A Soulmate for the Heartbroken Duke

by Bridget Barton

  “The perfect place for two people whose fathers are locked in an age-old feud.” He laughed and removed his tailcoat, laying it over a rough-barked fallen tree trunk. “Here, take a seat.”

  “Thank you,” she said and sat down. “So, your father truly would be as angry as mine if he knew you were here with me?”

  “Yes,” Thomas said and looked ashamed. “I am sorry. But it would not be because of you, just this pointless, seething animosity between men old enough to know better.”

  “Yes, they are old enough to know better, but I am afraid such things get worse with age. If a man has a mind to nurture petty resentments, the habit it forms takes the resentment to greater heights. It builds to a point beyond which nobody knows how it began in the first place. It is simply about conquest; victory. Like so many wars, the original quarrel is superseded by the need to win, to have power over another, and to grind his face into the dirt.”

  “Do you know how it all began?” Thomas sat down on the fallen tree by her side.

  He looked so handsome in his shirt sleeves and dark green waistcoat. Green suited him very well indeed. And his face, when he spoke, became animated in a way which made him more handsome still.

  Catherine knew that she was beginning to feel something for this determined young man. Even before his curious approach at Lady Morton’s townhouse, she had begun to think of him more and more.

  There was an impressive sort of courage attached to a young man who defied the constraints of a powerful family simply to be pleasant to the enemy; to make a friend of her.

  “No, I have never dared to ask,” Catherine said and was full of interest.

  “Apparently, our grandfathers both favoured the same woman many, many years ago. They had been friends before but became instant enemies when neither one would yield his interest in the young lady.”

  “Is that it?” Catherine said and could not hide how appalled she was. “But how did it end? Which of them married her?”

  “Neither of them.” Thomas’ eyes were wide with amusement. “She ran away with a minor baron because she very likely preferred his manners to theirs!” He laughed loudly, and Catherine joined him.

  “Well, I shall say it served them both right. No doubt the young lady’s feeling in the matter was neither here nor there to them, not the smallest consideration. But she was the victor in the end, was she not? Breaking away from two strutting rams who were locking horns over her, assuming that one or the other must have her.” She smiled and shook her head. “Well, whoever she was, I must admit my admiration for her.”

  “Yes, I think she deserves admiration.” He nodded vigorously. “And things do not change, do they? The lineage goes on and maintains its foolish pride and arrogance on both sides.”

  “Yes, with little thought to the feelings of others. Really, that our fathers could consent to continue such foolishness when they had an opportunity to let the thing die with their own fathers.”

  “And I have no doubt my brother, Pierce, will see it carry on into another generation.”

  “Fortunately, he will find himself alone in the feud then. My brother, Philip, cannot abide the thing and has every intention of keeping out of it in his own way, and then when my father is dead, he will turn his back on it altogether.”

  “I had heard that Philip Ambrose was turning into a fine man. And now I have it confirmed by his sister.” Thomas spoke so well, and his voice was far deeper than his age and appearance would have suggested.

  “He is. My father has always treated us so differently, making it very clear that I am of little value to the family. But that has never stopped us being friends, and I am grateful for such a bond. Tell me, do you have any common feeling with your brother at all?”

  “None whatsoever, I am afraid.” He shrugged and smiled sadly.

  “Then I am very sorry to hear that. But how does your father regard you?” She hoped that he would at least have some consideration from his father; otherwise, his family setting would be just too sad.

  “Like an afterthought.” He laughed. “I am the spare, only brought into this world as insurance should some tragedy befall my brother. And my father, like your own, has made little secret of his lack of regard for me.”

  “It is all so unnecessary, is it not?” Catherine said sadly.

  “Yes, it is. It is pointless really. What is to be gained in ignoring a family member, treating them as an inconvenience if they ever speak?”

  “I cannot see one, Thomas.”

  “Then I do not know what is to be done.” He laughed, but it did not sound as amused as it did jaded.

  “Nothing can be done to improve the circumstances within the family. I know this to be true, for I have tried it and been thwarted on many occasions,” she said with a light practicality which had Thomas smiling in earnest again. “But the circumstances of the afterthoughts can be improved, but they must improve them for themselves.”

  “And I take it that we are the afterthoughts? You and I?”

  “Yes, as harsh as it sounds, it is always prudent to be absolutely honest with oneself.” She laughed.

  “Then I shall follow your lead.” He moved a little closer to her, and yet she did not find his proximity at all oppressive.

  In fact, she found it comforting and, still in the spirit of being honest with herself, she admitted that she would not have minded at all if he had closed the gap further still.

