The Last Duke

  “And you, Mr. Thornton.” Daphne’s smile was genuine, although, once again, her curious gaze darted from Pierce to her father.

  Striding off with Tragmore, Pierce waited only until they were out of earshot. “How fortunate for you the last race turned out as it did. No need to collect your winnings, though. They belong to me.”

  “What?” The marquis stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Interest, Tragmore, remember? You owe me quite a bit.”

  “You miserable son of a—”

  “Careful,” Pierce warned quietly, “else I might be forced to ask why a man who is one step from the gutter can afford to provide his daughter with so costly a necklace.”

  Sweat broke out on Tragmore’s brow. “It’s an inexpensive copy of—”

  “On the contrary, the pearls are very real. And very valuable. Had Lady Daphne a shred of your loathsome nature, I wouldn’t hesitate to remove them from her neck and count them among my day’s profits. But it so happens she’s charming, as is your wife. Therefore, consider the necklace a gift from me to you and your family. Surprised? Don’t be. On occasion, even I have a heart. To those who deserve it, that is.” Pierce plucked the marquis’s winning ticket from his hands. “I’ll take this. You go summon your coach. My solicitor will contact you tomorrow to arrange a meeting. See that you make it. Unless, of course, you want the entire world to know just how penniless you are.” A biting smile. “Enjoy your comforts, Tragmore. For now.”

  2

  THE SUN WAS SLOWLY making its ascent. The church pews were still shrouded in shadows when a solitary figure eased her way through the wooden door.

  “Vicar, I’m here.”

  The announcement echoed through the silent church, summoning Alfred Chambers from his quarters. Adjusting his spectacles, he emerged, shaking his head in indulgent worry as he watched the spirited young woman who was hastening down the aisle toward him.

  “So I see,” he returned, scowling. “And before dawn, no less. Daphne, my dear, I doubt even the lark has sung his first note.” The reprimand was halfhearted, the lines about the vicar’s eyes soft with warmth and tenderness. “How many times have I warned you that it is unsafe to roam the streets of the village before day has broken?”

  “Countless.” Calmly, Daphne halted before him, easing the huge basket she carried to one side and slipping her hand beneath the hem of her petticoat to extract a six-inch blade. “But you have nothing to fear. See? I’m well protected.”

  “How comforting. And precisely how many times have you used your lethal weapon to defend yourself?”

  She gave him a dazzling smile. “None. I haven’t had occasion to. Which only goes to show how safe the village truly is.” With a flourish, Daphne restored the knife to its original hiding place. “In any case, I didn’t come here to argue with you, my dear friend. Today is too special for that. Besides, you didn’t really expect that I would shut an eye last night, did you? Not with our morning visit to the school tantalizing my thoughts. Why, I could scarcely stay still through yesterday’s Champion Stakes. All I could think about was the children I’m finally to meet. Which reminds me.” Triumphantly, Daphne held up her basket. “Wait until you see what I’ve brought.” Oblivious to the dust that settled on the fine layers of her morning dress, she sank down onto her knees, swiftly removing her treasures, one by one.

  “Mrs. Frame made a huge side of mutton last night. No one could finish it, not even Father. So I brought all that was left with me. There’s enough for at least a dozen portions.” Carefully, she set aside the food. “I also pilfered two mince pies from the kitchen. I don’t think Mrs. Frame saw me, but even if she did, she’d never tell a soul.” Daphne sat back on her heels, her eyes glowing. “Now for the best part. Look!” Joyfully, she held up a neatly folded pile of clothing: pants, shirts, dresses, and aprons of various sizes and design.

  “Where on earth did you get these?” the vicar asked in amazement, reverently touching the gingham frock atop the pile as if it were gold.

  “I made them,” Daphne confided in a whisper. “Mama ordered material from town so the maids could sew new uniforms for themselves and the footmen. The materials were sent for while Father was in London on business.” Daphne gave the vicar a secret smile. “Mama made certain the order was a substantial one.”

