The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere by Anna Bradley

Chapter Twenty-three

Draven House looked even more silent and deserted than it had the day before. It couldn’t have changed much in a single day, but somehow the sight of it made a shiver creep up Georgiana’s spine in a way it hadn’t yesterday.

“It looks a bit sinister, doesn’t it?” She shifted uneasily in the saddle. “It’s no wonder Lord Draven never comes here.”

“It must have been handsome once.” Benedict blinked up at the house, eyes narrowed against the glare of the early morning sun. “It could be again, with a family to breathe life into it.”

Georgiana glanced up at the glassy windows peering down on them from above like a dozen sightless eyes. Lord Draven was behind one of them, lying still and lifeless in his bed. Would he or Clara Beauchamp ever get a chance to live a life here, after what Kenilworth had done to them?

She tapped her heels into the horse’s flanks, breaking free of the tree line. They wouldn’t get the answer standing here. “Shall we leave the horses with Peter?”

Benedict followed her toward the stables, but Peter was nowhere to be found. It was as clean and organized as ever, with every shred of hay in its proper place, but the few horses there were whinnying and tossing their heads.

“I don’t like this. The horses are agitated. We need to get up to the house.” Benedict leapt from the saddle and strode over to an empty stall, leading his horse behind him, but when he tried to swing open the stall door it refused to budge. “It’s stuck.”

“Is something blocking the door?” Georgiana dismounted and hurried over to Benedict.

He scaled the stall door and was about to drop down the other side when he froze, sucked in a breath, then let it out with a curse that made Georgiana stop in her tracks. “Jesus.” His face paled as he stared down into the stall below. “Quickly, Georgiana. It’s Peter.”

Georgiana rushed forward as Benedict dropped down to the floor, dread pooling in her stomach. The stall door was too high for her to see over it, but she could hear Benedict dragging something across the floor. A moment later the door flew open, and what she saw on the other side made her gasp.

Peter was crumpled on the floor, blood running down his face. His white shirt was splattered with it, and it was pooling in the hay beneath him.

“Oh, no. No. Peter?” Georgiana darted forward and landed on her knees on the floor beside him. “Peter, can you hear me?”

Benedict caught Peter under his arms and heaved him to a sitting position, bracing his back against the wall. He tapped Peter’s cheek until the boy’s eyes fluttered open. “That’s it. Wake up now, Peter.”

Peter stared at them for a moment, his gaze unfocused, then he let out a low moan and raised his hand to the back of his head. “My…my head hurts.”

“Don’t touch it, lad. Let me have a look first.” Benedict caught Peter’s hand and lowered it to his lap, then brushed aside the blood-soaked hair at the back of his head and prodded gently at the injury. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” His face was grim as his eyes met Georgiana’s. “Bad enough, though.”

Peter winced. “Something hit me. Back of my head.”

“Not something. Someone.” Benedict shoved the scattered hay aside with his boot, reached down and plucked up a shovel. “There’s blood on the blade.”

“It has to be Kenilworth.” Georgiana scrambled to her feet. “Clara, and Mrs. Ellery and Martha. We need to go to the house at once, Benedict.”

“I’m coming with ye, my lord.” Peter braced his hand on the wall and tried to rise, but he only made it as far as his knees before dizziness overtook him, and he crashed back down to the floor.

“No, Peter. You’re in no shape for it. Here.” Benedict snatched off his cravat and handed it to Georgiana. “Stay here, and bind his wound as best you can.”

“No!” Georgiana shot to her feet, her throat closing. “You’re not going inside alone!”

Benedict grabbed her by the shoulders. “Yes, Georgiana, I am. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. You only waste time quarreling with me. Stay here and tend to Peter. I’ll be back out to fetch you soon.”

Georgiana stared up into those flashing dark eyes and could see at once arguing with him was pointless. So, she took the cravat without a word.

Benedict, who knew her well enough by now to be suspicious of such silent obedience, peered at her from the door of the stall, eyes narrowed. “I mean it, Georgiana. Stay here. Promise me.”

Georgiana gave him a brief nod, but she said nothing. If Benedict had returned by the time she was finished binding Peter’s wound, then she’d do precisely as he asked, and they wouldn’t have a problem. If he wasn’t back by then, well…

The less she said about what she’d do then, the better it was for them both.

Benedict hurried from the stables and Georgiana turned to Peter with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She lowered herself to the floor beside him, folded the cravat into thirds, then pressed the thick pad of linen over the injury at the back of Peter’s head. “Here. Hold that to your wound while I fetch some water.”

