Secret Desires of a Gentleman

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Children. A faint glimmer of regret stopped her in her tracks. As a girl-bachelor, she’d resigned herself to being childless some years ago, knowing by the time a woman passed the age of twenty-five, her chances of ever marrying diminished greatly. Had she accepted Phillip’s proposal, she would have had the opportunity to have children, but that possibility was once again lost to her.

  Maria forced regret out of her mind. His declaration of passion meant nothing, for there was no love in it. He also had no compunction about insulting her. He was offering to make her his wife, his marchioness, and the mother of his children, but in his eyes, she would never be his equal. Without that, marriage to him was unthinkable.

  But I must be allowed to express the deep and impassioned desire I feel for you.

  Recalling those words made her pause, for even in their echo, she could hear genuine anguish. Not that it mattered, for desire, especially desire so reluctantly felt, was no basis for a man and a woman to marry. She’d been very wise to refuse him. Very wise.

  Then why did she feel so miserable?

  With that question, her anger, hurt, and disappointment rose up in a sudden, powerful wave, drowning any of her attempts to apply common sense. Maria sank down on a chair, and much to her mortification, she burst into tears.

  Chapter 13

  If you are not feeling well, if you have not slept, chocolate will revive you. But you have no chocolate! I think of that again and again. My dear, how will you ever manage?

  Marquise de Sévigné

  Phillip strode back to his own door, even more frustrated than he had been when he’d left his house half an hour before.

  I believe people who marry should have mutual respect and affection, and it is clear we have neither. What you offer me is not matrimony. It is enslavement.

  “Yes, it’s enslavement to be a marchioness with a thousand quid a month in pin money,” he muttered as he marched up the front steps. “Being chained to a stove in a hot kitchen, baking bread twenty hours a day is much more liberating.”

  He entered the house and barely restrained himself from slamming the door behind him. He’d offered her more than any woman of her background could ever hope to obtain, and for that he’d been rewarded with a heap of scathing condemnations.

  The way you have treated me has been abominable.

  Abominable? It was abominable to offer a woman marriage? What should I have offered? he wondered as he went upstairs. Any other man in his position would have taken advantage of her in that damned carriage and had done with it. No other man would have attempted to right the wrong by offering to marry her.

  In his room, he found that his valet had returned to the dressing room and was sound asleep. He supposed he ought to go back to bed as well, but her words continued to pound through his head as he undressed.

  A marquess doesn’t need to marry the kitchen maid in order to bed her.

  He made a sound of derision. If he’d thought of her as a servant, he would never have allowed a friendship to develop between them as children. He would have expected her to speak only when spoken to, and to flatten herself against the wall when he walked by, and to present things to him only on a salver so their hands would not touch. And he wouldn’t have cared if the entire village laughed at her for her inability to bat at cricket, and if she’d gone off to boarding school without knowing a single word of French, he wouldn’t have given a damn about that either.

  He went to bed, but as he lay there staring at the ceiling, her condemnations continued to run through his head.

  You have behaved like an utter cad.

  He flung back the sheets and got back out of bed. There was no point in trying to sleep now. It was dawn anyway. He yanked back the curtains to let in the feeble early-morning light, then he walked to the washstand, poured water from the pitcher into the basin, and splashed cold water on his face.

  He had to get clear of her and regain a semblance of sanity. He’d managed to do that once before, but only because he’d sent her away. That was not a viable course of action this time, for she had refused a bribe to go away already, and despite the accusations she’d hurled at him, he was not a cad. He could not bring himself to evict her in order to be rid of her. Which meant he had only one option available to him.

  Phillip turned away from the washstand, went into the dressing room, put a hand on his sleeping valet’s shoulder, and gave him a shake.

  “Gaston, I need you,” he said when the other man opened his eyes. He stepped back and the valet rose from the cot, rubbing his tired eyes.

  “Yes, sir?” he said, trying to suppress a yawn.

  “Sorry to wake you so early, Gaston, but I’ve decided to leave for Kayne Hall today, and I want to catch the morning train from Paddington. I’m sure my lack of consideration makes me an utter cad,” he added over his shoulder as he started back to his own room. “But it can’t be helped.”

  “Sir?” Gaston asked in bewilderment, following him.

  “Never mind.”

  It was a perfect day for travel. The sun was shining, the temperature was balmy, and once Phillip and his valet were outside of London, the air was fresh and clean. By the time they were halfway to Hampshire, Phillip was already feeling the lift of his spirits.

  He had cabled Mr. Jamison from Paddington, informing his butler at Kayne Hall that he would be arriving that afternoon, and instructing the man to send a pair of footmen with a horse cart to the station in Combeacre. But when he arrived in the small Hampshire village, it wasn’t only his footmen waiting for him on the platform.

  Lawrence laughed at the sight of his face as he disembarked from the train. “When you sent that cable to Jamison, I’ll wager you didn’t expect I’d be here with the footmen to meet you.”

  “I did not,” Phillip answered. “I didn’t even know you had already arrived at Kayne Hall.”

