One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(112)

“No. You choose.”

He chose Shakespeare—the comedies, naturally. God knew they’d seen enough tragedy of late.

Leafing through the volume, he located Act I of The Tempest and began to read. Claudia curled her legs under her skirt and rested her head on the arm of the divan, closing her eyes. He couldn’t tell whether she was still listening or had fallen asleep, so he just kept reading, for himself. It had been too long since he’d read through Shakespeare. The plays only made sense to him when read aloud, and it felt deuced awkward to sit around by oneself, reading to the candlewick.

He read clear through to the end that night, then drew a blanket over Claudia’s sleeping form and left her to rest undisturbed. The next evening after dinner, he read through three acts of A Midsummer Night’s Dream before her light snoring intervened. They finished the play the next night, and then she asked for an old favorite: Johnson’s Rasselas. He remembered how, as a girl, Claudia had enjoyed the story of the fabled Abyssinian prince traveling the world in search of contentment. It was the adventure that held her attention then—the princesses and pyramids. Spencer wondered if she remembered that in the end, the prince never found the happiness he sought.

As he paused to sip his brandy and turn a page, Claudia suddenly sat up on the divan. “What will become of me?”

At last, here they came to it. Feeling both grateful and apprehensive, he laid aside the book. “There are a few alternatives.”

“What are they?”

“As I see them, they are three. If you wish to be married, I could find a man to marry you. A good man of limited means, who will benefit from the connection. He must agree to raise the child as his own and delay any further”—he shifted in his chair—“childbearing until you are ready.”

She studied her palm. “I don’t particularly like that alternative.”

Thank God. Neither did he.

“If you wish to preserve your reputation,” he continued, “you can give birth in secret. The child would be fostered with a local family, and you would be free to have your debut season, be courted by suitors, and marry where you liked. Perhaps you might see the child on occasion, but you would never be able to acknowledge him as your own.”

“Her. I think it’s a girl.” Placing a hand on her belly, she said, “Go on. You said there was a third.”

“The third option,” he said quietly, “would be to give birth and keep the child. You would be disgraced, and your chances of making a good marriage would be slim. You most certainly would never know the excitement of a London season.”

“But I would have my baby.”

“Yes.”

He allowed her a moment’s contemplation.

Leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees, he said, “They are none of them easy choices. Your life will be drastically altered, no matter which you take. But you should also know this. Whichever course you choose, you may be assured of having my support, both material and otherwise.”

“And Amelia’s as well?”

“I … I can’t speak for Amelia.” God, saying her name aloud after so many days apart … He missed her, terribly. What he would not give to have her here. She would know what to say to Claudia, how to comfort her. How to cross the room and fold the girl into a warm hug, in a way that didn’t feel awkward and forced. But she wasn’t here, and he had no one to blame for her absence but himself. What the hell had he been thinking, forcing her to choose between him and her family? Her love for her family was in her blood; it was who she was. It was the reason they’d even met. He should have known he could never offer her anything to compete.

Claudia took the words from his lips when she said, “I’ve made a muddle of everything, haven’t I?”

“You’ve made a mistake. I’ve made my share, as well.” Such as believing she’d outgrown these evenings spent reading aloud, and that he had nothing more to offer her. “But now you must decide how you can live with that mistake.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should make your own choice, in your own time.” He hesitated. He didn’t want to make the decisions for her, but if she asked for guidance, wasn’t it his duty to give it? “I will say this much. We both know what it’s like to grow up without a mother. It isn’t easy. I don’t believe the avoidance of gossip is a good way to choose the direction of one’s life. And as for marriage … How much do you remember of your father?”

“I remember you were always fighting with him.”

He chuckled. “We had our disagreements. A great many of them, as a matter of fact. Most of that was my fault. It was devilish hard laboring under his expectations. Easier sometimes to purposely misbehave, rather than make the effort and come up lacking.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I understand.”

He winced, hating himself for ever making her feel that way. “No matter our arguments,” he said, “I had tremendous respect for your father, and for my own father, as well. They were good, honorable men, and exceedingly loyal. When your mother died, your father could have married again, with hopes of getting a son of his own to assume the title. But he couldn’t bear the idea of remarrying, that’s how much he loved your mother. So he sent for me from Canada instead, and I gave him so much hell in those first few years, it’s a wonder he didn’t reconsider. But he never did remarry. And neither did my father, after my own mother died. That’s why I wouldn’t like to see you trapped in an unhappy union, Claudia. Love, for a Dumarque, is not a passing fancy. We remain devoted to the grave.”