She left Peter propped against the wall and searched the stables until she found a bucket half-filled with fresh water. She dragged it back to the stall with her and busied herself with cleaning and then wrapping Peter’s wound. Benedict was right—the wound was nasty, but not life-threatening, and by the time she’d finished, Peter was breathing evenly and he’d regained some of his color.

But Benedict still hadn’t returned.

“You’ll have a nasty cut and a knot the size of your fist, Peter, but you’ll be fine.” Georgiana rose to her feet and dusted the stray bits of hay from her skirt. “Keep the linen pressed to it. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Nay, miss.” Peter shook his head. “His lordship said as you’re to wait here.”

“His lordship isn’t here, Peter.” Georgiana gave the boy a sweet smile. “Just stay here and rest. I won’t go far.”

No farther than the main house, at any rate.

She hurried from the stables and crossed to the drive that led toward the kitchen door at the back, her gaze once again on the windows, still staring blindly down at her just as they had before. Except this time Benedict was behind one of them, and he wasn’t going to be pleased if he saw her coming toward the house—

She stopped, a frown on her lips as her gaze landed on a window on the second floor.

Was that…?

She thought she’d caught a glimpse of something moving behind it—a flutter of the drapes, or a shadow, perhaps? Before she could make out what it was, it disappeared. She waited, but she’d either imagined it, or whatever had been there was now gone.

Georgiana hurried toward the house, but she hadn’t taken more than a few steps before pausing again, her gaze drawn once more to a flicker of movement at the window. She shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted up at it, just in time to see it shiver in its frame, as if it were—

“Dear God.”

The horrified whisper had hardly left her lips before a deafening crash rent the air. Jagged glass exploded outward and plunged two stories down, shattering on the ground below.

Georgiana gaped in disbelief at the place where the window had been seconds before, her brain sluggish with shock. For a moment she could only stare dumbly between the heap of glittering shards on the ground and the gaping hole above, struggling to make sense of what she was seeing.

Two men were grappling in front of the broken window, their furious shouts echoing in the clear morning air. Georgiana stared up at them, her heart leaping into her throat. She’d seen men fight, but never before had she seen anything like this. One man had the other by the throat, trying to squeeze the life out of him, and the second man was struggling to shove the first one out the window.

Benedict and Kenilworth, each of them intent on killing the other.

A sound left Georgiana’s mouth, either a scream or a whimper. She didn’t know which, nor was she aware that she was running, flying across the drive, a spray of pebbles at her heels and words on her lips, a plea, a prayer…

The kitchen door was unlocked—thank God, thank God—and she burst through it, only dimly aware that it was empty, with Mrs. Ellery nowhere to be seen, and no fire in the huge stone fireplace. She darted around the corner and up a flight of narrow stairs to a dusty entryway dominated by a sweeping staircase surrounded by dark paneling, with a massive bannister of carved wood.

She must have run up the stairs, but she was aware only of the pounding of her heart, her desperate heaving breaths echoing in her ears, and the other sounds—another crash of glass, the dull thump of fists pounding flesh, a man’s grunt of pain, all of it growing louder as she neared the second-floor landing. A few steps from the door she heard Benedict’s voice, low and furious, and the duke’s, louder and mocking, and a woman, her voice high-pitched and panicked, and the sounds of a scuffle, the heavy crunch of boots over broken glass.

Georgiana tried to prepare herself for what she’d find when she crossed the threshold, to brace herself for the nightmare she was certain was waiting for her on the other side of that door, but when she got there she stumbled to a halt, a scream trapped in her throat.

There was no way to brace yourself, no way to prepare for this.

There was shattered glass everywhere—fragments scattered across the floor or ground to a glittering powder, wicked-looking shards standing like a row of jagged teeth in the window frame, and—

Blood.

Benedict’s hands were covered with blood, his shirt sleeve soaked with it from a slash on his upper arm, and streaming down his face from a jagged cut on his forehead.

Georgiana stared at him in horror, her heart trapped in her throat.

If Benedict noticed her in the doorway, he gave no sign of it. All his attention was focused on Kenilworth, who was clutching a bloody shard of glass in his hand. The two men circled each other warily, mere steps away from the open window, each waiting for their chance to strike.

“You’re never going to see Jane or Freddy again, Kenilworth.” Benedict circled closer, forcing Kenilworth to back up, closer to the gaping hole.

