A Soulmate for the Heartbroken Duke

by Bridget Barton

  She would have looked at him and known him to be no different than the rest, no better. All the clever ways and witty words of his youth seemed so far away now, and yet he knew it was all still there deep down inside him.

  Thomas knew that the root of it all was the idea that he would be disinherited. The thing that Catherine had suffered with grace, he was silently railing against. It was true that he had never particularly wanted to be the Duke of Shawcross, and he knew that that had not changed. If only Pearce was still alive, ready to be the Duke of Shawcross himself, Thomas would have been overjoyed.

  But that was never going to happen, and his father was never going to change. He could not imagine a single circumstance in which his father would give his blessing to any union between a Carlton and an Ambrose. He knew his father well enough to know that he would most certainly cut off his nose to spite his face and would gladly see the Duchy finally fall into the hands of distant heirs, relations he had either never seen, or not seen for years, than to forgo the pleasure of punishing his son for the crime of being his own man.

  But should any of that stop Thomas being his own man? Could he go back to being his twenty-year-old self, the young man who would have given up everything for her?

  It was no good wondering what might have been had he found her all those years ago, eloped with her and married her. And it did not matter anyway; what truly mattered was what happened now. When he compared the idea of losing his security to losing Catherine, only the idea of losing Catherine truly made him wretched.

  And it would feel even worse than it had felt all those years ago to lose her, for then she had loved him. If he lost her again and lost her by his own foolishness, he would undoubtedly lose her love also, and that was the very thing that he could not bear to think about.

  Thomas rose to his feet and brushed the dusty earth from his breeches and boots. He rose to his full height and stretched, staring up into the blue sky and squinting into the pale sun.

  He did not have any more regard for his father now than he did all those years ago; what on earth did he have to lose? For him to continue as he was doing would be to act as Pearce had done, and for what? If his brother’s death had not changed the Duke, surely nothing could.

  Thomas knew that he had to reclaim his own soul, for it was the only way to hold onto Catherine’s heart. He could not be the man that she had seen the night before at the ball, or she would be lost to him forever. He could only be who he truly was deep down, the adventurous, courageous, confident Thomas Carlton of eight years ago.

  No more letters, no more secret smiles across crowded ballrooms. Thomas was going to go right to her; he was going to untether his horse and ride him all the way to Barford Hall. He would ride right up to the front door and jump down from his horse with the old confidence.

  Whether he was welcome or not, Thomas was going to show her just how much he loved her. And he was going to show her just how worthy he would be of her love. He would be the man that she remembered, the man with the self-same character she had known him to have all the years they had been apart.

  Thomas took his horse’s reins and led him up the steep incline, scrambling all the way and wondering how his beloved Catherine, now so used to the hills and peaks of Derbyshire, might easily overtake him in the circumstances. And the man that he was, the man he had always been, would love the idea.

  All he had to do now was to find her, not to beg for forgiveness or try to persuade her but show her that he was the man he had always been. They were meant to be together, and he did not care where they ended up living, it mattered not.

  He loved Catherine with all his heart and, as he finally climbed up onto his horse’s back and heeled him away, he was absolutely determined to have her.

  Chapter 29

  “I am sure if you take one of the horses and ride out there now, he will still be there,” Celia said and not for the first time.

  “Aunt Celia, I know you want the best for me, but I cannot ride out to Stromlyn Lake, not this time. I will not meet him in secret anymore. I will not do it.”

  “But there is nothing to say that he would wish to meet you in secret forever. Perhaps a little secrecy is just necessary now as you work it all out between you.”

  “After eight years, Aunt Celia, and a very great deal of heartbreak, I am not inclined to fall in with the plans of anybody. I make no secret of the fact that I love Thomas and have done for so long. But I have managed without him all these years, and I will continue to manage without him. I will not share secret glances in the hopes that his father might be kept in the dark; I will not be a secret. I am worth more than that; I know I am.”

  “And I am sure that Thomas knows it too, my dear. I cannot help thinking that he is in a very awkward situation at the moment, something which must be carefully negotiated.”

  “But why? When he is as sure as I am that his father will disown him, what is to negotiate? Either he loves me and has the courage to announce it, or he does not. It is as simple as that, you see, no negotiation required.”

  “When you say it like that, my dear, I cannot find an argument to counter. And yet I cannot help thinking that if you could climb over this last obstacle, it would be the last. You see, I have watched you these last years and seen everything your tender heart has gone through. I cannot bear the idea that so much pain and torment has been in vain, to no purpose. Especially when you are so close to your happiness, Catherine.”

  Philip had quietly entered the drawing-room as Celia spoke and padded noiselessly across the thick ornamental rug to take a seat opposite his sister.

  “You have determined not to meet him?” he said gently.

