Lord Rochester’s solicitor was not smiling. He was not quite convinced that Lord Windon was sane. Perhaps this was an elaborate hoax for his benefit. Nevermind that his own part was just to draw up the papers, and he had taken his own sweet time presenting them. The instructions were quite unbelievable. It was an unheard of to have a husband give complete rights to a wife concerning her estates and her income.
Lord Rochester stated firmly, "Smythe, have my butler attend me. A bottle of our finest port to toast the future union of my daughter," he directed his solicitor.
Robert winced at Lord Rochester’s choice of words. It brought to mind what had happened, what had spurred this meeting. Lord Rochester did not catch his reaction thankfully. He looked at his employee, who greeted the order with a huff. Then the younger man got up from his chair and stalked towards the door in full disapproval. He was sure the man had consigned him to Bedlam.
When the door clicked, Lord Windon slouched slightly in his seat and looked at Lord Rochester, a sincere look now. The older man was still smiling. "I take it she has no idea what has transpired in the room." No fool, Lord Rochester.
"No, my lord." He had to tell the truth.
Lord Rochester stopped him with a wave of stiff fingers. "We are even closer than acquaintances, and if anything you must call me Frederick," he offered magnanimously.
"I cannot, my lord" Lord Windon said.
"You will find you can. Tell me this, I have a feeling that my daughter has no idea what is happening in this room,” Lord Rochester stated with a dry chuckle.
"I have not proposed—That is, I have discussed the idea with her, but she has not given me her answer." At Lord Rochester’s raised eyebrow he continued. "She would have given me her thoughts on it today, but I could not quite wait."
"A curious thing. I accepted your suit on her behalf because I know that she is not averse to you, and your intentions are kindly." Lord Rochester stated this in a quiet way. Lord Windon was confused as to the point of the words. He made a move to interrupt, but Lord Rochester just ploughed on with a stern look.
"You have proved it beyond doubt by the papers signed today. My solicitor might be overzealous, but he has aired the doubts I had, and knowing that you have shown us both up by signing anyway. For her sake, I am grateful from this match even if I shall leave the breaking of the news to you." Lord Rochester was finished. It was an acceptance speech, but Lord Windon could not help the wave of guilt and unease it evoked in himself.
Lord Windon fingered his cravat at that last thought. He caught the earl smiling widely at his obvious sign of discomfort and he stopped, patting the stifling knot. "I must return to my estates, post-haste." He was running away, there were no kinder words.
"You won’t stay here for the reading of the banns?" Lord Rochester asked, more a statement than a question.
"There is no need. I will return on the third Monday and we can be married in the morning." The way he answered would mean he had discussed the issue with her. He had not at all done anything of the sort with her, but he doubted that a union with him was something she would be willing to celebrate.
"You will, however, allow me tonight to celebrate this?" He added quickly at the dissension on the face of Lord Windon. "I assure you, not a formal party but an announcement to the house and a festive dinner?"
"I cannot in good faith begrudge you that." He had the power to refuse and he wanted to refuse for other reasons, but he could not take the obvious pleasure of the older man.
"I thank you," Lord Rochester nodded.
The door opened to reveal the butler clutching a bottle and a service of crystal snifters. He placed the tray on the table in the study and made short work of the cork. The first glass was proffered to Lord Windon, then Lord Rochester, then Mister Smythe who was still sporting the obvious look of disbelief. Robert confessed to himself finally that the thought rankled endlessly. But he had more of that to face when the news spread. It was too bizarre an act to be kept under wraps forever. London would be a trial.
"To my daughter’s union." Lord Rochester proposed with an obvious cheer that was shown only by himself. The men raised their glasses and drained the contents. Lord Rochester merely wet his lips.
The butler was curious but held himself back. Lord Rochester noticed the gleaming curiosity and smiled now. “Lord Windon has signed the betrothal contract. Tell Cook there will be a banquet tonight to celebrate with the entire household. Break out the cask of summer ale in the cellar, Winthrop."
