Chapter One

“Thomas!” Marco screamed, staring through the blaze of fire around him, tears streaming and throat burning. “Thomas, where are you?”

“Sir!” A frantic voice called back, thin and reedy through the smoke. “I am trapped, sir!”

Marco tied his handkerchief around his face and fought through the thick smoke of his burning factory, forcing himself to keep moving despite his lungs screaming to run out into the fresh air. He saw with horror that a large wooden beam had fallen across the door to the office. Marco launched forward, desperately using all of his strength to pull the beam away. The wood was burning hot, and splinters lodged into his palms, but Marco gritted his teeth and prayed to God that he could save his friend. With a strength he didn’t know he had, he pulled the heavy beam away and wrenched the office door open. When he crossed the threshold, he almost gasped in shock. It seemed that the office had been close to the blast’s epicenter, and his long-time foreman, Thomas Cromer, was curled on the floor, his clothes blackened and his face red and bloody with gashes and horrible burns. Half of his hair seemed to have been singed away.

“Sweet Jesus,” Marco muttered, dropping to his knees. His foreman looked in his direction with bloodied and swollen eyes.

“I cannot see, sir,” Thomas coughed in a gravelly voice. “My eyes…”

Marco’s heart clenched for his friend and faithful worker, a man who he’d relied upon to be his eyes on the factory floor. Marco’s factory was burning around them, and Thomas was gravely injured, perhaps even blinded. Marco felt despair building inside him but pushed it away. They needed to get out of the building before the roof collapsed.

“Thomas, I am here,” Marco said, pressing his hands to Thomas’s chest to try to staunch the flow of blood. “We must get out of here.”

“God bless you, sir,” Thomas groaned, heaving himself to a seated position with a cry of pain. Thomas heard a menacing creak in the ceiling beams above them and knew they had no time to lose.

“Forgive me, Thomas,” Marco said as he swept his friend up and tossed him over his shoulder. Thomas let out a gurgling groan, but Marco knew they had to get out quickly. He steadied Thomas’ body and lurched through the factory, blinking away tears from the smoke. Reaching the factory yard, Marco gasped in breaths of the fresher air. He saw men gathered all around, throwing buckets of water through broken windows in a desperate attempt to save the building.

“A physician!” Marco croaked as loudly as he could, lowering Thomas onto the ground some distance from the blaze. “Someone send for a physician at once!”

“Right away!” one of workers shouted, racing away.

Thomas’s head lolled against the cobbled stones, slick with a dirty muck of fallen ash mixed with mud and water from the buckets.

“Do not trouble yourself, sir,” Thomas coughed. Marco was horrified to see blood around his friend’s lips, and he sent up another desperate prayer for Thomas to survive. “I must tell you what happened.”

“Not now,” Marco said. “Save your strength, my friend.”

“You have to know. This was no accident, sir,” Thomas coughed again, clutching his bloody chest. The man fumbled in his coat pocket as his body shuddered.

Accidents were not uncommon in a cotton factory. No matter how careful the workers were, sometimes disaster struck. There was always the danger of fire with the materials being so flammable. Marco would not blame his foreman for that.

“I’ll get it.” Marco reached into Thomas’ pocket; the wool of his jacket scorched and bloody. Marco pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment and opened it. The handwriting was somehow familiar despite the block lettering designed to conceal any identifiable features. The words were simple but menacing: THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE.

“Another threat, sir,” Thomas whispered, his voice becoming weaker by the minute. Still, he kept going. “I read it… before I could do anything, there was a… a terrible explosion.”

Marco looked down at Thomas’s battered body as the man struggled for breath. He remembered the first time his foreman had come to him with a hostile letter.

“You have received a threat, sir,” Thomas said as Marco strolled into the factory office, closing the door, so the sound of the cotton spinners’ work did not disturb them.

“A threat?” Marco asked and was quickly reminded of his cousin, Giovanni, who worked closely with Silas Klane, also known as Lucifer of London. Giovanni regularly incurred threats against himself and his family, especially since becoming the Marquess of Bath. Marco had anticipated reuniting with his cousin would impact him, but he had not expected to be in danger. “Against my life?”

“No, sir, against your business,” Thomas replied. He handed over a piece of parchment with the message, “CLOSE YOUR FACTORY OR I SHALL BE FORCED TO TAKE ACTION. YOU WILL REGRET IT IF YOU IGNORE MY DEMAND” boldly printed on it.