One stumble, a single misstep, a push at the right time and the right angle, and one of them was going to fall through it. Georgiana knew it, felt it in the deepest part of herself where her most unspeakable nightmares lived.

Please, please don’t let it be Benedict—

“How do you intend to stop me, Haslemere?” Kenilworth laughed, but it was a mockery of one, twisted and ugly. “Jane is my wife, and Freddy my son. They belong to me, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to change that.”

“No?” Benedict bared his teeth in a savage grin. “The English courts don’t take kindly to bigamists, Kenilworth, even if they do happen to be dukes. Your marriage to Jane is illegal, and will be dissolved as soon as your crime is discovered. I wonder what all your London admirers will think, to see the great Duke of Kenilworth brought so low?”

Kenilworth tutted, as if disappointed. “Do you truly think a worthless rake like you is going to be the one to bring my secrets to light? I’ve kept them for six long years, Haslemere. It’ll take a cleverer man than you to expose me.”

Kenilworth lunged forward suddenly, slashing with the shard of glass in his hand. Georgiana’s heart dropped as the jagged edge came within inches of Benedict’s wrist, but he jumped back just in time, out of Kenilworth’s reach. He dragged a hand over his forehead, and his sleeve came away drenched with blood. “Half a dozen people know what you’ve done, Kenilworth. Do you intend to kill us all?”

“No, just you, Haslemere, and Draven, of course. He doesn’t look like he’s in much of a condition to defend himself, does he?”

Kenilworth jerked his head toward the bed. Georgiana followed the gesture, and for the first time noticed the dark-haired housemaid—Rachel, or Clara—was there, her body between Kenilworth and the bed in which Lord Draven lay, pale and haggard, but very much awake.

“Oh, I think Clara and Jane will fall into line quickly enough when I threaten to take their sons away if they don’t.” Kenilworth was creeping forward as he spoke, edging closer to Benedict, trying to maneuver him toward the window. “You see, Haslemere, bigamist or not, those two boys are still my sons, and therefore mine to do with as I wish.”

“You’re not leaving this room, Kenilworth, unless it’s through the window.” Benedict darted forward and slammed his fist into Kenilworth’s stomach. Kenilworth grunted, staggering under the blow, but he managed to keep his feet.

“Not good enough, Haslemere. You look a little unsteady, my friend. Is the blood loss making you dizzy? Pity. It looks like you’re the one who’s going out the window.” Kenilworth’s lips split in a bloodthirsty grin as he leapt forward and landed a blow to Benedict’s knee. There was a sickening crunching sound, and Benedict’s knee collapsed beneath him, sending him heavily to the floor.

Clara screamed, but her terrified shriek was drowned out by Georgiana’s panicked shout. “Benedict!”

“No! Get back, Georgiana.” Benedict held out a hand to stop her. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Your whore is very loyal to you, Haslemere.” Kenilworth advanced on Benedict with slow, lazy steps. Then with a casual air, as if he were brushing dust from his boots, he landed a vicious kick to Benedict’s chest. “She’s not a conventional beauty, is she? But I quite like her, all the same. Perhaps I’ll make her my mistress after you’re dead.”

“You’d better make sure I’m good and dead first, Kenilworth,” Benedict snarled, his face a mask of fury. “Because if you lay a single finger on her, I’ll kill you.”

“You’re hardly in a position to make threats.” Kenilworth prepared to deliver another punishing kick, but Benedict rolled to the side and managed to stagger to his feet before Kenilworth could get close enough to land the blow. “You only delay the inevitable, Haslemere. Anyone can see you’re nearly dead already.”

Georgiana looked from Benedict to Kenilworth, despair gripping her and nearly sending her to her knees. Kenilworth was right. Benedict, dizzy with blood loss, could hardly keep his feet. Kenilworth would bide his time until Benedict lost consciousness, and then he’d shove him out the window, and that would be the end.

No one could survive a fall like that.

She had to do something.

Think, think…

A weapon. If she could find a weapon, something to strike Kenilworth with, something heavy enough, the blow would fell him, and from there she might be able to push him out the window. He was much bigger and stronger than she was, but she was quick, and he wouldn’t be expecting her to attack him.

Georgiana frantically searched the room until her gaze landed on the fireplace poker. It was leaning against the wall beside Lord Draven’s bed. It was much closer to her than it was to Kenilworth, but as soon as she lunged for it, Kenilworth would guess what she was doing, and he’d attack Benedict again.