  “We came three days ago. A bit ahead of schedule, I know. But really, how long does it take to tour the shipyards?”

  “I don’t suppose you could have cabled me?”

  “I was intending to. I was,” he insisted as Phillip gave him a skeptical look. “Truly.” He glanced at Phillip’s valet, who was discussing luggage with the porter and the footmen. “Gaston, there’s a cart and driver out front for the trunks. See to everything, will you? I’m taking your master with me.”

  Gaston glanced at Phillip, who consented with a nod. “We’re taking a separate carriage, I assume?” he asked, allowing himself to be led off the platform by his brother.

  “Yes, but not one of yours.” Lawrence guided him out the front of the small depot and stopped. “We’re riding back to the house in mine.”

  “You bought a carriage?”

  “I did.” Lawrence gestured to a black gig with yellow wheels that stood in front of the depot. “And when we received your cable this morning, I knew I had to come fetch you from the station myself. What do you think?”

  Phillip studied the two-seated gig as they walked toward it. “It seems a fine carriage for the country,” he said. “But hardly useful in town. Why not just use one of my carriages when you come to the country?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Lawrence murmured as he climbed into the gig and took the reins. “Perhaps because your carriages won’t be much use to us since they are in Hampshire and my home will be in Berkshire?”

  “Berkshire?” Halfway into the gig, Phillip stopped and glanced at his brother, whose face wore a wide grin. “Are you talking about Rose Park?”

  “Yes, brother, Rose Park. We will need our own carriage there, don’t you think?”

  “We?” Phillip settled himself beside his brother on the seat. “Dare I ask if Miss Dutton is part of this collective we?”

  Lawrence laughed. “You know she is.”

  Phillip couldn’t help feeling a wave of relief at having that confirmed. One never knew with Lawrence. “I’m delighted to hear it.”

  “Delighted, but not really surprised, eh? But then, why should
you be?” he added with a chuckle as he released the brake and snapped the reins. “That was what you thought would happen when you put me in charge of taking the colonel and his family on this tour.”

  He held up his hands, palms out in a gesture of concession. “I hoped it, yes. She’s a lovely girl, from a good family, and she seems to make you happy.”

  “I am happy. You were right to keep me steered in her direction, but that’s not surprising,” he added, returning his gaze to the road ahead. “Maria had you pegged, didn’t she?”

  Phillip almost groaned. Damn it all, he’d forgotten about that girl for at least ten straight minutes. Still, now that Lawrence had mentioned her name, thereby ruining his temporary peace of mind, Phillip could not will himself to veer the conversation in another direction. “What do you mean?” he asked, a bit nettled. Maria didn’t have him pegged at all, for her scathing condemnations of his character had no basis in fact.

  “Don’t you remember that night in her kitchen two months ago when she was teasing you about always knowing what’s best for everyone? You do, you know. Although it is irritating sometimes, I have to say. There have been times when I’ve wished you’d come a cropper.”

  “Have you?” Phillip looked out over the countryside, wondering what Lawrence would say if he learned of the events that had taken place early that morning.

  “Well, no, not really,” Lawrence conceded, “but dash it all, it is hard having an older brother who always knows what’s best, who always does the right thing and never steps outside the bounds. Everyone thinks you’re perfect.”

  Not everyone.

  Lawrence gave a short laugh. “How I used to resent you for it.”

  “I know.” Phillip paused a moment, then, striving to keep his voice neutral, he said, “You’re referring to that elopement business, I suppose.”

  “Primarily, yes. Odd, isn’t it, how we’ve never talked about it? Not that we need to, not after all this time.” Lawrence shrugged. “I’ve come to realize you were acting for our benefit. Hers as well as mine. And it’s all worked out for the best. You said it would, and it has. You see? You’re always right.”

  Something in the very lightness of Lawrence’s voice caused Phillip to give him a searching glance, but he couldn’t detect any sign of bitterness in his brother’s profile.

  As if feeling his gaze, Lawrence turned to look at him. He grinned, and Phillip’s moment of uneasiness passed. “Well, it is a bit nauseating, Phillip, really. You being right all the time. Couldn’t you fall on your face once in a while?” he asked, returning his attention to the road. “It would make me feel better, and it would be good for you. Keep you from thinking you’re better than the rest of us.”

  He gave a violent start. “I don’t think I’m better than everyone else, and I’ve fallen on my face plenty of times.”

  “I’ve never seen it.”

  “What nonsense. And speaking of Miss Martingale, couldn’t you have warned me before you left town that you’d put her in charge of the desserts for the May Day Ball?”

  Lawrence groaned and nearly dropped the reins. “Oh, lord, I forgot all about that!”

  “Yes, so I gathered—when she arrived at Hawthorne Shipping, marched into my office, and declared that since you weren’t available, she was forced to meet with me.”

  “I’m sorry, old chap. You didn’t give her the sack, did you?”

  “Why even ask? You know I wouldn’t do that after you contracted her for the work,” he pointed out dryly.

