Valerian Hawkesworth was numb with shock, and at the same time he felt a burning anger beginning to arise deep within him. What kind of a deception had been played upon him, and why? "I am as confused about this matter as you are, Dr. Carstairs," he said in a cool, even voice. "I was given to believe Calandra was the heiress, and certainly no part of her dowry was withheld from me. Mr. Kimberly is deceased, you may know. As I wished to marry and return to England as quickly as possible, a minister was brought from Barbados to perform the ceremony. My wife and I departed for home. Aurora and George came nine months later. Mistress Kimberly wanted them to seek out English mates. My brother-in-law married Miss Bowen yesterday, and they are even now on their way to St. Timothy. Aurora is to marry Mr. St. John in the spring."

"I did not know about Robert Kimberly," the doctor replied.

"I would request that you do not mention this matter to anyone," the duke said. "I will wish to investigate it myself, and I certainly desire no scandal at this time. My wife and child must be buried with dignity and honor. Nothing must detract from that."

"Of course, your grace," the doctor said, and finishing off his whiskey, he arose. "I must return to the surgery. With my cousin away, there may be another in need of my services." He bowed politely, and the duke nodded, standing.

"Thank you, Dr. Carstairs," he said, ushering him from the library and into the foyer of the house.

There Peters awaited with his long, dark cloak. Helping the doctor to don his garment, he said, "Your coach is waiting outside, sir. The horses are rested and fed, and your coachman is ready." The butler escorted the doctor outside, and then, returning inside, shut the door behind him, certain in the knowledge that the man was being helped into his coach by the grooms assigned the task.

The duke was already climbing the stairs, and seeking out his grandmother. He found Aurora with her, comforting the old lady, and was torn between his anger and the pleasure he took in her kindness to Lady Hawkesworth. "Go to your room, Aurora," he said quietly. "You look exhausted, and there is nothing more that can be done tonight."

"George?" she said in a whispery voice. "Should we send after George and Betsy, Valerian?"

"I think not," he replied, looking to his grandmother for confirmation, and she nodded. "There is nothing they can do for poor Calandra, and I don't want to spoil their honeymoon. We shall send word on the next vessel bound for the western Indies. It will give them time to reach home and give your mother a little happiness before they must learn of this tragedy. Now, go to your room."

She curtsied to them and departed.

"What is it, Valerian?" his grandmother asked when Aurora was gone. "Something is distressing you, and it is not just the deaths that have happened in this house tonight. What is the matter?"

"Calandra was not the heiress to St. Timothy," he said, repeating what the doctor had told him.

"I know," the dowager responded when he had finished speaking.

"You know?" His look was incredulous. "You knew the deception perpetrated upon me and you said nothing? Why, Grandmama? Why?"

"I learned the truth only a few months ago," his grandmother said quietly. "From the day I met her, Aurora seemed familiar to me, and yet I could not understand why. Then, several weeks back, I was in the family portrait gallery when I came across the portraits of the first duke's two younger sisters. Catherine Hawkesworth was married to the Kimberly, who was given the grant of St. Timothy by King Charles II, and her sister, Anne, was wed to the Meredith who shared the island with the Kimberlys. Aurora is Catherine's image, and very much Anne's as well. I realized then why Aurora had seemed so familiar, and I confirmed it with her servant, Martha."

"But why?" he rasped, his head reeling.

"She didn't want to marry a stranger, and she didn't care if she was a duchess or not. She wants to wed for love," the dowager said softly. "Calandra, however, was not so particular, I fear."

"Aurora didn't want to be a duchess?" he said wonderingly. Then he shook his head. "There will be time to deal with that matter, but first we must see that poor Calandra and her daughter are buried decently in the family plot. She was my wife for all the deception. We can do no less, Grandmama."

"Leave it rest, Valerian," Mary Rose Hawkesworth said. "If Calandra had been safely delivered of her child, it would have been different."

"But she was not, Grandmama, and now, poor girl, she is dead," the duke replied quietly.

"It was a mismatch, and granted it was the wrong match, but nothing of the heiress's dowry was withheld from you, Valerian," his grandmother said. "Let it be, and bury your wife with dignity."

"We will bury Calandra honorably," he answered her calmly, "but then I will deal with that deceiving little bitch who should have been my wife. So, Miss Aurora Kimberly did not wish to be a duchess. She will shortly learn that the choice is not hers to make."

"Valerian," his grandmother said sternly, "Aurora is affianced to St. John. Their marriage is scheduled for May."

He laughed, and it was a hard sound. "I'm afraid if my cousin wishes to marry in May, he will have to find another bride. Aurora is mine!"

Chapter 11

Charlotte Calandra Hawkesworth, Fourth Duchess of Farminster, was laid to rest in the family plot on a hillside overlooking the estate lake. The funeral was private, the young duchess mourned by her husband, her sister, Lady Hawkesworth, and three servants. Sir Ronald said the Anglican service of Christian burial over the body, and at the duke's request agreed to explain to everyone that the family's grief was such that they could not bear the weight of a larger gathering.

"Understandable, understandable," murmured the cleric. "A terrible loss, the duchess and her child both." Then he left them to their mourning, grateful that Betsy and her husband had not been called back and their honeymoon spoiled. It had been generous of both the duke and his sister-in-law in their great trial and time of grief to think of the newlyweds.

"I must write to Mama," Aurora said when they had returned to the house after the burial.