She bit her lip in an agony of indecision, but with Benedict’s life hanging in the balance, she had no other choice but to risk it. She kept one eye on Kenilworth as she crept closer to the fireplace, but before she could take another step, she glimpsed movement out of the corner of her other eye.

It was Clara Beauchamp.

Her gaze caught Georgiana’s, and she tipped her chin subtly toward the poker. Clara was standing right next to the fireplace, and Kenilworth seemed to have dismissed her as a threat, because he wasn’t paying any attention to her.

Georgiana held Clara’s gaze, and gave a tiny nod of her head. A moment of perfect understanding passed between them, and then…

Then it was happening.

Clara seized the poker, and with one mighty heave sent it flying across the floor toward Georgiana. It clattered to a stop at her feet and she snatched it up and whirled around, her heart racing, every bit of rage she possessed focused on Kenilworth.

She heard a shout, but she didn’t pause. With as much strength as she could muster, she raised the poker over her head, and smashed it across Kenilworth’s back.

Kenilworth made a strange sound—a grunt of pain and surprise—then he hit the floor with a deafening crash. If Georgiana could have managed a second blow even half as brutal as the first, she would have finished him, but her arms were shaking, so she fell to the floor beside him and without a moment’s hesitation began kicking him toward the broken window.

One shove, her feet braced against his back, two…dear God, he was heavy, so heavy, but the blow had stunned him, and he didn’t resist.

At first.

Another shove, another…closer, then closer still, slowly, painstakingly but inexorably closer to the edge…

Georgiana was so intent on shoving him out and putting an end to the nightmare that was the Duke of Kenilworth that she didn’t notice he’d grabbed Benedict by the ankle until Benedict began sliding across the glass-strewn floor toward the gaping window, clutched in Kenilworth’s grasp.

“Benedict!” The scream tore from Georgiana’s throat. She grabbed him by the arm, but the combined weight of Kenilworth and Benedict was too much for her. Benedict tried to kick loose from Kenilworth’s hold, but Kenilworth held him in the inhuman grip of a man who was destined for death, and determined to take his enemy with him.

There was a scramble of footsteps behind them, but Georgiana saw nothing, knew nothing other than Benedict. She held on with all her strength as she looked into the eyes of the man she loved.

She knew what he was going to do before he did it.

The only thing he could do to save her.

“No! Benedict!”

He tore his arm loose from her hold.

“No!” She scrambled for him, but it was already too late. Kenilworth’s lower body had slipped over the edge. He was clawing at Benedict, holding on with every last vestige of his strength, mere seconds from falling to his death. In that last instant, Benedict’s dark eyes met hers, and Georgiana saw a world of love shining in their depths.

There was a shout—Clara’s voice—and a flurry of activity beside Georgiana, and then Kenilworth was gone, tumbling over the edge with a terrified cry. Georgiana’s howl of anguish followed, torn from the very depths of her soul, and she squeezed her eyes closed, unable to watch, unable to bear seeing Benedict fall…

Except incredibly, Benedict’s arms were wrapped around her. Somehow, he was there beside her, on his back, tangled in a panel of the heavy silk drapery from Lord Draven’s canopy.

He gathered her against his chest, blood still gushing from his wounds, but alive—somehow, impossibly, he was alive and holding her close, his voice hoarse as he whispered in her ear.

It’s all right. I’ve got you. We’re safe. I love you…

He said those words over and over, his hands in her hair and his lips at her temple. At last the anguish, the unthinkable anguish of losing him faded, and Georgiana, overwhelmed with love and gratitude, buried her face in his chest, and sobbed.

* * * *

Clara Beauchamp was as accomplished a nurse as Mrs. Ellery had said she was.

The slash on Benedict’s arm still throbbed, the cut on his forehead still burned, and his knee ached like the very devil even after Clara’s ministrations, but he didn’t give a damn.

He didn’t give a damn about anything but Georgiana, who was safely pressed against him, her arm around his waist and his wrapped protectively around her shoulders. What he really wanted was to take her back to the gamekeeper’s cottage where they might have some privacy, but there were, er…a few details to be managed first.

Like the dead duke on the front drive of Draven House.

The magistrate was on his way, and would no doubt demand a detailed explanation as to why the Duke of Kenilworth was lying under a shattered window with a broken neck.

As for Benedict, try as he might, he couldn’t work up any regret on Kenilworth’s behalf. The man was a monster, and Benedict felt only relief knowing Jane and Freddy were free of him forever.

