The Duke's ReluctantMuse
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Prologue
Swinging her foot idly, Miss Elizabeth Jeffries looked down at her reflection but the pond was marred by ripples blown across it by the spring wind which was not particularly warm as yet. She shivered but did not move from her seat, finding the solitude a good deal more satisfying than the thought of returning to the house.
Sighing heavily, she shivered once more but continued to watch the way the water shifted this way and that, blown by whatever way the wind wished it to go. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth felt tears prick at her eyes but refused to let them fall. She had cried a good deal these last eighteen months and did not want to do so again. Besides which, if she returned to the house with red-rimmed eyes, her brother would, no doubt, know she had been upset and would demand to know what was wrong. He had a good deal to manage already since he now bore the title and Elizabeth did not want to burden him any further. On top of that, what was she to say to him? She was still grieving over the loss of their father some eighteen months ago – having already lost her mother during her early years – and that was something that both she and her brother knew as a continual source of pain. It was not something Elizabeth could remove, for it had fastened itself to her heart and would not, Elizabeth thought, ever release from her again.
Shaking her head, Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, sniffing as she tried to bottle up her feelings of pain and sorrow and set them aside again. Now was not the time for melancholy. She needed to be by her brother’s side as he continued to navigate these new waters he found himself in. Having taken on the title of the Viscount of Dennington, he had a good many responsibilities and she, for her part, had to aid him in whatever way she could. Her brother had been away from home for many years, having gone to the continent and thereafter, to his own smaller residence a little outside London. He had been trained well in estate matters but still needed Elizabeth’s assistance on some occasion. She continued to look after the house as she had always done since the passing of their mother many years ago and, thus far, both Elizabeth and her brother had managed to live in as near contentment as anyone can hope to reach on this earth.
Will we go to London for the summer Season? she wondered silently, uncrossing her legs and rising to her feet, folding her arms across her chest in an attempt to keep herself warm. Will he want me to marry soon? Another thought struck her and her eyes flared wide. Will he himself wish to marry?
That would be the expected circumstance, of course, for a gentleman who bore the title had to ensure there was an heir in place for fear that, if he did not produce an heir, the title would pass to someone else. Her brother would need to make certain of his own future and that such a security was in place just as soon as he could. Elizabeth swallowed hard, her brow furrowing as she felt the safety and contentment she had known these last few months beginning already to be pulled away from her. When her brother married, his wife would become mistress of this house, just as she ought – but then where would Elizabeth be? What would she do? She could not linger on here, not when her brother would want to start a family of his own. Would he encourage her to marry also?
“I suppose I must consider it,” she murmured to herself softly, seeing her blurred reflection looking back at her as she gazed down at the pond. “I cannot live here for the rest of my days.” Matrimony was not something Elizabeth had given much consideration to, given that, in these last years, she had been content to take on the role of mistress of the house for her father and, thereafter, forced to endure her mourning and her grief once he had gone. Her stomach turned over on itself as she thought of removing to another house entirely, of starting her life anew alongside another.
“My lady?”
She started violently and stepped back quickly from the bank of the pond, turning as she did so.
A footman looked back at her, his eyes low but his lips pulled tightly across his face.
“The master requires your assistance, my lady. Forgive me for interrupting you but –”
“But of course.” Elizabeth did not wait for the footman to complete his sentence but began to hurry back across towards the house at once, knowing the reason for the footman’s evident concern. Her brother had begun to be plagued with severe headaches that forced him to abandon all that he had been doing the very first moment they began. He would then go to a darkened room and lie down, although Elizabeth knew that even doing that did not always encourage the pains to dissipate. Having already consulted a physician, Elizabeth knew to bring cold compresses to him regularly and, should the pains become unbearable, to offer him laudanum. Thereafter, it became her responsibility to make certain that the rest of the estate ran just as well as it ought. Making her way inside, she thrust her cloak at one of the waiting footmen and hurried up the staircase, her boots still wet and causing her to slip now and again. She paid that no heed, making her way into her brother’s bedchamber just as quickly as she could and praying silently that the pains would not be too severe.
As she entered the room, the maid was already pulling the curtains closed, covering the room with a shroud of darkness. Waiting until her eyes had adjusted, Elizabeth moved slowly towards the bed, now making certain that she was as quiet as possible so as not to pain her brother further.
