by Rose Pearson
“Lady Armitage,” he said at once, bowing towards her. “Can I apologize for not coming to see you this afternoon when you called on my father. I was…resting.” It was a weak excuse and certainly one that made him inwardly wince as he spoke it but, to his relief, the lady seemed to accept it.
“Thank you, Lord Seaworth,” she replied, inclining her head. “I quite understand. Traveling from London can be very tiring.”
Hugh managed a brittle smile, aware of his father’s steady gaze as he took his seat across the room. Lady Armitage, however, remained standing.
“I should take my leave, my love,” she murmured, turning towards the Duke. “I will come to see you tomorrow, as usual.”
To Hugh’s surprise, the Duke took Lady Armitage’s hand in his own and pressed a kiss to the back of it, his eyes fixed on her face. Clearing his throat a little, Hugh turned his face away with the feeling that he was intruding on a private moment.
“Good evening, Lord Seaworth,” she murmured. “Good evening, Lord Wilson.”
“Good evening, Lady Armitage,” Rodger replied, as Hugh said much the same. She gave them both a gentle smile, before allowing her gaze to linger on the Duke for another moment as she quit the room.
There was a short silence.
“I am sorry, father, that I did not come sooner,” Hugh muttered, realizing that he had, once again, failed in his father’s eyes. “I quite forgot.”
The Duke waved a hand, dismissing Hugh’s concerns. “You have met her now, I suppose.”
Nodding, Hugh cleared his throat, capturing his father’s attention as Rodger rose to pour them all a glass of port. “I also met another lady, father,” he began, keeping his eyes fixed on his father’s expression. “Do you have guests?”
The Duke frowned for a moment before his expression cleared. “Ah yes, of course. They arrived earlier than expected, you see. I was told they would be arriving tomorrow, but they came just before you arrived.”
“Who, father?” Rodger asked, seating himself comfortably down on the chair, port in hand. “There were no extra places set at dinner.”
The Duke chuckled. “That is because they were to take trays in their rooms this evening so that I might have a chance to talk to you both.”
“Talk to us?” Hugh repeated, the worry that his bride was about to be revealed slowly niggling away at him. “What about, father?”
The Duke’s eyes lit with a certain amount of good humor. “You see, Hugh, it is just as well you came back home else I should have had to send them to you in London, and who knows how you would have reacted! At least here, you have a few days to gather your thoughts and attune yourself to your new responsibilities.”
“What responsibilities, father?” Hugh asked, finding himself growing irritated with his father’s lack of clear response. “What are you talking about?”
The Duke sat back, took a large draft of his port and studied Hugh calmly. “I have – I mean, I had – a very dear friend Lord Harrington. Viscount Harrington, he was. He wrote to me a year and a half ago and told me of his plight.”
Hugh shot a glance towards his brother but found Rodger sitting a little straighter in his chair, his eyes fixed on his father.
“What plight?” Rodger asked softly, clearly intrigued.
“He was very ill,” the Duke replied, heavily. “He was not sure whether or not he would recover. He has one child, a daughter, named Marjory Newton – although I believe everyone refers to her as ‘Molly’.” He shook his head, a grief-stricken expression coming over his lined face. “When Lord Harrington asked for my help with his daughter, I could not refuse. The line, you see, passes to Harrington’s brother who is, I believe, something of a wastrel. Harrington was afraid that his brother would not care for Molly in the way that he ought. He was too ill to take Molly to London for the Season, and so I promised that I would ensure she had a Season under our name. Unfortunately, he died a few months after sending that letter and it is only now that Miss Newton is out of mourning that she has been able to come here. I believe her uncle was very glad to see her leave.” His eyebrows furrowed into a dark frown, his dislike obvious.
Hugh frowned at once, his nerves growing steadily. “You promised to give Miss Newton a Season?”
Nodding, the Duke’s face split with a smile. “I know you are not best pleased at this news, Hugh, for as you can begin to see, I am sure, this now means that whilst I must fulfill my promise, I cannot go to London as I had planned.”
Dumbstruck, Hugh stared at his father whilst Rodger let out a long breath, sitting back in his chair.
“I had no notion you intended to go to London, father,” Rodger said, softly. “Of course you cannot go now, not when you have been so ill.”
“And not when I am due to wed,” the Duke pointed out, with a wry smile. “So, therefore, it falls to you both.”
Shaking his head slowly, Hugh looked from his brother to his father and back again. “No, this cannot be, father. You cannot expect us to take some unknown young lady back to London with us and accompany her around balls and the like! It simply is not the done thing.”
“It is when she has a companion with her and all is just as respectable as it should be,” the Duke replied, firmly. “And besides which, you are the heir apparent for the Dukedom. Does it really matter if any whispers are spoken about your behavior?” Lifting one eyebrow, he gave Hugh a fixed stare which left Hugh in no doubt that he could somehow, manage to change the Duke’s mind.
“It is not as though you have cared before now,” Rodger added, with a shrug. “Why should you mind now?”
“I….” The words trailed from Hugh’s lips, his throat filled with sand as he struggled to come up with any kind of explanation. His hope to return to London, to the joys and delights he had so enjoyed before, now shrank and died right before his eyes. He could not do as he pleased if he had some ward hanging onto his coattails.
