The Duke’s Bluestocking (Smugglers Run #4)
Prologue
PROLOGUE
1811
Forde Abbey, Dorset, England
L ydia Abbington stood beside her best friend’s grave. No eighteen-year-old girl should lie in a coffin, grave diggers prepared to toss earth into it, but Kelsey MacNeil no longer walked among the living. Lydia stood across from Kelsey’s father, the Duke of Dorset, and clenched her fists. The man looked put out, as though his daughter’s funeral interrupted his day. He glanced frequently toward his stables as if he wished to ride away. It wasn’t grief that made him want to escape. No. That would mean the Duke cared about his only daughter.
Lydia bowed her head and clasped her hands in front of her as though she were in prayer. But the words that ran through her head were a different conversation than one she might have held with God.
I will make him pay for what he did. I know the truth, and I will make sure in time everyone else does as well. It wasn’t your fault, Kels. I fear you came here today still believing it was. I wish you believed me instead. I promise this isn’t over.
“Lydia, it’s time to go.” Sarla Abbington slid her arm around her daughter’s waist and tried to draw her younger child into her embrace, but Lydia stood rigid, staring into the grave. It lay among the MacNeils’ ancestors, since their family’s crypt was already full. With a sigh, her shoulders drooped, and she turned inward to her mother. Even at eighteen, her mother’s arms still cured most of the ills of the world. The two women joined William Abbington, Lydia’s father and Sarla’s husband. It was a short walk to Abbington House, but the three did it in silence. Will and Sarla understood their daughter was lost in thought and mourning.
Lydia and Kelsey had been the closest of friends since childhood. They’d played together near Lydia’s home since Kelsey always had been eager to escape her own family’s misery. Kelsey’s older brother, Keith, had escaped by accepting a commission in the Royal Navy, then Letters of Marque as a privateer. Two years had passed since anyone last saw Keith, but they’d heard the stories of the Blond Marauder. All Lydia knew of her friend’s brother was that he sailed frequently to the Caribbean, much like her cousin Rajesh de Redvers.
As Lydia left Forde Abbey, Kelsey’s lifelong home, she didn’t notice the man standing among the trees watching. His gaze focused on the tomb throughout the Anglican funeral, but it shifted as Lydia lifted her veil. He memorized every detail of the young woman, fascinated by her toffee-colored skin, thick black tresses, and her confident bearing despite her obvious grief. He couldn’t see her face during the service, but he’d seen how she tensed every time she looked toward the Duke. He wondered what caused such animosity to radiate from her. As he’d swept his gaze over the handful of people both times she clenched her fists, he realized no one else sensed her pulsating hatred.
Lydia and her parents walked through the Forde Abbey gates and down the path that separated their property from that of the Duke of Dorset. With the enigmatic woman gone, Keith MacNeil turned toward the coast and his ship. He longed to return to the sea, but he had one obligation he could not avoid. Keith’s gaze followed his father as the older man hurried toward his waiting horse, vaulting into the saddle and spurring the animal. Keith guessed where the Duke headed, but he knew he shouldn’t leave until the two had spoken.
It was nearly four hours later when Keith could wait no longer. The tide would soon turn, and he wouldn’t be able to set sail. He had no intention of spending a single night in or near Forde Abbey. He’d sworn he would never do so again, and he intended to keep that promise he made to his father. Since his father refused to return to his home to mourn his only daughter, Keith no longer felt compelled to meet with him. He hadn’t made his presence known at Kelsey’s funeral, so he intended to leave unnoticed.
There wasn’t much Keith regretted about his choices, but guilt clawed at him as he turned back to look once more at Kelsey’s chamber. It still smelled like his little sister, her belongings still in their places, just as he remembered them. He’d been so adamant about escaping his abusive father that he’d left Kelsey behind to fend for herself. He thought she was safe, unnoticed by their father. Now he had his doubts after watching the young woman at the funeral. Had he abandoned his sister to the fate from which he’d run?
On the silent feet only a hunter or a pirate could possess, Keith crept down the main staircase, cautious no one see or hear him. He wanted no one to announce his visit to his father since he forewent an audience with the Duke. He made his way toward the garden doors in the drawing room when he heard a noise from his father’s library. He placed his ear to the door and heard the dim sound of a voice. A woman’s voice. He knew his father kept mistresses and assumed that’s to whom he’d ridden. He eased the door open an inch and placed his ear to the crack. Curious about who’d entered his father’s sanctum, he shifted and placed his eye to the space.
“Kels, I miss you so much already. My heart has a hole in it I don’t think will ever mend. What am I supposed to fill it with if you’re not here? I should have done something. I should have found your brother or told Rajesh or Arjun. Now there’s nothing I can do. I’m so, so sorry. You will always be the sister I wished I had.”
Keith sucked in a breath as he watched the young woman from the funeral. He tried to recall who she was, something tickling his memory. His eyes widened as it dawned on him. Before him was a beautiful young woman, but he had vague memories of her as a spindly child chasing after Kelsey and squealing as his sister chased her. He hadn’t seen her in years. He’d left for school and rarely came home, and it wasn’t long after his Grand Tour that he accepted his commission.
Little Lydia Abbington. How did I not realize her right away? I should have known the moment I saw her with her parents. But I could barely think straight. I’m sorry, too, Kelsey. I should have been here. I wish I’d known sooner. I would have come back for you. I would have been by your bedside instead of learning you’d wasted away of consumption. If Raj hadn’t told me in time…I would have come back for you, despite the old bastard. What did she mean she should have found me?
Keith placed his hand on the door, ready to push it open to ask Lydia that burning question. But he watched her press a brick near the hearth, and a door opened on soundless hinges. His brow furrowed, unaware there were tunnels in his childhood home. He rushed forward as the door closed. He ran his hand over the wall, trying to find the latch. By the time he did, the tunnel was pitch black and empty. He considered marching over to Abbington House to demand an explanation, but he’d intruded on Lydia’s private moment.
He couldn’t bring himself to admit what he’d done. Her grief was too obvious to deprive her of what she clearly meant to be a conversation with just her memory. He crossed the library and exited. He hurried down to the beach and to the dinghy he’d dragged onto the sand. He rowed himself back to his ship and ordered the sails hoisted. He told himself not to look back, but he couldn’t help it. He spied a lone figure on the sand. He knew who watched his ship depart.