Cavendish Brothers 01 - An Unintended Journey

by Catherine Gayle

  Perhaps, if Danby actually saw Abby and her family, he’d recognize the family resemblance. “If you would only meet with them, Your Grace—”

  “Of course,” the duke cut in sharply. “If I would only meet with them, and then if I would only agree that this man is my long-lost son, and then if I would only acknowledge your Abby as my granddaughter—as I’m sure Fordingham would insist upon, if this marriage would meet his requirements. You do realize what you’re asking of me, do you not?”

  Did he ever. “More than you could possibly know.”

  Danby moved over to look out a massive window. For long moments, he stared out at the soft, steady fall of snowflakes coming down to blanket the castle grounds. The entire time, Wesley’s stomach roiled to the point it was miraculous the duke couldn’t hear it.

  Finally, Danby faced him again. “It is Christmas, Cavendish,” he snapped, glowering at him. “I am full of the holiday spirit, and so I will agree to meet this Goddard family.”

  A flood of air left Wesley’s lungs on this pronouncement. Surely if Danby saw them, he’d acknowledge them as his own. Wouldn’t he?

  Holding up a single hand, Danby continued with, “But—”

  Wesley’s heart crashed down to somewhere in the general vicinity of the castle’s dungeons. But?

  “But,” Danby continued, drawing the words out exceedingly slowly, “I make you no promises beyond that. Goddard may convince me he is my son, or he may not. This Abby of yours may convince me I should acknowledge her as my granddaughter, but she may not.” The duke resumed his seat behind his desk and opened a lower drawer to pull out a stack of parchment. He shuffled through them, as though searching for something in particular. “If this all goes the way you wish it to, we’ll consider my acknowledgement of her status as my Christmas gift to you, shall we?”

  A Christmas gift? Beelzebub’s breeches, he hadn’t come here expecting a damned thing from Danby. Without a clue what else to do, Wesley nodded.

  “Excellent. As a return gift to me, if such a thing comes to pass—” he broke off as he found the paper he’d been searching for, a wide grin taking over his countenance and a twinkle flashing in his eyes— “you’ll marry Abby here at Danby Castle as soon as it can be arranged.”

  “Of course,” Wesley stammered. He didn’t particularly care where they married…and Abby should be satisfied as long as her family was present. He doubted she would take exception to such an understanding.

  Danby reached over and tugged on the bell pull, and moments later the butler popped into the room. “Milne, would you please show the Goddard family in? I’d like to see them now.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” The butler inclined his head and started to back away, but came up short when Danby motioned to him, then lifted the parchment he’d been searching for into the air. At that, he moved forwards into the room, bent low over the duke, and waited as Danby issued him whispered instructions.

  After a moment, he straightened again. Taking the slip of parchment from the duke’s hand, he nodded and said, “Right away, Your Grace.” Then he left them.

  Wesley had watched the entire exchange without the slightest clue what it had been about. His curiosity was about to rip him apart from the inside, but if Danby had wanted him to know, surely he would have informed him.

  Still the stack of papers remained on top of the desk, and the duke had stood to pour himself a brandy at the sideboard while they waited. Inching as cautiously as he could over to get a better view, Wesley strained his neck and squinted.

  He shook his head, sure he had it wrong.

  The page on the top of the stack was a special license for marriage, already signed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, with Lady Isabel Whitton named as one of the two parties involved, and the other spot left blank.

  What in blazes had he and the Goddards just interrupted? And, perhaps more importantly, what in God’s good name was on that slip of parchment the butler had just taken off with?

  6

  Their footsteps echoed on the marble floors as Milne guided them all through the corridors of Danby Castle, leading them to the duke’s study. Abby supposed she should be thankful that she wouldn’t face the man alone. At least not yet. Quite likely, at some point, he’d request a private interview with her. If, of course, he intended to settle a dowry upon her as Father thought he ought to do.

  It was anyone’s guess how Father believed such a thing might come to pass, though.

