Page 8 of To Follow her Heart

“Gosh,” Kitty said, wide-eyed.

“Quite,” Matilda agreed with a sigh. “We can only hope she doesn’t kill him before this party is over.”

***

Luke Baxter regarded Mr Derby on the opposite side of the carriage. As stern and severe as always, he was a handsome man, tall and broad despite the years weighing heavier on him now, and a heart condition that his doctor had warned him to manage with care. His hair was iron grey, but there was plenty of it, and his eyes contained the energy and strength of will of a man twenty years his junior.

Luke had hated the man for most of his life, but hatred was an emotion that took a great deal of energy and Luke was too good-natured to allow it to embitter him. So, hatred had faded, though not expired. Instead, it was overlaid by the knowledge that he must do his duty and that Mr Derby was a fount of knowledge about how this ought to be achieved. There were many people who relied upon Luke, and upon what his future held.

That Mr Derby didn’t give a tinker’s cuss whether or not Luke had wanted the position thrust upon him was something he had no choice but to set aside. He had endured too many arguments, too many bitter quarrels, all of them ending the same way—with his capitulation.

What choice did he have?

The Earl of Trevick was an unlucky man. In fact, it was said the men of the family were cursed to die young. The earl and his youngest brother, Mr Derby, had made a mockery of this old wives’ tale as the earl had reached his three score and ten, and Mr Derby seven and sixty. The rest of the family had lived up to it admirably, however, with every son, grandson, nephew and cousin succumbing to war, disease, carriage accidents and—on one notorious occasion—a jealous lover.

Mr Derby himself was the father of six daughters. Having discovered his first wife was barren, he lost no time in marrying again, within mere weeks of her demise. This later union had, much to his disgust, produced six females. Indeed, the Trevick family was littered with female progeny, but not a single male survived. As his youngest surviving brother was not far behind him in years, this was a problem the earl could not ignore if the family was to endure.

Sensing impending doom, Trevick had acted when his last but one remaining heir had succumbed to a fever of the lungs. That action had been to pluck his last chance—Luke—from obscurity and wrap him up in cotton wool.

His mother had been in transports; finally the recognition and position in society she’d always craved was hers. What did she care that her son was miserable as sin? He’d be the next Earl of Trevick in one day, a circumstance any young man in their right mind ought to rejoice over. Everyone seemed well pleased with the arrangement… except for Luke.

He’d fought it, to begin with, desperate to return to Kitty and the life he’d planned for them both. He’d run away, bribed staff to write letters, and generally made himself ill with frustration and anger but, in the end, it had been for naught. What else could a boy do against the wishes of a family as old and powerful as Trevick? The staff were loyal to a fault, the grand estate so vast it would have taken him days to leave its grounds, even if he’d remained undiscovered. Besides, his mother’s fury and reproaches—combined with the cold disdain of the earl himself—had been more than a very young man could endure.

Still, he’d known that Kitty would wait for him. One day he’d be a man and his chance would come to escape, and he’d take it.

Mr Derby had guessed his intent, however, and issued an ultimatum. If Luke failed to do his duty, the earl would ruin Kitty’s family, destroying their fortunes and the prospects of their only daughter. Trevick had many interests in Ireland, Mr Derby reminded him, especially in the rapidly growing flax business. If that wasn’t threat enough, Mr Derby made another that he promised to keep if Luke even considered fighting his fate….

He’d ruin Kitty.

It could be done easily enough, Luke knew. A woman’s reputation was a fragile thing. You only need breathe a word in the right—or wrong—ear and a rumour would begin. It wouldn’t matter whether or not there was any foundation, or proof… a girl like Kitty would not survive it.

It wasn’t blackmail, Mr Derby said with a smile. Only a warning. He knew Luke would not forget himself, or what he owed the title, for what should happen to the women of the family. He’d often gesture to sweet little Sybil at this moment as if Luke’s actions would see her out on the street. She was Luke’s favourite cousin and had the misfortune to accompany them on this journey, as if her presence could guarantee Luke’s capitulation. There seemed to be dozens like her in the family, her sisters and nieces and cousins, all of them dependent on the head of the family.

From then on, Luke had cared for nothing. He’d stopped fighting the future and making plans, he stopped caring about anything at all. His feelings were buried, smothered, forced away to a small corner of his being where they could no longer trouble him. Luke had few acquaintances and no one he regarded as a friend, but was regarded by all who knew him as a placid, level-headed man who did his duty uncomplainingly. He was charming—if rather dull—and handsome, too, though he lacked a certain something… whatever it was that made a man stand out from the crowd.

He knew what it was. He was dead inside. His heart still beat in his chest, but his life had ended the day Kitty had been taken from him.

By the earl’s decree, Luke had been educated by tutors and sheltered from life’s vicissitudes until the age of nineteen. Then he’d been sent off on a grand tour and had gone without a murmur. He’d wanted to be far away from the girl he couldn’t have without ruining her and everything she loved, far enough that he could try to pretend she’d been nothing more than a childish dream.

Now he had returned after four years abroad, ready for the final stage of the earl’s plan.

He was to marry.

A suitable bride had been selected, naturally. Nothing left to chance. It would be the match of the decade. Lady Frances Grantham, a duke’s daughter no less, an heiress with an impeccable blood line and an older sister who had already birthed three sons. Her fertility was all but guaranteed, and her blue blood would purify anything lacking in Luke’s, as he was merely a distant branch of the original Trevick line. They’d gone back three generations for his line.

The earl was beside himself with glee.

Luke wanted to put a gun to his head, or possibly the earl’s.

Either would do.

Lady Frances was beautiful, accomplished, and popular. Well, of course she was, she was beautiful, accomplished, and the daughter of a duke with a dowry large enough to sink the English fleet. Popularity had been handed her on a plate.

Luke didn’t like her.

To be fair, he’d only met her three times to date, so it was unkind of him to have made up his mind already. He knew he must try harder, not that he had a choice.

Yet she was all wrong. Her eyes were blue, her hair blonde, and she was always utterly composed. She never did or said anything she ought not, never laughed so loud he thought his eardrums might burst, never snorted or got stuck in trees or….