“You will go with Hugh, Rodger,” the Duke continued, with a slight shrug. “I cannot permit Hugh to care for the lady and her companion alone, given how things have been these last few months.”
Rodger nodded. “Of course, father.”
“What is the reason for all this?” Hugh spluttered, suddenly aghast with the burden that was being handed to him. “I do not want to have to traipse around London with some young lady behind me for no good reason!”
The Duke scowled. “I know it is difficult, but stop thinking of yourself for once, Hugh. Clearly, Miss Newton is in search of a husband. You are to aid her in that.”
“Wilson!” Hugh exclaimed, turning to his brother. “You are unwed, are you not? Why do you not –”
Rodger held up one hand, shaking his head. “No, Seaworth. It may interest you to know that I already have something of an agreement with another young lady whom you have yet to meet. So, no, I will not be induced into marrying Miss Newton just to save you the responsibility of taking her to London and doing all you should for her.”
Growing frantic, Hugh turned back to his father, gesticulating wildly. “Why can I not simply help her uncle to set up an arrangement?” Hugh asked, trying desperately to find a way out of his predicament. “I know a few gentlemen of good title and good fortune. There is no reason why –”
“Because that is not what I said I would do!” the Duke interrupted loudly, his voice reverberating around the room with more strength than Hugh had expected. “I promised Harrington I would give her a Season, and even more than that, I intend to let this arrangement stand until she finds herself a suitable gentleman – even if it takes more than one Season to do so. Do you understand me?”
It was as though the walls were closing in around him. Hugh could feel them pressing against him, forcing the words of agreement from his throat even though he did not want to speak them. He did not want to take Miss Newton back to London, along with her companion and his brother.
“Very well,” he grated, finding no way to refuse. “I shall do as you ask, father.”
“Excellent,” his father replied, rubbing his hands together. “You leave for London by the week’s end.”
Chapter Six
Miss Marjorie Newton, daughter of the late Viscount Harrington, sighed heavily as she looked at herself in the mirror. She was tired. The dark smudges under her eyes did nothing for her complexion even though she knew she did not particularly need to care in that regard.
Sighing to herself, Molly straightened her bonnet and set her shoulders, trying to find some pleasure in the knowledge that, in a few short hours, she would be in London for the very first time in her life.
She was grateful for the kindness shown to her by the Duke, particularly now when her uncle had been so dismissive of her. Had it not been the express wish of her father that she go to London under the Duke’s protection, then she would have been destined to live quietly under her uncle’s guardianship, in whatever house he thought to give her.
Behind her, the door opened and in stepped her companion, Mrs. Edwina Miller. She was the widow of Baron Miller who, at one time, had been a friend of her father’s. It had been good of her father to ensure she had such a companion before he passed away, for otherwise, the last year would have been a very lonely one. Mrs. Miller had proved herself to be a very wise companion, bringing her warm-hearted friendship into Molly’s life these last few months. How good to have her with her now when life was taking another one of its unexpected turns!
“Are you quite ready, Molly?”
Stepping away from the mirror, Molly nodded and tied her bonnet strings securely under her chin. “Yes, I think so.”
“Did you not sleep particularly well?” Mrs. Miller asked, her grey eyes filled with concern as she regarded Molly. “You look quite pale this morning.”
Molly sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “The bed was more than comfortable, but I’m afraid it is my anxious thoughts that kept me from sleep.” She did not mind being honest with her companion, knowing that Mrs. Miller wanted nothing more than to help her.
“I am sure you need not worry,” Mrs. Miller assured her, gently. “Lord Seaworth may be something of an irritable gentleman, but I am quite sure he is more than delighted to have you come to stay in London. Mayhap it is just the traveling that has tired him out.”
“That cannot be said for his brother, at least,” Molly replied, as Mrs. Miller picked up her bag. “Lord Wilson has been very kind and full of conversation which I have been very glad of.” She had found Lord Wilson, the Duke’s youngest son, to be amenable and friendly, giving her no concerns as to how he felt about her company. Lord Seaworth, however, had been sullen and somewhat rude, sitting quietly in the corner of the carriage and looking steadfastly out of the window. At times, he had ridden to break up the boredom of the journey, but even then, she had not seen him smile.
Given that he was to be her host for the Season, Molly had felt more than a little uncomfortable over his lack of response to her. He barely spoke, and when she dared to venture a question, he glared at her with such irritation that she was cowed into silence. It was quite clear to her that Lord Seaworth did not want her company for whatever reason, even though the Duke himself had assured her that Lord Seaworth was more than delighted about the situation.
For whatever reason, Lord Seaworth did not want to have her reside in his home. He did not want to accompany her to balls, find her invitations to recitals, take her to the theatres and generally chaperone her around London. Lord Wilson, who appeared to be aware of his brother’s behavior, was doing all he could to reassure her that her time in London would be a wonderful one, but the more time she spent with the brothers, the more she became convinced that Lord Seaworth would not be a pleasant host.
