“We will change here before we meet with my parents,” he said, shifting a still-sleeping Nicholas in his arms so his head rested more comfortably on Alex’s shoulder.
Five servants—the butler, the housekeeper, the cook, the maid and the other footmen—stood in a line. The greeting party.
“Good day, milord. Welcome home.” The sentiment was echoed and was accompanied by formal bows and pretty curtseys.
“I would like to introduce you to my wife, the Marchioness of Avondale.”
None of them even blinked at the announcement, which meant Alex had already apprised them of his marriage and the return of his erstwhile betrothed, who was suddenly his current marchioness. Though, she was sure he hadn’t gone into quite that amount of detail.
After the introductions, Alex carried Nicholas to the nursery upstairs he told Charlotte he’d had prepared for him by converting one of the guest rooms. In the meanwhile, the housekeeper, a slender woman with the eyes of a hawk, took Charlotte to hers. The servants were no doubt speculating about the marriage and hers and Nicholas’s sudden appearance in Alex’s life. The gossip would commence in earnest now.
Charlotte sighed. She’d have to grow a very thick skin for it was something she’d have to become well used to.
Four hours later, Charlotte, Alex and Nicholas were admitted into the grand entrance of his parents’ mansion on Park Lane.
Alex had watched Charlotte and Nicholas as their eyes rounded upon first catching sight of Somerset House from the street. He now tried to see it through their eyes.
While not as large as Rutherford Manor, rural Italian in design, the structure was impressively large by London standards with brick stone work and a low-pitched roof, Palladian style molding and pedimented windows and doors.
The interior could be said to be equally as impressive, the ceiling an elaborate and intricate design of decorative metal trimming, a design which was carried throughout the residence. Corinthian-style columns stood tall and majestic and the silk walls were the same cream color of the exterior.
But the house had always lacked something. Or perhaps it just hadn’t felt like a home. As a child, even when his father hadn’t been in residence, Alex hadn’t enjoyed staying there during many of their summers spent in London.
Alex turned to Charlotte, who was the picture of nerves. The stalwart smile she attempted to exhibit looked strained and unnatural.
“Go with Smithers. I would like a word with my mother and the duke alone.” Charlotte did as he bid, following his parents’ butler to le petit drawing room. Alex then made his way to the grand room. He found his parents seated opposite one another, his mother reposed on the settee and his father in a high-backed chair Alex referred to as his throne for its ostentatious gold frame and red velvet cushion.
“Hello, my dear.”
Alex strode to his mother, leaned down and bussed her proffered cheek with a kiss. “Nice to see you, Mama.”
The duke merely scowled at him. “I do not take to cryptic messages. If you’ve something to say, say it quick, I’ve better things to do with my evening.”
Alex clenched his teeth. He’d expected nothing less from the duke, yet the man still managed set him on edge.
“Your Grace.” Alex offered his father a formal bow for he knew how he disliked it.
Again, the duke scowled, dismissing the gesture with a flick of his hand. “You always were impertinent.”
And no matter how hard the duke had tried, he could never beat it out of him.
“Now, Walter, let us strive to have a nice visit. Darling, you must tell us what all the mystery is about. Your father is correct, your letter was rather cryptic. I told your father this must be about Lady Mary. Have I finally convinced you what a fine duchess she will make?” she asked, a faint smile of satisfaction hovering about her lips.
At this point, Alex wagered his mother would be happy if he married any respectable young lady in Society, although she’d prefer it be Lady Mary. Every year that passed without a marriage and an heir, she’d despaired the dukedom would fall so far from the direct line, it would require an act of God himself to set it back on track.
“I have a son.”
The announcement had the effect of propelling the duchess’s back flush against the settee, her fingers spread flat against her chest. “Oh dear.”
The duke didn’t so much as twitch but leveled him with one of his imperious stony stares, his disdain evident. “I’d expect no less from you. But what are you telling us for? Is the girl a peer? If not, take care of the business yourself. You aren’t the first peer to father a child outside of marriage.”