“Dennington?” Her voice was a fraction louder than a whisper and the answering groan that came to her told her that her brother was suffering a great deal. Sinking down beside him, Elizabeth put one hand on his shoulder, wishing that there was something more she could do. “I will bring you a compress, and the laudanum if you wish it.”
“Both.”
He spoke only one word and Elizabeth closed her eyes, her prayers for leniency going unanswered. If he was asking for laudanum already, then the pains had to be severe. Pressing his shoulder gently, she rose.
“Of course.” Making her way to the door, Elizabeth felt the heavy weight of responsibility now falling onto her shoulders once more. It could be days before her brother was recovered enough to return to his duties and, in his absence, she would have to ensure that all the matters were duly settled, the steward was spoken to and the servants and tenants were all quite contented. Any concerns or issues that required Lord Dennington’s intervention would now fall to her. On top of which, she would have to contend with her own duties also, as well as caring for her brother as best she could. Closing her eyes for a moment, her hand on the door handle, Elizabeth drew in a long and steadying breath. Somehow, she would find the strength to do all that was required of her until her brother was recovered. She had to. There was no-one else.
Chapter One
“You look a little better, brother.”
Elizabeth smiled and patted her brother’s hand, seeing the pallor of his cheeks but also the brightness in his eyes. He was tired, indeed, but the pains were not as strong and he was able to eat a little.
“Another day or so and I shall be entirely recovered,” he told her, his voice a little wane but a determination in his words that Elizabeth could not help but admire. “You have done very well in my absence, I am sure. You must be tired.”
A small shrug lifted her shoulders as she cast that compliment away. “I only want you to recover,” she answered, softly. “This time, the pains have lingered, have they not?”
Lord Dennington nodded. “They have,” he replied, closing his eyes. “Some time ago, the physician suggested that a change in my circumstances might alleviate the frequency of them and, given the severity of this most recent one, I confess that I am now considering it.”
“In what way would it make a difference?”
Her brother closed his eyes again. “The physician recognises that I spent most of my time at my desk, looking through papers, responding to letters and to matters of business and that I barely have any time to do anything other than that. These last eighteen months have brought me a good deal of anxiety in some ways as I seek to understand all the business affairs that our father was involved in – and decide whether it is right or not to linger in them! The physician thinks that if I were to take a short holiday as a respite from my present situation then it might lessen the dreadful headaches I have been having.” His shoulders lifted. “I thought about the Season.”
Elizabeth blinked in surprise but remained silent. She had no certainty that such a thing would be of any good and certainly, her brother had never mentioned the Season before now but if it was what his physician had suggested, then she would do all she could to assist.
“London,” her brother continued, his eyes still closed and his voice losing its energy. “There will be enough entertainment there to accommodate us both. The lack of responsibility, the stepping away from all matters of business… well, it might bring me some relief.”
“Then it would be worth considering,” Elizabeth replied quietly, although her heart quailed at the thought of leaving, given that she knew nothing of London.
A small smile pulled at her brother’s lips and his eyes flickered open, looking at her through tired eyes. “I had already begun to make some tentative plans, although I was not entirely sure as to whether or not I would pursue them,” surprising her all the more. “It seems now that those plans are to become certain. Closing his eyes, his smile lingered. “You must make certain to reply to Lord Harlington, however.”
“Lord Harlington?” Elizabeth queried, uncertain as to what her brother meant. “Is he an acquaintance?”
“He had offered to help me with the requirements as regards staffing the London townhouse,” came the quiet reply, his weariness becoming more evident with every moment. “He too is to be in London, he said, and knowing how busy I am with matters here at the estate, offered to be of aid out of his good nature.” Glancing at Elizabeth, he waved one hand. “You have my permission to pen a reply to him, Elizabeth. It is imperative that you do so, in fact. We will have to make our way to London just as soon as possible, if we are to be there in time for the beginning of the Season. The truth is, Elizabeth, if it is to help me and you, then it would be best that we think of making our way to London just as soon as is suitable.”
Help me? Elizabeth swallowed hard but resisted the urge to ask any more questions, seeing how weary her brother was beginning to feel. With a nod, she got up from her chair and reached across to squeeze his arm gently. “I shall do so immediately,” she promised, having left her brother’s personal correspondence alone thus far. “I will have to open a good many of your letters, however, if I am to find the one from Lord Harlington.”
