“You need not be vulgar.” Emily huffed.
“Oh, that was not vulgar,” Edmund said and Emily realized that Edmund had another even more uncouth thought for what act Robert might ask permission. Emily blushed profusely as Edmund continued unabated. “Look at what you are doing with your life, Em. You are throwing it away on that nodcock.”
“What would you know of it?” Emily said waspishly.
“I know that I love you, and I refuse to stand by and let you make the biggest mistake of your life.”
Edmund grunted before he stomped out slamming the door behind him. Emily had pursed her lips and shot a piercing look at Edmund’s back. He appeared very determined, for whatever he was about.
Several hours later once her anger had abated, Emily could not help but to ponder her brother’s words. Robert was somewhat of a nodcock, but he meant well, and he would not hurt her. There would be no scandal or violence. He may not love her, but he would be good to her. She would never worry about debt or drink or scandal.
As Emily slipped beneath her covers that night, she reminded herself that her father had plans for a fortuitous match. Not that any decently placed nobleman wouldn’t do, but Father would rather a political man; conservative, of course, one who would join him at parliament during the days of debate and lobbying. Her father would approve of a political ally since his own son seemed so recalcitrant in that regard. Her mother intended for her to remain in London.
What did she want? The image of the Duke of Bramblewood came unbidden to her thoughts. She had no right to ruminate upon him. Emily closed her eyes and willed away the rebellious feelings that threatened to take hold. She took a deep breath, but the image of the handsome duke seemed to lurk beyond her eyelids.
Alexander, she whispered, not the duke, the man. She thought of his kiss. He had set her heart aflame and she was filled with heat. Her body burned with the memory of his touch. She wanted Alexander, but her yearning was more than desire. She thought of days filled with adventure, lazy afternoons spent together and the years of longing in between.
Emily stifled a sob. She pushed away the old thoughts and wishes: dreams of love and a suitor to sweep her off her feet. Fairy stories were not real. They were things for children, and those days were gone.
She had spent years preparing herself for this phase of her life. It was, quite literally, all that a finished lady worked toward. Now, with one visit to the country and a reminder of the freedom she had once enjoyed, all of her resolve was crumbling. She refused to allow the pull of fancy to bring her to grief. Tomorrow, she would rise with renewed strength and with it stay the course. If she did not want to choose between Hawthorne and Barton, she would find another. The resolution brought her no comfort as she drifted into a fitful sleep.
27
The Milford butler welcomed the duke grudgingly and let him cool his heels in the bare drawing room. Alexander supposed that if Henrietta’s father was still lord here his welcome may have been much less cordial, but the man was gone for good now; just like his own father.
He had mulled over this decision for several days. He had sent letters. He had gone to Sandstowe himself to speak to Emily, and she had refused to see him.
He knew her. He knew when she made up her mind; she didn’t change it. He closed his eyes.
Edmund had tried to speak with her, but even he had not been able to convince her to see him.
In his heart, the duke knew this was the right thing to do. He knew it years ago. His Father had cheated and told him he could flaunt propriety, but he couldn’t, not if he wanted Emily’s respect. He knew he could never have her love; at least he would have her respect.
He glanced around the Milford drawing room. Last time he had been here, there were paintings by the masters on the walls and silver candelabra on the tables. Now, the walls had been stripped bare. The sconces were lit, but there was the scent of tallow in the air. There were no candelabra. There was not even a chair or table in sight.
He had known that Henrietta’s financial situation was dire, but perhaps he had not known quite how dire. Apparently, her father had sold the furniture before his death, and now the debts would pass to her young cousin. In some ways, Henrietta was free of her father now, but he doubted she would see it so. In their own ways, they both loved their fathers, flawed though they were.
Henrietta came into the room with a maid at her heels. There was a time when she would have received him alone.
“May we speak privately?” he asked eyeing the maid.
Henrietta nodded and walked with him through the corridor to the dining room where there was a table and chairs, but still no paintings. The maid followed.
“Do not worry,” Henrietta confided. “Gwen is near deaf.”
He shook his head thinking no doubt that was why Henrietta brought this particular maid with her. “I could not turn her out,” Henrietta continued. Then she touched the girl on the arm. “Gwen, do go and bring some tea,” she said, and then pantomimed drinking from a cup. Gwen nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Have you let go many of your servants?” he asked.
Henrietta sighed. “Most,” she said. “I have little need of them. For years I thought if I did not marry well, I should need to take a position as a governess. Can you imagine me teaching girls to be young ladies?” She laughed at the thought, a harsh bray, but Alexander knew it was no laughing matter.
The mention of marriage brought up the topic. He should ask her, but he didn’t. “When does your cousin take up residence?” he asked instead. He knew Shudley Hall was the entailed property and passed to her nearest male kin.
She shrugged. “He’s nine. It may be a while,” she said. “In the meantime, we are closing the house. My aunt offered to let me stay with her as long as I like, but I assume she meant until I marry.”
The duke nodded. There was no more putting it off. “I wanted to ask you a question,” he said and then he was suddenly shy.
