Rowena choked. “Two thousand pounds?” For simply meeting the girl? At his nod, her mind raced. She could secure a small life of anonymity away from the world. Away from her past as a courtesan’s daughter. Away from the drudgery of working in miserable Mrs. Belden’s employ. It was a small fortune that would see her cared for forever.
It was, however, still money Graham would pay over, however, for services she’d never rendered. Part of her wanted to say damn her pride and take the funds and get herself off to the life of obscurity she craved. Yet—Rowena closed her eyes briefly. She’d always had too much dignity.
Had he uttered anything else... about their past, his faith in her abilities, or praising platitudes, it would have been easier to board that carriage and order him to return her to Mrs. Belden’s. But he hadn’t. He’d issued nothing more than a request, with his charge’s best interests in mind.
Why had she always been weak where he was concerned?
“I will meet her.”
Her own shock was reflected back in his eyes. He gave a juddering nod. “Thank you.”
As they began the slow trek back to the carriage in silence, she couldn’t help the pebble of unease in her belly that said she’d made a grave mistake where Graham was concerned—yet again.
Chapter 10
They arrived in London late that afternoon.
Following a bath and a change of garments, Graham had immediately sought out his office where he’d since buried himself in his ledgers and correspondences. Over the years, work had brought him an empty—albeit vital—succor. In shaping himself into an austere duke with a rigid control over his affairs, he had discovered a peace that he desperately clung to. One that he’d had a tenuous grip on these past days since Rowena’s reemergence.
Now, in his own home and removed from her, he welcomed the serenity that came in attending his ducal affairs. Here, in the quiet of his offices, reviewing reports of his landholdings and business ventures, his mind was clear. There were no demons. There was no remembered suffering or loss. There was no Rowena. There was simply the mindlessness that his responsibilities brought. Muscles stiff from, first, a long carriage ride, and then his stillness these past hours, he rolled his shoulders, attempting to bring a normal bloodflow back through his arms.
This was where he found his strength.
Snapping his ledger shut, Graham reached for the tall stack of correspondences that had been lain upon his desk, awaiting his return.
He scanned the invitations to various balls and soirees. As a duke’s son and now a duke himself, there’d never been an absence of requests. He was not so arrogant that he didn’t see that even with his title the ton would be waiting to sharpen their teeth on Hickenbottom’s daughter. With that in mind, he made two piles: Safe Events with Somewhat Benign Lords and Ladies. And the Ruthless Others.
Graham tossed sheet after sheet into the stack of declinations.
A long while later, every single missive had been filed and organized so that two distinctly different ones existed side by side.
With his thumb and forefinger, he measured the heap of rejections, and then reducing the wide stretch of his fingers, took in the much smaller acceptances. Doors would be opened to his ward, but there could be no denying that Ainsley Hickenbottom would also face great unkindness.
...Society would find me wanting should they know...
Rowena’s words spoken in the countryside whispered around his mind. She’d known Society’s cruelty. Had been made to feel less worthy, but it was as she’d said... Society was the one bearing that opinion of all those born on the other side of the blanket. It was the way of their world. And, by God, how he hated the world for it. For her... and now Hickenbottom’s daughter. It served as a reminder of why no other companion could or would ever do for the girl. Rowena would understand those struggles in a way no other could.
If she stays...
He had put to her a generous offer that could see her gone tomorrow if she so decided. As much as he resented the truth... he needed her here—for Ainsley. Even if having Rowena back in his life tried him in ways that only the battlefields of the Peninsula previously had.
Absently, he picked up the deeper stack of invitations, those sheets of vellum heavy in his hand. Until now, this manner of guests and events were the only ones he sought out: emotionless, ruthless peers who would never look past the cool façade he’d perfected.
Now, he’d be drawn into an altogether different sphere: smaller affairs, intimate ones with lords and ladies with dubious pasts and a propensity for niceness for it. Or as Society deemed it: weakness. In their world, it was all the same.
