by Ella Edon
“Jerome?” Louisa groaned, dropping to the grass heedless of her white cotton dress, resting her chin imploringly on Charlotte’s knees. “But Jerome is insufferable, darling. You aren’t obligated to care for a man just because he is your suitor!”
“The only suitor I have had, or am likely to have,” Charlotte pointed out reasonably.
“Better to die an old maid like me than spend a lifetime with a bore like him.”
“You’ll never be an old maid, I don’t care what you say. No one as beautiful and dazzling as yourself could have such a fate.”
“Bite your tongue! I enjoy far too much independence as the daughter of the Earl of Warwick to toss it away just for the sake of being someone’s wife. But don’t change the subject on me, you sly thing. Confess – if you do not have the heart to punish your dear old companion it is because that heart belongs to him. Is it not so?”
“Oh, Louisa, don’t. Certainly I feel affection for him, sadness perhaps that he did not cherish our youthful friendship the way I did, but I am hardly pining away for the man.”
Charlotte’s words lacked conviction, and did little to alter her sister’s opinion, but Louisa did not press her further. Louisa loved and admired her sister a great deal and wished she could coax her from her gentle, bookish reserve just enough that others might see her worth. Charlotte had never resented being the only girl in the family that didn’t resemble their exquisitely beautiful blonde mother, taking after their mild, near-sighted father’s instead, but Louisa fiercely resented on her behalf that outsiders considered her “the plain Warwick girl”. There was so much more to Charlotte than that.
Chapter Two
Kenneth sipped his after-dinner port, feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks. This was partly due to weariness, he supposed, from journeying out of London and from riding at length to survey his estate, and partly due to his enjoyment of his uncle’s company. It was every bit as distasteful as he had anticipated to return to the place where his mother had been murdered, but at least his uncle had been present, solicitously riding alongside him, as well as going over accounts and papers with him so that he could take up the mantle of his estate with ease.
The two men now rewarded themselves with glasses of port by the fire in the drawing room, enjoying a companionable silence. This was broken, at length, by Roger, who set his drink aside and shifted towards his nephew with the little grunt peculiar to men of middle-age feeling the effects of a long day on horseback. Roger Blackmore was a fine-looking man, having retained the tall and powerful build that he shared with his brother and nephew. He had never been considered to have nearly so handsome a face as his older brother, but age had brought him a sort of pleasantly distinguished air.
“It’s certainly good to have you back home, Kenneth,” he remarked easily, smiling fondly at his nephew.
“You have made me feel more at ease here than I expected to be,” Kenneth confessed. He had never kept it a secret from his uncle that he loathed spending time in the family home.
“Well, perhaps now that it is all yours you will grow to be fonder of the place, my boy. It’s a fine home, you know.” Roger spoke without any bitterness that the family title and estate did not fall to himself, having long resigned himself to his lot as a second son. He had a comfortable home and lands of his own, and appeared quite contented with his fate.
“Perhaps,” Kenneth agreed noncommittally. He knew he could never be fond of this house, but there was no sense in dragging his uncle through his own private misery.
“The best way to make a home your own, to my way of thinking, is to start a family in it. It’s high time you were married, Kenneth.”
“I have no desire whatsoever to marry now or ever,” Kenneth spoke stiffly, his entire body tensing at the very idea.
“Come, come. That was an understandable enough stance for a young nobleman sowing his wild oats, I am sure. And from what I hear tell, you sowed quite a bountiful crop, while keeping as far away from eligible young ladies and their doting mamas as possible,” Roger shook his head and smiled indulgently.
“I am afraid that the charms of the Season have always been quite wasted on me, Uncle.”
“And London offers many other charms, I am aware. However, I am afraid that your desire – or lack thereof- to marry is no longer a consideration.”
“What do you mean?” frowned Kenneth, reluctant to even ask the question.
“I mean that you are now the Duke of Rutherford and cannot afford to indulge in your distaste for matrimony any longer. It is your responsibility to our family line to marry and produce an heir.”
“Has it occurred to you that it might be better to end our family line than to perpetuate it?” Kenneth burst out before he could stop himself.
“It certainly has not! What a thing to say,” Roger exclaimed, looking quite shocked. “Such a thing is quite out of the question and I confess I am rather appalled to hear you suggest it. No, you must resign yourself to your fate, my boy. The duty and obligation of your position are quite clear and your personal wishes must be laid aside.”
“Very well,” Kenneth ground out, defeated. He knew his uncle’s words to be true enough, but had somehow avoided considering the idea that he would have to take a wife until that very moment.
“I suppose you don’t have a young lady in mind? I mean, someone of the correct standing, of course?” Roger delicately skirted the subject of the actresses and ballet dancers that Kenneth had taken up with in the past, none of which would make a suitable Duchess of Rutherford.
“No, there is no one.” Thank Providence, Kenneth added mentally. He guarded his affections quite fiercely, and deliberately kept company only with unsuitable women that he could not be expected to marry. If his hand was indeed to be forced, at least he might still wed a woman he did not love, thereby keeping her safe.
