by Kelly Boyce
“Indeed. I’m certain should Lady Margaret be given the care of Merlin, she would behave the most proper lady, as only a well-behaved and proper lady can care for others, don’t you agree?” Lady Henrietta looked down at Lady Margaret her golden eyebrows raised.
Margaret gave a vigorous nod and shot a hopeful glance in Alex’s direction. He should say no. This type of behavior should not be rewarded. But something deep inside twisted and when he opened his mouth, something else came out. “Very well, then.”
He shot a frustrated glare in Lady Henrietta’s direction. How was it he had been made out to look like the villain? But if she took any note of his irritation, he could not detect such, as she simply returned his glare with a triumphant smile.
* * *
“Given the amount of time you spend at Breckenridge, I believe you owe me a certain amount of hospitality,” Alex said, swirling the aged brandy in his snifter, watching the amber liquid eddy about the glass in a mesmerizing fashion.
James scoffed from his seat near the low-burning fire. “It is not hospitality you seek, my friend. It is avoidance.”
Alex gritted his back teeth. He’d known James too long to be able to fool him. A very irritating state of affairs. Perhaps he really should look at acquiring new friends this Season in addition to a wife. Preferably ones who could not read his mind as well as his smug comrade who peered over at him from the rim of his drink, one dark eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face.
“It is not avoidance.”
James lifted his eyebrow higher.
Alex scowled, conceding his answer had no merit. “Fine. It is to some degree. But ever since the late Lord Walkerton’s death, my father’s wife has done a complete turnaround and made it her mission to bridge the gap between us.”
“And what is wrong with that?”
“What is wrong with it?” Alex sputtered the question. Had James forgotten what Alex’s childhood had been like? Ignored by the woman who had replaced his mother, treated, at best, like an inconvenience and at worst with cold disdain. “I do not care to bridge the gap. Why would I?”
James rose from his chair and stretched. “Family unity? To please your father, who is a great man deserving of happiness? Because sometimes a second chance is warranted?”
Alex truly did need to look into the business of acquiring new friends. “Lady Franklyn does not deserve a second chance. She made a mockery of her marriage to Father with her multiple affairs and while she may have turned over a new leaf in recent months, I do not care to be a part of it. Besides, I am experiencing enough trouble with Lady Margaret’s behavior. I do not think adding my sister’s influence into the mix will help matters.”
“You know, you can call her Maggie. It would not kill you.”
Except that it would. Not in the literal sense, per se. He would not expire upon referring to her in a more familial sense. His heart would not come to a shuddering stop and his lungs would not cease to fill with air. But inside of him, that dark place where he’d shoved all the things he wished to avoid, that part would make itself known. That part would grow and spread like a poison each time he pretended that her existence in this world was anything more than what it was. Not that the child was to blame. Logically, he understood that. She’d had no say in the matter. None of which changed the fact that her existence was a constant reminder she had survived past infancy where his son had not. Lady Margaret was a living memento of his wife’s infidelity and how her reckless actions had culminated in her death.
A reminder he could not abide.
Alex finished his brandy, letting the liquid burn his throat and spread throughout his chest. “Besides, Lady Franklyn will wish to trot Lady Margaret about and you know what will happen if that occurs.”
James approached him and took Alex’s empty glass away. “Another?” Alex shook his head. “You’re overreacting.”
“And if I’m not? People will see the resemblance. Especially now that Lord Hawksmoor has returned to Society in recent months, putting his countenance fresh in everyone’s minds.”
“The current Lord Hawksmoor looks nothing like his late brother.”
“Neither does Lady Margaret. But she does bear a striking resemblance to her uncle, the current Lord Hawksmoor.”
“I doubt anyone’s thoughts will travel that far afield when they meet her.”
“She has green eyes like Lord Hawksmoor—”
“As did your mother, you’ve said.”
“—and she possesses dark hair, like her uncle—”
“Ruth had dark hair.”
“—and she embodies the same unruly behavior as Hawksmoor—”
“She also possesses your very own brand of surliness.”
Alex glared. “Have I mentioned recently what an ass you are?”
James grinned. “Indeed. Just two mornings past when I took the last coddled egg from the buffet, if you’ll recall. You worry too much, Alex. Ruth has been gone for over six years and what few rumors existed at the time, died with her. No one will look upon Maggie as anything but your daughter.”
Alex inwardly recoiled, as he always did whenever James attached the moniker to her. Edward had been his child. Not Lady Margaret. That he recognized her publicly as such to avoid admitting he had been cuckolded and saddled with someone else’s bastard child while his own lay cold in the ground did not change this fact. If he had not done so, Lady Margaret would forever bear the stigma of her birth and even Alex was not so cruel as to do that to an innocent child. Which left him stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place. Not a location he cared for.