No concern or interest in his grandchild. As expected. And the duke never failed to disappoint.
“Who is the mother? How old is the child?” His mother seemed to have regained her composure though her hand remained splayed against the neckline of her gown.
In very matter-of-fact tones, Alex divulged every pertinent detail. When he came to the part about the marriage, his mother gasped, horror plain on her face, and the duke bolted to his feet.
“No!” It was a roar sure to have the servants all a titter. But then, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t heard the duke roar before. At him.
“I will not condone it. And with that girl?” He huffed an incredulous laugh. “You’d make yourself a laughingstock. No, send her and the child somewhere else. Up north, Scotland, Australia, I don’t care where as long as they’re gone from here. They’ll be no mention of it again, do you hear me?” The duke subjected him to the kind of look that used to have him cowering as a boy. It hadn’t had the same paralyzing effect for well over a decade.
“I brought them here. They are in the drawing room,” Alex continued as if they hadn’t been obvious about their violent opposition to his plan. “I am going to bring your grandson in to meet you. You will not only be kind to him, but I will not have you treat his mother with any kind of discourtesy in his presence, do you understand?” The same sense of protectiveness washed over him as when he’d coached them for their initial introduction with Charlotte years before. He may not love her anymore but he wouldn’t have her hurt and most assuredly, not in front of their son.
Alex could not remember ever seeing his mother’s eyes quite so wide or the duke’s face that particular shade of purple. He hadn’t struck him since Alex’s fifteenth year but he looked fit to resume the practice that very moment, his hands fisted, his form tighter than a drum. The duke practically shook with rage.
“Who the devil do you think you are talking to?” The duke continued to shout as Alex exited the room.
The last thing he heard was his mother saying, “Walter, for the love of God, please do sit down and pray, do not cause a scene.”
When he went to get Charlotte and Nicholas, she looked fragile and frightened and lost. Another wave of emotion washed over him, this more acute and more terrifying than the last. One that didn’t bode well for his derelict feelings.
“I told them we have reconciled. They’ll never believe it if you meet them looking as you do.”
She gave a nervous laugh. “At this moment, I’d rather be facing the wrath of the late dowager Countess of Windmere than that of your parents.”
Alex looked down at his son, who appeared equally as nervous, blue eyes wide with trepidation. No doubt he’d taken the lead from his mother, mimicking her emotional frame of mind. This would not do at all.
Leaning forward, he kissed her on the lips. He breathed in a surprised breath of air. But all too soon, her mouth softened beneath his and what was intended as a simple kiss, to add a splash of color to her face and ease some of her anxiety, soon became something more.
She tasted sweet, her lips soft and receptive. Her mouth opened for his tongue and just as he was about to take the kiss deeper and explore her fully, he heard Nicholas giggle. The sound was enough to bring him sharply back to the present. Alex peered down at his son.
“You’re kissing Mama,” Nicholas
teased.
Charlotte’s face turned a vivid shade of pink as she studiously avoided Alex’s gaze. The heightened color in her cheeks made her look all the more appealing. One kiss, and one not even that long in duration, but that was all it took to make him forget…and want…and need.
“Indeed I am,” Alex replied, smiling at Nicholas. He held his hand out to him and his son grasped it without hesitation.
“Mama, do you like it when Papa kisses you?” If nothing else, the kiss had certainly put Nicholas at ease for his grin went from ear to ear.
Alex looked over at Charlotte. If possible, her blush deepened. She returned his gaze and held it several seconds before softly replying, “Yes, I like it very much.”
Alex briefly closed his eyes, his fight an internal war he wasn’t sure he could win. It had been a mistake to kiss her. When would he learn? But the fact that he’d been unable to help himself concerned him more.
The first to break the stare, he said, “Come, they are waiting.”