“Who could have sent this?” Marco asked in consternation. “How was it delivered?” 

“I do not know, sir,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “The note was tacked to the door when I arrived this morning.”

“Would you care to speculate?” Marco asked, looking at the lettering carefully. The author had obviously taken pains to disguise their handwriting. He wondered if that meant he would recognize their actual hand. The thought was disturbing.

“You have many competitors, sir. Your business flourishes, but …” Thomas hesitated, looking toward the windows as if he wondered if they may be overheard. “There is one man in particular who may resent your success.”

“Name him,” Marco demanded.

“The Duke of Fitzroy,” Thomas said. Marco groaned inwardly. The Duke of Fitzroy was not known to him, but the mere fact that he was a duke would make confronting him more difficult should he prove to be behind the threats. 

“Tell me of him,” Marco said quietly, sitting opposite Thomas, who sat behind his desk. 

“His seat is near here. He owns many of the farms that surround us. He has heavily invested in a factory a few miles away. I believe he has been upset about the success of your business. More specifically, that you offer your workers higher wages,” Thomas said. “You are besting him in profits and popularity as it is well known that you treat your employees fairly.”

“Yet he is a duke, and I am merely a businessman,” Marco muttered. “If he chooses to hurt me, I cannot possibly bring action against him, especially if he does not sign his name to his threats.” 

“You are more than a simple businessman, sir. Your cousin is the Marquess of Bath,” Thomas said. “And your uncle is the Duke of Grasmere.” 

“That is true, but it means nothing. I cannot ask them to involve themselves,” Marco sighed.

“Then I shall keep an eye on it, sir,” Thomas said. “No one will stop your business from flourishing. I shall ensure it.”

Marco stood and handed the piece of paper back to Thomas.

“I trust you with this, Thomas. Let me know if anything changes or the Duke makes his identity known.” 

“He’s finally slipped up, sir,” Thomas wheezed, pulling Marco out of his memory. His breathing was becoming more shallow, and pain was etched on his face. Macro saw with growing fear that more blood oozed from his mouth as he coughed. “I saw it… just before the blast… the seal.”

Marco turned the paper over. There was indeed a broken seal on the letter when there had never been one on the threats before. The Duke of Fitzroy’s coat of arms was clearly visible in the red wax.

“The bastard,” Marco whispered, brushing his fingers against the seal. A violent fury rose within him at the carnage the Duke had wrought over his petty concerns.

“We now…. have proof, sir,” Thomas whispered hoarsely. His bloody hands groped blindly for Marco’s. Marco took his hands within his as gently as he could, wincing at the raw, burned skin on the backs of them. “You have him now.”

“I will make him pay for this, Thomas. Pay for the pain he has caused you,” Marco said fiercely.

Thomas gripped Marco’s hand for a moment, then his eyes dipped closed, and his hands went slack. Marco feared if the man went to sleep, he would never wake.

“Don’t close your eyes, Thomas,” Marco begged, squeezing Thomas’ hand again. “You need to stay with me, my friend. I need you.” He felt tears prick his eyes as Thomas’ remained closed.

The blaze nearby intensified, becoming a roar that seemed to eat up all the air around it. But Marco did not care as he watched Thomas struggle to breathe. “Where is the damned doctor?” he yelled.

One of Marco’s workers ran over to him. “Mr. Alegria, we must go!” He gestured to the blaze. The fire burned uncontrollably and licked at the bricks, reaching up to the roof. “The building is going to collapse. We need to move, sir!”

Marco saw that he was right. The building would not stand for much longer; if they stayed where they were, they would be in the path of the burning debris when it fell. “Help me carry him!” Marco yelled back.

He grasped Thomas’s limp body under his arms as the other man took his legs. Together they carried Thomas into a field where the other workers had gathered, watching the blaze in horror. They set Thomas onto the grass, and Marco ordered the other man to ensure no one else was near the building as more workers and villagers arrived to help. But there was nothing to be done but watch as the fire raged. Marco knelt next to his fallen friend and held his hand as the man took his last labored breaths.

“You will be avenged, Thomas. I swear it,” Marco whispered as he folded Thomas’s arms across his now-still chest.

“Father!” William, a boy barely seventeen and Thomas’ eldest son, ran through the crowd and dropped to the ground next to Thomas. “Father!”