Not that there was anything she could do about the situation, however. This was her chance to escape from her uncle, to find herself a suitable husband so that she might be able to build a life of her own and no amount of brooding looks from Lord Seaworth was going to change that. She was not about to ask to go back home, to feel guilty over her presence in Lord Seaworth’s townhouse and in his life. Of course, she intended to do all she could to be an amenable house guest and certainly would not cause any kind of trouble. It was just a shame that her excitement over coming to London had been so dampened by her host’s surly attitude.
“Come now,” Mrs. Miller murmured, catching Molly lost in thought. “You do not want to keep Lord Seaworth waiting.”
The carriage ride was as quiet as Molly had expected. Halfway through their six-hour journey, Lord Seaworth had stopped the carriage and climbed onto his horse, choosing to ride ahead and leaving Molly and Mrs. Miller to the care of Lord Wilson.
The tension had dampened the moment Lord Seaworth had left the carriage and so, finally, Molly found herself able to relax. So much so that, with a sudden jerk and swift intake of breath, Molly realized that not only had she fallen asleep, but that, finally, they were outside Lord Seaworth’s London Townhouse.
“Welcome,” Lord Wilson said, with a smile. “I’m glad you had a chance to rest. I know it can be a long journey to London, but I assure you it will be worth it.”
“Thank you,” Molly murmured, feeling a little embarrassed that she had fallen asleep in the carriage. “I am looking forward to my time here.”
“And please,” Lord Wilson continued, catching her arm for a moment so that she did not alight from the carriage. “Please do not allow my brother’s dark mood to impinge on that in any way. I know he has appeared very unhappy, but that is not to do with you, I assure you. There is more going on than meets the eye.”
It was a mysterious statement but one that put Molly’s mind at ease. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge the man and, given what Lord Wilson had said, she simply needed to get to know Lord Seaworth a little better.
“Thank you, Lord Wilson,” she murmured, softly. “I appreciate you saying such things. I have been rather worried.”
“As well I can understand,” he replied, as the footman opened the carriage door. “After you, please.”
Holding onto the footman’s hand, Molly stepped out of the carriage and drew in a long breath, glad to be out of the carriage at last. She looked up at the townhouse, aware of just how spectacular it was. It had its own private driveway and, within it, some beautiful gardens, albeit on a much smaller scale than the ones in the country.
“Tis beautiful,” Mrs. Miller commented, as she stepped out beside Molly. “You are truly fortunate to have such a kind benefactor, Molly.”
“Yes,” Molly breathed, softly. “I am.” She turned to see Lord Wilson step out beside them both, opening his arm towards the house. Of Lord Seaworth, there was no sign.
“Please,” Lord Wilson said, with just a touch of grandness in his voice. “Come this way.”
Molly followed him at once, only just aware of the number of scurrying servants that hurried indoors with all her things. The townhouse was beautiful, with polished wooden floors and a great many soft touches that only warmed her heart further. When she was shown to her room by the maid, Molly could have broken into song such was her delight. The room was made up in delicate shades of greens and blues, the four-poster bed at one end of the room, far away from the window so that she might sleep without being disturbed by the daylight. The long, velvet drapes were pulled back by braided cords, letting in a great deal of sunshine that gave the room an almost ethereal glow. The dressing table and wardrobe were already being filled with her things, the table and chair in the corner ready for her to write to the Duke to assure him of her safe arrival and to thank him for his kindness.
Clasping her hands to her heart, Molly let out a happy sigh, feeling much more at ease than she had this morning. After what Lord Wilson had said about his brother, she was much more content in her presence in his home, quite sure that once he had sorted out whatever else it was that was troubling him, he would turn into a much more amiable gentleman.
“A bath, my lady?”
Turning quickly to see h
er lady’s maid standing in the corner of the room, the door beside her ajar, Molly hurried forward to look within. There stood a separate dressing room, which was well over half the size of her bedchamber. A bathtub was already situated by the fire, water gently steaming as it waited for her.
“Mrs. Miller is resting in her rooms. The master thought you might like to rest for a time before dinner,” the maid said, by way of explanation. “I can lay out whatever dress you were planning to wear this evening, of course.”
“Wonderful,” Molly replied, happily. “You will know better than I what kind of dress is best, so if you would be so kind to lay whatever you choose out on the bed.”
“But of course,” the maid murmured, coming in to help her out of her clothes.
A few minutes later and Molly was resting in the warm water, a contented smile on her face. This was much better than she had anticipated, for surely Lord Seaworth could not be as frustrated with her presence if he had sent a bath to be prepared for her! Yes, it had been somewhat strange not to have the master of the house greet her as she came into the townhouse for the first time, but mayhap whatever it was on Lord Seaworth’s mind had forced him to hurry up to his study, therefore, had left the job of the introduction to the house to his brother.
She did not know Lord Seaworth well at all, she had to admit, and clearly had been too hasty in her judgments. The few days they had spent in the Duke’s country estate had not allowed her more than a few short conversations with him, for he had been mostly absent from their company. Now was the time when she would be able to know the man better, to thank him for his willingness to be so accommodating towards her when there were clearly other things for him to think about. Mayhap he himself was looking for a bride, and that was why he had been so overwhelmed with the thought of returning to London!