If he had kissed her to take her mind off the impending meeting with his parents, Alex had partially succeeded. Like a flame that never died, her desire for him needed only the smallest spark for it to ignite. Looking at him, dreaming of him, talking to him, being with him could do that effortlessly.
But all he had done was give her another cross to bear. One should never feed unrequited love. Although if she were smart, she’d refuse the meal. But then unrequited love and smart were innately at odds.
The walk to meet with the duke and duchess felt like the final walk of a prisoner to the gallows. Charlotte’s dread climbed with every step.
Alex, acting the perfect gentlemen, held the door open for them and she walked into the room, clutching her son’s hand tighter than he held hers.
They haven’t aged a bit was her first thought when she saw them both seated in the kind of expensive sofa and chair one would expect to find in a house so well-appointed.
They also didn’t appear at all pleased. And it was that second thought that increased the flutter in her belly and accelerated her breathing and pulse.
The duke, in fact, looked positively livid, his handsome face was not quite as handsome flushed so bright a red. His scowl he made no attempt to disguise. Perhaps his blond hair had grown grayer over the years, but his face had weathered the time well enough and he appeared fit and trim.
The same could be said of his wife, whose blonde hair was perfectly coiffed. But the nostrils of her aristocratic nose quivered as if something distasteful had just permeated the air. Charlotte could see the meeting would not be pleasant.
After the duke pronounced his displeasure at seeing her with one seething stare, which adequately expressed his contempt, his gaze then shifted to Nicholas.
It was extraordinary, really, what happened next. Such a look arrested his features, if it hadn’t been so remarkable to see, it might have been comical.
The duke—and the duchess now—looked at their grandson as if they were seeing a ghost.
Her Grace’s gasp was shortly followed by, “Oh dear Lord!” Her exclamation almost coincided with the duke’s, “My God.” But the sentiment was the same. In unison, they rose slowly to their feet, staring at Nicholas as if they dare not let him from their sight.
“Charles.” The duchess’s voice shook with emotion.
The duke swallowed hard, the action pronounced enough for Charlotte to note it. He then turned to Alex. “He is yours?”
Alex gave a terse nod but there was something in his expression when he responded to his father’s sharp query that told Charlotte something else was at play here.
“Charlotte, you remember my parents, the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.” Given all that had just silently transpired, the introduction contained enough irony to sink a battleship.
“Your Grace,” she said pleasantly and dipped in a curtsey, still gripping her son’s hand. Or should she have addressed them collectively as Your Graces? Well, she couldn’t worry about that now. If she’d somehow breached social etiquette, she was sure Alex would inform her of it later when they were alone.
“And this is my son, Nicholas. Nicholas, these are my parents, your grandmother and grandfather.”
Responding to Charlotte’s light squeeze of his hand—a silent communication to mind his manners and greet his grandparents like a proper young man—he replied in a low, nervous voice, “Hullo.”
The duchess slowly approached, looking dazed as she continued to stare at Nicholas.
“He looks exactly as Charles did at his age.”
A tall woman, the duchess stopped directly in front of them forcing Charlotte to peer up at her. No one could call her handsome, but her features combined in a way that made her striking. In a French design of ice blue silk that was all the rage now in London, she looked eminently polished and elegant.
“So Alex told me,” Charlotte said but they were paying her no mind. Their too focused attention was on their grandson.
The duchess reached out and touched Nicholas lightly under his chin, so loving a gesture it nearly brought a tear to Charlotte’s eyes. Nicholas stood perfectly still under the brief caress, looking up at Charlotte as if to draw support. She knew he was aware this meeting with his grandparents was important but he was still a child. He’d made it quite clear he’d rather be home playing with his cousins.
The duke cleared his throat, staring mutely at Nicholas. Unlike his wife, he stayed back beside a high-backed chair, which boasted as regal a presence as the duke himself.
“Nicholas is my heir.”
There was a hard edge to Alex’s tone that made it more an edict than a statement of fact.
