Chapter 17
Robert stood on the path, gazing down at his mother, whose face had, only seconds ago, been furious. Her expression when she saw him changed into one of disbelief.
“Robert! What are you doing here? This awful creature,” she added, gesturing in a way that took in both Sarah and the adorable puppy, “attacked us. It ruined Marina’s dress and Heaven knows if it bites or carries all manner of vermin. It shouldn’t be allowed.” She narrowed her eyes, glaring at Sarah with malicious intent. Sarah was white-faced with fear, her gaze moving to Robert swiftly and then down again.
“The dress has a few flecks of dirt on it. They will easily be removed,” Robert said with undisguised anger. “As for the creature , as you call it, it is a puppy, approximately five months old, if I guess aright. It can do no harm to anyone—certainly not by biting. And if she believed it to be ill or ailing, I do not think that Miss Brooke would have brought it out to play with my son. Now, I think it would be best if you both took yourselves inside,” he added, including Lady Marina in his statement. He was doing his best to rein in his fury. His son was rooted to the spot with tears in his eyes and Miss Brooke was white-faced and shocked. The puppy, too, seemed scared, looking up at them with big, fearful eyes.
Unsurprisingly, he thought grimly. My mother’s tone was extremely threatening.
“This is ridiculous ,” his mother began, bristling at his tone. “I am a duchess, and your mother, and I demand...”
“I cannot be commanded, mother,” Robert said tightly. “I suggest that you go inside. You and Lady Marina,” he added, not even looking at her. He had seen her apparent terror of the small puppy, and it had filled him with a strange, cold feeling. It was almost sadness—a realization that, though these two people were in so many ways his equals, they were nothing like him at all. He could not share a common opinion with them, even on something as innocent as baby dogs. It was a realization that saddened him.
“Well, I never thought...” his mother began, but she saw his eyes narrow, and she must have recognized that he was her son, as resolute and unbending as she was herself. She turned around. “Come, Marina,” she said briskly. “Let us go indoors.”
“My dress is ruined,” Marina said sullenly, shooting a bitter look at Robert as she walked indoors, as though it was all his fault.
Robert said nothing, simply waited for them to reach the stairs before turning to Sarah, Henry and the puppy.
“Son, I am sorry,” Robert said at once, reaching out to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I hope those two ladies did not upset you.”
“They were horrid to Buttons. They scared him,” Henry said, tears still showing in his eyes. “They won’t hurt him, will they?” he added, sounding frightened.
“No, son.” Robert said gently, though inside he was fuming with anger at his mother and Lady Marina. “They will not hurt...Buttons?” He looked at Miss Brooke in surprise.
“We named him this morning,” Miss Brooke said softly. “It was Henry’s idea for a name.”
“It is a good one,” Robert said instantly. “Now, come indoors, both of you. And bring Buttons with you.”
“Come, Buttons,” Henry said gently. “It’s all well. Papa will not let the ladies hurt you.”
Robert felt his mouth set into a grim expression. He most certainly would not let them. He had watched Henry and the little dog play from the upstairs window, and he had almost wept to witness his son lively and happy in ways that he had not been for years. It had hurt to see that joy dampened instantly by his mother’s fury, to see the child retreat back into himself, into the quiet, withdrawn boy he often was.
Robert glanced at Miss Brooke, who was also subdued. They walked back into the hallway—Miss Brooke carrying the puppy up the front steps—and when Henry and the little dog were scampering around the foyer on the tiles again, Robert turned to Miss Brooke.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “You have done wonders for the dog. And for Henry.”
“I did nothing,” Miss Brooke said instantly, her lips lifting in a grin. “Buttons and Henry have done wonders for one another.”
“You helped,” Robert said gently as he and Miss Brooke watched the little boy and the dog run around on the tiles in circles, chasing one another about.
Miss Brooke just smiled, and they stood side-by-side, watching. Robert’s heart filled with tenderness. He had never imagined that he would watch Henry with someone who seemed to care about—and understand—the child almost as much as himself.
“Best if we go upstairs now,” Robert said gently. “I think Edward would be perfectly happy for Henry and Buttons to play in the gallery. I take it he does not, um...mess?” He raised a brow.
“He did not last night,” Sarah replied swiftly. “I took him out after dinner and then again early this morning.”
“Well, then. I am sure Edward would be content to give the gallery over as a playroom for half an hour or so. What do you say, son?” he added, turning to Henry. “Would you and Buttons like to play upstairs in the gallery for half an hour?”
“Half an hour?” Henry’s eyes shone. “Can we? Can we, Papa?”
Robert nodded. “Of course,” he replied swiftly. He was sure Edward would not mind. He was a reasonable sort of man, easygoing and honest.