“That’s fine, that’s no obstacle at all,” Roger sounded distinctly relieved. “In fact, I have an excellent suggestion in place for you. Do you recall how much time you spent as a boy at the Earl of Warwick’s home? I do believe you were there very nearly as much as you were here after – well, after your dear mother passed away.”
Kenneth’s heart gave an involuntary leap at his uncle’s question. The Earl of Warwick’s estate had been his refuge after that horrible night, the only place that he felt safe for years. He had often reflected that if it had not been for that haven he might have been utterly lost.
The Earl and his lovely wife had been kind, welcoming him, and encouraging him to visit as often as he liked. Kenneth had been shy around Lady Warwick as her motherly affection, though well-intentioned, had reminded him too painfully of the loss of his own mother. The Earl’s daughters Louisa, Selina, and Tereza, although very sweet, had been so vivacious and energetic that in his grief he felt he had nothing in common with them. It had been gentle little Charlotte Warwick who had drawn Kenneth back to visit time and again. He could picture her now, with perfect clarity, seeing her in his mind’s eye as she had been then – the angel of his tortured childhood. She demanded nothing, content to give him the simple yet vital gift of her uncomplicated presence.
Her dress and hair had always been tidy and simple, as unassuming as she herself was, although she was forever absentmindedly letting her spectacles slip down the slender bridge of her nose as she buried her face in a book. He used to slide them up into place for her, just for the reward of her sudden, brilliant smile.
They would spend hours at a time in the library, reading, perfectly content to be silent together. Other people would try to coax Kenneth to speak of his sorrow, but even at a very young age, Charlotte delicately sensed that it was too great for him to put into words. Instead she had simply offered him her favorite books, first asking him to read aloud to her, then later reading to him in turn, teaching him the life-long lesson that he could always find solace between the covers of a fine story. There had been many times in the intervening years that he really thought he might hav
e gone mad but for that escape. Gradually he had been able to speak to her of more than just the stories they enjoyed together. He had never told her that he was certain his father had killed his mother, but that had been the only thing he held back. It would have made it too real to say the words aloud, and besides, he had not wanted to burden her with that horror. He had been able to tell her, though, how much he loved and missed his mother, how much it pained him to spend time in the company of his father, even of the nightmares that plagued him so consistently. She had been his constant companion, his confidant, the only light he could find in those dark times.
Unbidden, a memory rose before him, unfolding as if for the first time.
“Kenneth! I thought I would certainly be here long before you this morning. How long have you been sitting here?” Charlotte spoke with a slight lisp due to the gaps of several missing teeth. Her nose was sprinkled with tiny freckles, much to her mother’s chagrin, because they had been spending so much of the summer outdoors together. Kenneth’s mother had been dead for two years, and the lively horror he had felt for so long was finally dying down into a cold, permeating numbness.
“I couldn’t sleep in my bed last night,” Kenneth confessed, unashamed to speak to Charlotte of a weakness that he would have vehemently denied to anyone else. “I had my nightmare over and over, almost every time I closed my eyes. I finally just slipped out and came to sit in our spot, and then I fell asleep almost right away.”
Charlotte ducked down to join him in the shade beneath the low-hanging branches of their favorite weeping willow tree.
“It must have been an adventure to sleep out of doors,” she said admiringly. “No wonder your nightmare couldn’t find you, with the willow guarding your dreams and the stars shining down on you.”
“Do you think that my mother can look down on me too?” wondered Kenneth, fixing his eyes on her sweet face as if she held all of the answers in the universe.
“She must be able to,” Charlotte answered slowly and seriously, giving the matter great consideration. “I’ve thought about it, you know, and I don’t think she would let anything stand in the way of being able to see you sometimes, just to make sure you were growing strong. It must hurt her to see that you are so unhappy, though.”
“I’m not so terribly unhappy whenever I’m with you,” Kenneth pointed out. “So she must see that and be thankful that I have you for my friend. She must be looking after you, too, if she’s able to see me. But you know, the vicar told me that Mother is beyond all earthly sorrows and joys now. Maybe she doesn’t even remember that I ever existed.”
“I don’t believe the vicar knows half so much as he pretends to. I heard Father complaining that he just repeats the same three ideas over and over without even thinking what they mean,” Charlotte stated indignantly. “You mustn't listen to him, Kenneth. He’s just a moldy old...” she trailed off helplessly.
“You’re terrible at calling people names,” Kenneth observed with a quick grin. “I don’t believe you have any unkindness in your whole entire body.”
“That’s what Louisa says, too. I can’t help it, I really do want to call the vicar something dreadful for putting that awful thought into your head, but you know, he must have thought he was comforting you. I don’t believe he meant to make you sad. Louisa would be able to think of deliciously spiteful things to call him, but I just can’t.”
“Well, I like you better than Louisa,” Kenneth said with staunch loyalty. “I like you better than anyone in the whole world.”