“Very well, your lordship." The butler greeted the news with a shudder of obvious relief that no one but Lord Windon caught. The butler exited, followed closely by Mister Smythe. Somehow Lord Windon knew the contents of the papers he had signed would be all over the estate by teatime.
"The matter of making things known to my daughter..." Lord Windon held his breath. "I believe I will leave that to you, as I have said earlier. But you must tell her before the dinner. It is only right."
Duty. Is that what would be left to him for the rest of his life? He was loath to spend the rest of his life doing what was right. He sighed softly. It would be shabby to expect Lord Rochester to break the news to his daughter. It was his own problems, and he had to deal with it by himself. Just not yet. He couldn't face her wrath just yet.
Chapter Twelve
The butler had delivered the news along with dinner instructions to the kitchen. Mary had snatched that titbit and hauled it up the stairs with glee to assault her mistress with. Lady Amelia’s stomach didn't like the news any bit. It rebelled, losing the reins on its tenderness during her monthly bleeding and hurled the unrecognisable contents of breakfast in a chamber pot.
"Damnation!"
"Mistress?" Mary hovered and pulled the stinking chamber pot away from her mistress's nose. Amelia waved her away and snuck back into bed. She closed her eyes and thought about the news. Her stomach churned but she refused to become even more of a coward than strictly necessary.
Spewing was no way to greet a marriage announcement. The action would only add fire to flames already burning out of control. The household would have her pregnant with Robert's heir in a trice. Her night away from their watchful eyes with him at an unknown rendezvous was a matter of serious contemplation among the household servants. Her thin falsehood about staying with a tenant family would melt away come Sunday, when everyone could compare notes in church.
A burn in her hand confirmed her hands had tightly clenched the soft bed sheets in a white fist. She felt the loss of control more than anything, and the betrayal. Amelia subsided into bed and curled on one side. The burn in her eyes signalled the tears that would soon fall, but that wouldn't do. Closing her eyes against it, she lulled herself into quietness even while her thoughts and stomach churned.
She must have succeeded, because the coolness of a damp cloth on her brow startled her awake faster than ever. She raised her eyes to find Mary looking at her with deep concern and sympathy. Drat her sentiments.
"It is not a fate too unbearable, my lady. There are worse things, and I have it in good authority that Lord Windon is a kind man," the girl said as she moped her mistress’s brow.
"I am sure." Though her voice was low, it trembled, but not enough to disguise her tone that conveyed a healthy amount of disbelief.
"Cook roped his valet into discussion and we were most curious about Lord Windon now that—well, now that..." Mary stuttered and Amelia winced. Her reaction was disgraceful at best. And knowing Cook approved of the match stung. Was there no one on her side?
"My constitution is not that weak to spew at the reminder. I dare say I only did that because it was rather abrupt," she countered sharply. Her angst showed through her attempts to curb it.
Mary almost tipped the bowl into the bed. "He didn't discuss his intentions with you!?"
"Have a care, Mary. I do not wish to lie in the wet!" Amelia cautioned as she scooted away. Mary rescued it in time, still looking at her with a question in her eyes. "H
e did." She let it lie at that.
Mary remained unconvinced and huffed as she put the piece of cloth back into clean water, wringing the excess off and returning it to her mistress's brow. "I warrant his manners are stiff and eccentric." She started in the manner of a person who was giving a lecture aimed at consoling a child. How on earth a lecture was supposed to console a person, Amelia did not know.
"Then we are quite a match in that respect." Amelia replied to her maid with a great deal of sarcasm.
"Quite so," Mary chorused. The subtleties of the conversation flown right over her head. Amelia groaned on the bed, but Mary didn't react to it as she continued her belated attempt to reassure. "He is kindly to his staff and does not curb them, except when they act in excess and outside orders and that is rarely, if never. He is not miserly but he is not given to excesses that might beggar you."
