“I should take you back,” he said. “Are you quite recovered now?”
Tabitha laughed shakily. “I do not think I shall ever recover.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was with great personal satisfaction that Richard placed the final banknote on the desk.
“There,” he said, leaning back with satisfaction. “The last of it.”
He could hardly believe it. His eyes lingered on the money. It represented so much: years of hard work, dedication, and personal sacrifice. Now that the last had been handed over, a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“Are you quite well?” a dry voice asked.
Richard looked up to see his accountant, Mr. Birch’s, eyebrows raised. He was an older gentleman, but the Axwickes had always kept a Birch as an accountant, and he was not going to be the one who altered that tradition.
“I am very well,” he said calmly. “But I must admit, even I thought I would never see the end of my family’s debts. It feels like a miracle.”
“Really? When I review your accounts, your grace, it feels like no miracle at all.”
Richard shrugged. “Well, perhaps not. We have certainly scrimped and saved, and mortgaged a small part of the land in Rutland.”
“And used Lady Charlotte’s dowry,” Birch added, “if I am not mistaken.”
There was no judgment in his tone, but Richard bristled. Did this man think he would have done so if there had been any other choice?
“Yes,” he conceded, shifting in the leather seat. “But I hope to see that restored, just as I intend one day to repay the mortgage on the land. But a mortgage to a bank is utterly preferable to a debt to a cardsharp, as I am sure you can appreciate.”
Mr. Birch said nothing but stared silently at Richard. It was this passionless quality which had made generations of Birches excellent choices for accountants, but it did not endear the current man to the duke.
“Well, ’tis done,” said Richard, more snappish than he had intended. “Lady Charlotte and I can rest easy now.”
Mr. Birch looked as though he was going to say something. He leaned forward, eyes fixed firmly on Richard. But he thought better of it, and picking up the banknotes from the desk, carefully counting them and entered the numbers onto a neat ledger his assistant had offered him as soon as Richard had entered the room.
“And ’tis done,” echoed Mr. Birch. “Your grace, I am grateful and honored to be the one to tell you that the whole forty-two thousand pounds is indeed paid in full.”
“’Tis a king’s ransom,” he muttered aloud.
Mr. Birch nodded. “I cannot quite believe how such a debt was ever created.”
“And it is no concern of yours,” Richard said coldly, hopefully reminding the man of his place. “So, I suggest you keep any speculation to yourself, Birch, for you have no grounds for it.”
Mr. Birch frowned as he said in a serious tone, “Of course, your grace. I would advise, however, that before you consider repaying the mortgage on Stonehaven Lacey in Rutland, you give due consideration to the dowry of Lady Charlotte.”
Richard did not speak immediately, but felt the familiar painful tug at his heartstrings. Few would have made the decision he did, and sometimes…
“I will undoubtedly regret it at some point,” he admitted gruffly. “But Charlotte has never shown any interest toward marriage before, and she is past thirty, almost five and thirty. She spends more time as a chaperone to the younger generation rather than dancing herself.”
“And she was…amenable to such a sacrifice?”
Mr. Birch’s question was impertinent and he seemed to realize this, his gaze dropping to his ledger.
“Lady Charlotte recognizes sacrifices have to be made,” Richard said. “She is a St. Maur. She would do whatever necessary to ensure the continued success of this family, as would I. As it happens, it appears the dowry would never have been needed.”
“And so, the Axwick line is currently without an heir,” Mr. Birch said delicately. “For if it is true that Lady Charlotte will not marry, and you are currently unmarried…”
Something wrenched at Richard’s stomach. Yes, he had been forced to accept that the Axwick title would go to a lesser branch of the family, the Winslows. It had been a difficult decision, but he did not regret it. The Axwick estate was intact. He had not been the one to destroy it.
A small, golden clock on the mantle chimed thrice in the silence between them, and Richard rose. He had only intended to spend a few minutes with Mr. Birch. Visiting hours were coming to an end, and he had one other visit to make before they did.
A rush of excitement filled his heart. He was going to see Tabitha for the first time in two days. Staying away from her had been necessary to prevent raising suspicion in the gossips of Bath. He had heard from his sister that Tabitha had returned home in a hired carriage, which was all to the good, but he was unsure whether Mrs. Chesworth was aware her daughter had returned home the day after the ball.
If he wanted to continue enjoying pleasure with Miss Tabitha Chesworth, it was essential her mother had no inkling of what was happening. Every hour away from her had been sweet torture, and he could not wait to see her.
Mr. Birch had also risen, and he inclined his head to the duke. “Well, I hope you are right about Lady Charlotte’s dowry, your grace. You never know when a young lady takes it into her head to get married.”
Richard laughed and shook his head. “No, you do not.”
“Why, just this morning,” said Mr. Birch, walking around his desk to open the door for Richard, “a young lady came to see me–a very wealthy young lady–to make some changes to her fortune, for she is to be married. To tell the truth, she is a young lady which the tittle tattle pages of Bath would be most intrigued to see walk up the aisle.”
“Marriage is more like a march into the jaws of death,” said Richard wryly as they walked along the corridor. “It is certainly off the cards for me, if I were to be a gambling man, until I find a woman it is impossible to live without. ’Tis hard to see such a day.”