  Still, it should all come to an end before too much longer, and then they could return to Henley Green and real life, and forget this had ever happened. Abby certainly intended to do her best to forget—and to forget Wesley Cavendish right along with this farcical journey.

  As soon as her heart stopped bleeding.

  After what felt like half a mile or more, Milne stopped before a massive oak door, and two footmen outfitted in the finest livery Abby had ever laid eyes upon pushed them open. “The Goddard family, Your Grace.”

  Seated behind a monstrosity of a desk, the old duke held a quill to parchment and was scribbling away. He barely lifted his head to notice them, simply waving his free hand in an impatient gesture. Wesley stood by the empty hearth with his hands folded together behind his back. He caught Abby’s eye as she entered, his midnight eyes following her every movement.

  Once they had all passed through the doors, the butler gave a brief bow and backed out of the room. A hollow sound echoed as the doors closed.

  “Well?” the duke barked, still not deigning to spare them a glance. “Sit!”

  A grouping of chairs and a settee had been arranged close to his desk. Abby moved forwards with the rest of her family. Mother, Father, and her brothers took up the chairs, leaving her the settee. She smoothed her skirts in the same motion as she sat, then finally looked up to find His Grace glowering at her.

  Blast him.

  Abby met his stare, refusing to cower beneath the ducal weight of it. After a few moments, he moved his gaze to her two brothers, then to Father. With each passing moment, the expression on his face became more curious and less agitated. By the time he turned towards Mother, at the opposite end of the family line, Abby could see it, too.

  Danby had the same bump in the middle of his nose. She inhaled audibly at the realization. Wesley came up behind her. He didn’t touch her—just stood behind her, close enough she could feel his presence. It was oddly soothing, like he belonged there. Abby closed her eyes at her errant thoughts, trying to banish them from her mind. He did not belong anywhere near her. Not now. Not ever.

  Other than her gasp, there’d hardly been a sound since the door closed. Finally, the duke faced her father and narrowed his eyes. “Young Cavendish, here, tells me some fanciful story about you being my by-blow. I’ll have you know I was faithful to my Mary right up until the day she died.” He took up his quill again, dipped it in the ink pot, and scratched against another sheet of parchment.

  “I don’t doubt it, Your Grace,” Father replied calmly. He even managed to smile. “Indeed, I’ve heard much of your progeny. It seems there are a great many of them.”

  “Seven. And eighteen grandchildren.” He never removed his gaze from his writing.

  “I’m sure you’re very proud of them all, Your Grace,” Mother said quietly.

  The duke glared over at her, likely for having the audacity to speak before he’d spoken to her, but she didn’t shrink beneath the heat of his scowl. “I’ll be far better pleased with them when they provide me with great-grandchildren, madam.” He faced Father again. “Your mother. What was her name?”

  Father smiled, even though the hint of a tear formed in his eye. “Pauline Goddard.” He reached over and squeezed Mother’s hand. “She was the youngest daughter of Lord Standish.”

  The duke’s eyes took on a faraway look. His lips formed the name, “Pauline,” though no sound came forth. He nodded, seeming to mull some things over in his head. Then he pinched his lips together and turned to Abby, his eyes bori
ng through her. “Tell me, Abigail—that’s your name, isn’t it?” When she nodded, he pressed on. “Do you intend to provide your parents with grandchildren?”

  “P—pardon?” Abby stammered. The sudden change in subjects was more than just a little disconcerting.

  “Grandchildren,” he barked, eyeing her up and down. “You’ve an abundance of childbearing years ahead of you. How do you intend to use them?”

  She blinked and glanced over to her parents. Mother nodded, and Father rolled his hand in a go-ahead gesture. She faced the duke again. “I am not married, Your Grace—”

  “I didn’t ask if you were married, I asked if you would give your parents grandchildren.” A tick formed in his jaw.

