Charming the Duke

by Holly Bush

  “Perhaps you should speak to my sister. She has been closely involved with charities in the past and done some planning of that sort, I believe,” he said.

  Matilda looked up quickly. “Do you think she would? That would be wonderful to have someone with some experience in this. I tend to walk up to people I know and say ‘My orphanage needs money. What can you give me?’ Mrs. Smithly undoubtedly would do better.”

  Thornsby laughed. “Athena is quite skilled at squeezing the last farthing out of someone for a cause she is passionate about.”

  Matilda smiled brilliantly. “This is wonderful news. Thank you.”

  He smiled back and felt his heart race. They arrived at a bakery with some small tables, he seated Matilda and fetched them both a pastry and tea.

  “I have walked past this place and smelled the wonderful smells but have never come inside,” Matilda said and took a bite of her scone. She licked her lips and closed her eyes. “How delicious!”

  Thornsby had read sonnets and poems aplenty at University, and some of them were romantic. When the authors talked about the object of their love, he had snickered. It all sounded so trite and silly to think that suddenly a man would just succumb to his feelings for a woman. But something at that point in their visit, and he was at a loss to say what, made it clear to him that he was very much in love with this woman. He didn’t feel an idle attraction or the matter of his inheritance were even at play any longer. He wanted to visit pastry shops with Matilda when they were middle-aged, and elderly as well. He wanted to make love to her by candlelight, and raise children with her, and kiss her, and make her smile until the last day he drew breath. How or why such a mundane exercise as stopping by a bakery made him see his life ahead clearly, he could not explain. But it was nonetheless true.

  They walked back to her orphanage and talked about books they’d read and theatre they’d both seen. When they arrived at her door, he removed his hat.

  “I would very much like to take you walking again soon, Matilda,” he said and was suddenly nervous. “I have estate business tomorrow. But may I call on you at eleven in two days?”

  She looked up at him wide eyed. “I would like that very much, Thornsby,” she said. “Very much, indeed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Matilda was helping Mrs. Brewer with the market list as another child would be arriving shortly. She was counting the days until Miss Pinkey arrived and took over the daily duties surrounding the orphanage. Matilda was hoping to send a note that day to Mrs. Smithly, and invite her to dine at Maplewood so that she could ask her about fund raising efforts and how best to proceed on that subject for the orphanage.

  Matilda had a thousand things to do, not all pleasant, but nothing seemed to wipe the smile from her face. Thornsby would arrive that morning for another walk, and she was as excited as she’d ever been. She lay in bed the night before and thought about him until well into the night and arrived at the orphanage tired, but brimming with anticipation.

  Matilda was in her brown serge, suitable for a woman with tasks, yet not cobweb covered or fraying. She’d dressed up once for Thornsby with disastrous results. She absolutely would not do it again. When she wore fashionable clothes, as she done when she went to the Benford Ball, she’d done the very thing she’d avoided doing for years. She’d stepped in to the ton’s world and ran headlong into their expectations. Far flung from the expectations she’d set for herself as a young woman.

  But Matilda had Mimi fix her hair and pile the curls loosely on her head and around her face with a few tendrils twisting down her neck that very morning. Mimi snickered when Matilda told her she wanted to look particularly nice as she was meeting with her man of business. She had dismissed the maid as quickly as she dismissed her misgivings that she’d become a slave to appearances. After all, she’d still worn her sensible shoes today.

  From her office, she heard Mrs. Brewer answer the door. She stood, straightened her skirts and touched her hair. Her surprise at his early arrival was a fleeting thought as her heart thumped in her chest.

  Mrs. Brewer opened the office door and Millicent Marsh swept by her. “Countess Rundel to see you, Miss. Would you like me to bring tea?”

  “I will not be staying long enough for tea,” Millicent said to Mrs. Brewer although her eyes never left Matilda’s face. “Leave us.”

  “What do you want?” Matilda asked as Mrs. Brewer left the room.

