An American Duchess Read online

  “I had nightmares after my brother’s death. After Richmond’s. After I—I lost the babies. That’s why I understood your nightmares. I’ve been haunted by my own.”

  “We’ve known a lot of tragedy, Zoe. But I want to believe what you told me to believe. That we have to leave the past behind us and live.”

  She shook her head. “It hasn’t worked. No amount of cutting loose filled the emptiness inside me. I ran back to New York and hoped parties and speakeasies would keep me so busy I wouldn’t hurt anymore. Then I ran to California—to see the movie business and the ocean. I thought I could escape pain by going to a part of the world that held no memories for me. But memories come with you, no matter where you go.”

  “I’m so sorry, Zoe.” He got up and leaned over from the pilot’s cockpit. Kissed her.

  She moved back from his mouth. “When I came here, the memories that hurt the most weren’t the ones I expected. It was the memories of you.”

  “I hurt you that much?”

  “The memories didn’t hurt. It was the thought that I’d lost you. You have done so much for me. You came across an ocean and a country for me. You learned to fly. Nigel, you are the most wonderful man.” She smiled. “I’ve had my fill of California. I’d like to go back to New York.”

  * * *

  They stayed at Mother’s house, and Mother was beside herself with hope. “You make this work, honey,” she said the moment Nigel was out of earshot, and she had a chance to grab Zoe’s arm and pull her into a room alone. “What a feather in my cap if your marriage to the duke sticks.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. She wanted it to stick. But that night she had to wonder if she would lose it all.

  Nigel wanted to escort her to a genuine New York speakeasy. She took him to Chumleys, rapped on the door and gave her password.

  They danced and shared cocktails, and she was having a wonderful time until she encountered two girls she knew from her first year in New York. The most spiteful girls, now women of twenty-two.

  “Oh, it’s the Barefoot Duchess,” one of them said, in her high, tittering voice. “Too poor for shoes.”

  Oh, God. Zoe’s heart plummeted. Now Nigel was going to know the truth.

  “More like the Dirt Shack Duchess,” squealed one of the girls. “When Zoe gets her divorce, she won’t be a duchess anymore. Just a Dirt Shack Hus—”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Zoe had tried to ignore them, but Nigel, behind her, cleared his throat. “You will refer to my wife as Your Grace, if you please.” He glared down, projecting enough icy cold to frost the entire Atlantic. Lowering his voice, he said, “It is irrelevant whether Zoe is a duchess or not—though she will be remaining a duchess for the rest of her life. You will show her respect because she is a far better woman than you could ever hope to be.”

  With that, he guided Zoe away, to the small section of floor where couples danced.

  “Nigel, you just insulted daughters of the leading social hostesses in New York. We won’t be invited to any parties.”

  “We will. We will choose not to go.”

  He whirled her around in a fast fox-trot. She laughed. “Do you know—there are times I love the icy duke in you.” She thought. “No, I’m wrong. I always love the icy duke in you. I’ve only just realized that.”

  He danced them to a shadowy corner, let her go and pulled out a chair. Even in this crowded place, a lift of his brow brought a waiter and in seconds they had cocktails. Zoe played with her drink without taking a sip. “I should tell you why she called me a Dirt Shack Duchess.”

  “Your mother told me a little about your past, Zoe.”

  “Did she? I thought it would take the threat of death to drag that out of her.” She looked down at her drink. “I was dirt poor. I only had one pair of shoes when I was growing up, and they had to be saved for church and times when I had to look respectable. I was probably lower than your lowest kitchen maid. At least she has a clean dress. You thought I was good enough to be a duchess. Even when you knew about me, you came after me. You, who can look down his nose at all the best New York families.”

  “Zoe, are you telling me you really didn’t feel worthy of being a duchess?”

  She couldn’t answer.

  “Zoe, you are more than a duchess to me. You are something extremely special. You are an American duchess.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “You’ve been hurting for a long time,” he said softly.

  “All my life,” she admitted. “The insults and the nasty things other people said to me—those things hurt. When I came to New York, no matter how nice I tried to be, some people wanted to hurt me. So I decided I wouldn’t let them. I just wouldn’t care. I wasn’t living life. It was all an empty blur of louder music, stronger cocktails. The more I hurt inside, the faster I ran.”

  “You don’t have to run away anymore. I love you.”

  “But now, when you look at me, I bet you don’t see a duchess. Don’t you see a poor girl with unkempt hair and dirty feet?”

  “I see the most wonderful, remarkable duchess in the world, my duchess and my wife. I love you. Don’t forget it.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Stop running, Zoe. I’ll stop hiding from pain if you stop running from it.”

