“A generous benefactor, oui?”
Understanding the inference in her statement, Suzette immediately closed the envelope and corrected the housekeeper’s misconception. “He is not my benefactor.”
“I apologize, Mademoiselle,” she said. “Your trunks arrived. I will see that they are emptied and your clothes are put away.”
“Yes, thank you,” Suzette replied tersely, irked over her maid’s belief she was Robert’s mistress. “Is there anything to eat?” she asked. “I’m famished.”
“Yes. I have a small dinner ready. I will serve it shortly in the dining room.”
She scurried off to the kitchen area, and Suzette stood silently in the hallway glancing at the trunks that had arrived. An overwhelming desire for Robert’s caring arms tugged at her heart, and she wished he hadn’t disappeared so abruptly without saying goodbye. She wanted to be in his arms, safe and secure. Now, the entire week lay ahead. She was alone in a new home and in a new country with nothing to do.
She folded the note and envelope and shoved them both in the pocket of her skirt before making her way to the dining room. Suzette worried whether his return to England would draw them closer or push them apart.
Chapter Eighteen
As soon as the carriage lurched forward toward its destination, Robert leaned back in the leather seat and heaved a sigh. He wondered whether he had made the right decision regarding Suzette. Even though he adored her, he feared she would expect more from him than he was able to give due to his station in life.
Right now he had to turn all of his attention upon family matters. He was due in Surrey—in fact overdue. His father had sent numerous communications to him at his townhouse after his return. Though he was not deliberately ignoring his father’s request for a visit, he was procrastinating due to his situation with Suzette.
As much as he respected his father, the Duke expected him to assume his duties. Each time Robert returned home, the pressures to act his age came from everyone. Even the household butler seemed to raise his brow upon his return, as if he knew what bed he had just visited.
His frequent jaunts to Paris were for the sole purpose of escaping his pestering family and choking responsibilities. He much more preferred to frequent brothels, casinos, and horse tracks than the stuffy estate in Surrey that housed his family. After his arrival, the lectures would ensue about his need to settle down, assume his role in society, and marry. Robert took bets in his mind as to which one would lay into him first.
The twenty-mile carriage ride to his family estate took enough time to allow Robert the opportunity to gather his thoughts on what lay ahead. When the carriage finally pulled down the long tree-lined lane to the residence, Robert’s demeanor turned pensive. The Holland estate looked regally placed in the midst of manicured green lawns, steeped in centuries of history. As beautiful as the land and residence appeared, the estate walls loomed above him like a prison. Upon his father’s death, the lands, and title of Duke would be his to assume.
As the carriage stopped before the doorway, Robert inhaled a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable onslaught. He waited until the uniformed footman opened the door, then he gathered his hat and cane and stepped out resolutely to face his fate. As his boots landed on the small round pebble stones of the drive, he dug his heels in with resistance. Merely a symbolic act, it somehow brought a strange comfort and delight to show an ounce of rebellion upon his return.
With lips pursed and hands clenched, he strode toward the door. It opened by the hand of their faithful butler, Nelson, who greeted him with the anticipated raised brow.
“Lord Holland, welcome home. It is indeed a pleasure to see you again.” Instantly, Nelson reached for his hat and cane and assisted Robert in removing his cloak.
“Where is my father?”
“In the study, your lordship.” Nelson bowed once at the waist and then left.
Robert pulled his jacket downward to straighten the creases from the trip and stomped down the hallway toward the study to his waiting father. The sound of his heels clicked across the marble foyer, until he reached two double doors, with one slightly ajar. The smell of cigar smoke filtered into the hall. Robert clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and then tapped on the thick wooden entry.
“Enter,” his father replied, in his deep stoic voice. Robert walked inside and found the Duke sitting behind his desk, cigar in one hand, quill in the other, penning a document. Silence filled the distance between the two, except for the scratching noise of the feather’s tip meeting the paper. His father flicked the cigar ashes into a nearby container without looking up at his son to acknowledge his arrival.
“Gracing us with your presence, I see.” His voice, terse and cold, continued. “I suppose that I should thank you for responding to my request for a visit. I have some matters of estate that we need to discuss once you are settled.”
As the quill penned its last stroke, he lifted his eyes to his son. The Duke’s face was tired and drawn, and Robert thought he looked pale.
“How long will you be with us this time, Robert?”
“For a few days, and then I must return to London for an engagement.”
“Huh, engagement! Interesting terminology for your next departure to pleasure.”
The Duke returned his eyes back to the parchment underneath his quill, waving his other hand to dismiss his son until later in the evening.
“You may go.” Instantly, he picked up his cigar, taking a long puff and blowing the smoke into the air. “We’ll speak after dinner this evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
Robert turned around, leaving his father in silence, wondering why the change in demeanor. He was cold and distant, unlike other greetings upon his arrival home. His father’s usual tolerant patience had disappeared. It confirmed Robert’s suspicions that his summons involved something far beyond a friendly visit.
Not bothering to close the door, he strode toward the grand staircase and took two steps at a time until reaching the landing above. With his hand racing through his blond hair, he let out a sigh of respite, quickly proceeding to his personal suite.