“You have my permission,” her brother murmured, clearly drifting towards slumber as his heavy eyes closed. “I trust you implicitly.”
His confidence in her was touching and Elizabeth smiled gently, releasing her brother’s arm. “Thank you, Dennington,” she murmured softly. “Sleep now.” There was no answer and Elizabeth left the room as quietly as she could, hoping that, very soon, her brother would return to her once more.
There was a certain disinclination that came strongly into Elizabeth’s mind as she began to open her brother’s letters. She felt as though she ought not to be doing such a thing, even though he had told her that she had his express permission. To read one’s own letters was one thing, but to open and read letters that were neither addressed to nor for her was quite another. Had her brother had the strength to remain awake and inform her of Lord Harlington’s seal, then she might find herself much less anxious over the matter, but as it stood, she was strongly averse to doing so.
Sighing, Elizabeth picked up the first letter and, turning it over, looked down hopelessly at the seal. She had no knowledge as to whose seal it was and, thus, had no other choice but to break it open and begin to read.
“‘My dear lord, it gives me great pleasure to attach, with this letter, an invitation to…’,” she read, before shaking her head, folding up the letter and returning it to the desk. Picking up the second, she did the same again before turning to the third, then the fourth, and then the fifth.
“‘It has been some time since I have been in your company and I find that I am, to my great embarrassment, writing in the hope that you will be in London this winter,’” Elizabeth read aloud, her eyes drifting down to the signature at the bottom of the letter – but it was in such an ornate handwriting that she could not quite make it out. Sighing inwardly, she let her eyes rest on the top of the letter again, wondering if this might be the beginnings of Lord Harlington’s letter to her brother.
‘As you know, I have often found myself almost silent before the young ladies of the ton,’ the letter continued, making Elizabeth frown. ‘From our days at Eton, I recall that you were very often disinclined towards laughter, as the others were, but were willing to aid me in any way you could. I wonder now if I might beg for that aid once more.’
“I should not be reading this.” Elizabeth spoke aloud, lifting her head and squeezing her eyes closed, telling herself that it was wrong for her to be reading her brother’s correspondence in such a way. After all, she was only meant to be looking for Lord Harlington’s letter and this clearly was not from him. But there was something about the desperation in the gentleman’s letter that had her sympathy growing steadily, to the point that she could not help but let her eyes drop to the letter again.
‘I was in London last Season after some years of absence and failed to secure the courtship of not only one but three ladies. They all rejected my courtship outright even though they did not have another gentleman pursuing them. It seems that my dark and despondent reputation has spread all through society, so that no gentleman in all of London wishes to engage his daughter to me! I am again to return to London for the Season but alas, I fear that I shall, yet again, fail entirely. In truth, I have no confidence in myself. I have returned to London to whispers spoken of me every time I so much as set foot in a ballroom or the like! I have even heard that there is a wager in Whites about how many ladies will reject me this Season also! You know the reason for my demeanour and my regrets but I do not think that society will be at all willing to listen. Might I then seek some advice from you? We were close friends in Eton and I appreciated your thoughts then. Might I hope that, even now, you might offer me a word of guidance? I can only pray that you will not find my letter foolish nor refuse to respond due to the ridiculousness of it.’
There came, thereafter, the usual compliments and the signature of one Duke of Nottingham. Elizabeth sighed and set the letter down, telling herself that she ought to simply seal it up and, thereafter, allow her brother to answer it – but the line at the end of the letter would not leave her mind. Her brother would not be ready to even read the letter for a good few days and, thereafter, would not make the response a priority, given all that he had to do. Furthermore, they were leaving the estate to make their way to London! Even if her brother recovered before they left the estate, Elizabeth did not think that even reading a letter such as this would be his main concern.
Which meant that she had a choice to make.
Pressing her lips together, Elizabeth considered what she was to do. The letter seemed to burn hot in her hand, the questions and the beseeching contained within winding its way from her mind to her heart and refusing to allow her any peace. With a great and heavy sigh, she unfolded it again and, after another moment, sat down at the desk.
This ought not to be your priority either! Your brother has given you a task to do and this is not it!
The quiet words of her conscience set her cheeks ablaze but Elizabeth’s gentle heart could not turn away from such a letter. The gentleman was clearly eager for any sort of advice that her brother might offer him and there was courage even in daring to write such a letter in the first place!