  “Please tell me that I am not to disappoint you too, Philip,” Catherine said feeling suddenly exhausted.

  She knew that her brother and aunt wanted the very best for her, but she dearly wished that she could have followed her Uncle Charles and Henry and gone down to the lake to fish for a while. She did not enjoy the occupation, but she would have found Charles’ company very easy on a day when her own spirits were so low.

  And to spend the day with Henry would have reminded her just how much she did have in this life, so much so that she could live it all without the wonder or worry of marriage. If she had Henry, she had everything she would ever need.

  Her aunt and uncle had allowed her so much, had helped her to keep the child with her that in any other circumstances would have been raised in an orphanage. She knew she would be grateful to them for the rest of her days and glad to spend her life in Derbyshire.

  “Catherine, all I want is for you to be happy. I would not wish to pressure you into anything. But perhaps there is some sense in what Celia says.”

  “There is sense in what Celia says, Philip. But I am the person who has lived the last eight years, the person who cannot make the same mistakes again.” Philip looked crestfallen, and Catherine wished that she could say something that he wanted to hear.

  Philip had a good heart, as did Celia, and she knew that both of them wanted to see a happy ending to all of this. They wanted to see a young family reunited, a child legitimized, and a woman returned to her rightful place.

  What she could not tell Philip was that she almost wished she had never returned to Hertfordshire. As much as she loved and missed her brother, seeing Thomas again had made a life which she had simplified as best she could into something very much more complicated.

  Catherine wanted more than anything to pack up their things, load the carriage, and return to Ivy Manor. She wanted to spend her mornings teaching her son everything he needed to know to progress in the world and her afternoons worrying as she watched him climb higher and higher in his favourite tree.

  She wanted to go back to the High Peak and stay there forever, never to return and never once to hear how Thomas Carlton got along in his life. As far as she was concerned, he could marry the neat, spiteful little Eleanor Barchester, finally become the Duke of Shawcross, and have as ho
llow a life as it was possible to have. She would not concern herself with it anymore.

  Thomas was not the man she had once known; she had seen that last night. When he had looked at her across the ballroom, she had seen a man who had lost his courage somewhere along the way. But what a thing if she had lost her courage, if she had not fought all this time. Her beloved child would be living in dire circumstances somewhere, and she would have run headfirst into the nearest suitor who would have her, purely and simply out of fear.

  No, she had never wanted for courage. And since she had never wanted for courage, she would not stand to look at it in him.

  “Oh look, here come Charles and Henry. I think they have brought a fish back with them.” Celia pulled a face. “Oh dear, I do hope we are not going to be expected to eat it.” She shuddered, and Catherine laughed.

  That was what she wanted. She wanted normality, the same gentle flow of her life in Derbyshire. Perhaps, in her own way, Catherine also lacked in a little courage.

  “Goodness me, they look as if they need a little assistance.” Philip had risen to his feet to peer out of the window and now turned to leave the drawing room. “I will just help them in with their things.”

  “Well, it looks as if we have fish for dinner.” Celia sighed dramatically. “And Catherine, please forgive me for trying to steer you these last days. You have been through too much in your life to have somebody else tell you how to live it, and I hope you can see past my little transgression.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Aunt Celia. I have nothing to do in this world but thank you and Uncle Charles for everything, for you truly have given me everything. You had the courage and kindness to see me through the darkest times of my life, and I do not easily go against anything you would tell me.”

  “Then let us say there is no pressure from either one of us and keep it there.” Celia smiled and seemed relieved that they were back on their old footing. “Unless I am to eat fish, then I shall make the most dreadful fuss.”

  “Thank you,” Catherine said and was grateful for Celia’s gentle humour.

  It had got her through once before, and it would get her through again.

  “Goodness, I think you have a visitor.” Celia, who had not yet turned away from the window, peered across the room at Catherine with a disquieting look.

  “Who is it?”

  “At the moment, all I can see is a young man on horseback,” she said and turned her attention so closely to the window that Catherine was sure her aunt’s nose must surely be touching the glass. “He is coming at quite a speed down the driveway. I can see that certain redness in his hair, and although I cannot be certain, I am reasonably sure that it is your Thomas Carlton.”

  “Is Henry inside? Has Philip moved them indoors?” Suddenly Catherine was on her feet, her heart pounding.

  She hardly knew what was affecting her the most. Her heart lurched with the familiar excitement of old, and she rose to her feet to peer out of the window and watch Thomas on horseback cantering towards them. He looked disheveled and determined and, she had to admit, extraordinarily courageous.

  She then looked around for any sign of Henry, for now was not the time for the two of them to meet. But she could see no sign of them and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Since Philip is busy, perhaps I ought to go out and see if the butler is attending to Lord Carlton,” Celia said and raised her eyebrows for approval.

  “Thank you, Celia. Yes, if you would not mind.”