They had reached the front door but instead of opening it, Mr. Birch stopped in his tracks and stared at Richard in utter bewilderment. The look of confusion deepened, but the accountant coughed past the embarrassing silence.
“’Tis none of my business, I am sure,” he said gruffly. “Thank you for your visit today, your grace, and I hope you do not take offence when I say I hope I do not see you for many months.”
Richard smiled, a little confused by the odd behavior of Mr. Birch, but inclined his head politely and stepped out into the wintery air.
He took a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill with the biting cold. He had been a drowning man and had finally reached the surface of the water, so sweet was that breath. There was nothing comparable to finally, after three years of worry, penny-pinching, and sacrifice, to officially be able to say the only debt the dukedom of Axwick had was to the bank.
Hell, in five years, perhaps, if the harvests were good and some long-term investments finally came through, even that debt could be gone.
He could never have believed it when his brother had died, when his brother Arnold’s debts poured into the sinking ship that was the house of Axwick, that it was even possible to be here today. Yet, here he stood, safe in the knowledge nothing could harm him again. They had done it, he and Charlotte. Their mother, God love her, would have been proud.
“A bite to eat, sir?” A street seller, haggard with few teeth, had crept up and thrust a pie that looked a good five days old, toward him. “Keep you warm this bitter afternoon?”
“No, the gentleman wants ale, do you not, sir?” Another appeared, a man with a long, straggly beard and watery eyes, holding out a sign pointing to an alehouse down the road. “Ale to warm your heart, and perhaps a girl to warm your bed?”
“I want neither pie, ale, or a girl,” said Richard, barely able to hide his grin. “Now be off with you, or I shall call the River Police.�
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They scrambled away, and Richard set off with a clear purpose to the south of the city, where Tabitha and her mother had taken lodgings. It had not been difficult to find their address, and though Charlotte had frowned, her disapproval had not dampened his spirits–or his need to be with her.
Tabitha. She stayed on his mind. Even his conversation with Mr. Birch had been tediously long, for each moment with him was time he was not with her.
Richard knocked into a gentleman walking in the opposite direction.
“Mind where you are going, sir!” The gentleman stared at him in disbelief. “Take a care, sir, take a care!”
But Richard barely heard him. He was on Tabitha’s street, and words circled his mind as he attempted to choose the most delightful thing he could say to her.
When he rapped on the door and was welcomed in by the butler, he was shown into the drawing room occupied not by Tabitha, but her mother.
Mrs. Chesworth rose with a smile and curtsied. “Your grace.”
Richard stared, open mouthed. He had been so certain Tabitha would be at home. Now he saw Mrs. Chesworth, he could see the strong resemblance between the two of them. It was clear Mrs. Chesworth had been a beautiful woman, and in truth, she still held that beauty in a subdued way.
Richard realized his mouth was still open. Overcoming his surprise and disappointment, he smiled.
“My dear, Mrs. Chesworth,” he said with a deep bow. “I had been hoping to make your acquaintance, and I admit I simply could not wait for a more formal, public occasion. Can you possibly find it in your heart to forgive my intrusion?”
He had always been able to charm women. Mrs. Chesworth blushed at his words, but he could see she was flattered.
“Your grace, you are always welcome in this house,” she said, indicating he was to be seated. “I am just sorry we have not yet had the pleasure of your company. I enter into public very little these days, and I am most glad you have not awaited that opportunity, for I fear you would have been waiting too long.”
Richard seated himself and smiled. “And yet you deprive the rest of society of your presence? I simply cannot understand it, Mrs. Chesworth. Unless you do so to allow those of us privileged to be called your friends the absolute best of your presence. Say it is so, and most importantly, name me as one of those friends, and you shall be forgiven.”
Mrs. Chesworth smiled graciously. “Now you are a flatterer, your grace, and I shall pass your apologies along to my daughter, whom I suspect you truly came to call on?”
Her smile was so similar to her daughter’s that Richard was momentarily dumbstruck.
She laughed. “Oh, your grace, I have lived longer in the world than you, and I am well accustomed to the charming ways of the nobility. Do not concern yourself, I am very flattered you thought to even charm me at all!”
“You are a delight, Mrs. Chesworth, and I hope to know you better.”
She reached to pull the bell. “I am sure you shall. The apologies of my daughter must be given, your grace, but I hope she will be back soon. She went out this morning to see her accountant–she was always much better with numbers than I. She is also visiting Miss Worsley, where she will be dining this evening. You are, of course, very welcome to stay to dine with me and await her return?”
Richard did not hear a word after Mrs. Chesworth uttered ‘accountant’. Tabitha had visited an accountant that morning–that very morning.
Something bitter rose in his throat, and his pulse quickened in panic. He had thought nothing of Birch’s words but now they seemed vitally important. A young lady to be married–and most importantly, one the gossips of the ton would be intrigued, surprised even, to see walk up the aisle.
Even he had heard the joking laughter about Miss Tabitha Chesworth, three times a bridesmaid and never a bride.
