Page 72 of Dukes Do It Better
Perhaps settling down in one place wasn’t the answer. They could embark on a life of adventure and travel instead. With a companion and a tutor, she and Alton could explore the world. See the pyramids and the Parthenon, and drink tea beside the Seine. Calvin could sign over property to Alton so they’d have a home to return to when the need struck, and the rest of the time, they could wander like nomads, discovering their place in the world.
Phee had warned against running away. But maybe this wasn’t running away, but running toward something. What, she didn’t know.
For the first time, the vastness of possibility stretched before her, bullying the heartbreak out of the way. Like a hallway of endless doors, and it suddenly dawned on her—she could walk through any of them. She’d been living small. Hiding with her secrets, fearful of discovery. No, she wasn’t about to go shout her truths from the rooftop, but it wasn’t fear holding her back anymore. The secrets she protected impacted other people, and Emma didn’t have the right to expose them.
Sea air and the scent of savory meat pie filled her lungs when she sighed, clinging to a moment of contentment. A brief breath of peace amid the brokenness, but she relished it. Adventures with her son sounded more lovely with every passing second. No matter what path they chose—buying a house, moving to an Eastly property, or running away to Egypt, she needed to begin packing.
Alton poked his head through the window. “Mama, I found a fort!”
Emma bent down to kiss his warm cheek, then had to brush sand off her lips. “Did you? Was it full of treasure and pixies?”
His brown eyes sparkled with excitement. “Of course. It’s a proper fort, after all. Want to go see it?”
“You’ll have to show me tomorrow. Our meal is ready, by the smell of it. Come inside and wash your hands.” She curled her lip at the dark sand coating his fingers and now the windowsill.
He slumped dramatically over the sill.
“No arguments or whining, please. Come inside.”
Alton clambered through the open window, less gracefully than the goat had a moment before. When he tripped as he hit the floor, Emma sighed. “I meant through the door, little love.”
Her son didn’t answer as he bolted out of the room. Emma rolled her eyes and went to follow, when her slippered foot hit something hard. Only moments ago, there’d been nothing there, so it probably fell from Alton’s pocket.
“Please don’t be a dead animal,” she muttered, moving her skirts out of the way to inspect the floor. Several heartbeats passed while her brain scrambled to comprehend what she was seeing.
A gold Russian Orthodox cross lay on the carpet, the metal gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the window. Each arm of the cross was bejeweled in precious gems catching the light with their facets in a way she knew wouldn’t happen with paste stones.
“Holy hell,” she breathed into the quiet room. Then, “Alton Adam Walters Hardwick, get back here!”
Chapter Nineteen
It took a while for me to stop looking over my shoulder. For the longest time, I thought I’d turn a corner and run into someone from London who would somehow see through the deception.
It’s hard when you’re scared of the truth more than the lies.
—Journal entry, April 22, 1824
The delivery of his father’s bank book distracted him entirely until it was time to get ready to go to the Claybourne soiree.
Smith had included a key with a note explaining the coding system. She’d decoded several pages as examples, but since Malachi’s father had used a simple enough method, she’d left the rest to him.
Instead of numerals to number the pages, Father had used a character system. It was a short leap of logic to realize there were only twenty-six characters in various formations, which clearly correlated to letters. Or so said Smith. Malachi would have stared at the bloody thing forever until his eyeballs fell out of his head, and still wouldn’t have noticed that pertinent detail. In fact, Smith had sounded slightly disappointed the code hadn’t been more of a challenge.
With the key in hand, Malachi had endless hours of work ahead of him to decode the rest of the book. Every symbol needed to be swapped out for a letter for any of it to make sense, and while fun at first, his head hurt already. Clearly, he didn’t have a mind for code.
It was a relief when the clock chimed on the mantel, reminding him to get dressed for the evening.
One final glance in the mirror, and this time, the ducal image reflected back was less jarring than it had been this morning. He’d get used to seeing himself in this new way, he supposed. The coat was slightly looser than fashion dictated, but it had to be if he was going to dress himself.
Malachi slid a plain gold cravat pin into place. If he wasn’t going to return to sea—even thinking it made his stomach clench—he’d need to get a valet. Eventually. Maybe. Or he could be a duke living incognito in a tiny coastal village, buy himself a boat, and spend his days harassing smugglers in the channel or something.
That sounded like so much more fun than going to this damned soiree. It also sounded like a solid long-term plan. A boat of his own. Not a huge ship.
He’d need to acquaint himself with the estate managers for the holdings. The solicitor would help with that task.
After seeing to the dukedom, he could gather a crew from the village, buy a mid-size boat, and sail wherever he pleased. No orders. No Admiralty. Captain of his own destiny.
The sick feeling in his gut eased, but he couldn’t fully relax. The black armband was noticeably absent from his attire tonight. He didn’t miss the slight pressure that had acted as a constant reminder of George. The dukedom had been in capable and competent hands with his brother. Malachi would do his best to direct the right people to honor his brother’s memory. After all, their father had left the day-to-day business matters behind to travel in service to the king. He could do the same.