  She held out her hand to shake his. Tears threatened to spill and her throat was tight and raw. But with happiness. “It’s a deal.”

  The sky over New York was rosy-pink when they emerged from the club. Nigel’s tie was undone, the collar of his shirt open. Damp with sweat, his hair was a disheveled tangle from dancing until dawn.

  “You’re trying so hard to be the man I wanted. You don’t have to do all this to win my heart. You already have it.” She slipped her arm through Nigel’s and leaned against his warm, strong body. “It’s time again to go home.”

  “I’ll call a cab.”

  “You’ll need one that can drive on water. I’m talking about Brideswell.”

  EPILOGUE

  THE BABY

  Nine months later

  April 1924

  “Are you real?” Zoe whispered. Spring sunlight poured through her window—along with a soft, warm breeze and the rich smells of Brideswell in the early spring. Birds chirped as if serenading the tiny bundle she held in her arms.

  Ten tiny fingers felt their way out of the layers of blankets. They stretched out, as if feeling the air. Zoe laughed with delight, even as her throat was tight with the tears of pure joy.

  She had come here in May of 1922, believing it was a cold, gloomy place. All her feelings had changed. Zoe now gloried in the promise of spring: the sight of leaf buds, snowdrops and new green shoots on the lawns.

  Nigel pushed open the door. “Nurse said you were feeding our little boy. May I come in?”

  “I’ve fed him, though he sucked himself to sleep before I could burp him. I should wake him, for he won’t settle with a tummy filled with air. But I don’t have the heart to do it. He looks so sweet.”

  Nigel walked over to the side of her bed. Their baby looked so much like him—with blue eyes and a shock of black hair. He was only two days old. So small with such delicate, inquisitive hands and feet that were wrinkled and curled up. The baby had a very serious face—when he was born he had looked like a very grumpy version of Nigel.

  Her husband perched on the edge of the bed beside her, gazing down at their child. She smiled up at Nigel. How tired he looked. Her labor had taken a whole night, and Nigel had stayed with her every moment. Dr. Drury had been appalled. A delivery was no place for a husband, let alone a duke. But Nigel refused to leave her side.

  He’d been with her last night when their baby needed feeding. He was the most devoted father and now his eyes were red-rimmed and he looked utterly dazed.

 
“He is gorgeous. And you still feel fine?” Worry crept into Nigel’s deep voice.

  “I feel wonderful. I can’t believe it is really true. He is healthy. And perfect.”

  “Now he needs a name,” Nigel said.

  “Your grandmother has already told me what he must be called. She insisted there is a string of family names for males, and I must choose from those. Put together, they sound rather odd. William Nigel Arthur David Albert. I told her I had no intention of saddling any child with all of that. I told her I intended to name him for my father: Thaddeus Cecil Gifford. T. C. Gifford. She almost fainted.”

  “Thaddeus. It does suit him.”

  She giggled at that. “Nigel, I said that only to torment your grandmother! I thought of William, after our brothers.”

  “No,” Nigel said. “I want him to have his own name. He is not here to replace anyone. Not even here because I’m supposed to have an heir. He is here to have as much of his own life as he can. The world is his to grasp. Family names were to show where you came from. What will be important for this fellow is who he is going to be—and what marvels will unfold as he grows up. I realized it will be 1952 when he is my age. I expect the world will be a different place yet again.”

  “Nicholas,” Zoe said suddenly. “It has a little of Nigel in it, but it is a name that is all his.”

  “And a name that begins with Z for his second name. The only one I can think of is Zachary.”

  “Do you think this will be the final straw for your grandmother?”

  “I think when she holds him in her arms she will simply fall in love with him.” Nigel leaned over and kissed her. “I love you, Zoe.”

  She was about to answer when there was a brisk rap on the door.

  The door opened before Nigel could give permission, and a tall, blond, tanned man stood in the doorway.

  “Sebastian!” she cried. “Oh, I am happy to see you.”

  Her brother-in-law came to her. His hair was pale blond, his skin a coppery-brown. He wore a yellow suit and tie. Bending over Zoe, Sebastian hugged her carefully to avoid the sleeping baby she held in her arms. “So this is the infant. I hoped he would have your looks. Or that he had inherited my looks and not those of my brother.” He spoke in his careless way, but his eyes glowed with tenderness as he looked upon his nephew.

  “Nigel is every bit as handsome as you are,” she teased.

  “Sadly, I have to admit that he is.”

  “You came all the way from Capri?” Nigel asked.

  “I did. I had to meet my new nephew. It appears I have had excellent timing. Mother tells me the baby is only two days old.”