Miss Brooke retrieved Buttons and carried him up the stairs to the gallery. As they went up to the top floor, Robert spotted his mother in the middle hallway. She shot him a dark glance and Robert’s heart twisted. He had to address matters with her. He had to take the time to confront her, to tell her once and for all that he did not approve of what she was trying to manipulate him into doing.
I cannot tie myself to Lady Marina, he thought grimly. It would be a farce and a lie. I do not love her. I love someone else.
That realization had gradually blossomed within him, and seeing her play with Henry and Buttons had brought it home all the more forcibly. He loved Miss Brooke. Sarah. He loved her deeply and fully and he could not deny the truth of it anymore.
“Will you watch them?” He asked Miss Brooke gently. “I have a matter to attend to. It will take some minutes.”
“Of course, I will,” Miss Brooke said warmly, smiling up at him. They were in the doorway to the gallery, and Henry’s laughter filled the room as he and Buttons ran up and down the wooden floor. He gazed at the two playful youngsters for a moment and then his eyes rested on Miss Brooke. He gazed into her gray-blue eyes, his heart filling and swelling like the springtime buds as he stared at her. Her soft chestnut hair had come loose from its chignon here and there as she ran, and a thick lock rested on her cheek. He reached over and gently tucked it behind her ear. Her skin felt like petals, like silk. He drew in a deep breath, suddenly struggling to control the rush of feelings that overwhelmed him.
“I will...return in a few minutes,” he managed to say. His voice was husky. He coughed.
Miss Brooke smiled shyly. Her eyes held his and he could see that her lips had parted slightly, gasping as he touched her cheek.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she murmured.
He gazed at her for a long moment, filling his mind with memories of her face, with the courage that his love for her gave him. Then he turned around and went down the stairs.
When he reached the middle hallway, where the guest-chambers were, his mother had gone. He drew a deep breath, going to the door of her chamber. He knocked on the door, but his mother did not answer—either she was resting, or she was elsewhere in the house. He sighed and opened the door to his own room.
He looked around wearily. His valet had set out an outfit for him to wear to the soiree that evening—brown velvet breeches and a dark blue velvet jacket with a high-collared linen shirt and silk cravat.
He smiled to himself, his stomach twisting with a mix of anticipation of seeing Miss Brooke there—he had no doubt that Lady Averhill would insist on her attendance—and nerves at the prospect of seeing Lady Marina. His spine stiffened. He had to tell his mother of his real feelings, his real plans.
She is probably having tea with Lady Bardwell, discussing how awful I am, he thought with a wry smile. Perhaps I will not have to do anything at all.
He was about to go out when someone knocked at the inner door, the one that led to the communal parlor of the chambers he shared with his mother and Henry. He frowned and opened the door.
“Mama?” he asked.
His mother gazed up at him. Her expression was reproachful, but oddly not angry. He frowned, confused.
“Son, I have been thinking that perhaps I should reconsider. I have been wrong. Perhaps I have been pushing you too hard towards Lady Marina. Mayhap I have thrown her at you, have I not?” She raised a brow, a rueful smile on her lips.
“Um...well...” Robert stammered, feeling utterly bewildered. His mother was not ever apologetic—the most she ever did was somewhat boastfully concede that she might have acted in a different manner. He had never heard her apologize or consider that she could have been wrong. “Mama, I...” He tried to find the words—that he was not interested in Lady Marina, that he loved Miss Brooke—but her unexpected response floored him completely.
“Nobody wants something thrust under their nose, eh?” His mother smiled. “I have been like an overly persistent fairground vendor.” She chuckled ruefully. “I never buy from the ones that chase you.”
“No,” Robert admitted, almost amused by the image. “No, you do not.” Something felt wrong, but he could not put his finger on what it was.
“Well, that is all,” his mother said a little sadly. Robert cleared his throat.
“I did not mean to rebuke you so harshly,” he said carefully.
His mother’s gaze hardened for a moment and Robert felt almost relieved—that was more like her. But she said nothing. Robert stepped back, going towards his room.
“I will rest now,” his mother said, and when she said nothing further, Robert inclined his head politely, excusing himself. He shut the door and sat down in his own chamber, feeling exhausted.
He let out a long sigh. The events of the morning had left him utterly confused. His mother and Lady Marina confronting Miss Brooke in the garden, his anger at his mother and his realization that he had to act, had all worn him out. When he added to that his mother’s sudden, confusing attitude to the entire matter, his head spun.
“What does she want?” he asked himself aloud.
He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could not even guess at her motives—mayhap she was sincere, mayhap not.
As he stood to go and check on Henry, he realized what had bothered him was that she had not said Marina was wrong for him, or that she would stop. All she had said was that she would do things differently, less persistently. As if he could change his mind about Marina if she was presented differently to him.
He sighed again.
“I will never understand her,” he said aloud, going into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.
All that he knew for certain was that he loved Miss Brooke and that he would do anything to foster his growing connection with her.