The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

“Oh. Am I keeping you from something?”

He shook his head, his slight smile deepening. “No. Not at all.”

There wasn’t anyone or anything keeping him back anymore.

Least of all himself.



Imogen was tending the garden with Mrs. Garry, gathering peas and dropping them in a bowl with satisfying clinks and trying not to think of Perry’s departure as the most devastating thing to happen to her. Even if it was. Not even Edgar’s betrayal compared to Perry walking out of her life.

It was simple to understand why she felt this way. She never loved Edgar.

She loved Peregrine Butler.

She loved him and wanted only the best for him. He deserved only the best of everything in life, and it crushed her to know that she was the reason he would not have everything. She’d seen to it that he didn’t have anything.

He thought she had betrayed him, and she supposed she had. She had not meant to, but she had outed the circumstances of his birth to the world.

She had not realized what would happen when she wrote to the cleric of the shire of his birth. She had no suspicions. She thought she was correcting a simple error in the mess of her father’s bookkeeping. Not destroying a man’s life. The mistake had been hers, but he had paid the price.

She blinked burning eyes, and picked peas faster, appreciating having something to occupy her fingers if not her mind. Her thoughts could not help straying to Perry. It was best he knew the truth now, of course. She could not have kept it from him forever. He had to know she was the one who had instigated the events that led to his disinheritance.

Inadvertent or not, she had ruined his life.

She closed her eyes in an awful, squeezing blink. Goodness. That thought rang terribly in her mind.

Opening them, she got back to the task of picking peas.

She had it in her mind to prepare a few vegetable tarts, some of which she would deliver piping hot to the Blankenships to thank them for their annual hosting of the ball. She should have already done so. It was the kind of thing her mother had done and she tried her best to live up to her mother’s example—the spreading of salacious rumors notwithstanding.

“My bowl’s full,” Mrs. Garry announced, straightening and stretching the kinks out of her back.

Imogen opened her mouth to respond when she heard the distant shout of her name. She stopped and glanced around.

Young Teddy from the Henry farm to the east of them was running with a vengeance through the field, his skinny legs lifting and cutting through the tall grass.

He called out wildly, his voice cracking on the air. “Miss Bates! Miss Bates!”

She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, peering into the direction of the afternoon sun. “Teddy? What’s wrong?”

Mrs. Garry stepped beside her, muttering, “I can wager what’s wrong.”

Imogen nodded grimly, dread settling in the pit of her stomach. Indeed. She could, too.

“It’s Ma! He’s killing her! He’s really killing her this time.”

At this panicked confirmation of her fears, she dropped the bowl of peas and grabbed her skirts.

“Miss Imogen!” Mrs. Garry squawked.

She clambered over the fence of her property—something she had done countless times as a girl, but older now and weighed down in her skirts, she executed it with far less grace.

“Come, Miss Bates! Hurry. He’s really going to kill her this time!”

“Fetch the constable!” she shouted back to her housekeeper.

“Miss Imogen! No! Come back! You can’t go alone!”

She didn’t obey. She didn’t stop. The Henry family lived under a perpetual dark cloud. If Teddy was running to her for help, then things were past dire. Help was needed.

She made good time, speeding across the field, trailing after Teddy who had quite a good lead on her. She was quick, but not as quick as a fourteen-year-old lad.

She clambered over another fence, this time falling inelegantly on the other side and scraping her elbow before hopping back up to her feet.

Her arms pumped at her sides as she raced the rest of the way to the Henry farm. By the time the house came into view, Teddy was already there.

She spotted the lad as he latched onto his burly father. He’d plastered himself like a little monkey to the bigger man, his spindly legs latched around his thick torso.

It was chaos.

Mr. Henry jerked around wildly in the small yard in front of the house, trying to toss his son from his back to no avail. The smallest children sat in the dirt crying amid darting chickens and a barking dog and a few grunting hogs that had escaped their pen.

Mr. Henry was dragging his wife by the hair, his fingers buried deep in the strands, locked at the roots. She resembled a limp rag doll, scarcely struggling. Blood marked her face, dribbling from her nose. One eye was swollen shut. Her arms curled around her swollen belly protectively.

“Mr. Henry! Stop!” Imogen charged into the fray.

He lifted bleary, bloodshot eyes to Imogen. “Mind yer business, lass! This is a family matter.”

Imogen clamped down on his arm, shaking it in an attempt to free his grip. “Unhand her!”

“Stop it, Pa!” Teddy bellowed.

Mr. Henry whirled around with a roar, effectively dislodging both Teddy and Imogen.

Imogen dropped down to the ground beside the boy.

It was madness. Mrs. Henry was sobbing, pleading with her husband. “Please, please, Archie.”