Could it be possible Tabitha was in fact engaged to another gentleman? Could she have kept such a secret from him, a gentleman she had given herself to so willingly?
“…as well as numbers, she is a very talented linguist,” Mrs. Chesworth was saying, not having noticed his sudden shock. “She speaks French very well, and a smattering of Italian, and the Latin she learned never left her. I say the governess was well worth it–although of course, we use Latin very little these days…”
Mrs. Chesworth obviously wanted to ensure her daughter’s accomplishments were noted by him, but Richard could barely concentrate on her words.
Tabitha, engaged? She belonged to another man. Could this be true?
“Do you want to get married, one day?” he had asked her.
And she had replied, “Yes. Yes I do.”
Richard shook his head slightly as though to rid it of water. No, he could not think this way. Why would Tabitha allow him to woo her, to court her, to dance with her, to steal kisses, to act as though she wanted his love, if all that time she had secretly been engaged to another?
And it certainly was a secret, for her mother was obviously unaware.
“–her beauty has been noted for it,” she was saying.
No, if Mrs. Chesworth had any inkling her daughter was engaged to be married, she would hardly be saying such things to him, encouraging him to see her daughter as a potential suit.
Seated on the uncomfortable chaise longue and forced to hear the prattlings of Tabitha’s mother, a thought crossed Richard’s mind that felt like ice.
Perhaps the answer was more simple. Perhaps Tabitha did not care. Perhaps she liked the thrill of the chase, of being desired, of being pursued. Perhaps she gained a thrill from his pathetic attentions.
Eventually she had given in to him, and she may even have enjoyed it–and what did it matter? Any child from such an encounter could surely be explained away, blamed on her other lover, whoever this man was.
Richard found himself full of fury and jealousy for this unnamed man who Tabitha clearly loved more than him. She would marry another, and doubtless laugh at him for being so vulnerable, so stupid to think any word from her mouth was true.
“But then as I told her, she would always look good in white.” Mrs. Chesworth was completely oblivious to the torture Richard was undergoing, speaking on with a bright smile. “Few young ladies do, your grace, but Tabitha is radiantly beautiful…”
She was radiantly beautiful, and he had been taken in. Utterly and completely taken in. He, the sixteenth Duke of Axwick. He had never thought it possible.
“That is one of hers, there,” Mrs. Chesworth pointed at a still-life painting hanging on the wall. “Her master told her…”
Richard tried to nod and smile as anger burned through him. His stomach cringed as though someone had thrown a punch at him, so intense was the thought that next occurred to him.
Perhaps Tabitha, despite all she had said about her father, was of a gambling nature after all. Maybe she had found some young pup to propose marriage to her, but she was trying her luck with him, too–and gambling on the fact that she may be with child.
If she was not, she could go back to her other gentleman. She would be married, which is what she wanted.
If she was with child, however, she would tell him, and of course he would have provided for her, provided for the child, perhaps even married her.
And she would become a duchess.
Richard’s eyes darkened as he sat helplessly listening to Tabitha’s mother. How could he ever have been so stupid to think she had cared for him?
Chapter Fifteen
“Thank you, Keytes.” Tabitha stepped into the hallway and shivered as the warmth of her home sank in. “It is freezing out there, and I think in hindsight, I should have asked Miss Worsley to call me a carriage. Walking back has–”
A voice stopped her in her tracks. Instead of her mother’s lilting tones, the drawing room door was slightly ajar, allowing a deep, male voice to seep into the hallway. It was familiar.
Handing the butler her pelisse and bonnet and placing her reticule on the table, she moved quietly toward the door.
The man’s voice grew louder and clearer.
“…again about the painting, Mrs. Chesworth, I do not recall if–”
“Ah, she was very young when she completed it, your grace. In fact, her art tutor, Mr. Griffins, told me himself, if it had not been for–”
A heat of joy washed over Tabitha as she recognized the voice. It was Richard.
This was it, then… The perfect opportunity for her to introduce him, the man she loved, to her mother as her fiancé. Was there a better time to share the news which would make her mother so happy?
But Richard had asked her to keep it a secret…
“I was thinking that we must agree not to tell anyone about this. It must be a secret, you understand, a secret between us. You and me.”
But surely not from her own mother! It had been difficult enough not telling Lady Charlotte, and she had been sorely tempted–not just to share the news but to explain her undoubtedly odd appearance in her library the morning after the ball!
Tabitha took a deep breath and placed her hand on the cold door handle. This was it. She was about to see her betrothed and share the happy news with her mother.
She opened the door and took a few steps into the room, her gaze immediately drawn to the handsome gentleman sitting rather awkwardly at one end of the chaise longue.
Her heart fluttered. Just seeing Richard St. Maur was enough to fill her with so much joy, she was surprised it kept beating. But he did not look happy–perhaps because he had been forced to endure, in her absence, her mother’s nonsense about her adequate painting.
“Ah, Tabitha,” her mother smiled, her eyes wide and expressive. “The duke here has kindly been keeping me company, and I must say, you are earlier than I had expected. Did Miss Worsley not invite you to stay for dinner after all?”
“Miss Worsley had an urgent engagement to attend, and I was unable to stay.”
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