A soft knock intruded upon their conversation and the door opened a crack without James issuing an invitation. Something that would never have happened at Breckenridge.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Might I interrupt for a moment?” Lady Henrietta stood in the doorway, an enigmatic smile on her pretty face, so different than the one he remembered from years past. She had always been a pretty child on the few occasions he had seen her before the fire. Sweet natured and plainspoken, if memory recalled correctly. But it was in the aftermath of the fire that his most vibrant memories of her resided, seared into his mind with horrible clarity—young and ravaged, gaunt from a diet of broth and clinging to life with a tenacity that defied her age and injuries.
“Of course, Hen. Join us,” James said, his face lighting up the way it often did when he spoke of his sister. “How has your Season been going in my absence?”
“Dreadfully,” she answered as if doing nothing more than commenting on the weather before moving on. “Cook is wondering if we should allow for two more?”
“Yes, I suppose we should. It appears Rothbury and Lady Margaret will be spending a few more days with us.”
Alex waited for Lady Henrietta’s reaction to the news. They had not necessarily started out on good footing earlier in the day. He’d spoken rather harshly, as was often his way. It had not been well done. But news of his staying created no perceivable reaction, leaving him a little put out. He was not used to such. Often his presence created at least some type of effect in others.
“Very well, I will let Cook know.” Lady Henrietta turned to look at Alex, her fingers playing with the ends of her hair, pulling the thick waves closer to her neck. Was she self-conscious about her burns? But of course she was. What young lady would not be? “Does Lady Margaret have any preferences or dislikes I should make Cook aware of?”
She waited expectantly as Alex stared at her, blinking like a silent idiot. He had no idea what Lady Margaret liked to eat or what she did not. Should he? He recalled that Edward did not care for mashed peas, but—
Alex cut the thought off and shook his head, more to rid himself of the memory than as an answer to the question, though it served as both. “Lady Margaret will eat whatever is served to her or she will go hungry.”
He grimaced. The words had come out more harshly than he’d intended. Again. What was it about Lady Henrietta that set him off? If h
e didn’t want James to give him the boot he’d best rein in his tongue.
“You would starve your daughter?”
She made him sound like an ogre. “Of course not. I simply mean if she is hungry enough, she will eat what she is given. If she must miss a meal to come to this realization then that is her decision.”
Lady Henrietta gave him a long, unreadable look and after a time he, much to his irritation, shifted his feet. Without a word, her gaze flicked away from him, a dismissal that cut far deeper than it should have. Unless he missed the mark, Lady Henrietta was not overly impressed with him. He was not used to leaving such a lackluster impression on others. He was a future duke after all.
“Dinner will be served at seven,” she said, offering her brother a smile warm enough to put the low-burning fire in the hearth to shame.
“Very well,” James said. “Are you attending any entertainments this evening?”
“Thankfully, no. I have been given a reprieve.”
“From my sister?” Alex asked. Perhaps if she understood he meant to assist in that regard she would regard him more highly.
Lady Henrietta glanced between Alex and her brother. James gave her an apologetic look and shrugged. “Sorry, Hen, I thought Alex might be able to help.”
She turned her attention back to Alex, but did not appear overly optimistic at the news. “Do you plan on sending Lady Susan abroad for the Season then?”
Her question took him off guard. Just how horrible had Susan been behaving? He understood his sister had a rather caustic nature that made her hard to like or enjoyable to be around, but had she grown so horrible that sending her away was the only solution? Likely neither Father nor his stepmother would approve that idea. They were determined to see her married this Season.
“No,” he said, stumbling over the answer a bit. “I’m afraid that decision does not fall under my purview.”
“A shame.”
And just like that, Lady Henrietta’s attention left him as if he were of no matter. Him. Future duke and all that. “I will see you both at dinner then. Good day, gentlemen.”
Lady Henrietta turned, her pale green dress swirling lightly at the ankles as she quit the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Alex with the very clear impression that he had somehow failed in a task he hadn’t even begun as yet.
“I do not think your sister likes me.”
“Hm,” was the only response his friend offered. Hardly encouraging.
Chapter Four
“Good morning.”
Hen looked up from her bowl of oatmeal and sweet cream to find Lord Rothbury hovering at the entrance of the breakfast room, as if unsure whether to enter. Part of her hoped he would not. His behavior toward Lady Margaret had not sat well with her and she was disappointed to discover the man who had once kept vigil at her bedside during the worst time of her life, was not the quiet, comforting presence her memories had made him out to be.
Still, she could hardly be rude to a guest, could she?
“Good morning, my lord. Please, join me, won’t you? Cook has prepared a most delicious buffet this morning. We don’t stand upon ceremony here, so please, help yourself. If there is anything you need that is not set out, just let Thomas know.” She motioned toward the footman. “He will be kind enough to fetch it for you.”
Lord Rothbury did not immediately enter, but rather stood looking about the room as if some unseen danger lurked in the corner waiting to come at him. How strange to find the future duke so at odds. To hear James tell the story, the man was filled with more confidence than most and rarely second-guessed himself on any quarter. Such was the man she had met yesterday.
Lord Rothbury took a step forward then stopped. His gaze swept past her but did not land there. Hen tried not to take offense. He wouldn’t be the first to prefer not to lay eyes on her. Though that did not stop the small bite of disappointment. He had, after all, seen her in far worse condition, the right side of her body charred by fire, her hair all but burned away. Surely, even the scars were an improvement over that.