"I see." Amelia commented in a tone that should convey her disinterested state to her maid, but then Mary just continued her explanation as she cleaned her lady’s face.
Mary continued with a feigned confidence. "You are more in danger of neglect. His Grace is known to prefer his own company for hours on end and would go days without a word to persons around him."
"Who is the font of this veritable knowledge again?" How servants dug up these truths was not a mystery to Amelia. She has visited the kitchens herself.
"His valet, who I am sure knows his person perfectly well. There are also no multitude of friends," Mary added with what she thought was a sagely nod of her head. It only put Amelia in the mind of a rooster strutting and about to crow. Amelia laughed inwardly at the ridiculous image.
"His Grace does not lack for company," she answered though airily, but she was not quite sure herself.
"He is not very amendable to company except in the person of his cousin Lord Felton," Mary countered.
"I am sure you want to ease my mind, but nothing will," Amelia returned just as succinctly.
Mary scrambled to touch her, making her to open her eyes to look into her maid’s earnest eyes. "He is a good match, offers you the title of duchess, and you cannot say he cares not a whit for you."
"How do you presume such?" For a moment she thought that her maid had a titbit of information to that effect.
"He would rather marry you than have your reputation in shreds," Mary answered with a broad smile. Amelia lost hope at that point. That was hardly a sign of affection since he stood to gain a lot.
Amelia started to explain, "Mary..."
"No. T’was a move to ruin you to this very grounds and he has saved you from the gossip." She was quite unmoved from her idealism. Mary was championing Lord Windon and she was not to be dissuaded. If she was already supporting him, then the entire household was most likely pledging eternal fealty and servitude. Stop this Amelia, she chided in her mind. This is not a play on Drury Lane. This is your own life.
"I would think my household would curb their tongue," Amelia answered with a returning salvo. As responses went, it was weak, but it had the desired effect of sobering her maid. Barely.
"Fool's dream," Mary scolded lightly, her manner stiff in her indignation.
"I must not read much into his chivalrous act in asking for my hand on the marriage mart. My dowry is quite handsome," Amelia returned with enough acid in her tone to curb anyone.
But Mary had been her maid since her childhood and was not just anyone. "Lord Windon is even richer than you are..." she informed her with glee.
"Of that I have no doubt," Amelia subsided.
Mary sighed. "It is as my mother said. You are now plagued with the discontent that ails all spinster of a certain age."
It stung, that she was already termed a spinster and that her maid discussed her with her mother on her day off. Even if it was only in goodly concern. "You forget I am to be married," she countered smugly.
"Of barely a moment. Here, have your ginger tea. Cook brewed it especially for your tender stomach." Mary was not impressed. Amelia conceded to drain the tea cup.
"There will be a feast tonight." Amelia dropped the fragile cup with a rattle. Mary cautioned her in concern, but her mind was too far away to register the words.
"I am sure you will make my excuses to my father." It was a plea even if she worded it like an order.
Mary huffed angrily. She couldn’t refuse to do it but her disgust at the evasion was so obvious that she blurted, "You, milady, are more stubborn than a mule!"
"You will remember your place!" Even this did not sound sure enough.
"If you will remember yours! Milady, it is an announcement of your wedding. Don't take that pleasure from your father," Mary pleaded.
"Having carted his burden off to another, he should feast the entire peerage of England." Amelia was not in the mood to be pleaded with. Her father wanted nothing more than to give her away and Robert, damn him, was carting her away from her home. She knew she was behaving like a petulant child denied a toy.
"It is only the household," Mary inserted.
"I shall not come!" And that was final! All of England could not drag her to the dinner table. Let them take their pleasures by themselves. The thought sparked the events of the previous night in her mind.
"You, milady, are being most contrary," Mary replied. “It will bring your father much joy. He is sickly but would bring himself to attend the festivities. He will be displeased at..."
"Papa is ill?" Amelia cut in, concern on her face.