A knock sounded at the door, and his gaze immediately swung to the doorway. Rowena. The same surge of anticipation he’d always known where she was concerned rushed through him. “Enter,” he called out, tossing the stack down. It hit the surface with a noisy thump.
The door opened, and his butler filled the entranceway. Disappointment chased away that earlier excitement. His butler, and another person, Lady Serena’s father.
“The Duke of Wilkshire to see you, Your Grace.”
Belatedly, Graham climbed to his feet. “Wilkshire.”
Wesley backed out of the room, leaving the two dukes alone. Nearing his seventieth year and in possession of a monocle and crop of silver hair, Wilkshire fit in every way the image of a duke... right down to his crisp, condescending tones.
“Returned at last, have you?” The other man stalked over and, uninvited, settled his lean frame into an open seat.
Graham reclaimed his chair and fixed a deliberately cool grin on his lips. “Come to verify with your own eyes, Wilkshire?” He intended to marry the man’s daughter, but he’d certainly not make apologies for seeing after his responsibilities toward Hickenbottom’s daughter. Who, with Rowena’s help, would be flawless and escape some of the scathing criticisms against her.
Lord Wilkshire snorted. “My sources are reliable enough that I’d not bother to waste a visit unless I was certain of your presence.”
Something else had brought the man, then. Of course. Wilkshire never made any move without deliberate intent. Even the formal arrangement he’d been working through with Jack had demonstrated a military precision, grounded in business and devoid of emotion. It was why their families—Graham’s future betrothed included—were ideal matches, in every way. “The ton has been remarking on your absence.”
Graham leaned back and settled his palms along the arms of his chair. “The ton remarks on everything.” A fortnight. It had been a fortnight since he’d retreated to oversee to far more important matters than societal events.
Wilkshire dipped his eyebrows in the only visible show of his anger. “They do not, however, remark on anything unfavorably about my daughter. Until now.”
No, Society wouldn’t have. A Diamond of the First Water who’d only made her Come Out after a year mourning the late Duchess of Wilkshire, she’d been heralded as the ton’s leading beauty and the most heavily dowered, sought-after debutante. As cold as she was mercenary, she was Graham’s perfect emotionless match.
Why did that suddenly turn his mouth sour?
“Nothing to say, hmm?” Only Wilkshire could make a casually spoken question emerge as a frosty command.
“I’ve had matters to attend to with my ward.”
“The bastard,” the duke opposite him supplied. As though there could be another ward. As though Ainsley’s parentage needed to be inserted into their discourse.
Society would find me wanting should they know...
This was why Rowena had spoken as she had. Not solely because of her own self-confidence but because of men like the one before Graham now. His fingers curled reflexively into the aged leather, leaving crescent marks upon the fabric. “Why don’t you say what it is that’s brought you here,” he said in frosty tones.
“I’m here to determine whether your business is more important than a potential match with my daughter.”
With the old duke’s frequent use of “my daughter,” Graham sometimes wondered if Wilkshire even knew the lady’s name. Then, a single word in that statement registered. Potential match. Nothing formal had been agreed upon. No contracts signed. Rather Jack and the duke had entered into discussions the way they might any business dealing. Which is what Graham’s someday marriage with Lady Serena would be. He’d accepted that as fact... wanted it to be. Didn’t he? He fought the urge to dig his fingertips into his temples and rub the deuced ache that niggling of doubt caused.
“What, nothing to say?” Wilkshire snapped. “Every damned lord in London wants to wed my girl.” He crossed his ankle over his opposite knee. “And I’m not pleased with any business you’ve deemed more important than her.”
“All my business is of equal import, Wilkshire.” Graham stretched those syllables out in icy tones. “I’m methodical in all my dealings.” In that regard, a marriage of convenience would be no different than any other of his pursuits.
Lady Serena’s father stared on through that quizzing glass, and then grunted. “It is why I approve of you.” He smiled coolly. “And because you’re a duke.” The older man rose. “I’ll assure my daughter, then, that your intentions are still the same.”