She nodded and waited.
“I just wanted to say…I thought I should apologize. When you were banished from your home…I never meant.”
Henrietta gave him a little shove. “Alexander, do not start that again,” she said. “I liked Scotland.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, and besides, I earned the punishment as well as you.”
“Yours was more stringent.”
She lifted a shoulder as if it did not matter now, and yet, she had told Emily. It did matter to her.
“I was remiss.” The duke continued. “After my father died I could have corrected the course of funds. Of course, I would have had to speak with your father.”
“A formidable problem,” Henrietta said wryly. The maid brought the tea and retreated to a far corner. Henrietta poured.
“I was a coward. I just left the matter alone,” he said as he put a single spoon of sugar into his tea. He noted that there was a half bowl of sugar but no cream, only milk in the pitcher. Alexander sipped the weak brew dutifully.
“Father would not have let me come home,” Henrietta sighed. “The original agreement between our fathers was that payment would only be made until I found a husband.” She gestured at the barren manor house. “He squandered most everything else. Father was in no hurry for me to marry. It would have lightened his purse.”
“I did not know the funds were going to pay his debts. They were supposed to be for you. For your dowry.”
“Yes, and you righted the problem when you discovered it,” she said. Her hands were wrapped around her teacup. “I thank you for it. You replaced what was lost and more besides, when you were under no obligation to do so.”
“The funds were always meant to be yours. You need not be destitute. With the dowry restored, you may marry as you wish. It may not make up for the pain I caused you, but it is the least I can do.”
“And I am most grateful, but you said as much last we spoke.” She set her teacup upon the saucer. “What is this really about Alex
ander?”
Now was the time, he thought.
He put his own cup down decisively and stood. “Henrietta, you have always been a good friend.” He sank down on one knee in front of her. He knew this at least was the proper way to make a proposal. “We have known each other for years…”
“What are you doing?” Henrietta interrupted sharply.
“Asking you to marry me,” he said from his knees. “As I should have done long ago.”
“Oh Alexander,” she said shaking her head. She stood, paced away and shut her eyes.
Was she going to refuse him too? He didn’t think he could stand it.
“Is there someone else?” he croaked out getting hastily to his feet. He bumped the table rattling the teacup off its saucer, but he caught it before it dropped to the floor to shatter. “If there is someone else…”
“No,” she said sharply, staring out the dining room window at the new fallen snow. “I had thought perhaps…but no.” She turned to face him. “What of Emily?”
The duke grimaced. The question causing a near physical stab of pain to lance through his heart. “She will not receive me.” He answered simply.
“I am sorry.” She said sincerely, and Alexander felt the lady understood the pain of rejection and scorn. He gathered himself and his purpose and renewed his suit.
“Henrietta, I know you don’t love me nor I you, but we get on well.” He came forward and took her hands in his. The image of Emily rose in his mind; Emily with her chilled hands. He cleared his throat and began again.
“We have seen each other through some tough times. We know each other’s secrets so there should be no surprises between us. I think we would get on better than most.”
“And I wouldn’t have to be a governess,” she said.
“No, I do not want you to feel pressured. The money is yours, Henrietta. Regardless to what you decide. The dowry is still yours. The point was to give you a choice in whom you married.”
She laughed bitterly. “I never had a choice, Alexander. I don’t think either of us did; our fathers being what they were. I fully expected to remain a spinster.”
“Do you want to be?” he asked softly, thinking that perhaps that would be preferable to marrying him.
“No,” she said. “But you don’t have to marry me because of what happened four years ago.”
“I know, but it is the right thing to do. I should have made the offer four years ago. Father didn’t want me to, but…”
“I know. I remember. His words were loud enough for Gwen to hear.”
“He said some hateful things, Henrietta. I apologize.”
“You didn’t say them, Alexander. You are not responsible for his sins. If you were, I would not even consider your proposal.”
Her words were kind, but did little to settle his mind. It took him a moment to take her meaning. “So you are considering, then?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you are considering?”
“Yes, I will marry you,” she said.
“Well then,” he said. “That is good.” It felt wrong somehow to kiss her when it was their kisses that brought them both so much grief, but Henrietta leaned in and offered her cheek. There was no passion, but neither was there revulsion.
Their marriage would not be a trial, he thought. Henrietta was a good woman, but his heart protested most ardently that she was not Emily.
He felt as though he had swallowed a block of ice.
28
The duke was not looking forward to Sunday services, but he took his seat on the front bench. He glanced across the aisle to Henrietta. She did not always come to services, but today, she was here. He gave her a brief smile of support, which she weakly returned. Alexander felt empty and a fraud.
Edmund joined him. It was a small comfort. The duke’s eyes automatically scanned the room for Emily. He realized she was not with the family. Perhaps it was for the best that she was absent, this Sunday of all Sundays, but worry dogged him. Would he never be able to forget the woman?
He leaned across to Edmund. “Is you sister ill?” he asked.