  Without a word, Celia darted out of the room to intercept Catherine’s visitor.

  As she sat alone in the drawing room, Catherine did her best to keep a lid on her excitement. Thomas coming out all this way to see her when she had failed to arrive at Stromlyn Lake was certainly a wonderful, heartfelt gesture, but after her disappointment of the night before, Catherine had to be sure in her mind that a gesture was not enough. Not after everything that had happened.

  Hearing footsteps approaching in the corridor, Catherine took a deep breath and turned to stare at the door into the drawing room. Celia appeared without the butler, bringing with her a most determined -looking Thomas.

  “Here is Lord Carlton, my dear,” Celia said with such a determined attempt at normality that Catherine almost laughed. “I shall just have a quick word with the butler and have tea sent up if you will excuse me for a moment.” Celia gave her a look which suggested that she should not decline.

  “Oh yes, of course,” Catherine said and watched as Celia darted away. “Well, do come in, Thomas. My aunt is determined that you shall have tea, and so you shall.” She registered her cold tone.

  “I have not come here to fight with you.” Thomas strode across the room and stood before her giving every appearance that he most certainly would not be content to take a seat and take tea only to be dismissed at the end of it.

  “Have you not?”

  “Catherine, I love you, and you know I do.”

  “I do not doubt your love, Thomas. That is not the thing I doubt.”

  “But you doubt my courage; I can see it in your eyes,” he said, and his pale blue eyes fixed her. “But I am here to tell you that you are wrong. You did not see the best of me in these last weeks because I have not shown you the best of me. But you know the man I truly am, and I am here to tell you that I am not changed into something else. I am still me, and I mean to marry you.”

  At that moment, the door to the drawing room opened, and Philip bustled in, giving every appearance that he had no idea that Catherine had company. And not only had he blundered in, but he was pulling young Henry in with him, holding his hand tightly.

  Catherine’s mouth opened wide as she looked at Philip and, as she studied her brother’s face, she realized that this was no mistake. Philip had decided to take matters into his own hands and, had she not been suddenly so terrified, Catherine knew that she would have been utterly furious.

  “Forgive me; I did not know you had company, Catherine.” Philip smiled brightly, but there was a flash of consternation in his eyes. He knew that he would be in a good deal of trouble later; that was certain. “Thomas, I hope you are well.” He bowed in Thomas’ direction. “Goodness, it is a good number of years since we have been in company, is it not?”

  “Yes, I have not spoken to you since the night you so kindly arranged my final meeting with your sister.” Thomas spoke as if he were in a dream, simply answering a question by instinct rather than by design.

  His eyes were fixed firmly on young Henry, and it was clear to Catherine that he knew exactly who he was looking at. This was not simply the ward of Charles and Celia Topwell; this was his son.

  Henry stared back, unflinching in his curiosity, looking this new acquaintance up and down in the sort of bold manner that only a young boy could manage so successfully.

  Catherine held her breath as Thomas took a few steps forward and stared intently at Henry. He slowly lowered himself to the floor, kneeling in front of Henry so that they were eye to eye.

  Henry did not seem at all disturbed by the behaviour of a man who was, as far as Henry was concerned, a stranger.

  Thomas leaned forward until his face was just an inch away from his son’s and looked deeply into the eyes that were so like his own.

  Henry tilted his head to one side quizzically but did not move away. He seemed to be peering with equal curiosity and, if possible for a boy so young, equal intensity.

  Catherine could see the look of absolute knowing on Thomas’ face, and she could almost feel his simultaneous joy and pain. She felt a wave of guilt, sadness that Thomas had missed the first seven years of his son’s life, but she knew it was to no avail. There was nothing she could have done to change it. There was nothing either one of them could have done.

  Thomas continued to kneel in silence and, finally, Catherine saw tears running unchecked down his handsome face. Her heart almost burst when she saw Henry reach out to touch Thomas’ face, smearing his tears across his cheeks with a hand that
still had the last vestiges of the chubbiness of infancy.

  “Well, perhaps we shall leave you to it for a little while,” Philip said, quietly interrupting the scene he had caused. “Henry has caught a fish, you see, and he is very keen for the cook to show him exactly what happens next. Revolting, but informative.” He smiled cautiously. “Well, if you will excuse us,” he said and looked at Catherine significantly before turning and leading Henry from the room.

  Henry stopped when they reached the door and looked back at Thomas, who was still on his knees and staring after him, seeming as if he could not take his eyes from the child.

  “When we you going to tell me?” Thomas said when Henry disappeared.

  He rose slowly to his feet and stood staring at the empty doorway for some moments before he turned around and stared right into Catherine’s eyes.

  He walked slowly across the room, dropping down into the armchair opposite hers, never once releasing her from a piercing, almost accusatory, gaze.