There was a question there. Graham attempted to force out a confirmation in the affirmative. No words, however were forthcoming... or by the duke’s next words, necessary. Wilkshire stood, and Graham followed suit. “Now that you’ve returned, my daughter intends to host a card party as a way to meet your...” His lip peeled back. “ward.”
Any other moment, one of those mundane affairs would have been ideal for him to attend. The idea of bringing Ainsley and Rowena into that household to face that derision set his teeth on edge. “I will be looking forward to the invitation,” he offered instead.
On that, Lady Serena’s probing father took his leave. That brief, curt meeting speaking volumes about the duke’s expectations and also his limitations.
Whereas prior to his departure for Spelthorne he’d been of a like mindframe, now he felt a healthy annoyance: at Wilkshire’s high-handedness and the speed with which he sought to push the match.
It is what I want. If I wed Lady Serena, I can be rid of Rowena and all Ainsley Hickenbottom’s care would fall to my wife. It was a suitable conclusion for all parties involved.
Except Ainsley.
And now me...
Unnerved by that taunting voice, he forced himself back into his chair. What rubbish. “Of course, I don’t care either way,” he muttered under his breath. Restless, he grabbed the small pile of events he’d attend with Ainsley... and Rowena.
“Have you gone and sacked your man-of-affairs?”
The stack slipped from his fingers, and Graham shot his head up. His ward, Miss Hickenbottom, stood in the doorway, her skirts tied up, revealing her breeches and work boots. Graham said a silent prayer of thanks for Rowena’s presence. Though she still had not committed to the role. Where he craved control, the unconventional chit before him robbed him of any order. I have to convince her that being in my household and working with a troublesome charge is preferable to life at Mrs. Belden’s.
The young girl arched an insolent eyebrow.
“Miss Hickenbottom,” he greeted, coming to his feet.
Uninvited, his ward shoved her heel against the heavy wood panel, and it shook in the frame. Graham jumped at the sudden bang. His mouth went dry. It is just the door... It is just the door...
“I thought you were off seeing to roguish business,” Miss Hickenbottom said cheerfully skipping over, and that clear chipper sing-song penetrated the hell pulling at the corner of his thoughts.
“My...?” He instantly clamped his lips closed. His roguish days were long, long behind him, and regardless, any topic pertaining to a rogue, rake, or scoundrel were never fit discussion for a lady—regardless of age.
“That is what I called it when my father would leave,” she explained, as though schooling a child on a too-complex principle. His ward flopped into the seat and sprawled one leg over the arm of her chair. “Visiting, you know, brothels. Bordellos. Gaming hells. Those.” She swung her dusty boot back and forth.
Graham tugged at his cravat. “I am no rogue.” He had been, bedding wicked widows and unhappy wives, all eager for a tumble with a war hero turned duke. And all because he’d been so broken with Rowena’s perfidy. Agony sliced at his heart.
“My father said every gentleman is a rogue.”
Usually, a bother he knew not what to do with, now his ward proved a diversion from the turbulent emotions rioting inside him. No doubt Hickenbottom was smiling from his grave at the hoyden he’d left Graham. Couldn’t the other man have provided the girl with even a modicum of propriety? If Rowena weren’t committed to leaving before, the absolute hopelessness of the task he’d set her would certainly be the death knell. Then again, if anyone could guide the hoyden, his wager was on her. “I was not at a gaming hell.” He neatly avoided mention of those other scandalous places no young girl should know of. “I was—”
She stopped her abrupt swinging, and leaned forward in her seat. “What are you doing?” Before he could respond, she grabbed his pile of invitations and flipped through them. She paused mid-shuffle. “So who is the Duke of Wilkshire?”
The coolly unaffected Duke of Hampstead’s cravat went tight. He gave it a tug.
“Well?” Miss Hickenbottom prompted. “Never tell me?” she supplied when he wasn’t quick enough to speak, which was all and fine as he didn’t have a suitable reply. “Two powerful dukes who intend to cement their power over the peerage by your marrying the miserable blighter’s equally miserably daughter.” His perceptive ward burst into laughter.