  Millicent raised her brows. “Hardly the attitude to take with the woman that has it within her power to ruin your family.”

  “Whatever are you talking about? You have no influence on my family.”

  Millicent sat herself on the edge of the settee. “Really, Matilda? Best not to make too quick a judgment. It doesn’t do you credit.”

  “Why are you here? Whatever are you doing here, in my study, talking riddles?”

  Millicent looked at Matilda with a smile. “Riddles? I love a riddle. I will tell you one, but I fear that it will not make you happy. Apparently, for some odd reason, Viscount Altry is taken with your younger sister, the dark-haired one.”

  “And what of it?”

  “It is unfortunate that she was indiscreet with a footman at the home of her friend Miss Walsh. The Viscount’s mother, the Countess of Marwick, in particular, is very upset that her son would be linked with your sister and by that association bring shame to her family. Lady Marwick is, by all accounts, quite a stickler for propriety.”

  “How ridiculous you are! No one would believe you because it is not true.”

  “Really, Miss Sheldon? How innocent you are! You do not know the way of society. It is already been talked about in some of the finest salons in the city.”

  “So what of it? It is not true.”

  “Really? There is a handsome, young footman willing to say it is true. Bragging about it amongst other servants. Willing to quote time and place and even name witnesses.”

  Matilda’s head was spinning. She was not cut out for this duplicitous play acting. She knew she was out of her depths. “And who in good society would believe you? Your reputation is in tatters.”

  “You wound me, Miss Sheldon,” Millicent said as she rose from her chair. “Unfortunately, for your family it is not me who is spreading the tale. It is Lady Marwick who just happens to be a cousin by marriage to the Marchioness of Hereford. There is a garden party at Herndon this weekend that your family is invited to, I believe. It would be a shame if there was some sort of scene, would it not?”

  Millicent Marsh was staring at her and raised one penciled eyebrow. Matilda’s hands were shaking and she held them together at her waist. “What are you suggesting?” Matilda asked.

  “Come now, my dear. Even you are aware that Thornsby is out of your league. He’s a man that needs an experienced woman if she means to keep him tied to the marriage bed. How conceited to throw away the happiness of your dear sisters over a man you are not meant to have.”

  “My sister’s happiness is dear to me. What would you know of anyone else’s happiness other than you own?”

  “Exactly, Matilda, dear. And it is in your power to save them. Quit the notion that you are suitable for Thornsby. Do it quickly and all will be well and as it should be,” Millicent said and swept from the room.

  Matilda dropped into the chair. She felt panicked and ill and then heard Mrs. Brewer at the door.

  * * *

  “She’s in her sitting room, Your Grace,” Mrs. Brewer said. “Leave the door open if you don’t mind.”

  “We won’t be here long, Mrs. Brewer. Miss Sheldon and I are arranged to take a walk this morning.”

  Matilda stood with her back to him as he walked across the room. The sun was streaming through the windows and he was here, finally here, taking Matilda for a stroll, after the morning had drug on and he had checked his timepiece over and over. “Lovely day, Matilda. Are you ready for our outing?” he said with a smile.

  But when she turned to him, his cheerfulness deserted hi
m. She was pale and trembling and would not meet his eye. “What is it, Matilda? Are you unwell?”

  “No,” she said and gestured to a chair for him as she slowly sat down on the worn settee. “I am fine, Your Grace.”

  “Are you sure? May I get you a glass of water or a cup of tea? I’ll call Mrs. Brewer . . .”

  “No,” she cut him off. “I have no need of refreshment. There is something weighing on my mind, though, that we need to discuss, and will preempt our walk.”

  “What is it?”

  Matilda looked him in the eye, although with none of the spark he’d seen when he challenged her or the desire when he had kissed her.

  “I no longer wish for your company,” she said. “I will be unable to walk out with you this morning and would prefer it if you did not call again. In fact, I insist that you do not.”

  “What is it, Matilda?” he asked. “What has happened?”

  “Nothing has happened.”