“Robert!” He stopped at the sound of her voice and turned to face his mother.
“Finally, I get to see my darling son.”
Duchess Mary Holland, still quite strikingly beautiful for a middle-aged woman, flew into her son’s arms.
He tolerated her hug. “Mother,” he replied, as he bent down and gave her a kiss on the forehead. The strong scent of her doused perfume gagged him.
“Your sister shall be quite pleased to see you, my dear,” she said, patting him on the side of his cheek with the palm of her hand. “Are you staying long or returning quickly to your playground?”
“I will be here for a few days,” he said, showing no emotion. “If you don’t mind, mother, I need to unpack and relax. I’m a bit tired.”
The Duchess frowned in disappointment. “Always in a hurry to scurry off from your mother.”
Robert merely smiled, taking the palm of his hand and patting his mother’s cheek in return. He despised her show of affection by a pat on the cheek. He turned away and left her standing in the hallway.
He entered his suite of rooms and closed the door behind him. On the side table, he spied a decanter of brandy. He picked up an empty glass and poured the liquid. With a quick swirl around in the crystal container, he brought the glass to his lips and took a sip.
He strolled over to the window and looked out over the estate grounds. At least the weather was decent. His eyes drifted toward the Holland stables, and his familiar yearning for his favorite pastime called his name like an enticing adulteress. The other woman in his life needed attention, which was a black Arabian mare. An enjoyable ride sounded like a momentary diversion.
He flung off his waistcoat and walked over to his wardrobe looking for his riding jacket. Quickly, he downed the last ounce of brandy before leaving his quarters.
As luck would have i
t, no one lay in his path between his suite and the front door. Once outside, he headed for the stables. Upon entering, he walked down the row of stalls to the one that held his prized possession. Adara turned her head and whinnied upon seeing his approach, stomping her foot a few times. Robert smiled.
He instructed the groom to saddle her, while Robert stood nearby, stroking her muscular neck. When the saddle was on, Adara told him with a flare of her nostrils that she was ready.
Robert reached into his jacket pocket, took out a pair of soft leather gloves, and pulled them onto his hands. He grabbed the reins and placed his booted foot into the stirrup and mounted the horse in a quick gliding motion. With a slight kick of his heels, he sped out of the stables and across the estate grounds, leaving a swirl of dust in his wake.
The sound of the Adara’s hooves beat on the ground like thunder. It was music to Robert’s ears. She left in her path clods of dirt and grass flying into the air, while she ran like the wind. Rider and horse joined as one, and finally Robert found a moment of peace through another passion in his life—horses.
Adara possessed a heart much like his own. She was unbridled, spirited, and full of life when out on a run. When stabled, she became docile and quiet, but when released from the confines of her stall, she transformed into a horse whose speed no one in the county could match.
For the first time in hours, as he sped across the estate grounds and beyond, a broad smiled brightened his sullen face. As he watched Adara’s mane flow in the wind, his thoughts turned to the flowing auburn tresses of Suzette. He adored his petite French doll from Paris and realized that he truly missed having her by his side.
After enjoying his fast gallop across the countryside, Robert returned to the stables refreshed. A sense of determination and strength replaced his depression, and with confidence, he strode back indoors. His boots echoed across the marble foyer floor and brought notice to another family member that he had successfully dodged until that moment.
“Robert, where have you been hiding? Mother told me that you were here.” His sister, Marguerite, quickly approached him, wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a peck upon his cheek.
“God, Robert, you need a bath,” she moaned, wrinkling her nose from his sweaty body. “Were you out riding again?” She stepped back and looked at him from top to bottom. “Still as handsome as ever, even when you smell like a horse.”
“Hello, Marguerite, and you are still as lovely and irritating as the last time I saw you,” he replied, while pulling off his riding gloves.
“Get ready for dinner, dear. I have a surprise for you!”
“Pray tell, who now, might I ask?”
“No, you may not! You’ll just have to see the lovely young lady I’ve chosen this time when you sit next to her at the dinner table,” she announced with a giggle.
Her news irritated the hell out of him. Every time he came home, his sister played the role of matchmaker, determined to see him married. No doubt, she had found another lady to entice his interest.
“Fine,” Robert relented as he headed for the stairs. “God, will you never stop trying to marry me off to one of your friends?” He gave her a wink to soften the comment.
He returned to his suite, bathed, and dressed for dinner. When seven o’clock arrived, he joined his family in the formal dining room. His father, mother, and sister were already at the table waiting for his arrival, along with a stunningly beautiful woman that immediately caught his attention.
He glanced at Marguerite, who smiled from ear to ear. Robert tried his hardest not to show his interest, but his facial expression had already betrayed his thoughts.
“Robert, I would like you to meet Lady Jacquelyn Spencer,” she said glowing.
Robert walked over to her side at the table. Lady Spencer raised her hand for the usual complimentary kiss.
“Lord Holland, I am so pleased to meet you. Your sister talks about you constantly.”
