A Vixen for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 2)

“Daphne,” Oliver pleaded. “Please, may we speak about this maturely?”

Daphne crossed her arms defiantly and shook her head. “No.”

“Daphne, you must at least hear me out.”

“No!” And just as she had for every last conversation they’d had in the past week, she stormed out, running back up the stairs to her bedroom.

It had been a full week—or eight days, to be precise—since Oliver had told Daphne about his engagement to Bridget. He and Morgan had tried everything they possibly could to get through to her, but she had been stubborn. She hadn’t caused any mischief. Instead, she would break things and cut holes in Morgan’s clothes to show her displeasure. He’d felt they had gotten so far with her, only now she was backsliding more than ever.

This had caused a great deal of strife between the families. Bridget and Oliver’s romance had been indefinitely put on hold. Daphne had expressed no interest in speaking or visiting with the Hale sisters. Additionally, Morgan’s plans to ask Harriet to marry him had also been put on hold. It didn’t feel right to pursue his own happiness when everyone else was suffering so greatly.

Oliver groaned into his hand. “She is impossible to get through to.”

Morgan sighed. Eventually, he knew they would, but it worried him to think about what exactly it would take. Deep down, he knew the answer. It made him feel guilty, even though it wasn’t his fault. It didn’t seem fair.

Oliver had made countless sacrifices for Morgan throughout his life. He had given up time, opportunity, money, and most of the colour in his hair just so that Morgan could become the man he was today. As much as the Duke had appreciated his father, if he had been left fully in his charge, he would have ended up just as gruff and distant. Oliver had shaped him into someone that he could be proud of when he looked in the mirror. At least, most days.

“That leaves only one thing left to do,” Oliver said. He shook his head, defeated.

“No, no.” Morgan shook his head. “There has to be something we can do. You cannot give up.”

“Give up?”

Oliver had never looked so distraught. Deep worry lines were carved into his face and in between his eyebrows. His shoulders had been slumped for days as if he was all but deflating before his nephew’s very eyes. It was difficult to watch a man as strong and tenacious as him being brought to ruin by an eleven-year-old. But he loved his daughter. He would do anything for her, something that was coming to test at this very moment.

“Give up, Morgan? Shall I relentlessly war with our Daphne for the remainder of our days?”

Morgan pressed his fingers against his closed eyes until he saw stars. “No, I…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “You are right. Daphne’s comfort must be prioritised above all. You are a father. Even I realise the sacrifice that comes with it.”

Oliver lowered his head into a nod. “That is the irony of it all, Morgan,” he said. “I do not even have a partner to share the responsibility with.”

“You have me.”

That was enough to make Oliver show the slightest hint of amusement. At least, even a wry laugh was enough to cut through some of the most painful of moments. “As good as you are of a cousin to her, you are a miserable wife to me.” He snorted. “I much prefer Lady Moore.”

“As you should,” Morgan quipped. “Have you considered that perhaps Daphne and Lady Moore need to discuss the matter?”

Oliver shook his head. “Daphne will not speak with me. I find it hard to believe that she would entertain a word out of Lady Moore’s mouth.” He pushed his tongue into his cheek. “I have been a widower for six years. Does Daphne expect me to remain this way for the rest of my life? I feel that even I deserve to move on. I cannot expect her to have the maturity to understand how important love is, but I am disappointed that she refuses to try.”

Morgan’s chest ached. He knew. After all this time, he knew just as well how important love was. Giving up on it felt like the most painful thing anyone could put themselves through. No physical pain that man could endure would ever quite capture the hell that one’s heart could subject them to if not satisfied. It was a cruel thing, but perhaps it was only fair. Most of the world’s loveliest flowers were equally as poisonous.

“Perhaps you should go speak to Lady Moore and explain to her the decision that you have been forced to make,” Morgan suggested.

“Then you should come with me,” Oliver said.

Morgan shook his head. “If you must end things where they stand, then who cares about what is proper? You deserve to be afforded privacy. It is the very least the universe owes you. You are entitled to whatever kind of goodbye you feel is necessary and right. I have no interest in stopping that.” He shrugged. “Besides, much more improper things have already been done.”

“I—”

“Worry not, Uncle,” Morgan said, standing up. “I am the last man who can judge you. Believe me.”

Oliver nodded and stood up. He steeled himself. “Then, it is settled. I shall go over there now.”

Morgan winced. He wished there was something he could do. Maybe there was something he hadn’t said or tried that would work. But if he was being realistic, they were out of time. One week had done a lot of damage to Daphne. They could not afford another.

Harriet had never seen her aunt in such a state. The truth was, Harriet hadn’t seen much of her aunt in several years, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined Bridget would completely crumble because of a broken heart. Bridget had always come across as so strong and independent. She was sharp and biting.

Then, it must have been serious. If Bridget were under this much strife, then the love that she shared with Lord Murrey was deeper than words could explain. Harriet felt guilty. For so long, she had sought to destroy the very relationship that was at stake now. Seeing it fall apart brought her no joy. If anything, it had made her see the error of her ways.

