Page 13 of The Feared Duke’s Found Family

“That was completely different!” Lady Gooldwer declared, her cheeks flushed a bright, blotchy pink as she stomped her foot, nearly crushing Barnaby’s paw. “Your father’s disgrace was a tragedy forced upon us! But Blanche saved us! Blanche married the Duke of Woodrey! She brought us back into drawing rooms! She gave us respectability!”

Fanny suppressed a tired sigh, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. She loved her mother; she truly did. Lady Gooldwer was not malicious; she was simply a woman whose entire world was constructed of calling cards, seating arrangements, and the delicate social standings of Mayfair.

They would never see eye to eye.

“Blanche sacrificed her own comfort to secure this family,” Fanny murmured, “and I will not have her burden multiplied because of Lord Bromley’s malice.”

Lady Gooldwer let out a dramatic, shuddering wail, collapsing into the nearest velvet armchair. Pip immediately scrambled into her lap, panting heavily into her lace trim.

“Oh, what shall become of us? We shall be turned out of every parlor in London! The Dowager will never send another card! We are finished! Destroyed! Reduced to nothing.”

“Mama, please cease the performance. It is entirely too early in the morning for tragedy.”

The sharp, commanding voice cut through the wailing like a drawn sword.

Blanche stood at the threshold of the morning room. She was dressed in a traveling gown of deep sapphire wool, her dark hair pinned in flawless, elegant coils, her chin tilted at the precise, regal angle of a duchess who commanded respect wherever her boots touched.

Lady Gooldwer immediately abandoned her armchair, dropping Pip to the floor. She rushed across the rug and threw her arms around her eldest daughter’s neck, clinging to Blanche’s sleeve as if she were a drowning woman reaching for a mast.

“Blanche!” Lady Gooldwer sobbed against her collar. “Oh, thank God you are here! You must fix it! Tell me you can fix this nightmare!”

Blanche reached up, gently but firmly grasping Lady Gooldwer’s hands, peeling her mother’s fingers off her coat.

“Mama,” Blanche said, her tone cool, measured, and utterly unyielding. “Compose yourself. Sit back down, quiet the dogs, and drink a cup of chamomile tea.”

Remarkably, the storm vanished instantly. Lady Gooldwer blinked, dabbing at her dry eyes with her handkerchief, then obediently turned back to her armchair and shushed the pugs with a single wave of her hand. Blanche possessed an authority no one in the family dared challenge, not even their mother.

Blanche stepped further into the room, her dark eyes locking onto Fanny. A flash of fierce, protective fire burned behind her calm exterior.

“I heard what occurred at Greystone Manor,” Blanche said, taking off her gloves slowly, finger by finger. “Lord Bromley is a sniveling, malicious little bug. I should have crushed him under my boot two Seasons ago when he first dared to speak to you in that tone. Rest assured, I shall destroy him for this.”

Fanny offered a small, grateful smile, her chest tightening. “Blanche, you do not need to fight my battles.”

“I am your sister, Fanny. It is not a burden; it is my duty and my pleasure,” Blanche replied firmly. She walked over to the table, leaning her hands lightly on the back of a chair, looking directly into Fanny’s eyes. “Now, we must be practical. Would you be willing to enter a hasty marriage of convenience?”

Fanny’s breath caught slightly in her throat. “A marriage?”

“Yes,” Blanche continued swiftly, her mind already calculating options. “I am certain Heath can assist us. He has numerous contacts, gentlemen of respectable standing, who might be persuaded to overlook Mayfair’s foolish gossip for the right arrangement. Perhaps Percy, the Duke of Nightborne, will finally decide to settle down? He is respectable, and⁠—”

“Percy has vowed never to remarry, Blanche,” Fanny interrupted gently, looking down at her linen napkin. “He made that abundantly clear to the entire ton two years ago. He will not break his vow for a ruined spinster.”

Her heart gave a hard, sudden thump against her ribs. The duke’s face flashed in her mind—his sharp jaw, his dark gray eyes, the absolute, cold promise he had made in the shadow of the rose maze.

I shall call upon you at noon tomorrow.

The clock on the mantelpiece currently marked ten minutes past eleven. He would be standing on their doorstep in less than an hour.

Yet she could not bring herself to utter his name. She was not ready to reveal that fragile, terrifying secret to Blanche’s fierce scrutiny or to her mother’s loud hysterics, not until she knew whether the Duke of Hilgrove was a savior or a monster.

Blanche studied Fanny’s quiet, reserved posture, her expression softening into something deeply tender. She walked around the table and placed a warm, elegant hand over Fanny’s cold fingers.

“If that is not what you desire, Fanny, I completely understand,” Blanche said softly, her voice dropping into a tone meant only for the two of them. “You do not have to force yourself into a loveless union simply to satisfy the hypocrites in London.”

Fanny looked up, her amber eyes brimming with sudden, unshed tears. “Blanche…”

“Heath and I have discussed it,” Blanche continued, pressing her sister’s hand firmly. “I can move our household to Woodrey’s country estate in Devonshire. I will take you with me, Fanny. We can live there peacefully, far away from the town’s wicked tongues, until this ridiculous scandal dies down and people find someone else to tear apart.”

Fanny’s throat locked. She had known her sister would offer this. Blanche had spent four years shielding her, sacrificing her own peace to ensure Fanny and their mother were fed, clothed, and housed. The offer was generous, loving, and entirely safe. It was an escape.