“But what knowledge have I of such things?” she wondered aloud, her own face flushing as she realized just how little she knew when it came to matters of attraction, of affection and of courtship. Quite why the Duke of Nottingham had failed in his attempts to court three separate young ladies, she did not know and, mayhap, that ought to be her first question to the gentleman. Nor did she understand anything about the darkness of his demeanor, though it appeared her brother had knowledge of it. She could not ask him about that, though she did silently wonder about it. Biting her lip, she hesitated before reaching for the quill, ready now to write him a response.
“‘Your Grace’” she said aloud, speaking out the words she wrote. “‘I am soon to be in London, although I am a little unwell at present and may not have fully recovered by the time I return to town. I often struggle with head pains and whilst my physician hopes that town will aid their demise, I am not certain they will do as is hoped! However, I still have an eagerness to be of assistance to you and I must offer my commiseration over your lack of success thus far.’”
Setting down the quill, Elizabeth read and reread these first few lines, making sure she was not only quite satisfied with what she had written but also that it was in the very same manner as her brother might write. The latter was not of particular importance since the Duke of Nottingham had clearly not been in company with her brother for some time, but still, Elizabeth wanted to do all she could to make certain that she sounded as much like her brother as possible. When her brother was well again, she would tell him of this, of course, and he would, she hoped, then be willing to continue with such a correspondence so that the Duke of Nottingham would gain both encouragement and support in his endeavors.
“‘Might I ask,’” she continued, still speaking aloud as her quill scratched across the paper. “‘Might I ask what it is you have tried thus far in your attempts to court such young ladies? Or, if I might be so bold, to ask you to explain why you believe they might have rejected you so quickly?’” She winced as she wrote this, feeling a slight sense of embarrassment as well as sympathy for the Duke of Nottingham but knowing that, at the same time, she could not be of assistance to him if he did not respond honestly. “‘It must be very difficult indeed to have had such rejection but I am certain that, with a little guidance, you shall be able to secure yourself a bride very soon.’” She pressed her lips together, hesitating as she lifted her quill to the inkwell. She did not want to speak out of turn but there was a curiosity in her heart that could not be contained; she had to know the reasons these ladies had rejected him. Part of her wondered if he had a clumsy manner, or if he had stood thrice on their foot when dancing – and thus, Elizabeth lifted her quill to the paper and continued to write.
‘I must finish by stating that I will still be resting and recovering in London and therefore, would be grateful to receive your letter but not, at the present moment, any visits,’ she finished, knowing that her brother would not be ready for any friends or acquaintances to call during his first few weeks in London. ‘But be assured that I shall return whatever letter or note you wish to send just as soon as I am able. Indeed, correspondence might be to your benefit for then letters themselves can be considered at length before a response is given. You have my promise of utter discretion, of course.’
It was done. There came upon Elizabeth such a feeling of anxiety that it took her some moments to decide to fold up the letter, rather than pick it up and throw it into the fire so that it might burn up entirely! She was doing something she had never done before in pretending that she was her brother, and by writing to a gentleman that she was not acquainted with by any means! It had been some time, evidently, since the Duke of Nottingham had been in company with her brother and, most likely, he would not find anything questionable in what she had written and, therefore, would assume that it was, in fact, Lord Dennington who had written it.
“I shall tell my brother all and hope that he will continue to assist the Duke of Nottingham,” she said aloud, folding up the letter and then preparing the wax to seal it. Her words comforted her heart, reminding her that she was doing this in order to help the gentleman and that, surely, could not be a wrong motivation. Pressing her brother’s seal into the wax, Elizabeth rose and rang the bell, ready to have the letter sent away just as soon as she could, so that she did not lose her nerve and decide not to send it after all. With a deep breath, she settled her shoulders and tried to smile as the footman came into the room.
“Send this at once,” she said, finding it a little difficult to release the letter as the footman came to take it from her. “And I shall require a tea tray, if I am to continue on with Lord Dennington’s affairs!”
The footman nodded and stepped from the room, taking the letter with him. Elizabeth swallowed hard, then turned and gave herself a slight, brisk shake. It was done and she need not think more about it.
All she now required was a response.
***
“Brother?”
Elizabeth looked carefully at her brother as he sat opposite her, all too aware that whilst his eyes had been closed for the last ten minutes, he did not appear to be sleeping.
“Yes, Elizabeth?”
“I am sorry to interrupt your rest, but there is something I must ask you.”