“I am so sorry, William. He is gone,” Marco said, unable to stop his voice from breaking.

The words caused the boy to cry out in anguish, and Marco held him as William screamed his grief. The boy’s slim frame was wracked with sobs that Marco felt to his very soul.

“How did this happen, sir?” William asked when he had calmed a bit, his expression fierce.

“Sabotage,” Marco growled before he could stop himself.

“What do you mean?” William demanded any deference to Marco’s position he had previously shown gone. And Marco did not begrudge the boy his anger. “This was not an accident?”

“No. It was no accident. Your father warned me of a rival, but we did not think anything like this could happen. Did not think anyone would do something so sinister. You know your father was not just my faithful servant, William, he was my friend, and I have failed him. I am so sorry.”

The young boy’s face crumpled again when he saw Marco’s despair. He turned back to his father and placed a hand against his cheek. “Oh, Papa. I promise I’ll take care of mother and the others.” William’s tears fell onto his father’s bloody face.

Marco looked down at Thomas’ face and thought of the kind-hearted man who helped him build his factory and make it a success. He could not imagine rebuilding without Thomas at his side. He closed his eyes briefly and said a silent goodbye to the man who had worked so hard for him over the years. Who had mentored him and treated him more like a son than an employer. He again swore he would have his revenge.

William stood then and swiped his sleeve across his eyes. Marco stood next to him as they both watched the fire burn.

“I offer myself to you, Mr. Alegria,” William said, his voice hardening with conviction. “I will do anything you ask. Anything that needs to be done to make this right. It is what my father would want.”

Marco saw a glimmer of Thomas’ grit in William’s determined face. Now that Thomas was gone, the Cromer family would depend on William to support them. The best way Marco could honor his old friend was to offer his son a place. He had no doubt that the boy would prove to be strong and resilient, just like his father.

“I accept your offer, William. But first, you must take your father home and grieve. I will come to you as soon as I can,” Marco said, putting his hand on the boy’s slender shoulder.

William’s chin wobbled, but he nodded firmly. Marco turned to the men who were standing respectfully back. They held their caps in their hands, sad expressions on their faces as they looked at the body of their beloved manager. “Can some of you please assist young William in bringing his father home?”

“We’d be honored, sir,” they muttered. Those closest bent down and lifted Thomas reverently in their arms.

William watched the men begin the slow procession across the fields. Before following, he turned to Marco and bowed. Marco returned the gesture as fresh tears stung his eyes. “Thank you, sir,” William said. Then he turned and followed his father’s body.

It pained him to see such a young lad have to step into his father’s shoes. But Marco reminded himself that he and his cousin were already fending for themselves by William’s age. And they didn’t have someone like himself to help them. Marco vowed to teach the boy all he could. He would never be able to repay all that Thomas had done for him, but he would look out for his son and ensure he had a good start in life. It was the least he could do.

“Marco!” a man cried out.

Marco turned at the sound of his cousin’s voice. Giovanni slowed his horse and dismounted quickly. One of Marco’s workers took the reins and led the horse away, lest the blaze frighten it into bolting.

“What has happened?” Giovanni demanded, staring at the burning building.

“Sabotaggio,” Marco spat, reverting to his native Italian in his anger. Giovani’s eyes widened, and he cursed viciously, which Marco found oddly comforting.

He drew his cousin away from the crowd so they could speak privately. He did not know how the fire started, but he worried that the Duke of Fitzroy had manipulated one of his employees to cause it.

“I am sorry, cousin,” Giovanni said earnestly. The despair in his tone was enough to tear down the last of Marco’s composure.

“It is all gone. Years of hard work. Gone,” Marco whispered, swallowing his pain as the fire burst through the building’s roof. “And Thomas. My friend, he is…”

Marco found he could no longer speak and pressed his palm over his mouth, not wanting to appear weak in front of his men. Giovanni stood beside him and gripped his shoulder tightly in support.

“You will rebuild. You will be stronger,” Giovanni said fiercely. “You can overcome this, Marco, and I will be by your side.”

At that moment, there was a great creaking, drawing Marco’s attention back to the building. The factory collapsed in a roar of bricks and wood as the fire finally consumed the structure. The gathered crowd let out a cry of sadness. Marco felt hopelessness descend on him as all his dreams seemed to fall under the rubble.