This was how every exchange went with this young person who’d invaded his household. She would enter in a whirlwind. He would sit, neck burning, speechless through her questioning. She would leave, and he would go on with his business, praying someone would come and deal with the girl. Except today. Now, she remained.
Ainsley abruptly stopped and wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “Egads, I was correct, wasn’t I?”
“I don’t intend to discuss my personal affairs with you, Miss Hickenbottom,” he said in curt tones meant to ebb the flow of her questioning, which would have effectively quieted anyone else.
She wrinkled her nose. “You’re in a surly mood.” He was always in a surly mood. “More than usual,” she added, perceptively having read his thoughts. Then, narrowing her stare on his face, she probed him further. “Does this have to do with the fancy piece who arrived in your carriage earlier this afternoon?”
Graham choked on his swallow, gasping for air. “I assure you, she is no fancy piece.” Just a companion, whom he desperately needed to speak to before introducing her to Miss Hickenbottom. A person needed to be prepared for her hoydenish spirit. If one could ever truly be prepared. “She is a lady,” he settled for.
His ward released an inelegant snort. “Undoubtedly.”
He frowned. Years earlier he’d have been deserving of that skepticism. He’d not been a man given to emotion and ill-decision since. “She is to be your companion.”
Miss Hickenbottom ceased swinging her leg and settled both feet on the floor. “Truly?” Her hazel eyes formed saucers. “You found one who’ll brave the post?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows, but he’d survived enough battles on the Peninsula that he’d come to note the details of all around him. She’d been lonely. It was there in every desperately eager feature on her rounded face.
I was lonely. Until you, Graham Linford.
Rowena’s long-ago whisper against his lips caused a dull ache in his chest. Had that loneliness driven her into the arms of another man? Or had she always been that fickle with her heart? Those questions continued to flood his consciousness in a way that could only be perilous for his sanity. So why not let her leave as she wished? Why ask her to stay? Because of Ainsley. And yet, why did that only ring partially true? He cl
eared his throat. “I will coordinate a visit on the morrow after Mrs. Bryant has rested. Now, I am...”
His ward resumed studying his notes. With a boldness not even the queen would have dared, Ainsley hurled them at him. They fluttered noisily about, scattering the surface of his desk and disrupting the stack of rejections. He quickly set to organizing them.
“Hmph,” she muttered, as he worked.
Hmph, what? Withholding the questions... but really... “What?” he asked brusquely.
“I just wouldn’t have taken you for one who’d tolerate another duke making demands of you.” So she’d been listening at the keyhole. Should he expect anything else of her? “Is she to be your bride?”
Good God, why had he given Rowena the remainder of the day off? Why hadn’t he insisted that she meet her charge and keep her close? Yes, the sooner he was married off to Serena and his ward was married off to any respectable gentleman, the sooner he could resume living in a logical, well-ordered existence.
“I’ve matters to attend.” Graham stood. “If you’ll excuse me?” he said quickly.
Alas his obstinate ward remained seated. She gave her head a slight shake.
Bloody hell. He reclaimed his seat. Dropping his elbows on the surface of his now-cluttered desk, he leaned forward. “All right. I trust you haven’t come here to discuss my marital affairs. What is it?”
She matched his pose. “Turner’s been by the past two mornings looking for you.”
Which was not uncommon. Since Jack had witnessed his fits of madness, he’d become protective. And though he appreciated that loyalty and friendship, Graham chafed at having his every move scrutinized and questioned. “And?”
The girl hesitated... when there was nothing ever reluctant about her. She reached inside the cleverly sewn pocket along the front of her gown. Ainsley tossed a folded sheet of vellum in front of him. “He brought this.”
Graham puzzled his brow. Picking up the officious document with its cracked seal—a broken seal indicating his private correspondence had already been read—he unfolded it. And he gave thanks for the mask of indifference he’d perfected over the years. His stomach sank.
Schooling the Duke (The Heart of a Scandal, #1) Page 13