  “God bless Elizabeth,” Chambers murmured, his voice laden with emotion. “And God bless you for your hard work.”

  “ ’Twas no work, but a blessing,” Daphne countered with a mischievous grin, rising to her feet. “You know how much trouble I have sleeping at night. My lantern and I worked most efficiently until the sun’s light arrived to offer its assistance. Just think how many children will benefit from this, Vicar.” She seized his forearms. “And there’s more. A delivery of coarse wool is due at week’s end, to make blankets for the horses. Their old blankets have quite a bit of wear left in them so I’ll be able to make shawls to protect the children through the winter.” Daphne’s brows knit in a frown. “I haven’t yet devised a way to get boots for them, but that is the only problem I have yet to surmount.”

  “I beg to differ with you, child.” The vicar enfolded Daphne’s fingers in his, his gentle features taut with worry. “You have a much larger, more daunting problem to face, as does Elizabeth.”

  Daphne’s lips quivered. “Father.”

  “If he should find out—”

  “He won’t.”

  “But if he should, child, there would be no limit to his wrath.”

  “I cannot allow myself to dwell on that.” Daphne turned away, her expression set in that familiar contradictory blend of resigned determination. “Mother and I both know the risk we’re taking. But it’s something we must do, each to the extent that we’re able.”

  “At all costs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Snowdrop.” Lapsing into the familiar term of endearment he’d given Daphne as a child, Chambers placed work-worn hands on her shoulders. “Your mother has endured one and twenty years of pain and fear. I remember her as she was—a radiant, vivacious young girl. But she’s weakened now. Her strength is gone. I fear she’s withstood all she can.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Daphne replied with quiet resolution. “Should Father learn what we’ve—I’ve—been doing, I will deny that Mama had any knowledge of my actions. The responsibility and the consequences will be mine to bear.”

  “Lord alone knows what Harwick will do.”

  “All he can do is beat me. He can do nothing to my spirit. He expended that power years ago.”

  “I’ll do everything I feasibly can to prevent—”

  “No. You’ll do nothing.” Daphne pivoted to face her friend. “He’s my father. By law, you have no right to interfere with his treatment or his punishment of me. Please, don’t endanger yourself or your role in the parish. The village needs you too badly.” Briefly, Daphne lay her hand on the vicar’s jaw. Then, she stooped to repack her basket. “The sun is up. The schoolroom awaits us.”

  With a deep sigh, he nodded. “Very well. Let’s go, my tenacious snowdrop. At the very least you can see the joyful faces of the children your generosity is nurturing. My only prayer is that you’re not gambling with consequences too dire to withstand.”

  An enigmatic smile touched Daphne’s lips.

  “And what, might I ask, is so amusing?”

  Daphne rubbed her palms together, a gesture the vicar had long-ago learned indicated there was something significant on his young friend’s mind. “Well?” he prompted. “I voice concern that you perpetually risk discovery by your father and you find my worry humorous?”

  “No, of course not. Your worry is loving and sensitive, and I’m deeply grateful for it. It was just your choice of the word gambling. It reminded me of something. Someone,” she amended softly.

  Chambers blinked in surprise. “Is this someone a gentleman, by any chance?”

  Daphne’s lips twitched. “I think not. A gambler, a rogue, and a cha
rmer. But definitely not a gentleman.” Recalling the way Pierce had restored her dignity following her father’s censure, she amended, “Except those times when he chooses to be.”

  “I see. And where did you meet this complex stranger?”

  “At Newmarket. He joined Father for the races.”

  “He’s a friend of your father’s then?” The vicar couldn’t keep the dismay from his voice. He’d hoped that someday Daphne would meet a man worthy of her, not a cad of her father’s ilk.

  “No, I wouldn’t say they were friends.” Daphne chewed her lip thoughtfully. “According to Father, they’re business associates.”

  “You sound dubious.”

  “It’s silly, I suppose.” Daphne shrugged. “I have no reason to doubt Father’s explanation. It’s just that he and Mr. Thornton seem so mismatched—in age, in background, in manner.”