He took her hand and kissed it, and then turned his eyes toward his sister in response. “I’m sure she does, Lady Spencer. She’s always talking about me.” As he glanced back into her beautiful face, his eyes sparkled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He took his seat by her side and relaxed for dinner. It was difficult not to take a keen interest in their dinner guest. To his surprise, this one actually piqued his curiosity. Robert decided to pay particular attention to her every movement and hear every word that fell from her pink lips.
She was unquestionably attractive. Her fair complexion gave way to a rosy blush, betraying her shyness as she made small talk during dinner. She was gorgeously adorned in a powder blue, low-cut gown, with a sapphire necklace that encircled her swan-like neck. The color of her hair resembled pure gold, and Robert could barely take his eyes off the cascading curls that fell from her upswept hairdo.
While they ate, he noticed a slight shaking of her hand when lifting her fork. It was obvious Lady Spencer was taking her introduction to him as one of considerable importance. When he glanced at his father and mother, he recognized their clever smiles of approval. There was no need to ascertain Marguerite’s opinion, which radiated over her entire face.
After dinner, Robert excused himself, when his father invited him for a drink and cigar. Before obliging his request, he turned to Jacquelyn and lifted her hand once more to place a kiss.
“Excuse me, Lady Spencer. It was a pleasure meeting you. Perhaps I will have the pleasure of calling upon you in the near future.”
He left the dining room and tried to ignore the grinning faces of his mother and sister, who were pleased by his acceptance of their latest offering. Robert had a distinct feeling they were privy to information regarding Lady Spencer that he was not. No doubt, they deemed her a perfect match, possessing all the qualities of societal acceptance as a future Duchess.
He followed closely behind his father, apprehensive about the conversation ahead. Once inside his study, the Duke headed for the side table and began pouring two glasses of cognac.
“Close the door, will you, son?”
After doing so, Robert approached his father’s side. He knew from experience when the man called him son, their conversation would be a serious one. His father handed him a glass and proceeded to his cigar box on the corner of his desk.
“Cigar?” Without hesitation, Robert accepted the offer. After snipping the tip, he lit the end on a nearby candle. His father did the same.
“Have a seat, Robert.”
He sat in a nearby chair, and Robert took a puff from his cigar and a sip of cognac, bracing himself for a lecture.
“I will get straight to the point. Our family physician tells me that I don’t have long to live.”
Surprised at the brash announcement, Robert’s eyes widened, and he sat straight up. “Father, I don’t know what to say.” For a moment, Robert was stunned, and then offered the only words he could think of. “I am sorry.”
“Don’t start with the bullshit, Robert,” his father retorted in irritation. “It’s life. Apparently, my heart is on the verge of giving out. It’s not beating correctly, and I often have chest pains. What can I say?” He drew in a large puff on the cigar, which caused the tip to burn bright red, then released the smoke from his lungs into the air above his head. “This probably doesn’t help,” he said, with a hearty and congested laugh.
The Duke walked over to his son’s side and expressed his wishes. “It’s time, Robert. I can no longer afford you to sow your wild oats. When I pass, the estate will need managing.” He paused for a moment and took another puff on his cigar. “I have been quite patient with your activities, but you must come to a point in your life when you assume the responsibilities into which you were born.”
Robert could not deny his father’s words, nor could he rebel against his calling after hearing of his father’s physical condition. He somewhat expected this conversation months ago, when he announced his last trip to Paris. He now understood what was behind the Duke’s
disapproving look upon his departure.
“As I see it, Lady Spencer would be a fine match for you. She comes from a well-bred family, a good bloodline. She has an acceptable dowry, as well.” He paused for a moment before emphasizing the most important matter. “You are my only son, and the Holland legacy will not continue unless you marry and bear children.”
Robert knew what his father was going to say next, and he resigned himself to the inevitable announcement that he was about to make.
“I’ve already been in discussions with Lady Spencer’s parents regarding an arranged marriage between the two of you. It will be a good match, and she’s not unpleasant to the eyes, as you can well see.”
The Duke took a few puffs upon the cigar. The air grew thick in the room, while Robert dealt with the blow and struggled with the seriousness of the situation.
“So tell me, how were your weeks in Paris?” his father asked, changing the subject. “Enjoy your trysts at the brothel?” The old man chuckled, flashing an inquisitive look in his son’s direction.
Robert was aware that his father knew of his frequent visits to the Chabanais. They were part of his Parisian entertainment while away, and they had discussed it before. What he did not know was the recent development about his last visit. The hasty rescue of Suzette began to bear its consequences, and Robert needed to clear the air with his father regarding the matter.
“My visits were pleasurable, as usual. Except, I must confess that I believe I’ve done something rather rash.”
His father’s brow rose over his son’s confession. “Rash? And what might that be?”
Robert gulped, took a drink, and then spoke. “I’ve brought a Parisian woman back to England with me.”
“You what?” his father bellowed. He leaned into Robert’s face demanding an answer. “Why in hell’s name would you do such a thing?”
“Her name is Suzette, and I met her at the Chabanais,” Robert responded.
“So you decided to bring your own private whore back to England?” His eyes glared in disapproval.
The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series) Page 20