The matter of the letter had been playing on her mind ever since she had sent it, ever since the footman had taken it from her and quit the room. Over and over, she wondered if she had done the right thing, becoming frustrated with herself as her mind continually returned to it. She had settled her thoughts somewhat by stating that she would tell her brother of the letter just as soon as she was able and that, in doing so, she would find her conscience settled.
“Go on.” Her brother’s eyes remained closed but he gestured to her idly. “What is it?”
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath. “When you were ill, I did, as you know, take over some of your correspondence. In doing so, I came across a letter from one Duke of Nottingham.”
One of her brother’s eyes cracked open. “Nottingham?” he repeated, as Elizabeth nodded. “I have not heard from him in some time! We were very good friends at Eton and in the years thereafter but since –” He stopped short, shaking his head and looking away. “It does not matter but he has been absent from society for a time.”
“He did say that,” Elizabeth replied, “but he stated that, when you were in Eton, you were of assistance to him and, therefore, he has sought you ought again in order to give him some advice.”
Her brother’s eyes opened a little more and he pushed himself up slightly, showing more interest than Elizabeth had expected. “Oh?”
Briefly, she told him what the letter had said and, aware that her cheeks were becoming hotter by the minute, quickly told him what she had written in return.
“I do not know if I did the right thing in responding but my conscience would permit no other course of action,” she finished, as her brother’s lips lifted in a small smile. “I wanted very much to help him and, given that he sounded so desperately forlorn, I could not leave it another moment.”
Her brother said nothing for a few minutes, regarding her carefully although his smile still remained. Elizabeth dropped her head, not quite able to look him in the eye even though she was quite relieved that she had told him everything that had been troubling her.
“I think you have been very kind, Elizabeth.”
The breath of relief that poured from her lips made her brother chuckle.
“Come now, you did not think I would chide you, surely?”
“I was not certain,” Elizabeth replied, honestly. “It was not a business matter and I had, therefore, no right to read any such thing.”
Her brother leaned forward and placed his hand over hers, his eyes smiling. “You have a great sweetness of character, Elizabeth as well as a tender heart. I would not have expected anything less from you, my dear sister. And,” he continued, sitting back in his chair and grinning at her, “when the letter from the Duke of Nottingham comes, I shall make certain that you are given it, so that you might respond to him again.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “You mean to say that you wish me to continue writing to the Duke?” she asked, as her brother nodded, his eyes sliding closed again. “I have no knowledge of what to say, or what to do!”
“I am certain that you shall have excellent advice,” came the reply, “and it will do the Duke of Nottingham no harm either in thinking that it is I who is responding to him. Perhaps, my dear sister, you will help him achieve what he longs for.” His smile shifted to one side, his hands clasped in his lap as he slumped a little in his seat. “You may help him find a wife!”
Chapter Two
Jonathan grimaced as he sat down, having chosen a chair that was half in shadow so that he might not be too noticeable. He had no confidence when it came to being amongst society now, given that he had been rejected outright by not one but three young ladies last Season. He winced as he recalled how the third had even laughed when he had made his intentions to her known, although she had, immediately thereafter, tried to hide her mirth from him by way of covering her face with her fan and begging his pardon for coughing in such a manner.
Jonathan had not been convinced.
The last few years had been difficult, filled with a regret and a frustration which had stolen every consideration of happiness from him. It had been difficult to pull himself out from the cloud of shadows but, eventually, he had managed to do so. Having decided that the time had come for him to wed, Jonathan had made his way to London with every confidence, only to discover that such a confidence was of no benefit. In fact, he had found it to be entirely useless, for his expectation that all would go well and he would have no difficulty in securing a bride seemed to dissuade the young ladies from him all the more! Given that he held the title of Duke, Jonathan had considered that, surely, to be considered to be an excellent match for some young lady despite what they had heard about him. To his mind, it did not make sense that he was so rejected! However, after some prolonged considerations over a glass of whiskey, he had realized that the way he had hidden from society, the way he had pulled back from them all and the dark demeanor with which he promoted himself had made a distinctly poor impression – even if he had not known what to do about it.