  “In other words, this Mr. Thornton is young, unpretentious, and lacking in social position.”

  Daphne smiled at the vicar’s accurate insight. “He’s about thirty, I should say. Definitely untitled. My guess is, unpampered as well. While he’s obviously well-to-do, he has a hard edge that leads me to believe his wealth is not inherited but earned, probably through a keen set of wits.”

  “You’re right. He doesn’t sound like someone your father would choose to associate with. However, lack of breeding might dim in comparison with shrewd business acumen.”

  “Perhaps.” Daphne hesitated, her brows drawn together in a frown. “There’s something more, though—something odd. Father acts so skittish around Pierce Thornton, uncharacteristically off balance and accommodating. I have the strangest feeling that Mr. Thornton has some kind of hold over him. It’s nothing I can prove—just an instinct.” Another faint smile. “According to Mr. Thornton I should look away from those who would thwart me and trust my instincts.”

  “Ah, a good man.” The vicar’s relief was evident. “He was giving you spiritual advice.”

  “No, actually he was giving me gambling advice. I was placing my wager in the first race.”

  “Oh.” The vicar removed his spectacles and began to vigorously clean them with his handkerchief. “It sounds to me as if excitement over our forthcoming visit to the school was not alone in distracting you from yesterday’s races.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “This Mr. Thornton appears to have made a strong impression on you.”

  “Yes, he did. Not because of his gambling, if that’s what’s concerning you,” Daphne assured him with a twinkle. “But because he’s such an interesting embodiment of contradictions—composed and sure of himself, yet intuitive and compassionate. You must admit that is a rare combination, least of all in a gambler.”

  The vicar shoved his spectacles back on his nose, his penetrating blue eyes searching Daphne’s face. “How did you learn so much about the man in one meeting?”

  “If you watched the way he assessed the horses, realizing his goals time after time without batting an eyelash nor expecting anything short of total victory, you’d understand what I mean by the composure.”

  “And the insight? The compassion?”

  An uncomfortable pause. Then, “Father chastised me in public. Mr. Thornton must have sensed my embarrassment. He very intentionally extricated me from what might have been an ugly episode.”

  “You’re right. That is both insightful and kind.” Chambers did not belabor the point, knowing how painful Daphne found her father’s bouts of cruelty. Besides, in light of Daphne’s revelation, another, far more interesting, avenue required his attention, and he intended to pursue it, as subtly as possible. Concentrating on the task of adjusting his sleeves, he asked, “What does this Pierce Thornton look like?”

  Daphne twisted a lock of hair about her finger, visualizing the man who’d preoccupied her thoughts since yesterday’s races. “He’s tall and dark haired, very impervious looking, almost as if he wants to warn you that he’ll extend himself just so far and no one had better trespass beyond that point. He’s definitely not what you’d call classically handsome. His features are hard, severe, even a trifle forbidding. I sense he’s struggled somehow, and I detect the same in his eyes, which are the darkest green I’ve ever seen, almost like a forest at midnight. Still, beneath that fierceness…”

  “Lies the heart of a saint, no doubt,” the vicar chuckled. “Is there no one you cannot find good in, Snowdrop?”

  The engrossing memory of Pierce Thornton vanished, instantly eclipsed by the ugly answer to the vicar’s question.

  “Daphne, have you been providing charity to those worthless urchins again?”

  “No, Father.”

  “Then why did Lord Weberling spy you in the yard of the parish church, with that bloody clergyman?”

  “The vicar is my friend, Father. I was only—”

  “I’d best not discover you’ve disobeyed my orders, Daughter. For if I should learn you’ve given a single shilling of my money to street scum, your punishment will exceed severe. Do you understand what I’m saying, Daphne?”

  “Yes, Father, but I—”

  “Perhaps you need a small taste of what I mean. Perhaps then you’ll think twice before squandering your time—and my funds—on the vicar’s futile causes.”

  Even now Daphne flinched, feeling the sting of her father’s blows as sharply as she had the week before.

  Was there anyone she couldn’t find good in?