  Zoe laid her hand on her brother-in-law’s arm. “You are happy in Capri?”

  Sebastian gave her a gentle smile. “I am. I’m painting. I’ve sold a few of my pictures—to people who don’t care that I’m a duke’s son. They actually like the pictures. But don’t tell Grandmama. I think she might expire from the shock. Fortunately, you are here, producing heirs and shouldering all of Brideswell’s responsibilities. Makes up for having a bohemian artist in the family.”

  “Nigel is actually very bohemian—under that ducal surface.” Zoe laughed at Sebastian’s look of doubt. “I am glad you are happy, Sebastian.”

  “As am I, brother,” Nigel said.

  “I wouldn’t have been if it had not been for you, Zoe. And I give my thanks to you, Nigel, for listening to this brilliant woman. The most intelligent thing you ever did was to marry her.”

  “I agree.”

  “What about Julia?” Sebastian asked. “I hope she isn’t married yet. It would be just like Grandmama to forbid her to send me an invitation.”

  “No, she isn’t married yet,” Zoe said.

  “Is she still in love with the surgeon?”

  “He left at the end of February,” Nigel said. “He was offered a post in a London hospital, and he took it. Apparently he didn’t believe a marriage between a surgeon and a duke’s daughter would work. Thought he couldn’t give her the life she deserved.”

  “Is Julia brokenhearted?”

  Zoe knew Julia was, but her sister-in-law had insisted she was not going to waste her life pining for love. “Julia wants to see the world before she settles down,” Zoe told her brother-in-law. Julia glowed with confidence now. Zoe had been angry with Campbell, but Julia’s decision to travel had made her very happy.

  “And you’re going to let her?” Sebastian gaped at his brother.

  “Of course,” Nigel said. “Why would I stop her?”

  “I never believed you could change. Have to admit I was wrong.”

  “It took a Herculean effort on Zoe’s part,” Nigel admitted.

  “It was the power of love all along.” Sebastian grinned.

  “It was,” Nigel agreed.

  There was a quick rap on the door, and then it flew open immediately, and dark-haired Isobel ran in. She threw herself into Sebastian’s arms. “You didn’t find me and tell me you’d arrived,” she said accusingly.

  “I wanted to see the baby, pest,” Sebastian returned good-naturedly.

  At that point, Maria walked in. She beamed at the sight of the baby. Nigel’s mother had spent much time holding the little boy. Even in just a day, she had lost much of her sad, faded appearance. There was color in her cheeks. “Your grandmother is coming for dinner,” she told Sebastian.

  “Your grandmother has been seeing a gentleman,” Zoe said, wearing an innocent smile. As soon as she had returned to Brideswell, she had convinced the dowager to stop avoiding the attentions of Sir Raynard, the gentleman who so obviously admired her.

  The dowager had not had love in her marriage. Zoe had pointed out that if Nigel was willing to take a chance on love, the rest of his family should, too. Her other bright spot was Lily Bell—the girl was now attending school to become a secretary. Zoe wanted to use income from her wealth to better the futures of girls in America and in England through education. She had never had the chance to get much schooling. This was a change she could make. It was, in its own way, as exciting as flying. And in the end, she realized, it would touch many more lives.

  “You look thoughtful,” Nigel said to her.

  She gazed around at the Hazeltons, now part of her family. Mother was going to come and see the baby, too. Mother was so aglow with happiness over a grandson, Zoe believed she could see the light of it gleaming in the sky all the way from New York. “I am happy,” she said. “So very happy.”

  “We are going to have a wonderful future,” he said softly.

  Zoe caught her breath at the glow of happiness in her husband’s blue eyes—the beautiful clear blue of the spring skies over Brideswell.

  “To our future,” she cried. “I love you, Nigel. And our baby. And I love this place. I think I love it as you do. It’s in our son’s blood now. It’s in mine. It’s steeped in the past and waiting for the future. Our future.” She kissed her baby’s head. “Welcome, Nicholas, to this remarkable new world.”

  * * * * *

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks go to Kate Dresser, my editor for An American Duchess. I so appreciated your excitement for this story, as well as your work in smoothing my path. I was truly blessed to benefit from your very keen editorial eye. I also wish to thank Susan Swinwood for her enthusiasm and guidance. And thank you so much to the entire Harlequin HQN team, especially for the gorgeous cover.

  As always, thank you to my agent, Jessica Faust, who looked at this story in its very early stages and helped me bring it to life.

  And, of course, thank you to the readers. I hope you fall in love with this story as much as I did.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin ebook. Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much m
ore!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  ISBN-13: 9781460330432

  An American Duchess

  Copyright © 2014 by Sharon Page

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com