“More tea, Lord Haslemere?” Mrs. Ellery had been fluttering around them for the past hour, pressing cup after cup of tea on them and doing her best to stuff them with scones and cakes. “The best cure for a shock, my lord, is food.”

“More tea would be delightful, Mrs. Ellery. Thank you.” Benedict would have preferred a few stiff fingers of brandy, but Mrs. Ellery had suffered a shock of her own, and he couldn’t bear to refuse her.

She and Martha, the other housemaid, had been bound and gagged and shoved into a cupboard in the stillroom by Kenilworth after he’d attacked Peter in the stables. There’d been no one here to protect them, so he’d made quick enough work of the two women.

Benedict shuddered to think what might have happened to them—and to Clara and Draven—if he and Georgiana hadn’t come along when they did.

As it was, Peter had been sent home to rest and recover from his injuries. Martha had declared the country a “wicked, horrible place” and begged to return to London at once—a request Lord Draven had quickly granted.

As for Draven, he’d been ordered to bed by his fair-haired nurse, her dark wig now discarded, and he’d succumbed to her commands with the air of a man who’d be pleased to have her order him about for the rest of his life. Clara had disappeared to his bedchamber with him, but now she’d reappeared again, just in time to save Benedict from another cup of Mrs. Ellery’s tea.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ellery. Lord Draven would like to speak to Lord Haslemere and Miss Harley, if you can spare them.”

“Yes, yes. Go on, then.” Mrs. Ellery waved the tea cloth at them in a motherly gesture. “I’ll keep the tea hot for you, Lord Haslemere.”

“Er, that’s kind of you, Mrs. Ellery.” Benedict nodded his thanks, then he and Georgiana followed Clara up the stairs to see Lord Draven. The earl had been moved to another bedchamber, and was seated before the fire, waiting for them. He looked pale and exhausted and much too thin, but his lips curved in a smile when he saw Clara.

“Well Haslemere, Miss Harley.” He raised an eyebrow as Georgiana and Benedict sat on the settee across from him. Clara settled herself beside him and took his hand in hers. “I don’t know how you two got tangled up in this business, but I’m damned glad you did.”

Benedict looked at Georgiana, then back at Lord Draven. “It’s a long story, Draven. I’d be pleased to tell it to you sometime, but perhaps for now I’ll simply say we did it to help my sister, Jane, without having the least bloody idea what we were getting ourselves into.”

Lord Draven chuckled. “It’s a web with many threads, all of them hopelessly tangled. I’ve no idea how you managed to sort them all out, but we’ll always be tremendously grateful to you both.”

“We had our suspicions, my lord, but it was Kenilworth himself who untangled the final threads.” Georgiana’s gaze drifted to Clara. “You were married to the Duke of Kenilworth, Miss Beauchamp, and you have a son together?”

“Yes. His name is Augustus. He’ll be seven years old in September.” Clara gave Benedict an uneasy glance. “I realize you have a nephew who—”

“It’s all right, Miss Beauchamp. I’m aware Freddy isn’t the heir to the dukedom. I care only that my sister, Jane, and Freddy are safe. The title and fortune are your son’s by right. You’ll get no trouble from my family.”

Clara sagged against Lord Draven, relieved. “Thank you, my lord. When you and Miss Harley came here yesterday, I thought…that is, I feared you were here at the behest of the duke, and I…I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

“You heard of Lord Draven’s, er…unfortunate accident while you were at Lady Tilbury’s in London, Miss Beauchamp?” Georgiana asked.

“It was no accident, Miss Harley. I was set upon by half a dozen of Kenilworth’s ruffians. I don’t remember much, but I have no doubt they intended to kill me. Kenilworth came here today to finish the job, and drag Clara away again.” Lord Draven’s face was tight as he gripped Clara’s hand. “I shudder to think what he would have done to her.”

Georgiana let out a deep sigh. “The Duke of Kenilworth is not at all what he appeared to be, is he?”

“I’m afraid not,” Clara said on a sigh. “But to answer your question, Miss Harley, I was in London with Lady Tilbury when Lord Draven was attacked, yes. I hadn’t set foot outside of Herefordshire in six years, but Augustus was ill, and I couldn’t bear to let him out of my sight, so her ladyship reluctantly agreed to let me come with her as long as I took care to stay in the townhouse.”