Thus, in desperation, he had turned to one gentleman who had not only proven himself wise in his thinking in the past but who also knew precisely why Jonathan behaved as he did. Of course, his first thought had been to write to his younger sister, who had herself only been married last summer, but when he had imaged her response to his letter, he had winced and chosen to write to Lord Dennington instead. It was not that he thought his sister would find him foolish but rather that there might come, thereafter, a little jesting and a little mirth – neither of which Jonathan wanted. She had married for security rather than anything else and so she had never understood his struggles. In all of this, Jonathan had wanted nothing more than understanding and assistance and hence, the letter to Lord Dennington had been sent. What a relief it had been to receive a response and know that his friend did not think him altogether ridiculous!
“And the response was more than suitable,” he muttered to himself, still surveying the crowd from under half-lidded eyes. He had spent the afternoon in his study trying to respond to the questions therein, for they had been somewhat difficult to answer and Jonathan was still not yet satisfied with his response. It was somewhat embarrassing to be as truthful as was required, for to find the right words to express the pain he still felt and the way it affected him had been a struggle. It had reached a juncture where he had finally declared himself content with his response—though inwardly, he was not—and so, he sealed it and dispatched it without further ado before proceeding to the assembly. He had hoped that the soiree might take his mind from his letter and his current sense of failure, though he did not intend to remedy that in any way as yet. He had no thought as to how to pursue any particular young lady this evening and had no intention of even gazing over long at any of them. No, Jonathan thought only to make his way to the card table and to spend the evening indulging himself and enjoying whatever entertainment his host intended to put on.
Sighing, he shook his head to himself, a little frustrated that the card table was not yet ready when he arrived, for it seemed that Lord Chesterton wished only for his guests to mingle and converse for a short while before such things were set out for them. Such an idea was not unusual, of course, but it was not what Jonathan had been hoping for. Any delay was a frustration, given that he sought only to pander to his own desires this evening rather than actually put any effort into conversing with the other guests.
“Are you hiding?”
With a jerk of surprise, Jonathan kept his gaze straight ahead, refusing to move from his chair nor turn his head to look in the direction of the speaker.
“I am not hiding,” he stated, as the Earl of Dalton came to sit beside him, flinging himself into a chair and drawing a good deal of attention to them both. A muscle in his jaw worked as Lord Dalton grinned at him, his broad smile nothing but an irritation.
“You are hiding,” Lord Dalton retorted, chuckling. “Why else would you be hiding yourself in the shadows?”
“Might it be that I have no interest in company?” Jonathan countered, throwing a hard glance towards his friend who, instead of removing his ridiculous grin, only began to chuckle. “I am quite content alone!”
“Then I am surprised that you have come to a soiree!” Lord Dalton shot back, leaning back in his chair and lifting one eyebrow. “That is a little foolish, is it not?”
Jonathan bit back a harsh answer, closing his eyes and letting his breath hiss out between his clenched teeth. Silence answered him for some moments and it was not until he opened his eyes and looked again at his friend that he saw Lord Dalton’s smile had finally faded. Lord Dalton was an old acquaintance and one that Jonathan had let fade during his years absent from society. Lord Dalton, however, had not seemed to even think of that for when Jonathan had first stepped into London society, he had been right beside him again, seeming to delight in Jonathan’s company.
I ought not to be angry with him.
“You are unhappy.”
At Lord Dalton’s words, Jonathan swallowed back his first response. Everything in him wanted to retort that he was not unhappy, that he was quite well and there was nothing whatsoever the matter, but the truth was there, refusing to permit him to escape. Besides which, he considered, Lord Dalton was a friend and it was not as though the fellow was well known for spreading all manner of gossip and rumor. He could trust him with this.
“I suppose you are well aware that last Season, my suit has been rejected for a third time in quick succession,” he stated, trying to keep his tone measured although his words sounded a little more clipped than usual. He looked out at the room, his eyes caught on one particular young lady with her yellow gown, dark tresses and dancing brown eyes. Jonathan sighed inwardly, dragging his eyes away and refusing to allow himself to look at her any longer. It was foolish to even think of a lady given his current circumstances. “All of the ton had seen my evident interest in Lady Beatrice and, no doubt, they must all speak now of how she rejected my suit. It may have been last Season but the mind of society does not easily forget.”
Lord Dalton cleared his throat and looked away. “Indeed, that is so.”
“And,” Jonathan continued, scowling, “the ton is also aware of my previous two attempts with two other young ladies and now must think me one of the most ridiculous men in all of England! This despite the fact that I am a Duke! I have no confidence in society any longer though I am here nonetheless.”