  “I thought you enjoyed yourself on our last outing and flatter myself to think that you were looking forward to today as much as I.”

  “You are mistaken. My interest in you is minimal, and I have a busy schedule that does not include you, Your Grace.”

  Thornsby tapped his gloves in the palm of his hand. “I thought our interest was mutual, Matilda. I hardly believe this sudden change of heart has not been precipitated from an event or perhaps something I said.”

  She stood. “You are incorrect. I have never been interested in you, and I would prefer you did not address me so casually.”

  He stood slowly and stared at Matilda. She was looking past him, over his shoulder. He made a crisp bow and said, “Good day then, Miss Sheldon. I’m sorry I’ve troubled you.”

  * * *

  Matilda sat quietly and watched the dust motes cascade in the swath of light shining through the window. She stood and walked to the kitchens.

  “Mrs. Brewer?” she said. The woman was bent over adjusting pans in a massive oven. “I’ll be going home shortly.”

  “That’s just fine, Miss Sheldon. We’ve got everything under control,” she said as she straightened and turned to Matilda. “Oh dear, Miss. Are you unwell? I’ll call Mr. Small to take you home.”

  “No,” Matilda said. “That will not be necessary. But thank you.”

  Mrs. Brewer tilted her head. “Weren’t you to go walking? Did the Duke say something to upset you, Miss?”

  Matilda shook her head. “No. He did not.” She rubbed her thumb over a worn spot on the corner of the wooden table and replayed that dreadful scene. “He did nothing wrong.”

  Mrs. Brewer made her way around the table and touched Matilda’s arm. “But something is the wrong.”

  “No, Mrs. Brewer. I am fine.”

  “What did Countess Rundel have to say to you?”

  Matilda looked up sharply. “Nothing of any importance. Please do not repeat to anyone that she visited.” Matilda pulled her shawl from its hook and wrapped it about herself. “I’ll be on my way, then.”

  Matilda shook her head as she walked out the door and climbed into the family carriage. When had she begun caring about him and what he thought, she wondered? How did a man, so seemingly unsuitable for her, become part of every thought in her head? Would she ever forget the look on his face when she told him she was not and never had been interested in him?

  Matilda climbed the stairs to her room, dismissing Mimi, and finally giving in to the tears she’d been holding back. She had hurt him and done it with purposeful intent. She closed her eyes and squeezed them tight so his face, those wounded eyes, would not be in her head.

  * * *

  “I’m not receiving any visitors, Wilcox.”

  “It is Mrs. Smithley, Your Grace.”

  “Send her away.”

  Thornsby heard the door to his rooms close. He reopened the book in his lap and flipped through the pages determined to get lost in the story. He had been admittedly glum and low for days following the humiliating scene with Matilda. He could not rouse himself, even to consider that he was but one month away from losing his inheritance. He thought perhaps he would sell off the estates, including Winterbourne, he’d certainly not have the money for its upkeep, and take a long trip, perhaps to America.

  It was an odd feeling, mourning something that was never really his. And his dreams and desires that he should like spending his life with Matilda were never expressed to her. There hadn’t been time, between the misunderstandings and the drama of the children and their arguments. But that was certainly what he had intended to say that day. He had rehearsed in his head what words he would use and how she would reply. After their last outing he was certain she would be open to his addresses.

  Despite their bickering, their differences, and the short nature of their acquaintance, he could not imagine anyone but her by his side, and was worried that he may, in fact, never marry, never get over the loss of Matilda. Other women were simply not her, and the thought of talking to another woman on any personal level was nearly repugnant to him.

  The door to the salon leading to his bedchamber banged open.

  “Frederick Wilcox!” Athena shouted. “You will not turn me away yet again.”

  “These rooms are mine, Athena. They are private and I have no wish to see you!” he bellowed through the dressing room.

  Athena marched through the adjoining rooms and plopped herself across from him in the chair in front of the fireplace. Smithley strolled in behind and stretched out on his bed.

  “I will not be deterred.”