His cousin’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present, and he fingered the wax seal on the letter in his pocket. A calm pressed upon him as one thought solidified inside his mind: I will have my revenge against the man who has taken everything from me. I will take everything he holds dear and crush him for what he has done.

Chapter Two

Alice paced along the marble floor of the Duke of Fitzroy’s entry hall, doing short laps across the black and white squares at the bottom of the stairs. The old Duke, as everyone below stairs called him, had been unwell for the last week and was quite likely dying. Her mother, the housekeeper, was beside herself, but Alice had busied herself to her usual work as the cook’s help in the kitchen and was relatively unaffected. Yet this afternoon, her mother had disappeared from her post for hours, and Alice had just been summoned upstairs. The butler had told her to wait, so Alice did, pacing and worrying about what might be happening. Alice knew her mother had been engaging in an illicit affair with the old Duke for years. She hoped her mother’s indiscretion was not going to get them sacked. Alice did not know what they would do if the Duke turned them out of the house, and she knew her mother would be utterly heartbroken if he abandoned her.

“He is ready for you,” the butler said, standing at the top of the stairs. Alice was astonished by the idea that the Duke would want to see her. She had imagined he would have the butler dismiss them. Yet Alice knew she was his to command, as a servant in his household, and she could not disobey. She brushed the flour residue off her apron. She nodded politely, climbing the stairs, and feeling conscious of her worn shoes on the beautiful walnut stairs. She had never been in the family rooms of the manor. Though her mother had climbed the back stairs almost every night for as long as Alice could remember. She felt horribly exposed as she was led along a beautifully decorated corridor until they finally arrived at a highly polished oak door. Alice’s stomach lurched when she realized it was the door to the Duke’s bed chamber. She was confused but obediently stepped forward when the butler opened the door and entered.

“Miss Proctor to see you, Your Grace,” the butler intoned, holding the door open.

“Thank you,” the old Duke rasped. Alice was disturbed to see that he was reclining in bed and even more surprised to see her mother seated next to him. After all, it was one thing for her mother to have been his secret lover all these years. It was quite another for him to openly have her by his bedside. The old Duke’s face was wan and thin, his chest heaving with each breath. She noticed that her mother held one of his hands on the coverlet. Alice stood at the end of the bed and felt a sudden rush of awkwardness. She dropped her head and dipped into a proper curtsey even though her mind was racing.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” she uttered, trying not to meet her mother’s eye. She didn’t understand how to behave in this situation. Her mother was at the Duke’s bedside as if she was his duchess. He wasn’t treating her like a woman who had once been his late wife’s lady’s maid. His seduction of that maid may have helped elevate her to the housekeeper position, but she was still just a low-born servant, not the lady of the house.

“Thank you for coming, Alice. Please take a seat,” the old Duke said, gesturing to the empty chair at his bedside, near her mother. Alice shuffled uncomfortably. As a servant in the house, the rules dictated that she could not sit in the Duke’s presence. Yet he had asked her, and she could not disobey a command. Without meaning to, she caught her mother’s eye.

“Take a seat, darling,” her mother said gently, with a soft smile. Alice nodded and sat down at the Duke’s bedside. His eyes followed her, and Alice could see how they were yellowed at the edges. The cook seemed correct in her suspicions – the Duke appeared to be dying. He took an unsteady breath and turned his head to fully look at her.

“Alice,” he began, his voice croaking. It was bizarre for Alice to hear her employer call her by her name. He had rarely spoken to her directly before. “I have things I must say before I die, and time is now of the essence.”

“I am at your service, Your Grace,” Alice said awkwardly. It was surreal to sit there, listening to the Duke speak frankly about his coming death while he held the hand of his long-time lover. Her mother’s eyes filled with tears and Alice felt sorry for her. She knew her mother genuinely loved the man. His loss would be difficult for her even without the uncertainty of her future position in the household his death would cause.

“No, please. You do not need to use my honorific,” the Duke said. Alice tried not to show her amazement. She looked up at her mother, unsure what she should do, but her mother only smiled tremulously.

“It is all right, my dear,” her mother said, though Alice didn’t think it could be.