“Well, you did pursue them all rather quickly.”
His skin prickled and Jonathan sent a glance back towards his friend, though Lord Dalton spoke gently and without derision.
“It was clear that you desired a bride, Nottingham.” Lord Dalton spoke with a familiarity that came with a long acquaintance and close friendship and Jonathan could not help but listen. “It is unfortunate that they all rejected your suit but you must see why that is. You were abrupt, sharp in your words, seemingly angry or frustrated in your demeanour with everyone at all times! It was as though you were demanding their interest, rather than merely seeking it. I do not mean to injure you in what I say but I speak what I hope is the truth.”
“I understand that.” With a heavy darkness pooling into his soul, Jonathan nodded but looked away from his friend, setting his eyes, once more, on the young lady in the yellow dress. Was it just his imagination or was there a gentle scent assailing him? Vanilla? Rose? No doubt, it came from her. A sigh pulled itself from his lips as he forced his eyes away once more, reminding himself that he was not a gentleman that any young lady would wish to form an attachment with at present.
“You are considering Miss Hamilton, I see.”
“No, I am not considering anyone,” Jonathan snapped back, raking one hand through his thick, dark hair and scowling furiously. “She is pretty, certainly, but I cannot give her more than a few moments of my attention.”
Lord Dalton shrugged. “She may well be eager for your company.”
“I hardly think so,” Jonathan spat, his anger beginning to curl up within him, sparks in his eyes and a tightness in his chest that he could not easily remove. “Three young ladies have each, separately, cast me aside and have rejected my suit outright. I return to London and within a day of my arrival, I hear whispers about me.” His scowl hardened. “I even heard there was a wager in Whites’ betting book as to how many young ladies would reject my offer of courtship.”
Lord Dalton shook his head. “That is most unfortunate and certainly not in the least bit deserved but I do not think you need to fear the ton,” he replied, his eyes no longer dancing and no smile on his lips. “They are not inclined towards kindness, as you have discovered, but you do not need to hide from society.”
“I have no choice but to listen to them all the same,” Jonathan replied, his shoulders dropping and the tightness beginning to loosen around his chest as they began to speak in more equal terms. “They decide whether or not I am suitable for any young lady in the ton to consider, it seems. They determine whether I am to be the subject of gossip or forgiven for my demeanour. They decide if I am to have wagers placed against me or if I am to be permitted to go about my business without such a ridicule made of me. I fear now that I shall have no other choice but to wed a lady that every other has overlooked.”
A shrug lifted Lord Dalton’s shoulders. “Mayhap that would not be too terrible an outcome,” he suggested, only for Jonathan to roll his eyes. “No, you do not think so?”
Jonathan shook his head, wishing he could find a way to express his depths of his frustration at even the thought of such an arrangement. “I do not want to marry simply because I am required to,” he told his friend, deciding to speak the truth as to his reasons for such a thing. “I find the idea of being forced into matrimony to be a very disagreeable one indeed, for then one is less likely to have any feelings of interest or affection for the lady in question.”
Lord Dalton turned, tilting his head just a little, his lips pursing for a moment. “You think such a thing to be important?” he queried as Jonathan nodded, all too aware of the heat that rolled up his chest as he spoke.
“I wish to have some sort of affection or even interest in the lady I wed,” he replied, speaking quickly so that his words were expressed in as hurried a manner as he could manage so that his embarrassment would not increase. It was not like him to speak with any sort of frankness. “It is not that I require to have a great depth of emotion for her – I certainly do not ask for the notion of love – but rather that I would like to feel something!” He sighed and dropped his head, grimacing. “I did find myself rather drawn to each of the three ladies I have already approached, for whilst they were all beautiful – exquisite blossoms in a sunlit garden, I would say – there was a gentleness, a sweetness to their character that I found very pleasing.” Shooting a quick glance towards Lord Dalton, Jonathan was surprised to see the scowl growing across his face. Lord Dalton shifted in his chair, a hardness in his expression that surprised Jonathan.
“I am not certain that such ‘sweetness’ and ‘gentleness’ as you have described were a true reflection of any of those young ladies,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower. “You are aware, are you not, that all the young ladies of the ton are expected to present themselves in a certain way?”
There was a hint of sarcasm now in Lord Dalton’s tone and Jonathan shifted uncomfortably, taken aback by the sudden change in his friend’s manner.
