A Duchess by Midnight Read Online Free Page B

movement allowed a waft of body odor to reach his nostrils that was far from pleasant. Thorncroft wrinkled his nose. Bloody hell. He did stink. Not all that surprising given he’d been wearing the same shirt and trousers since the funeral. His cravat and waistcoat were still slung over the same chair he had discarded them on after he’d locked himself in his study. Where his socks and boots had gone he hadn’t a clue.
    “On your way out find a maid to draw me a bath in my private chambers.”
    Adam frowned. “Who said I was leaving?”
    “I did,” said Thorncroft with a deliberate glance at the door. “You may stay at Longford Park for as long as you wish if you promise to leave the housemaids alone. I have enough to contend with without having one of my servants turn up carrying your bastard child.”
    “I take great offense to that,” Adam said mildly.
    Thorncroft simply lifted a brow. It was one of the best poorly kept secrets in England that Adam had already sired one child with a comely young woman whose name now escaped him. A daughter, if memory served. Upon learning of the transgression he had personally settled enough money on both mother and daughter to ensure they would live out the rest of their days in comfort and he’d not bothered himself with the matter since.
    “How old is your daughter?” he asked. “I forget her name.” 
    A scowl creased Adam’s brow. “She will be four this summer and her name is Anna.”
    “When as the last time you saw her?”
    “None of your damn business.”
    The subject of Adam’s clandestine affair and the bastard child that had been born as a result was always a touchy one which was precisely why Thorncroft had though to mention it. It was the one way to guarantee his brother would exit a room with all haste, which Adam quickly did.
    Finally left to dwell alone in his despair Thorncroft picked up the nearest bottle of scotch and poured himself another drink.

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
     
     
    “What a sweet girl she is.” Pausing in the rather tedious task of hanging yet another sheet up to dry, Poppy watched with a warm smile on her face as Clara carried an overflowing watering can across the lawn to the gardener. The watering can was easily two sizes too big for such a small girl to carry, but with determination and sheer force of will she managed to half drag, half carry the cumbersome metal object over to where Mr. Plum was fussing over his collection of Windsor roses.
    “Aye,” agreed Agnes as she picked up a sheet and gave it a brisk snap. “And the spitting image of her mother.” Of the two maids, Agnes had been employed at Windmere the longest. She had arrived shortly after Clara’s birth and had had the great privilege of knowing Lady Gwen before her untimely death.
    When the baron’s first wife passed Agnes had taken it upon herself to look after little Clara as though the bright, blue-eyed, bubbly girl were one of her own. A hard woman who had lived a hard life, Agnes had already stood over the graves of two of her children and watched as her eldest departed for London with only ten shillings to his name.
    She had never heard from him again.
    Thus Clara held a very special place in her gruff, cantankerous heart. Which was why she was determined to remain at Windmere until the dear girl was grown and had a family of her own. It was a promise she’d made to Lady Gwen on her deathbed. A promise she was determined to keep… no matter how many obstacles the baron’s new wife threw down in her path.
    The woman was a witch, there was no question about it. And Agnes would have happily told her to go to the devil where she belonged if not for Clara.
    “Hang this to dry,” she instructed Poppy, handing her the sheet. “Make sure it is straight this time or it will wrinkle and we’ll have to do the entire lot over again.”
    Poppy made a face. A pretty girl with red curls and a sunny disposition, she had arrived at the estate only three months ago