Alice nodded, thinking that she had never felt so uneasy. How could she possibly navigate such a strange situation? She was sitting with the man who had single-handedly ruined her childhood. Everyone in the Duke of Fitzroy’s household knew of his affair with his housekeeper. As a result, Alice had been ostracized by the other servants for as long as she could remember. The staff either resented her mother’s position or looked down upon her for having inappropriate relations with the Duke. These feelings trickled down to Alice. Her lot in life didn’t improve until the duchess passed away about six years ago, and Alice had won the respect of the cook during the elaborate funeral preparations. Being the cook’s assistant had given her a modicum of power that she had relished. She could not imagine how the other servants would react if they knew she was at the duke’s bedside.

“I have made many mistakes, and I must make them right, even if it has been too long in coming,” The Duke whispered. Alice wondered if he was speaking about her mother and his mistake in making her his lover.

“We all make mistakes, my love, but you are rectifying them now, and that is what matters,” her mother murmured. Alice almost reeled back in shock to hear such an endearment from her mother’s lips. While she knew her mother loved the Duke, she never understood why the woman allowed the affair to continue for so many years. Unless it was to secure their continued employment. But Alice had never felt like that was worth the damage to their reputations. She hated that their livelihood was attached to the whim of the man using her mother for his own pleasure. She always felt it would be better to have a lower position in another household and be respected than to stay there and be scorned. But her mother was too much in love to leave, no matter how much her daughter begged.

“I have been unkind. I have made decisions that have destroyed the joy of others, but I hope that I leave this earth at least making one thing right,” the Duke said. He leaned his head against the pillow and looked at Alice. She was surprised to see tears welling in his weak eyes. She had no idea what to say, for how could she comfort him? He had a ruthless reputation. It was one of the reasons Alice had always been so frustrated with her mother’s decision to continue their relationship. Alice had never once looked at the Duke of Fitzroy and seen anything in him that was worthy of admiration.

“It is… important to make amends for past wrongs,” Alice said hesitantly, feeling as if they were both waiting for her to say something. Surely a clergyman should be here to hear his confessions and not the daughter of his mistress.

“Yes it is,” the Duke sighed and looked toward her mother. “And as part of doing that, I have finally married your mother, Alice.”

Alice simply stared unblinking at the absurd announcement. Her mind turned back to when she was younger. When she first learned that the gentleman her mother had been in love with for so long was, in fact, their master, Alice had entertained immature ideas of a new life. She thought the Duke would abandon his wife and marry her mother. That she and her mother would live above stairs and be blissfully happy. That she might have a real father. Of course, these childish fantasies were swiftly dashed by the reality of their world. A duke had his duchess for status and appearances and his mistress for pleasure. It was then that Alice understood men’s selfishness and the world’s cruelty to women. She was brought back to the present when her mother began speaking.

“The Bishop of Coventry, an old friend of the Duke’s, came today with a special license and performed the ceremony before witnesses,” her mother said gently. Seeing the look of incredulity on her daughter’s face, she added, “We are indeed married, Alice.”

“Should have done it years ago,” the duke coughed out, his face turning red with the effort to speak. “But at least now you will both be able to live the lives you deserve.”

What does that mean? Alice wondered, unable to process his words. She couldn’t fathom what other life a servant could deserve than the one they led.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Alice?” her mother gushed. “Finally, we can be together, as we always should have been.”

Alice smiled tightly. Of course, she knew that she should be happy for her mother. She was now the Duchess of Fitzroy, if even for a short time. After the Duke passed, she would presumably be looked after by whoever the Duke’s heir turned out to be, as he had no son she had no idea who that could be. But Alice could only think of the notoriety this action would bring them. They would be shunned by both the servants they had once worked with and the ton alike. Society would never accept a former lady’s maid within their ranks, no matter how lofty her title now was. They would not belong to either world.

“You do not seem pleased, Alice,” the Duke whispered, fixing his eyes on her with shrewdness.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Alice stammered, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. “I am, of course, happy for my mother. She has cared for you for so long that this development is indeed wonderful for her. But I hope you will forgive me for saying that it does not truly have anything to do with me.”

“Alice,” her mother said. She looked supremely uncomfortable but took a deep breath. “There is something I must tell you.”

“Something that we must tell you,” the Duke added and gently squeezed her mother’s hand. Alice felt a sense of trepidation rising up through her. She felt the sudden urge to stand up and flee the room so that she might avoid whatever they were about to say next. She was unprepared for further life-changing announcements. Yet she could not move.

“Alice, do you remember what I told you about your father?” her mother asked. Alice’s heart lurched, and beads of perspiration began to form at her temples.