Lord Draven raised Clara’s hand to his lips. “It’s a miracle Jane saw her at all. She came straight to me that night to tell me she believed Clara was still alive. Jane didn’t know a thing about Clara and Kenilworth until then. She came because she knew how devastated I was over Clara’s disappearance, and for no other reason. Your sister has been a good friend to me, Haslemere.”

Benedict’s mouth twisted. “If Jane had suspected what a scoundrel Kenilworth was, she never would have married him. There’s no excuse for my not knowing, however. I should have protected her.”

Clara’s blue eyes softened. “You must understand, Lord Haslemere, what a deep secret it was. Only myself, my mother, and Kenilworth knew about the marriage. Neither my mother nor I breathed a word about it because Kenilworth claimed his uncle, the duke, would disinherit him if he found out the truth.”

Lord Draven nodded. “It’s true, Haslemere. Even I didn’t find out about the marriage until much later, after Clara disappeared. I believed her to be dead by then, and so never suspected Kenilworth of bigamy.”

Benedict stiffened at the reminder, and Georgiana reached for his hand. “Such an odd coincidence, that Jane happened to be driving by at the precise time Miss Beauchamp was in the carriage.”

“Yes. It makes me believe in fate.” Lord Draven smiled. “As you’ve probably determined, Clara never made it back to Herefordshire once she left Lady Tilbury’s. She coaxed Mrs. Bury into hiring her as a housemaid, and came with me here, to Draven House. Perhaps I’m a selfish man, Miss Harley, but I’m very glad she did.”

“So, you’ve been hiding in Herefordshire for the past six years?” Benedict could hardly believe it. “It must have been awful, living every day in fear Kenilworth would discover you.”

“It was worrying, yes. I was more fearful on Augustus’s account than my own, however. Lady Tilbury took good care of Augustus and me. She’s a dear friend.”

“Dear enough to lie right to my face for you.” Georgiana smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Though I don’t see that she had much choice.”

“None at all,” Lord Draven said, his voice grim. “I wish I’d ended Kenilworth six years ago, the night Clara disappeared. When I think of the heartache that followed not just for me, but for Clara and Jane…”

“The duel, you mean?” Benedict leaned forward. “I confess to some curiosity about that.”

“My father put a stop to it the night of the Christmas party, but I followed Kenilworth to London, and challenged him again there. I assure you, I was in deadly earnest, Haslemere. If I’d had my way, Kenilworth would have died that night.”

“I’ve no doubt. You thought at first Kenilworth had ruined Miss Beauchamp?”

“Yes. At the ball that night I saw Kenilworth force Clara from the ballroom. I suspected something was amiss, so I followed them to the library. From what I overheard, I assumed Kenilworth had seduced her. I didn’t find out until much later he’d married her a year earlier, then run off to London to spend her fortune.”

“I was entirely deceived in Kenilworth’s character.” A spasm of pain crossed Miss Beauchamp’s face. “I fancied myself in love with him, but it was a short-lived delusion. By the time he returned to Draven House for the ball, he’d inherited the dukedom, and wanted nothing more to do with his common bride. He’d set his sights on your sister by then, Lord Haslemere, leaving me with nothing but an empty purse, and…” She hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “A child in my belly.”

Georgiana gasped. “Oh, no. How dreadful.”

“I’m afraid it was. Kenilworth was afraid the child would be a boy. A son with common bloodlines wasn’t good enough to be the Duke of Kenilworth’s heir, so he packed me up into his carriage, took me to Southampton, and loaded me onto a ship bound for North America. I suppose he thought I’d die on the journey.”

“But you didn’t, Miss Beauchamp,” Georgiana said fiercely. “You survived, and here you are.”

“Yes, thanks to Lady Tilbury.” Miss Beauchamp dashed a tear from her cheek. “Once Kenilworth was gone, I sneaked off the ship and made my way to her in Herefordshire with the little bit of money Kenilworth had given me. With her help, I survived.” Clara turned to gaze at Lord Draven, love glowing in her blue eyes. “Now I will reap my reward, undeserved though it might be.”

“Not undeserved, love.” Lord Draven cast her an adoring look. “Never that.”

Georgiana turned to Benedict, a tremulous smile on her lips. “You saved Bene—that is, you saved Lord Haslemere’s life, Miss Beauchamp. As far as I’m concerned, you deserve everything good that befalls you.”

A lump rose in Benedict’s throat at Georgiana’s words, and he pressed a fervent kiss to her hand. “Fate, indeed. She’s smiled on us both, Draven, and I, for one, intend to make the most of it.”