He closed his eyes and felt the chill seeping through his blood. He did not want to imagine his brother as a duke any more than he wanted to imagine himself chained to a wife he has no feelings for and starting a family with her, trapped in this tomb of a house.
There were enough ghosts here, and now his mother was threatening to add herself to the list of grim spirits he was avoiding.His mother gave a shuddering breath and coughed. He offered her another sip of water and she cleared her throat before speaking again. ‘I did not offer you as a sacrifice, however much pleasure you take in playing the martyr.I suggested that she and the girl visit. That is all. From you, I expect a promise. A small boon, not total surrender. I wouldask that you not turn her away before meeting her. It will not be a love match, but I trust you to realize that in this time and age, love in courtship does not guarantee a long or a happy union. If she is not deformed, or ill favoured, or so hopelessly stupid as to render her company unbearable, I expect you to give serious thought to your offer. Wit and beauty may fade, but if she has common sense and good health, she has qualities sufficient to make a good wife. You have not, as yet, marriedsome doxy on the continent!He glared at her and shook his head.‘Or have you developed some tragic love feelings for the wife of a friend?’‘Good God, Mother.’‘And you are not courting some English rose in secret? That would be too much to hope. So this leaves you with no logical excuse to avoid a meeting. Nothing but a broken heart and a bitter nature, which you can go back to nurturing once an heir is born and the succession secured.’‘You seriously suggest that I marry some girl you’ve sent for, on the basis of your casual correspondence with an oldacquaintance?’She struggled to sit upright, her eyes glowing like coals in her ashen face. ‘If I had more time, and if you weren’t so damned stubborn, I’d have trotted you around London and forced you to take your pick of the Season long ago. But my time is short, and I am forced to make do with what can be found quickly and arranged without effort. If she has wide hips and an amiable nature, overcome your reservations, wed, and get her with child.’And she coughed again. But this time it was not the delicate sound he was used to, but the rack of lungs too full to hold breath. And it went on and on until her body shook with it. A maid rushed into the room, drawn by the sound, and leaned over the bed, supporting his mother’s back andholding a basin before her. After more coughing she spat out mucus mixed with blood and sagged back into the pillows, spent. The maid hurried away with the basin, but a tiny fleck of blood remained on his mother’s lip.‘Mother.’ His voice was unsteady and his hand trembled as he touched his handkerchief to her mouth.Her hand tightened on his, but with little strength. He could feel the bones through the translucent skin.When she spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper. The glow in her eyes had faded to a pleading, frightened look thathe had not seen there before. ‘Please. Before it is too late. Meet the girl. Let me die in peace.’ She smiled in a way thatwas more a grimace, and he wondered if it was from pain.She’d always tried to keep such rigid control. Of herself. Of him. Of everything. It must embarrass her to have to yieldnow. And for the first time he noticed how small she was as she lay there and smelled the hint of decay masked by the scent of the lilies.It was true, then. This time she really was dying.He sighed. What harm could it do to make a promise now, when she would be gone long before he needed to keep it? He answered stiffly, giving her more cause to hope thanhe had in years. ‘I will consider it dear mother.’The front door was large and intimidating, and when she started knocking loudly, Gwen Lewis was surprised that thesound was barely louder than the hammering of the rain on the flags around her. It would be a wonder if anyone heardher knock above the sound of the late summer.When the door finally opened, the butler hesitated, as though a moment’s delay in the rain might wash the stepclean and save him the trouble of seeing to her.She was afraid to imagine what he must see. Her hair was half down and streaming water. Her shawl clung to her body,soaked through with the rain. Her travelling dress moulded to her body, and the mud-splattered skirts bunched betweenher legs when she tried to move. She offered a silent prayer of thanks that she’d decided against wearing slippers or hernew pair of shoes. The heavy boots she’d chosen were wildly inappropriate for a lady, but anything else would have dis-integrated on the walk to the house. Her wrists, which protruded from the sleeves o
She had imagined him waiting for her arrival, as she made the long coach ride from London. He was older than she, and thin-ner. Not frail, but with a slight stoop. Grey hair. She’d added spectacles, since they always seemed to make the wearer lessintimidating.And a kind smile.A little sad, perhaps, since he’d waited so long after the death of his wife to seek a new one.But he did not seek, she reminded herself. Lady Danbury had done all the seeking, and this introduction had been arranged with his mother. She added shy, to his list of attributes. He was a retiring country gentleman and not the terrifying rake orhigh-flyer that Lady Danbury had been most qualified to warn her about. She would be polite. He would be receptive. Theywould deal well together.And when, eventually, the details of her circumstances needed to be explained, he would have grown so fond of her that he would accept them without any reservations . Without warning, the door opened behind her and she spun to fa
‘You promised to marry me, hoping your mother would die?’ She stared back in horror. ‘I promised to meet you. Nothing more. If my mother had died that night, as it appeared she might, who was to know what I promised her? But she lingered.’He waved the paper. ‘Obviously long enough to post an invitation. And now here you are. With a maid, I presume ?’‘Ahhh…no.’ She struggled with the answer. It was as she’d feared. He must think she was beyond all sense, traveling unchaperoned to visit strangers. ‘She was taken ill and was unable to accompany me.’ As the lie fell from her lips, she forced herself to meet the duke’s unwavering gaze.‘Surely, your guardian…’‘Unfortunately, no. She is also in ill health, no longer fit to travel.’ Gwen sighed convincingly. Lady Danbury was strong asan ox, and had sworn that it would take a team of them to drag her back into the presence of the duke’s mother.‘And you travelled alone? From London?’ He asked curiously..‘On the mail coach,’ she finished.