“You have only said that he was a naval officer and died at sea shortly after I was born,” Alice said mechanically. She simply repeated the only story she had ever been told when she asked about her father. She clenched her hands in her lap, knowing that whatever happened next would shatter that illusion of her parentage.

“I lied,” her mother said shortly, wanting to get the confession out. “I am sorry. I know that lying to you about your father was an unforgivable sin, but I didn’t feel I had any choice.”

Alice did not know if the lie was unforgivable, but she sensed that this was not the worst part of her mother’s confession. She sat immobile. Helpless to stop what would happen next. Only her eyes, darting between her mother and Duke, showed her growing distress.

“It did not give you a choice, Esther,” the Duke whispered. “I forced your hand, and for that, I am sorry. I should have done better by you both.” Alice’s mother brought her hand up to the Duke’s cheek, and they gazed into one another’s eyes for a moment.

“Why was I lied to?” Alice demanded, drawing their attention back to her. She did not want to hear the answer, but she knew it was inevitable. A wave of rage welled up inside her. Her mother had been lying to her for her entire life, and the Duke had forced her to. This was just one more confirmation that men were vile creatures who only cared about themselves.

“Because your grandfather would have cut your father off had he known of your existence,” her mother whispered.

‘Why would he do that?”

“Because the family was of high status,” Alice’s mother said.

Alice pursed her lips, her anger bleeding through. Her grandfather was another man who believed his sex and birth entitled him to trifle with the lives of those he considered beneath him.

When she looked at her mother, she could feel a revelation veering toward her at high speed, like a carriage rolling off the road in the rain, and she was powerless to stop it. Tears were slipping down the woman’s cheeks, yet Alice could find no way to lessen her outrage. She turned her angry expression upon the Duke, almost daring him with her eyes to be the one to speak the truth. “Who?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“The previous Duke of Fitzroy,” the Duke whispered. “My father.”

“So you are my father,” Alice blurted out and stared at him. The ramifications of this revelation were staggering. If she had not been seated, she surely would have lost her footing.

“I am,” he whispered. “I am so sorry that I did not acknowledge you, Alice. More sorry than you can ever know.”

It was suddenly too much to bear. Alice did not care if he was dying or if he was now her mother’s husband. She did not care that he held even more power over her than he did before. Her fury was incandescent.

“You say I am your child, yet I have spent my life toiling as a servant in your household,” Alice said. She was shaking with indignation. “And you continued to employ my mother after forcing her to bear a child out of wedlock like she was nothing but a courtesan. No, worse than that. You did not even give her the benefits of a real mistress. You did not set her up in a lovely house in London. Did not give her fine jewels or clothes. Did not even give her the opportunity to find a new protector if you ever tired of her. You kept her trapped here under your own roof, condemned to a life of drudgery and disdain simply for your own enjoyment.”

“Alice do not say such things!” her mother admonished.

“No, my dear, do not scold her. She has a right to her anger,” the Duke rasped, squeezing her mother’s hand. He looked at Alice with a broken expression on his face that startled her. “Alice, you must understand that I have never loved anyone but your mother. I tried to protect her as best I could under the circumstances. I know that I failed you both. I was wrong not to stand up to my father, but I am trying to make up for it by doing this.”

“Doing what?” Alice asked. She struggled to understand how the Duke felt he had protected her mother or her. Where was he when her mother was called a whore? When she had to endure the advances of the male staff and visiting nobleman who believed she should lift her skirts for them since she did it so obligingly for her master? Where was he when Alice was called cruel names and pushed around, sometimes physically, because she was nothing but the daughter of a common doxy?

“As you know, I have no other children,” the Duke said. “You and your mother will have an abundant inheritance upon my death. More than enough to live the life of luxury you should have had all along. I have also petitioned the crown and have been awarded a special dispensation. Your firstborn son will inherit my title, Alice. He will become the next Duke of Fitzroy with all that entails.”

“It is so generous, my darling,” her mother said, sniffing and wiping her tears away with a handkerchief.

Alice felt as if she could not speak. The idea of becoming an heiress was ludicrous. Would she now be launched into the world of society like a whey-faced debutante? The idea was so overwhelming she suddenly lost some of her anger to an intense queasiness. And her son, were she ever to have one, would be a duke. She could not think of anything she could wish for less. It was untenable to think that her child would ascend to the title of the man who had ruined her mother and left her to serve in his kitchens.