  Lawrence gave a rather shamefaced laugh. “Well, it seems to have come out all right. I mean, we heard the ball was a smashing success, and the two of you didn’t kill each other along the way.”

  With great effort, Phillip kept his voice indifferent. “We managed to restrain ourselves.”

  “Rough go though, eh?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “I do wish I knew what she did to ruffle your feathers, and don’t tell me it’s because she and I almost eloped, for I shan’t believe you. You were down on her for some reason long before that.”

  “In all this gallivanting around you’ve been doing,” Phillip said, deciding it was best to divert the conversation, “did you manage to convince the colonel to let us build his transatlantic liners?”

  Lawrence, however, chose to be tiresome. “Can’t you and Maria patch things up? As I said, that elopement business is all water under the bridge now, forgiven and forgotten. There’s no reason why we can’t all be friends again, is there?”

  Friends? Phillip felt a sudden smothering need to get away. He gestured to the side of the road. “Stop the carriage, Lawrence, will you? Drop me off along here.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Just do it, please.”

  “I think I touched a nerve,” Lawrence murmured as he steered the carriage to the side of the road.

  “Not at all,” he answered, and invented a reason for stopping. “I…um…want to have a look at the farm. I didn’t have a chance to do that the last time I came up from town.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “No, that’s all right. I’d rather walk. I’ve been cooped up in trains and carriages all morning. I could do with a stretch of the legs. It’s only a mile on anyway.”

  Lawrence still eyed him with doubt, but to Phillip’s relief, he didn’t pry. “See you for tea, I imagine?”

  When he nodded, his brother snapped the reins and went on. Phillip entered the woods by the side of the road and started in the direction of the farms, but as he passed the millpond, he stopped at the sight of the enormous weeping willow on the other side of the water.

  If we had a rope, we could make a swing.

  Even from here, he could see the jagged wound where the branch over the water had broken, but from this angle, he could not see the fork in the tree where she’d been sitting that first day. Without thinking, he started to circle the pond so that he could see it, but halfway around, he realized what he was doing and came to a halt, forcing himself to remember not the first time he’d been here, but the last.

  After he’d learned of Lawrence and Maria’s plans to elope, after he’d sent Lawrence on to Oxford, after he’d written her a bank draft and a letter of character and sent her away, he’d stood under that tree for the last time, and when he walked away, he’d vowed he would never stand there again. That he would never feel again the things he had felt that day. That he would forget about her, that he would put it all behind him.

  Phillip set his jaw, turned his back on the willow tree, and walked away. He’d forgotten her once. By God, he would do it again.

  Sunday in Combeacre’s High Street was always crowded. After second service, it was the favorite place among the village residents for a stroll and the exchange of a bit of gossip.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Lawrence declared as they walked along the cobbled street. “It’s extraordinary.”

  Cynthia, who walked beside him, laughed at that comment. “Why do you say that, darling? A walk through the village seems quite a mundane thing to me.”

  “Mundane?” Lawrence shook his head. “It’s clear you’re American, Cynthia, for you don’t know the first thing about our English village life. A marquess doesn’t stroll about the village on Sunday amid the common folk. It isn’t done.”

  Mrs. Dutton, who was walking with her husband at the front of the group, glanced over her shoulder past her future son-in-law to Phillip, who was the last of their party. “But Lawrence, your brother is now doing that very thing,” she pointed out.

  “And it astonished me when he suggested the idea this morning. It isn’t like my brother to do anything on a whim.”

  “It isn’t a whim,” Phillip corrected. “I always walk the High Street on Sundays when I’m in residence.” He gestured to some of the thatch-roofed cottages further along the street. “After all, many of our tenants live here, and as landlord, I have a responsibility to see that their cottages are well maintained.”

&nbs
p; “True enough, but I’m still amazed. Father always handed that responsibility over to the land agent. Understandable, I suppose,” he added with a laugh. “Father was a snob.”

  Phillip came to a halt on the sidewalk, another of Maria’s accusations echoing back.

  You are such an arrogant, haughty, condescending snob!

  He turned, staring at his reflection in the window of Parrish’s Bookshop. When would that woman’s words stop flaying him?

  He was not a snob. He had never been a snob. But he was a marquess, damn it all, and she was the daughter of a chef. She was not his social equal. And it wasn’t as if he was the one who’d decided on all these class distinctions anyway—

  “Deuce take it, Phillip, what are you looking at?”

  “What?” He turned his head to find his brother beside him. The rest of the party had paused a little further up the street and were looking in the window of Mrs. Woodhouse’s dressmaking establishment. Phillip blinked and shook his head. “Sorry, Lawrence. What did you say?”

  “I simply wanted to know what has you so fascinated. I called to you three times, but you didn’t seem to hear me, and you were staring into Parrish’s window as if rooted to the spot.” He cupped his hands against the glass and peered into the dusty interior of the bookshop. “Hmm, a text on animal husbandry, a novel by Trollope, and Shakespeare’s Complete Works. All of these are probably in your library already, so I can’t imagine–”

  “Do you think I’m a snob?”