“Heartsick.” Edmund whispered. “You should know more than most.”
Alexander grimaced but was saved from an answer by the start of the service. He fidgeted like a small child. By the end of today, all of Northwickshire would know. The service dragged on interminably.
When the banns were announced at the end of the service, Edmund gripped his arm like a vise.
“…marriage between Alexander Burgess, the Duke of Bramblewood, and Miss Henrietta Milford. If any know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it.”
A low murmur passed through the assembled congregation. The duke’s kept his eye forward not daring to look at the surprised faces behind him. Edmund’s fingers dug painfully in to the flesh of his upper arm. He barely felt it. The vicar muttered some prayer asking God to bless their union. Alexander heard not one word.
Edmund did not release his grip until they were outside of the church where he pushed the duke around the side of the building. Henrietta was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she was waylaid by well-wishers.
Several people attempted to congratulate the duke as well, or perhaps they just wanted some bit of gossip, but Edmund’s glare repelled most of them and they retreated.
“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed.
“Not to my knowledge,” the duke said evenly.
“You love my sister.”
“I do not see that who I love or do not love is any of your concern.” Even as the duke said the words he knew they were untrue. Edmund was his friend, perhaps his only friend, and for the man to find out that he was marrying Henrietta via a reading of the banns at church was a blow.
Edmund spat a vulgarity under his breath. “Of course it is my concern. I don’t want to see you muck up your life or my sister’s.”
“I am doing the honorable thing.” Alexander said.
“Honorable? How is it honorable to marry Henrietta over a bit of gossip from four years ago?”
Now that Edmund released him, the duke straightened his wrinkled waistcoat and pulled his woolen great coat closed. He drew himself up to his full height and faced Edmund directly. He told his friend what he should have told him years ago. “Because, it is not just a bit of gossip.”
That stilled Edmund.
It was the first time the duke had acknowledged the talk or gave it any credence. He was painfully silent on the subject. Whenever the topic came up, Edmund had always dismissed the notion. “Empty-headed blather,” he had said. “It will blow by as long as you don’t make any by blows,” and Alexander let the matter pass without a word.
Edmund had stood by Alexander, defending him when no one else had. Saying that, people only thought ill of him because of his father and they did not know him as Edmund did. Alexander would never dishonor a lady so.
And yet, he had. The untruth weighed heavily upon him.
“Are you telling me that the rumors are truth?” Edmund spat. Alexander could hear the anger in his friend’s tone, not only for what Alexander had done or not done, but because he had perpetrated a lie. It was a lie of omission, but he had lied to his friend.
Unable to quite form the words, the duke nodded sharply. “True enough.”
Perhaps, he had not embraced debauchery to the extent of his father, but the result was the same. Henrietta was just as ruined because most people thought he had done. Anyone who might have wanted to marry her thought the same. Henrietta said as much when she admitted no one had offered her marriage.
Henrietta was most beautiful. She should have had her pick of the Ton. Instead she was anathema. He was the reason. Emily had reminded him of what was right. He was at last doing the honorable thing. It did not matter that Emily’s brother did not agree.
Edmund spat another oath.
Alexander did not remind him that they had been within church only mome
nts before.
“But that’s all over now,” Edmund said, as he attempted to rein in his surprise. “She’s not with child…” His face went white. “Was she? In Scotland?” His voice was barely audible, a breath on the cold wind.
“No,” the duke said firmly. “She was not, and is not with child. I would not stoop so low as to burden a woman with a bastard.”
Edmund breathed a visible sigh of relief.
“Then you are under no obligation marry her.”
“No.”
“Then, Dear God, why?” Edmund was raising his voice again and several parishioners looked their way. The duke certainly did not look like the happy bridegroom he was meant to be, cornered as he was with Edmund.
He hushed his friend, but Edmund would not be silenced. “You are daft, man.” Edmund hissed. “You are in with love my sister, and she loves you. Why are you not marrying her?”
“She has refused me,” the duke said simply.
All of the air went out of Edmund’s sails. “Then, you are both idiots,” Edmund concluded and with long strides paced away from the duke.
Alexander was uncertain how this had left his friendship with the man. He greatly wished to retain Edmund as his friend, but he knew their relationship would be strained from now on. The truth was when Alexander looked at Edmund, he saw Emily. He could not keep from thinking of her or longing to ask after her. Although it pained him greatly perhaps it was best to avoid Edmund as well, at least for a time. There was too much shared history between them.
29
Emily had tried to remain in bed on Sunday. She had no interest in seeing anyone and of course, if she was absent from church, it was difficult to socialize within the town. She had told everyone she was ill, and she felt as if she truly were. She simply could not manage to drag herself out of bed.
Unfortunately, her sulking was interrupted by the arrival of her parents for the Christmas holiday. Christmas was still a little over a sennight away and she had hoped her parents might not come until Christmas Eve, but here they were, nearly a week early. She heard her Father’s booming voice downstairs and covered her head with a pillow.
The Duke's Winter Promise: A Christmas Regency Romance Page 21