"I will write her too," the dowager said.

"And I," the duke told them.

"I cannot remain at Hawkes Hill for much longer," Aurora said. "It is not proper with my sister gone."

"You will remain," Valerian Hawkesworth said firmly.

"I cannot!" she cried desperately.

"You can, and you will, and I think we both know why, Aurora," he said coldly. "Besides, you have my grandmother to chaperon you. No one will think ill of you for staying."

"St. John will not be happy," she told him.

"My cousin's state of mind should be of no concern to you," Valerian Hawkesworth answered her, "but I shall speak to him myself very shortly."

Aurora fled up the staircase to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her as if the devil himself were after her. "He knows!" she told Martha, pale and wide-eyed. "He knows!"

"Knows what, miss?" Martha was puzzled.

"That I am the one. The one he should have married!" Aurora replied frantically. "Oh, Martha! He looked like he wanted to kill me!"

"Oh, miss, how could he know?" Martha said. "Unless… oh, Lord help us! The doctor must have said something. He and your papa were good friends, being the only two of their kind on the island. The doctor must have known about your betrothal, and when he saw Miss Cally got curious as to why she was the duchess and not you."

"He is going to speak to St. John!" she said frantically.

"Oh, the duke wouldn't make you marry him when he knows you love Mr. St. John, miss. Besides, it would cause a terrible scandal, and Miss Cally only just dead with her poor child. You're overwrought, miss. Now, you come and have a nice lie-down. I'll go get you some tea."

"No!" Aurora clutched at her servant's arm. "We have to leave Hawkes Hill, Martha. We must!"

"And where will we go?" Martha said in practical tones. "You can't go to Primrose Court even with Mr. St. John's mother in residence. It would cause a terrible calumny. Besides, your wedding is going to have to be postponed for a year. We're in mourning now, y'know."

"I could shelter with the Bowens," Aurora said desperately.

"In that rabbit warren of a house, and with all those daughters, not to mention that little devil, Master Willie? There's no room for you there, miss. Come, now, and lie down for me, dearie."

"Then we must go home to St. Timothy!" Aurora decided. "I have my mother's house! He cannot take that from me, and in a year's time St. John can come for me, and we will be married. We do not have time to get to London to catch the Royal George, but there will be another sailing of another ship in a few weeks' time. That's it! That's what we shall do, Martha! We shall go home!"

"Yes, miss, now, lie down and try to rest while I fetch you a little tea. You're all upset with Miss Cally's death." She settled the girl, and then, leaving the room, the curtains drawn, hurried to speak with the dowager.

"Poor child," the dowager sympathized. "My grandson would glower at her darkly, and frighten her."

"Does he know, ma'am?" Martha ventured. "Excuse my boldness, but I love Miss Aurora. I've raised her since she was a baby."

"The duke knows he was deceived," the dowager answered the servant. "What he will do, I do not know, but I promise you I will do my very best to protect Aurora from his anger and caprice."

"It was the doctor, weren't it?" Martha said. "When I first saw him I was so glad to see him, I didn't realize he might be the key to our undoing. How am I to keep my mistress calm, ma'am? How am I to keep her from running away back to St. Timothy?"

The dowager arose, and opening a small drawer in her desk, drew out a little ivory box. Opening it, she drew out a small, gilded round pellet. "Crush it and put it in her tea, Martha. It will make her sleep the night through, and after a good night's rest Aurora will certainly think more clearly and forget this nonsense of running away. Then I will speak to her myself tomorrow, and we will decide upon a course of action that will calm her fears."

"Oh, thank you, your grace," Martha said gratefully, curtsying. She departed the dowager's rooms and went to the kitchens, where she fixed a small tray with bread and butter, some dark, rich fruitcake, and a small pot of tea. Then, carrying it, she returned to Aurora, finding her up and pacing the bedroom. Martha placed her tray on the piecrust table and said briskly, "Now, you sit down and have your tea, miss. Then I'm going to tuck you up in bed, and after a good night's rest we'll plan our journey, eh?" She smiled at the girl, drawing her to the table.

Aurora sat down, taking the saucer of tea from Martha, sipping it nervously, nibbling on the bread and butter, eating a small slice of the fruitcake. Gently Martha encouraged the girl to finish the tea, and poured her more, until the little pot was emptied. Aurora's eyelids grew heavy, and she did not protest when Martha helped her to her bed and tucked her in beneath the down coverlet. She was asleep even as Martha blew out the bedside taper. Taking the tea tray, the servant returned to the kitchens and then hurried back to her mistress. Entering the bedroom, she gave a small cry at the figure looming over Aurora's bed.

"It is only me," the duke said, quickly calming her fears. He turned to face her, and Martha thought how handsome he was.

"You shouldn't be here, your grace," she gently scolded him.

"She is so lovely," he responded. "Why is she sleeping so heavily, Martha? Is she all right?"

"Your grandmama gave me a little pill to put in her tea, your grace. Miss Aurora is heartbroken over her sister's death and wants to go home to St. Timothy. She would have tried to leave tonight if we had not stopped her. She ain't slept too good since Miss Cally died, and she ain't thinking clearly."

"Her home is here at Hawkes Hills," the duke replied.

"You ain't going to let her marry Mr. St. John, are you, your grace?" Martha asked him candidly. It was bold of her, but she had to know if she herself was going to decide what to do.