.”

“He’s a well-connected man,” Celestia mumbled unhappily, tugging at the ends of her hair.

Often, when they were in the house all day, she would let her hair hang loose, a gray curtain swinging around her shoulders. The old Duke would never have permitted such a thing any more than he would have permitted Laura’s habit of running around barefoot or Christian’s persistent love of novels.

“What are you saying?” Christian asked crisply.

“Only that I hope you do not annoy him too much.”

“That is the very last thing on my mind, Mother. The Marquess would do well to oblige me.”

She sighed. “Her marriage prospects will be ruined if this escapade gets out, and the Marquess is said to be something of a gossip.”

Christian pursed his lips, thinking. “Then it is possible that the Marquess does not know he’s sheltering Laura.”

“You are jumping to conclusions.”

“Perhaps so, but one thing is certain. I’ll be attending the Marquess’s musical evening tomorrow.”

She blinked. “Christian, my dear, I simply do not understand what you are talking about.”

He stuffed the strange German letters in his pocket and turned to kiss his mother on the forehead.

“Don’t fret,” he said firmly. “Laura is not a fool. I am quite sure that wherever she is now, she is safe. I will find her shortly, and we’ll get to the bottom of all this.

In the meantime, stay quiet and calm. We’ll say that Laura is sick, but we’ll wait until she is missed.

I don’t want to attract too much attention. ”

“I suppose you are right,” Celestia murmured uneasily. “You always were such a clever boy. You could see what should be done straightaway. Your father was like that.”

Christian flinched. “Well, I am nothing like him.”