“Let us say that Lady Beatrice – the daughter of Lord Bathurst – is a young lady you find yourself interested in. She is nothing but delightful when you are in her company and you become quite besotted with her. Can you be certain that the character she presents to you, the lady that you see when you are with her, is her true nature?”
Jonathan hesitated, spreading his hands. “I should hope that there would be a good deal of truth it in, yes.”
“Then you are being foolish!” Lord Dalton exclaimed, throwing up his hands before sitting forward in his chair, pinning Jonathan with his gaze. “The lady might have a furious temper, which you have no knowledge of until you one day decide to call at an unexpected hour, only to find the entire house in uproar because Lady Beatrice had become displeased with something!”
Pressing his lips together, Jonathan chose to say nothing in response to this. Lord Dalton was now red faced, with his eyes flashing and a tightness in his jaw that spoke of an ongoing and overwhelming anger that his friend still felt deeply. Jonathan did not want to ask further questions, quite certain that Lord Dalton had not had the intention of making himself so obvious. Still, the advice he had given rang true and Jonathan could not pretend that it was irrelevant to his own situation, even if he did not really want to believe it.
“You will be cautious, I hope.”
Jonathan nodded, clearing his throat and coupling his hands together. “I appreciate your advice – and your candour,” he added, as Lord Dalton grimaced, turning his eyes away from Jonathan. “Mayhap I have been a little….hasty in my considerations.”
The sharp, guttural laugh that came from Lord Dalton caused Jonathan to flush hot, hearing the agreement in Lord Dalton’s mirth that perhaps his friend had not wanted to voice for fear of insulting Jonathan. Was that the reason – or part of the reason – he had failed to find himself a suitable wife? Because he had been much too hasty about it all?
“There is Lord Falconer.” Lord Dalton rose from his chair, the easy smile he had worn on his arrival now gone completely. “I must beg you to excuse me.” He made to leave, only to turn on his heel and come back towards Jonathan, the tightness of his frame beginning to fade as he gave him a long look.
“I – I do hope you know that I am eager to help you in any way I can,” he said, after a few moments. “I do not wish to appear as though I lack sympathy or consideration. I am filled with both, I promise you and I wish you the very best for the remaining Season. I spoke more than I ought and I hope you understand that.”
Jonathan smiled, appreciating the fact that his friend had chosen to come back to speak those words of comfort, making certain there was no awkwardness between them. “Thank you, Dalton, indeed, I understand fully. I have listened to what you have said and I promise you that I will consider your words carefully. Your honesty is valued and appreciated.”
Lord Dalton nodded, lifted his chin and turned away again, this time making his way towards Lord Falconer without delay or hesitation. Jonathan’s eyes roved around the room as he considered all that his friend had told him. Lord Dalton’s experience with Lady Beatrice was certainly something he ought to consider. After a few moments, he dropped his head and ran one hand over his forehead, his fingers pressing lightly on either side of the bridge of his nose. Even the way Lord Dalton had recognized the haste with which he had pursued a connection gave him a good deal to consider. Was this one of the reasons why he had failed to capture the attentions of any one of the three ladies he had been pursuing? Had they all thought him much too hasty, much too foolish in his expressions of interest? It had, Jonathan conceded, been a short while between the first and the second young lady he had pursued, and an ever shorter time between the second and the third, but he had found himself so eager in his desire to wed that he had not stopped to think about such a thing as that.
Lord Dalton was right: he had not known any of these young ladies particularly well. He had taken what he had seen and thought that to be the full expression of their character, without ever considering that there was only a little of their true selves being presented. Lifting his head, Jonathan let out a heavy sigh and then rose from his chair.
He had no interest in lingering here any longer. What Lord Dalton had said consumed his thoughts and, as such, Jonathan found his mind heavy. He wanted to go somewhere quiet, somewhere where he might sit and think and allow himself to look over his past behavior with new considerations and he certainly could not do so here. Rising – and praying that Lord Chesterton would not notice his quick departure and think ill of him – Jonathan made for the door, sidestepping various guests and keeping his gaze fixed low so that he would not be held back by the need to greet anyone. His steps were hurried, his intention determined.
There was a good deal for him to think on now.
Let me know your thoughts!
I’m glad that you finished reading the preview of “The Duke’s Reluctant Muse”. It will be on Amazon very soon!