  “Yes,” Daphne whispered, tears clogging her throat. “God forgive me, but yes.”

  Chambers went to her then, gathering her hands in his. “Don’t, Daphne. In some men, the good is so deeply buried that one must spend a lifetime digging in order to find it. As for you, no forgiveness is necessary. For, despite this lapse of faith to which you allude, your belief prevails and your search for Harwick’s goodness continues.” He kissed her forehead. “Come. Let’s be off to the school. While we walk, you can tell me all about this mysterious Mr. Thornton. And I shall regale you with the latest deeds of your Tin Cup Bandit.”

  Instantly, all else was forgotten. “Tell me,” Daphne demanded, nearly bouncing with excitement. “What has the bandit done now?”

  A hearty chuckle. “I thought perhaps that would capture your attention. Now, mind you, it’s still only hearsay.”

  “I know, it’s always hearsay. Yet, all the stories turn out to be true, and each and every one of the bandit’s exploits is recounted in the Times day after day. So, tell me, Vicar, whose manor was invaded this time? Through which window did the bandit enter? What jewels did he take? How much money did the stolen gems yield? Which stone did the bandit leave behind from the collection he pilfered from the Earl of Gantry’s estate four nights ago? Which workhouse benefitted from the theft?”

  Chambers threw back his head and laughed. “Gather up your basket, Snowdrop. I’ll fetch the pile of books I’ve collected for the school and we can be on our way. I shall do my best to answer all your questions while we walk.”

  Minutes later, Daphne and the vicar trudged purposefully through the village streets.

  “I’m not certain precisely what was stolen or how the bandit gained his entry,” the vicar began. “But I do know that the theft occurred the night before last.”

  “Somewhere between two and three a.m.,” Daphne supplied in a reverent whisper. “That’s always when he strikes.”

  “Yes. Well, this time it was the Viscount Druige’s estate.”

  “I knew it! Remember I told you about the garish ruby-and-diamond necklace the viscount bought for his wife? According to Mama, the entire ton was buzzing over it. She said the poor viscountess could scarcely keep her head erect, so heavy were the jewels. The bandit must have heard the gossip—or perhaps he saw the piece himself. Vicar,” Daphne’s voice rose in baffled wonder. “Who is he? How does he know just whom and where to strike?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I only know that, because of your bandit, dozens of hungry children will be fed, clothed, and o
ffered hope where none previously existed.”

  “Which workhouse received the money?”

  “The one in Worsley.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Daphne breathed. “That was the workhouse you planned to visit this week, the one in dire straits.”

  “Exactly. The poor headmaster there had contacted every parish for miles, begging for assistance. His funds were gone; there was no food. Within weeks, innocent children—little more than babes—would have been forced into the streets, or begun starving to death.”

  “The headmaster himself sent you word that the bandit had been there?”

  The vicar smiled. “Evidently, your brazen bandit left his tin cup right on the headmaster’s desk. He came and went before dawn, silent and unseen.”

  “How much money did he leave them?”

  “Just shy of five thousand pounds.”

  An awed gasp escaped Daphne’s lips. “The man is a savior.”

  “The man is a thief,” the vicar reminded her gently.

  “How can you say that? You of all people must see what he’s done for—”

  “You needn’t defend him to me, Snowdrop. I bless the man each and every day. Still, facts are facts. And, in answer to your earlier question, the Earl of Gantry’s diamond cuff link was found in the tin cup placed upon Viscount Druige’s pillow—a tin cup that was identical to the one placed on the desk of the Worsley headmaster.”

  “Just as always—a jewel from the previous theft left at the scene of the crime. Two identical tin cups, one at the crime, one at the chosen workhouse.” Daphne glowed. “The bandit is brilliant. Not to mention generous and crafty. And I, for one, hope the authorities never catch him. I can hardly wait to read of their stupefaction in this morning’s newspaper.”

  “Can you contain yourself long enough to distribute your treasures?” the vicar chuckled, coming to a halt before the village school. “The children are eager to see you.”