  Abby bit her tongue to keep from delivering a thoroughly inappropriate retort. She took a moment to recollect herself, and then she met his gaze again. “I will be happy to do so once I have a proper husband, and not a moment before. I have no intention of living the sort of harsh life my grandmother was forced to live.”

  He pinched his lips together and stared at her for several more moments. Then he looked up above her. “She’s a feisty one, Cavendish. Are you certain this is what you want?” He didn’t make any comment whatsoever about Grandmama or the life she’d had to live after birthing a child out of wedlock.

  “More so now than ever,” he answered.

  Abby narrowed her eyes at him inquisitively, but he just winked at her. What on earth did he have to do with the business of Danby being her grandfather? Nothing was making any sense.

  The duke nodded at Wesley, then turned to her parents again. “And you approve?”

  “With all our hearts,” Father said. Mother nodded fervently, dashing a stray tear away with her free hand.

  He passed a ducal stare over her brothers then. Robert and Thomas had been largely ignored since the beginning of this rather anomalous interview, but seemed perfectly content with such a fate. Abby would have preferred that as well, truth be told, but she was none the worse for wear from the duke’s scrutiny. Danby stared at them until they were both squirming in their seats. Finally, after what had to have been several minutes or more, he clucked his tongue. “I’ll deal with the two of you later.”

  Seemingly out of nowhere, he scribbled something else on his paper and smacked the quill down on the desk. “Well, there’s nothing else to be done for it but to draw up the contract.” He reached overhead and pulled on the bell. Milne reappeared almost instantaneously. “Kindly show Mrs. Goddard and her offspring back to the gold parlor. Arrange rooms for them in the East Wing and see that they have everything they need. I have business with Mr. Cavendish and Mr. Goddard.”

  Before she had time to wonder what sort of business the duke would have with her father and Wesley, Robert assisted Abby to her feet and led her out into the walkway. She followed along numbly, placing one foot after the other.

  Just before the doors closed behind her, the duke’s voice carried out to her. “Your mother never mentioned you to me, I’m afraid. I would not have allowed things to pass as they did, you know.”

  Robert kept walking, urging her on until they reached the delicate white and gold parlor once more. He seated her again in a gilded Louis XIV chair. Mother pressed a cup of tea in her hand. Abby took a sip, nearly scalding the roof of her mouth from the heat of it as she stared blankly at the opulent décor. Draw up a contract? But that could only mean…

  Wesley’s marriage contract.

  He must have already won the duke’s approval. Perhaps he would wed one of Danby’s granddaughters before Christmas. There was already a vicar present, after all. They were more than prepared to host another wedding with very little warning.

  She never should have allowed herself to fall in love with him in the first place—not all those years ago, and certainly not when he returned after so long. The pain of losing him again right after losing Grandmama…

  Abby tipped her teacup back, draining the blistering tea into her mouth and down her throat in one swallow.

  She savored the burn. It meant she could still feel.

  *

  “That’s all settled, then.” Danby pushed back from his desk with a satisfied smile on his wrinkled face. “You may wed in the morning.”

  More than anything else to have come out of the duke’s mouth since their arrival at Danby Castle, that forced Wesley’s jaw to the floor. “In the morning? As in tomorrow? I haven’t even asked her to marry me yet. Abby thinks I’m to marry one of your granddaughters.”

  The duke lifted a brow and frowned. “I didn’t take you for a simpleton, Cavendish. You are to marry one of my granddaughters. Tomorrow morning. See to it.”

  He wanted nothing more, but simple administrative details were not in favor of such an occurrence. “But the banns—”

  Milne returned and bowed to them all. He passed a slip of parchment over to Danby—the very same slip of parchment he’d taken off with just before the Goddards had joined them in the study. “The special license, Your Grace.”

  Danby smiled at his butler, took the license, and held it up for Wesley and Mr. Goddard to see. “There will be no need for the banns.”

  “But…how?” was all Wesley could manage. He raised his eyes to Mr. Goddard, who merely shrugged his shoulders with a half smile. The man seemed in a daze, even more so than the daze Wesley was currently experiencing.