  “That would be a new experience for me.” She laughed. “But I would not seek to put you off, for I should like somebody to follow my lead once in a great while.”

  “I would not deny any pleasure of yours, My Lady,” he said and tipped his head respectfully. “But how are we to go about it? How ought we afterthoughts to improve our circumstances?”

  “By making our own little rules and keeping our victories in life a secret.” She felt shy and bold all at once.

  Catherine knew what she was offering, and yet she did not feel ashamed. And why should she? All she wanted was a friend, a nice young man that any young woman would be proud to know. If she had to conduct that friendship in secret, then that was the shame of her father for continuing to live in all-pervasive hatred.

  “Then you would consent to meet me here again, Catherine? You would do me that great honour?” She realized he was making the question his own, but only to release her from any tendency towards guilt or shame.

  What a fine young man Thomas Carlton was, and how much he could have taught his own father, not to mention hers.

  “Yes, I would consent to meet you here again without question. I like you very much, Thomas, and can openly state that you are a very fine person against all the odds, just like my brother, Philip.”

  “Thank you, Catherine. You have complimented me again, and I have still not returned it.”

  “You must not worry, for your friendship in itself is compliment enough.”

  Chapter 5

  Thomas strode in through the front door of Shawcross Hall, just as he always did. Despite the weeks and weeks of meeting Catherine down by Stromlyn Lake, he still had to fight the urge to come back home more cautiously. He knew, of course, that to be too cautious would be to make himself seem furtive.

  “Where have you been?” Pierce came upon him suddenly in the entrance hall as he closed the door behind him.

  Thomas was so startled that his mouth fell open, and he stuttered a little before answering.

  “Out riding. Why? What is it to you?” He tried to sound annoyed rather than guilty. “And why are you skulking about here pouncing on people?”

  “I am not pouncing on people, just you.” Pierce narrowed his dark eyes. “Where did you ride?”

  “Out across Colney Beck, why? You ordinarily could not care less where I go.”

  “I still do not care, brother. I just wonder where it is you go of late. You seem to be riding out with increasing regularity. Please do not tell me it is the dreary and plain Louisa Ravensthorpe. I do not think Father would l
ike that at all. She has no particular connections and likely would not come with much of a dowry.”

  “I think it is a little unfair to call the poor woman dreary and plain.” Thomas was hoping to divert his brother.

  He could not imagine that Pierce knew of his special friendship with Catherine Ambrose, for he would surely have mentioned it if he did. Pierce was not a man who could play a long game, and he would have certainly run to their father with that particular news if he had it.

  In that respect, Pierce had changed very little since childhood. He was as determined now to win his father’s approval as he had been back then, and Thomas wondered if Pierce would ever grow up enough to realize he was never going to get it.

  If the old Duke started bestowing praise, his son would stop trying so hard to win it, and where would be the advantage in that? For a moment, Thomas pitied Pierce and hated their father for how he had raised him.

  “Then it is her?” Pierce said a little too gleefully for a man of four-and-twenty. “Father will not be pleased at all.”

  “Well, before you go running to him with tales of things that have never happened, let me spare you the trouble of making a fool of yourself and tell you that I was out riding alone. I have no special friendship with Louisa Ravensthorpe; I defend her merely because what you say is so unkind.”

  “Unkind?” Pierce scoffed, his dark eyes dancing with the sort of menace that comes over a spiteful boy who is about to pull the wings off a butterfly.

  “Yes, unkind.” As much as Thomas was confident Pierce knew nothing, the idea of having to put up with any more of his company just to divert him was insupportable.

  “Really, you are the weakest of men,” Pierce scoffed.

  “And you are the most underdeveloped.”

  “What?”

  “That you can find your own humour in childish name calling, playing the superior card because that is the one you have been dealt.”

  “You are still jealous that I am to be Duke. After all these years, you cannot take it. You should be used to it by now, being the second son.”

  “Oh Pierce, for heaven’s sake.” Thomas shook his head and began to walk away through the immense entrance hall.

  He looked up at the dozens of portraits hanging on the wall as he went, many of them former Dukes of Shawcross. He had never, ever wanted to join them in their portraits or their occupation.

  “Pierce, look at them.” Thomas stopped, unable to walk away entirely without saying his piece. “Look at the arrogance, the haughty air about them.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The old Dukes, my dear brother. The men you follow. Those you will hang alongside in oil on canvas one day in the far-off future.”

  “Arrogant, you say?” Pierce was instantly affronted as if the insult had been aimed at him personally.

  “Yes, look at them. Every single one has that air of entitlement as if they were born to be where they are.”