  “Go hang yourself, Athena,” he said bitterly. “Get out. Both of you.”

  “No need to malign your sister, you daft oaf,” Andrew said.

  “What is going on with Matilda Sheldon?” Athena asked. “I have been told she refused you.”

  “Miss Sheldon was very explicit. She has never had any interest in me and does not want me to bother her again.”

  Smithley whistled. “That had to hurt.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Athena said. “I’m a good judge of character, especially women, and I think Miss Sheldon is very interested in you. More, in fact, than she may even admit to herself.”

  While hearing Athena’s comments buoyed his ego and hopes, he was no one’s fool. “She was very clear, utterly unemotional.”

  “I’ve heard today she’ll be attending the garden party at Herndon,” Smithley said. “Maybe she’s not as keen on Freddy as you think, Athena.”

  “Really, Andrew,” Athena said.

  Thornsby stood and wandered to the window. What would take Matilda, willingly, to a house party, he wondered?

  “Andrew and I are going to Herndon. Why don’t you come with us?” Athena said. “Can’t hide yourself in your bedroom forever.”

  Thornsby shook his head and turned when he heard Wilcox clear his throat.

  “My apologies, Your Grace. I know you are not to be disturbed but you have a visitor that will not leave.”

  “Let them wait,” Thornsby said. “I’m not coming down.”

  Wilcox was silent a long moment. “Shall I tell the Dowager Countess of Bisset to wait in the Blue Room, Your Grace?”

  “The Dowager is here!” Athena said as she stood. “This is interesting. Tell her I will attend her shortly, Wilcox.”

  “What could she possibly want?” Andrew said.

  “I don’t know,” Thornsby said.

  “Are you coming?” Athena asked.

  “Lady Bisset,” Thornsby said just a few moments later as he strode in the room and made the introductions. “My sister, Mrs. Smithley and her husband.”

  “How do you do, ma’am, and to what do we owe this honor,” Athena said as she seated herself. “Andrew? Please do call for tea.”

  The Dowager turned a pinched face to Thornsby. “What have you done to cause my favorite granddaughter so much unhappiness?”

  “I have done nothing but ask her to go walking with me where I intended to declare my intentio
ns. I realize now perhaps I should have spoken to her father first,” he replied.

  “And you believe that Matilda would be influenced by her father?”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t,” he said. “But that does not mean I shouldn’t have been proper in my addresses to her. I intended to make her my Duchess.”

  “And what are your intentions now?” she asked.

  Thornsby sat down, crossed his legs, and stared off as he thought about that long trip he’d been considering. Thought about his life without Matilda. “I don’t know.”

  “Hmmm,” the Dowager Countess said as she sipped her tea.

  “Do you think Thornsby should address Miss Sheldon again? With the hopes of a different reply?” Athena asked.

  Thornsby held a breath, waiting, he supposed, for some hope that he could mend this breach. But the Dowager shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “No, I do not.”

  Athena’s shoulders dropped as did his stomach on the Dowager’s reply and he stood up from his chair. “Then why did you come here?” he said, more sharply than he intended. “Was your intent to make me out to be a cad or a fool?”

  “Thornsby!” Athena said with a soft protest.

  The Dowager harrumphed. “Sit down, young man. I’ve had an interesting bit of news from my lady’s maid this morning.”

  Andrew sat down on the arm of the settee beside Athena. “Do tell. Servants’ gossip always is often the most reliable and certainly the most interesting.”

  The Dowager looked up at Andrew from under her brows with a frown but turned her attentions back to Athena. “My maid, Effie, has been with me for well over two decades. She is just back from spending the day with her brother’s widow, a Mrs. Brewer.”

  Thornsby looked up to see the Dowager staring at him. “Mrs. Brewer? The Mrs. Brewer that is employed at Miss Sheldon’s orphanage?”

  “The very same. Apparently there was a visitor to see Matilda very shortly before you arrived the day that she sent you scurrying. Tail between your legs, I might add.”