The duke did not confirm his son’s claim nor did he refute it. Contrarily, the duchess turned to her husband and gave one affirming nod. It appeared her mind was clear on this particular issue. The story of their marriage would have her full backing and support.
To Charlotte, the duke had come across as the type of man who not only adhered to class distinction, but rank distinction as well, hanging fiercely to the notion that he had, by the nature of his birth, been born better than most.
At present, she saw uncertainty in his eyes, as if today some of his beliefs had taken a hard wallop.
When the duchess turned back to them, her attention centered on Charlotte. The softness in her face when she’d regarded her grandson vanished. Displeasure settled into the faint lines around her eyes and mouth.
“I should like to speak with the marchioness alone,” she said in a tone clinging to civility by a hairsbreadth.
Alex came swiftly to stand at Charlotte’s elbow. “You can speak with the marchioness in due time.”
The duchess dismissed her son with a wave of her hand and a smile that was as genuine as the diamonds sold in Cheapside to the ladies of the evening. “You needn’t fear your dear wife will come to any harm. She is mother to the future Duke of Hastings.”
Her light response didn’t appear to appease Alex nor did it come close to making Charlotte feel the tiniest bit more amenable to being alone in her company.
“I should like to show Lady Avondale the music room. If my memory is not failing me, you are quite accomplished on the pianoforte, is that not correct?”
Failing memory? The duchess’ mind was as sharp as a tack. It was doubtful she had forgotten one moment of their initial meeting when Her Grace had mentally measured and weighed her, and found her lacking in every conceivable way.
“I haven’t had the pleasure of playing much on the piano these last few years.” A piano was one of the luxuries she’d been ill able to afford and she’d refused Lucas’s generous offer to purchase one for her.
“Then I should think you’d be eager to see one as grand as the duke gave me.” With that, she turned and headed for the door, clearly expecting Charlotte to follow her.
She turned and saw Charlotte hadn’t moved from her spot. Her lips thinned. “Come, we will leave the men to talk. I’m sure my grandson wil
l be happy for the male attention.” She looked at Alex. “You will stay and talk to your father.”
The duke and his wife shared an indecipherable look. He then looked away, his blue eyes troubled. Alex didn’t so much as glance in his father’s direction.
“Let’s give your mama and grandmama some time to talk,” Alex said, taking his son’s hand from her. Nicholas immediately latched on to his father.
Reluctantly, Charlotte followed the duchess from the room. The duchess led her down a long corridor lined with columns aplenty and stately furniture. The click click of their shoes on the porcelain floors echoed sharply on the otherwise silent walk to their destination.
The double doors to the music room stood open and a black lacquered piano sat in the middle of the room. The duchess glided in and waved her hands at the half-dozen armchairs and the three settees arranged to give anyone seated an unobstructed view of all the instruments situated in the front.
“Do have a seat.”
Charlotte did so, choosing the chair closest to the door if by chance she was required to make a quick escape.
Her Grace chose to stand. Lord, it appeared she was to be lectured.
“I will come straight to the point, Miss Rutherford.”
Charlotte noted she was no longer the marchioness.
“My son may have forgiven you for the spectacle you made of him five years ago, but I have not.”
Charlotte didn’t cringe or even wince. They had accepted Nicholas and right now that’s all that mattered to her. Moreover, if she could survive Alex’s wrath, his mother’s frigid hostility hadn’t the ability to break her.
“In case you were not aware, Her Majesty, Queen Victoria is the duke’s third cousin once removed, and it was due to her considerable magnanimity that she agreed to intervene on my behalf and secure the cathedral for the wedding. That you should repay her largesse as you did is nothing less than disgraceful. The Duke of Wellington is buried there. Royalty is married there.”
Charlotte wondered how long the duchess would stress the importance and sanctity of St. Paul’s Cathedral, of which she was well aware. One of the many things she learned in the small rooms of Our Lady Fatima School for Young Girls.
An Heir of Deception (The Elusive Lords) Page 15