  “But they were.”

  “That is not exactly what I mean.” Thomas thought for a moment and stared up at his grandfather, the man who had begun the feud between their family and the Earl of Barford’s. “As if they are better by dint of where, when, and to whom they were born.”

  “They are better. We are better,” Pierce said and gave Thomas such a look of disdain that he immediately realized he was not part of the we who were better.

  “But do you not see it is all made up. The title, the whole system; it is a game, a folly of men.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Pierce looked angry, and Thomas knew it was simply because he did not understand any of it; Pierce hated to feel a fool.

  “To walk through the world as if you own it is to miss so much of what is around you.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “As you wish,” Thomas said and started to walk away again.

  “This is envy, plain and simple.” Pierce came after him, not yet ready to give up the argument.

  “I am not envious of you,” Thomas said in a tired, exasperated tone. “I would not be where you are for a Kingdom, never mind a duchy.”

  “And why, pray tell, is that?”Pierce followed him all the way into the drawing room.

  Thomas had not intended to go there; he was simply trying to get away from Pierce. He was relieved, however, to see that the room was otherwise empty. Had their father been present, Pierce would have made much of it, using everything at his disposal to have the Duke side with him. Not to affect Thomas as its aim, but to satisfy his own need for approval from a man who never bestowed it.

  “Because I see the pressure brought to bear upon you, Pierce, and I could not abide it for myself,” Thomas said truthfully.

  “You would not be man enough for all of that. It takes a better man to manage it.” Pierce looked self-satisfied as if Thomas had conceded a point.

  Pierce had always lagged behind in terms of raw intelligence, and Thomas, every bit as kind as his mother had raised him to be, had never taunted him for it.

  “It is not that, Pierce. I could not bear our father’s perpetual interest if I am entirely honest. I could not stand him instructing me on how to be a man in his own image, for I do not like the image of our father.”

  “Perhaps I ought to tell him that.”

  “Perhaps you ought to grow up. The time for running to father, or nurse, or the governess with tales has long since passed. I do not care to be in competition with you for our father’s good opinion, so you may safely leave me out of things and know that it would not be to your detriment. I am not your competition, am I? As you keep reminding me, you are to be the Duke, and I am not. Can you not just be satisfied with that?”

  “I am tired of this conversation now,” Pierce said with a grand air. “I have better things to do than talk nonsense with you, brother.”

  “I am very glad to hear it,” Thomas said and smiled before dropping heavily into the armchair nearest the fire.

  He heard, rather than saw, his brother leave the room. Such encounters between the two of them had always been very trying but had become a little more so of late. Not because it was all so pointless, and they never resolved anything between them, but because Thomas wished that things were different.

  Now, more than ever, he would have liked a brother who was also a friend. A brother he could confide in and know that his most precious information was safe. He would, in short, like somebody on the earth to talk to about Catherine and his hopes and fears for the future. If only he had a brother he could trust, he might be able to say it all out loud; he might have someone who might see things with fresh eyes; an older brother who could advise him sensibly.

  And it would have been practical advice too, something which would have suited Pierce to give. Thomas did not need to mull over matters of the heart, nor wonder out loud if the object of his affection returned his love equally. That much he knew for certain.

  In the weeks since they had been meeting at Stromlyn Lake, there had been no doubt in his mind that Catherine felt for him what he felt for her. There was none of the dancing around that seemed to be part and parcel of ordinary courtships.

  Catherine had once said it was because they were meeting in secret and at great risk to themselves. In those circumstances, it was clear that each would only do so because of their high regard for the other. To have played coy or remain aloof so as not to give away the upper hand seemed ridiculous in the light of such knowledge.

  And that was what he loved most about; her wisdom and gentle confidence. Catherine never blushed or giggled. She always looked him right in the eyes and only laughed if she found something truly amusing. There was no veil hiding the true woman behind, just the woman herself.

  It had spurred Thomas on to be the same, to only state his true thoughts and opinions and to always be himself entirely. It had been hard at first, for he feared, as all men secretly did, that his own character, just as it was, would never be good enough.

  But Catherine had shown h
im that it was and had shown him almost from the very first. It was their honesty which had likely brought them together so close and so fast. He had been meeting her not three weeks when he knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that he was falling in love with her.

  And even that seemed like a long time ago; a time when he could still choose to walk away. But that time had passed, and his feelings were so deep now that he could no more walk away than he could will himself to stop breathing.

  Catherine had also come to that place in her own feelings, and now, whenever they met, their talk always inexorably turned to the reality of their situation; the truth that they could go no further than they had already gone.