  Danby squinted at the pair of them. “The Archbishop of Canterbury is a close personal friend. He owed me a few…er, favors, shall we say? I recently called them in.” He shuffled the stack of papers from which the special license had been pulled and resettled them on his desk. “Now, if you’ve no further objections, I suggest you see to asking your betrothed to marry you, as there is no time to waste. Milne will show you to your chamber and then assist you in finding Abby. I trust you can determine how to do the rest.”

  Without awaiting Wesley’s confirmation, Danby stood, nodded, and quit the room.

  “Did all of that really just happen?” Goddard asked. “He truly offered Abby a dowry of five thousand?”

  Wesley nodded. Not only that, but Danby had granted Wesley the use of a smaller estate in Yorkshire. Well, insisted that they move in there so that he could get to know Abby might be more accurate. Still, he’d given them a home. He’d given Wesley a means of providing for Abby—something he wasn’t certain that Tristan would have done. No, he was certain, but of something else entirely: Tristan would have left him to his own devices. Danby had even offered his support, should Wesley wish to pursue politics more fully, despite their differences of opinion.

  “Well—” Goddard pushed up from his chair and glanced over at Milne, then back at Wesley— “I suppose he’s right. You ought to find Abby and get started with this. You’ve got some things to explain to her.” He headed out the door.

  Things to explain. Yes, he had plenty of those, as well as numerous things to beg for her forgiveness. “No time like the present,” Wesley muttered beneath his breath.

  “Quite true, sir,” Milne put in from the doorway. “I daresay you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be, not that you asked for my opinion.” He gestured for Wesley to follow him.

  He hadn’t, but there were countless other things in his life he’d never asked for either. “Very well, Milne. Lead the way.” Wesley stood and followed the butler through a series of corridors, up two flights of stairs, and all the way to the next stage in his life.

  7

  Wesley had searched what felt like the entire castle for Abby with no luck.

  Milne had directed him to the East Wing, but she wasn’t there. Mrs. Goddard had informed him she’d gone off to explore, though she didn’t know which direction she’d gone.

  Her brothers had been utterly useless in directing him—they’d been busy settling themselves into their own rooms, so they didn’t realize she had left.

  Wesley had wandered helplessly through the castle grounds, asking every random servant he came across for
guidance but finding none. He even ran into an auburn-haired young lady who must have been one of Danby’s granddaughters—quite literally ran into her, actually. If the duke had his way, surely Wesley would discover the girl’s identity before too much longer, but now was not the time for such things.

  “Pardon me,” he hastened to say, taking the young lady by the shoulders and setting her back to rights. “I am terribly sorry. Are you all right?” But before she could answer him, he rushed on. “I wonder if you’ve seen a young lady about. Brown hair? Not too tall. All in black.”

  “Oh,” the auburn-haired lady exclaimed. “Yes, the lady in mourning? I believe she’s in the courtyard—”

  The girl was still talking, but Wesley rushed away from her. “I’m sorry, but I must find her!” he called out over his shoulder, not even slowing to say that much. He barreled through the walkways and bolted out a side door, then skidded to a stop.

  Abby was sitting in the courtyard beneath a frozen rose trellis. Both she and the trellis were covered in a light dusting of snowflakes. He took a step towards her and his Hessians crunched against the ground. Her head shot up, and she saw him.

  “Abby?” he said softly.

  She brushed a lone tear aside with her gloved hand and turned away from him.

  He couldn’t let her hide. Not now. Not when he could finally bare his heart to her. Wesley closed the distance between them and took a seat next to her on the stone bench. The warmth of her body heated him through. “Abby?” he said, more softly this time, somehow controlling his voice even whilst his pulse raced through his veins like the rapids rushing out to sea.

  She sniffed and stared resolutely down at the folded hands on her lap.

  With a single finger, he tipped her chin up until her hazel eyes—so full of hurt and grief and love and fear—were on a level with his. “May we talk?”