"Why this morning, he could barely shuffle to breakfast without the aid of a footman. And that is a mild tale of it!" Mary answered softly.
“Why did he not stay in bed!" she demanded in alarm.
"He had guests and he did his duty by them." Mary meant well, truly she did. Her blind faith in her employer’s health rankled his daughter.
And her choice of words were so reminiscent of what Robert—Lord Windon now, no more Robert. Her words reminded her of the discussion with Lord Windon the first night of their acquaintance. "Lord Windon can surely keep himself amused without the aid of an invalid,” she exclaimed with a vehemence that stunned even her maid.
Mary, when faced with her mistress's manner, fell back on stiff propriety. "Lord Windon is a respected guest of your father."
"Leave me," Amelia ordered and burrowed into her sheets. Her show of anger was suddenly extinguished. Mary sighed and inhaled with a rush, as if she was going to say something, but held herself back. Amelia turned her back on her maid. Her gaze was fixed on the vanity mirror and the jars of colors and scents that littered the table. She watched as Mary finally sighed with disgust, threw her rag into the bowl and carried it with the cup of tea out if the room. The silence was deafening for a moment before Amelia surrendered to tears and after a time she slept off. Even the movement of her maid in her boudoir did not rouse her.
In the late evening, Mary brought a tray for her lady. The conversation flowed between them. Mary was happy, with her tongue loosened considerably by the ale from the earl’s cellar. A generous amount had been passed to the servant’s table in celebration. There was news of the feasts both in the kitchen and in the formal dining table. The difference being that the crowd in the kitchen were less stiff and exuberant with their joys.
“The dining room,” Mary frowned as she delivered this titbit, “was bright with candles and the three gentlemen who sat there were silent though they indulged in Cook's repast. Even Lord Rochester moved himself to dine well tonight, but for all that the air was somber. Lord Rochester smiled. Lord Windon was quiet, though curiously without an expression. Mister Smythe, Lord Rochester’s solicitor, wore a curious expression,” Mary finished triumphantly, then added, “It would have been a cheery meal if her ladyship had moved herself to attend.”
Amelia did not comment except the occasional nod. She was thinking furiously on the news her maid had delivered. It was better that she had not attended her own betrothal dinner. Quite unconventional it was of her, but nothing could bolster her nerve enough to face
the Robert from across the table. She could not handle knowing his disgust of her while receiving felicitations on her upcoming marriage to him.
Her father would want to know when she would travel with him. She would be expected to leave soon. Then the marriage ceremony would be arranged quickly, a light affair surely. All this would be inquired upon and she would be expected to answer prettily and feign joy. She could not answer those questions yet. Tomorrow was enough time.
Chapter Thirteen
Lord Windon closed the door to Lord Rochester’s study and walked down the hallway. He was alone in the expanse and he took his time, walking at a leisurely sedate pace. If only his thoughts would be in the same mien then he would be a happy man.
He sighed and muttered a curse under his breath. He had never been a happy man. That was hardly a pursuit that a man would lend himself to. A man went about being manly. He was accomplished, even if it was vain to proclaim himself so, but he was not happy. Here he was, more than an amateur in sport. He had his marks in pugilism. He was a master of fencing, he was a crack shot, a veritable horseman. He might not give a whit for being a tulip of fashion. He abhorred frippery, but his station and circumstances dictated he step out only in the very best, something his valet took excess pride in achieving. But he had never been happy.
He remembered a time when he was yet a boy, and his mother's voice had called to him. Then he had been happy. He could not quite recall what was the cause of such jollity was, but he recognised his happiness then. With the nostalgia of childhood, the fleeting image would bring an ache to his heart. No more. That memory had been long replaced by his encounters with Amelia. Sweet Amelia, beautiful Amelia. The woman he will marry, who had changed his entire life and who hated him with a hatred so strong it could come alive. Amelia who would rather languish in her room, preferring her own company to a chance in his own.
Denying The Duke (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 3) Page 9