“I know it is not enough to make up for my mistakes,” the Duke said, his eyes fixing longingly on Alice’s face as if he hoped she would contradict him. “I have wronged you both, but I hope this action will help earn some forgiveness.”

“It is enough, my love,” her mother said desperately, grasping her new husband’s hand. “Isn’t it, dear Alice? It is more than enough.”

Nothing could be further from the truth in Alice’s mind, but she saw the pleading expression on her mother’s face and could not contradict her.

Despite the whirlwind of fear, fury, and despair inside of her, Alice could never knowingly cause her mother pain. Holding her breath tightly and not trusting herself to speak, Alice looked at the old Duke, at her father, and nodded curtly.

“Thank you, my child,” the Duke whispered, reaching his other hand for hers. Alice let him take it, feeling numb, noticing absently how cold and papery his skin felt. “Now, some people are coming to meet you both this evening. They will help you acclimate to your new positions in the coming days.”

Alice again nodded. She had no idea what would be expected of her from now on, but she knew she would do her best for her mother’s sake. The new Duchess would need her daughter’s support, and Alice promised herself that she would do anything she had to do to help her mother.

Over the next few weeks, Alice was given accelerated lessons in deportment and etiquette and was tasked with learning the names and titles of the peerage. It was a daunting task, but Alice threw herself into her studies. She didn’t want this new life suddenly thrust upon her, but she was determined to make her mother proud.

Her mother was allowed to skip such lessons as she had been a lady’s maid and possessed the pertinent knowledge already. She spent almost all of her time at the Duke’s side, only leaving it for fittings with the dressmaker who made frequent trips to the manor or for the few callers she received as the new Duchess. Alice was forced to endure the countless fittings for her new wardrobe as well. As she was not considered ‘out’ to society, she could forego the awkward encounters with the curious nobility, which was a welcome blessing.

However, she had to make time to visit the old Duke. His health was failing rapidly, and her mother begged her to spend time with her father before it was too late. Towards the end of his life, these visits mainly consisted of Alice sitting by his bedside and listening to his labored breaths while her mother sat beside her, quietly telling her stories of her relationship with the Duke. Alice suspected that most of these tales had been romanticized in her mother’s mind to make them more palatable. Still, Alice held her tongue and listened dutifully.

One morning some eight weeks after Alice learned of her parentage, the Duke had lapsed into unconsciousness. She and her mother had been summoned by the physician immediately. They sat vigil by his side well into the evening. A storm raged outside as Alice watched a ragged breath slowly exhale from her father’s lips for the last time. She watched as her mother cried out and fell onto the bed, pressing her face against the Duke’s still chest, and sobbing piteously, begging him to stay with her.

She allowed her mother to grieve for a time before ringing for the butler. She informed the man of the Duke’s passing and asked him to summon the Duchess’s lady’s maid, a former chamber maid recently elevated in status, and the physician. After they settled her mother into her room and gave her a dose of laudanum to calm her, Alice returned to her father’s chambers.

She stood over the man who had sired her in silence and felt a tear escape her eye. This man had held power over her and her mother for her entire life, and in the end, he was nothing but a wretched old man who had more regrets than joys. Alice felt some sorrow for this and for herself. Not because she had been denied the luxuries that being a Duke’s daughter should have given her, but because she had never been given a chance to get to know the Duke as a father. So many opportunities had been stripped from her without her ever knowing what could have been. It pained her to think of the kind of relationship she and the Duke might have had if only he had been brave enough to claim it.

She allowed her tears to flow freely for all they had lost as individuals and as a family. When her tears were spent, she leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss against the Duke’s cold, wrinkled cheek.

“You have my forgiveness, father. But I can never allow a child of mine to be anything like you,” she murmured as she straightened.

Her father had been born to one of the highest stations in England, and it still had not afforded him the life he had wanted. He had been forced to follow society’s dictates. He had married a woman he did not love and could never respect. He had kept the love of his life in the shadows rather than face his father’s wrath and lose his wealth. He had given up a relationship with his only child until it was almost too late, and for what? What did being a duke gain him in the end?

Nothing of real value, of that Alice, was sure. She turned and walked to the door. Before departing, she looked at her father one last time and made a silent vow. She would bear no child who would be forced to make the kind of choices the Duke and her mother had. The Fitzroy name would end with her.

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