“I do not wish to disturb you,” he said. “I feel we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”
Hen lifted her brow, surprised he had even noticed. “I’m certain you are mistaken. Please, sit. Auntie often rises much later and James had an early morning visitor.”
“At this hour?” He had yet to budge from the threshold of the entrance.
“Apparently. Pressing business, I suppose, though Cleveland was not forthcoming with who the visitor was. Lord Rothbury, please, make yourself a plate and have a seat. I will develop a crick in my neck if I am forced to continue this conversation with you standing in the doorway.” She motioned toward the opposite side of the table from her, remembering too late she had worn her morning dress with the short sleeves, leaving her arm exposed. At home, she did not feel the need to cover her scars, as everyone within the household was well acquainted with them and thought little of it. She had not expected Lord Rothbury to be an early riser like herself. She quickly lowered her arm.
Lord Rothbury finally acquiesced and strode to the buffet where he filled his plate, heaping it with bacon and sausages and rolls slathered in marmalade. How a man with such a hearty appetite kept himself so trim remained a mystery. When he took the seat close to Hen at the round breakfast table, he sat on the side that left him in full view of her scars. Would they spoil is appetite? She shifted in her seat, turning slightly to try and remove her arm from his direct line of sight.
“I feel I should apologize to you for my behavior yesterday, Lady Henrietta.”
Lord Rothbury’s comment pulled her from her worry. “To me?” It was Lady Margaret that deserved the apology. The poor little girl seemed nothing more than an afterthought to her father. How that must sting to such a small child.
Lord Rothbury cleared his throat. “I am unaccustomed to having my dictates questioned—”
“Clearly.”
He stopped. Blinked. Apparently, he was also not used to having his apologies interrupted. She bit back a smile. She should not find it so amusing, irritating the great Lord Rothbury so. It was akin to poking a bear and likely no good would come of it.
“What I mean to say, is that Lady Margaret’s behavior has been, for lack of a better term, atrocious. I have lost several nannies over it and I cannot allow it to continue. Gifting her with a kitten simply because she wishes for it, is not setting a good precedent. It gives her the impression she can have whatever she wants when she wants it.”
His apology—if that was what one would call it—grated. He made it sound as if Lady Margaret was an uncontrollable hellion. While Hen would concede the girl was definitely strong-willed, her behavior was hardly an insurmountable issue.
“Lady Margaret was gifted Merlin under the condition that she care for him. That requires her to show a certain amount of empathy as well as responsibility. I find such things go a long way in helping create a proper young lady.”
He set his fork down, clinking it against his plate as he shot her a hard look. “And you have raised many young ladies, have you, Lady Henrietta?”
“Have you?” Oh, bother! This conversation had sprung a leak and the boat was sinking fast. James would not be pleased to know she had started off her morning by arguing with his closest friend, a guest in their home. She let out a huffed breath. “Forgive me. That was rude. Lady Margaret is your daughter and you shall do as you see fit. I did not mean to start your day off with criticism, my lord.”
Lord Rothbury took a deep breath and his eyes closed, exposing lashes deceiving in their length, as they started out inky black and then faded to a warm gold. Such a lovely frame for eyes that reminded her of stormy skies. Not a true blue, yet not quite a perfect gray.
His eyes opened and Hen flushed to have been caught staring. She quickly averted her gaze, disconcerted at the sudden nest of butterflies flitting about her stomach. A silly reaction, really. She had known the man most of her life. That he was handso
me was hardly a startling bit of news.
“No, forgive me. I cannot seem to speak without sounding—” He stopped and sighed, not finishing his sentence. “Your brother tells me I am surly.”
“Does he?” She tried not to smile but the need tugged at the corners of her mouth. “James has always been a rather astute judge of character.”
“Touché.”
“I could not resist.”
His mouth twisted to one side in what was almost a smile, but not quite. Did he smile often? Or at all for that matter. She had yet to see one since his arrival, but she would bet this month’s pin money his smile was quite spectacular when it occurred.
She struggled to recapture the thread of their conversation. “Do you truly dislike the idea of Lady Margaret keeping Merlin?”
Lord Rothbury picked up his fork from the edge of his plate and straightened in his seat. Heavens, he had the most divine shoulders. Broad and strong. Hen’s cheeks burned at the realization and she took a bite of her breakfast roll to distract herself, but her throat had gone suddenly dry. She reached for the glass of water, forgetting too late she’d done so with her scarred arm and quickly snatched it back.
If Lord Rothbury noticed, he gave no indication. “I suppose it is not too much of an inconvenience. How much mischief can something that small get up to, after all?”
“About as much as a little girl, I would imagine.” His shoulders slumped and she laughed out loud then quickly covered her mouth. “Forgive me.”
Lord Rothbury looked across the table, misery etched into his handsome features. “It appears I know very little about little girls or kittens.”
“You mentioned you have had difficulty in keeping a nanny?”