But that’s ridiculous.’ It had slipped out. That was not supposed to be the answer, she reminded herself. It was the goal, was it not, to get her away from scandal and properly married? And to a duke. How could she object to that.She’d imagined an elderly earl. A homely knight. A baron lost in drink or in books. Someone with expectations as low as her own. Not a duke, despite what Lady Danbury had planned. She had mentioned that the Duke of ThornHill had a younger brother. He had seemed the more likely of the two unlikely possibilities.And now, she was faced with the elder brother. A very unhappy and impatient man. He was definitely more than she bargained for.‘Do you find my proposal ridiculous?’The duke was staring at her in amazement.She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. It isn’t ridiculous. Of course not. Just sudden. You surprised me.’She was starting to babble. She stopped herself before she was tempted to turn him down and request that his brotheroffer instead.‘Well? You’ve go
Correspondence from Archie, your beloved son. Each letter beginning, ‘Dearest Mother…’Authur marvelled at his brother’s ability to lie with a straight face and no tremor in the script from the laughter as he’d written those words. But Archie had no doubt been asking for money, and that was never a laughing matter to him.No bundle of letters from himself, he noticed. Not that the heart warming letters he was prone to send would have been cherished by the dowager.Letters from the lawyers, arranging estate matters. She’d been well prepared to go when the time had come.And, on the bottom, a small stack of letters in a heavy, cream envelope .Dearest Andrea,It has been many years, nearly forty, since last we saweach other at Miss Farthing’s school, and I havethought of you often. I read of your marriage to the lateduke, and of the births of your sons. At the time, I’dthought to send congratulations, but you can under-stand why this would have been unwise. Still, I thoughtof you
Lady Danbury would have been overjoyed, she was sure. The hardest part of the plan had always been the cooperation of the son. The dowager could be forced, but how would she gain the cooperation of the son without revealing all? Lady Danbury had hoped that one or the other of the two men was so hopelessly under the thumb of his mother as to agree without question when a suitable woman was put before him. But she’d had her doubts. If the sons were in their mother’s control, they’d havebeen married already.To stumble into complete ruin was more good fortune than she could hope for. She smothered her rising guilt. The duke had been right. She’d achieved her purpose and should derive some pleasure from it. She was about to become the lady to a very great, and very dirty, estate. She was about to marry a duke, the heart desire of every young girl of the country. And have his heir.She sat down on the edge of the bed. That was the crux of the problem. To have the heirs, she would have to b
‘Over ten years, ma’am.’ Parton saw the look in her eyes and grinned. ‘We’ve changed the linen since, I’m sure.’‘Of course,’ she said, shaking herself for being a goose.‘And her Grace died…?’‘In childbed, ma’am. His Grace was quite broken up about it, and swore he’d leave the house to rot on its foundation before marrying again. He’s been on the continent most of the last ten years. Stops back once or twice a year to check on the estate, but that is all.’Gwen leaned back in her chair and gripped the arms.The picture Lady Danbury had painted for her was of a man who had grieved, but was ready to marry again. But he hadn’t expected her. Hadn’t wanted her. Had only agreed to a meeting to humour his dying mother.No wonder he had flown into a rage.She should set him free of any obligation towards her. Perhaps he could lend her some coach fare back to London. Her Prospects were black, but certainly not as bad as attaching herself to an unwilling husband. She wasn’t that desperate Do
The Reverend was shaking his head slowly as Authur passed the explanatory letter to him. ‘As you can see, I was just writing to you to invite you to the house so we could resolve this situation.’ His lips thinned as he fought to contain the rest of the thought."Of course I needn’t have bothered.You hitched up the carriage and were on your way here as soon as the sun rose. Cometo see the storm damage, have you, Reverend? Meddling old fool. You’ve come to see the girl and you’re hoping for the worst".The Reverend looked sympathetic, but couldn’t disguise the mischievous smile as he spoke. ‘Most unfortunate. A most unfortunate turn of events. Of course, you realise what your duty is in this situation, to prevent gossip in the village and to protect the young lady’s reputation.’A duty that could have been prevented yesterday, if you actually cared a jot for the girl or for silencing talk.‘Yes,’ he responded mildly. ‘I discussed it with Gwen yesterday and we are in agreement. It only