That had been just the problem, Kenneth reflected, blinking back to the present day but still quite lost in thought. Even his uncle’s presence forgotten for the moment. He had liked Charlotte better than anyone, and as they had grown older he had realized that his fondness for her could easily put her in harm’s way, should his father’s violent and jealous tendencies have indeed been passed on through the blood.
He had cut off all contact with her, abruptly ending the friendship that had sustained him for so long. It was unkind, and he knew that she was deeply grieved and puzzled by his actions, but it was better by far that her feelings be temporarily wounded than her light be extinguished forever. He had loathed the idea that she would one day fall in love with someone and marry, but that was a small price to pay for the assurance of her safety. He had resolved then to never marry, to never open himself up to the possibility of loving any woman. It had been easy to stand firm on that decision, despite the affection that so many women lavished on him, for no woman had ever given him the same sense of comfort and well-being.
Chapter Three
“Wherever did you go, my boy? I’ve never seen anyone become so abstracted so quickly,” Roger chuckled uncertainly, waving a hand in Kenneth’s direction.
“I beg your pardon, Uncle, I am being unforgivably rude. You were quite right – I veritably ran tame at the Warwick estate as a boy. I hadn’t thought of it in years, and was just recalling how very pleasant my time there was. They were quite kind to tolerate my presence so frequently, although I think I rather took it for granted at the time.”
“Oh, I don’t believe your presence was ever a burden to the Earl and his family. They were always genuinely glad to see you, and to this day they speak of you as fondly as they would one of their own children. Lady Warwick was a dear friend of your mother’s, you know, and I think it eased her own grief to be able to welcome you into her own little fold.”
“Do you know, I don’t think I ever knew that my mother and Lady Warwick were close?” Kenneth mused. The combination of the long day, his uncle’s soothing company, the port, and his warm memories of the Warwick family seemed to have lulled him into a state where he could discuss the topic of his mother with less pain than usual. “She was quite the center of my world when I was a boy, and I suppose I foolishly assumed that I was the center of hers as well.”
“Not so foolish, my boy. Your mother positively doted upon you, from the moment you were born. I don’t believe she loved anyone so much as she loved you – it was so clearly evident in her expression when she would look at you.”
“I suppose that explains why my father always despised me so, knowing as I do how possessively he loved her,” Kenneth stated bitterly, then waved aside his uncle’s protests. “Never mind, kindly forget I said any such thing. I do not mean to speak of him. But we have digressed a great deal. What was your purpose in reminding me of how much time I spent at the Earl of Warwick’s estate as a child?”
It was a testament to how determined Kenneth was to avoid the distasteful topic of his father, that he would rather return to the unpleasant subject of matrimony that his uncle had broached earlier. Roger looked quite relieved at the turn of the conversation. He had always attempted to maintain a careful neutrality in the face of the animosity that Kenneth and his father felt for one another. He had always felt sympathy for his brother’s plight – devastated by grief and burdened with the task of single-handedly raising an equally devastated boy. It was true enough that the late Duke of Rutherford had resented his wife’s adoration of their son. Roger had listened many times to his brother Edward complain that his wife was spoiling the boy, that she cared more for her son than her husband. And in his turn, Kenneth had seemed to resent his father since the very day that his mother died. It was natural enough, Roger had always supposed, that the boy might turn his anger at the loss of a parent onto the one remaining. But it had scarcely made for a pleasant home, and Roger wished he could have done more to mediate between the two.
“Ah, yes. Well, I mentioned it because you do have fond and pleasant associations with the Warwick family, and in light of your new position as the Duke of Rutherford, as I stated earlier, you have an obligation to take a wife. The Earl of Warwick has four daughters, you know, quite lovely and accomplished young ladies, most suitably and equitably positioned in society to make a favorable union. Since you, thankfully, do not have anyone in mind for your bride, I have been thinking that the Earl’s eldest d
aughter, Miss Louisa Warwick, would make you an excellent wife.”
Kenneth could only stare, dumbstruck, as he attempted to take in his uncle’s suggestion. He had always been tolerably fond of Louisa, he supposed. She and Charlotte were only a year apart in age, and Louisa had been a fierce ally and advocate of her sister the entire time he had known them. Charlotte loved her as well, admiring and looking up to her older sister without a trace of envy. As for himself, he had accepted her presence whenever Charlotte had wanted her included in their company, but generally their bookish ways had been too tame for Louisa, who had always been fiery and independent.
“You want me to marry Louisa Warwick?” he finally managed. “I’ve never thought of such a thing in my life.”
“Well, think of it now. She is considered the beauty of the county, I’ll have you know, but she hasn’t taken too much of a liking to any of her suitors so far. I have taken the liberty of speaking to her father, and I apologize if you resent my action but it was for your best interest. The Earl of Warwick is quite anxious to see her properly wed, and is prepared to accept your proposal at once. Miss Warwick’s reputation is spotless, of course but he feels that she is growing too independent-minded for her own good, and at twenty it is high time that she married.”