There was only so much depressed religious cross-stitch one woman could watch another do without feeling just as sick over the cause. A knock at the door startled Harriet and Lucy. Bridget seemed unmoved. Part of Harriet wondered if her aunt had even noticed, for she hadn’t moved a muscle in response.

Harriet stood up and walked to the foyer. She wondered who would come here at such a time. If there was a kind and just God, then Daphne would be on the other side, here to apologise and rectify the situation for her father’s sake. Even dreamer Harriet knew, however, that that was as unlikely as her opening the door to find a speaking horse.

She opened the door, stilling at the sight of Lord Murrey. She curtsied and allowed him in. Bridget stood up, and the two froze. Harriet hoped for good news, but the silence that hung in the air was telling enough.

“Lucy,” Harriet said quietly, “I require assistance upstairs with my… hair.”

Lucy nodded knowingly. The two girls hurried up the stairs to allow Oliver and Bridget some privacy. It was the least Harriet could do after all the wishes she’d made to end their relationship.

She plopped down on Lucy’s bed and closed her eyes. What if she had brought this on them with all her negativity? Perhaps Daphne had picked up on all of Harriet’s ill will, or maybe Harriet had simply manifested the outcome with her rudest thoughts. She felt sick. She didn’t want this for them. She didn’t wish this on anyone.

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Harriet moaned.

Lucy quietly shook her head, her eyes glued to the floor in dismay. “Aren’t children beyond reason?”

“That is to say she is a fool.”

“No, she’s certainly not,” Lucy mumbled. “In fact, I think she is too smart to be convinced to believe something at the request of others.”

“It feels so unfair.”

“What happened to you being against their engagement?” Lucy asked, sitting defeatedly at the foot of the bed.

“I changed my mind,” Harriet said. “I regret to say that it took me falling in love to realise just how important such a connection can be. I wish I had been more mature from the very start.”

It was true. Even if Bridget had preached the joys of being single, just because she wished to marry Lord Murrey didn’t make it any less true. She loved Lord Murrey. He had brought her an unrivalled joy. Morgan had finally convinced Harriet that her aunt’s romance was the purest and truest thing that she had ever witnessed. Harriet wasn’t sure if she had ever met a couple that solved their problems as efficiently. For as long as she’d been in the country, she had never seen her aunt and Oliver bicker or disagree. That level of respect and support was something that she could only dream of finding for herself.

“Although I’m sad that you didn’t realise it until too late, I am glad you realised that,” Lucy admitted. “I feel bad for being so angry about my books. Auntie was right. All of the human connection was good for me.”

“Our aunt is a wise woman, indeed.”

“What do you think we could do to make things better?” Lucy asked.

Harriet shook her head. “We should give her exactly what she gave us,” she said assuredly. “I am sure you and I can rub enough wisdom together. Maybe it will not be nearly as intelligent as hers, but I believe it’s what she would want. That is how she handles our problems, after all.”

For a few hours, the sisters waited, occupying themselves until they had given their aunt enough space to properly react to the bad news. Harriet never thought she’d see Bridget cry. There truly was a first time for everything.

At dinner, Bridget opened her mouth for the first time since Lord Murrey had left. She had barely eaten any of her food and didn’t look keen on trying. “When you get to be my age, love becomes a dream.” She sighed. “I think I always knew that it wouldn’t come around in my favour.”

“Maybe it can still be rectified,” Harriet said.

Bridget shook her head. “I cannot blame Lord Murrey for putting Daphne first. If we were to marry and I had a child, I would have vowed to do the very same. This is no longer about us, but about the next generation that we are raising. Sacrifices must be made sometimes. That is just the way of the world.”

Harriet couldn’t help but feel that was bleak. Just because Daphne was young didn’t mean it was fair for her to destroy her father’s greatest chance at happiness. But still, the matter stood that Daphne very likely didn’t realise how Bridget could make her father happy. It took Harriet, who was nine years older, much longer to realise it. If Harriet was that impossibly stubborn, she couldn’t begin to imagine how bad Daphne was.

Harriet stood up, the realisation that she had to do something digging a hole in her chest. She could just let this come to pass, but if there was even a small chance that she could find a way to make her aunt happy, then she would have to try anything. Love was worth fighting for.

“Sit down, dear.”

Harriet shook her head. “Can you save my food? I have something I need to do.”

“It’s best you give Daphne her space,” Bridget mumbled. “There is no use in bothering her. You would not react well to being nagged, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Harriet said. “I am not going to speak with Daphne, I promise.”

Bridget blinked languidly and glanced at the back door. “Suit yourself. It’s raining.”

Harriet nodded and ran to the coat closet. She retrieved her favourite off-white cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Once out the back door, she walked through the damp grass. It had rained earlier, and once again, it looked as if the sky might break. The clouds were dark, and the atmosphere was heavy. There was energy in the air all around her. This would do no good for her hair, but that was hardly the point.

Bridget was right. If someone tried to talk reason into Harriet regarding her aunt’s romance, she would have only dug her heels in deeper. She wouldn’t have wanted to hear it. Daphne would react the same. But Harriet knew something that no one else did. She remembered what it was like to be selfish, because not too long ago, she herself had been the same way.

Maybe today wasn’t the right day to talk to Daphne, but at least a plan could be set in motion.