2. Chapter One
Chapter One
Two weeks later...
“ S he’s perfect.” Winston Chadwick, the Marquess of Linford, nodded in approval. “A real beauty.”
“Isn’t she?” Philip Carstairs, the Duke of Trentworth, and still his best friend, despite marrying Winston’s sister, Eliza, grinned. “I couldn’t agree more.”
The dappled gray mare galloped around the paddock with head held high, black mane blowing in the light breeze, and eyes bright with interest.
“My sister will love her.” Winston leaned on the white rail fence as he admired the mare.
Trentworth clapped him on the shoulder. “I am pleased you agree. I think so, too.”
The day was a fine one for April with the sun shining brightly, a mild temperature, and the promise of green grass running along the fence line.
The two of them had taken Trentworth’s coach to a friend’s estate on the outskirts of London to look at the horse.
Winston was honored his friend had asked his opinion. Since their marriage last autumn, Winston had felt rather forgotten by both Trentworth and his sister. The two clearly enjoyed their time alone together and only occasionally attended social events. Perhaps the coming months would be different.
However, Winston knew better than to complain, especially to Trentworth. His Grace would only suggest Winston take a bride of his own.
The very idea of marrying made his stomach twist. Taking a wife was in his eventual future, of course. He had no intention of avoiding his duty to provide an heir for the Linford line. But shackling himself to a wife felt like it would mark the end of his life rather than a new beginning.
How could he believe anything else after watching—or rather, enduring—his parents’ tumultuous marriage?
Unfortunately, he well knew he had many traits similar to his father. Hardly a week went by when someone didn’t mention it. How could he expect a different relationship with a wife when he had the same tendencies toward stubbornness and selfishness as his father? Even Eliza had mentioned it on more than one occasion.
No, he thought as he shook his head. Better that he postponed marrying for several more years. He was only two and thirty and could easily wait another decade if he wished.
“What?” Trentworth asked, eyes narrowed. “Why are you shaking your head? Have you changed your opinion about the horse?”
Winston managed an easy smile despite the unsettled feeling lingering in the pit of his stomach. “Nothing of the sort. I suppose I am still amazed by the wedded bliss you and Eliza seem to have. It is rather odd, given our history, don’t you think?”
Trentworth scoffed, turning his attention back to the mare. “It is not odd in the least. You need only look around to see other happy couples.”
“Humph. I beg to differ. Have you not seen Lord Farnsworth? He is more than miserable, as is his wife.” Winston scowled. “I can name half a dozen others without even trying.”
“Linford, I think you are searching for proof of what you want to see.” His friend turned to face him. “In fact, I would go so far as to say that I think you’re scared.”
“Scared?” Winston was aghast. Or at least he feigned as much. Better that than agree with Trentworth’s conjecture. “What could I possibly be frightened of?”
“Love.” The duke’s grin only worsened the queasy feeling in Winston’s stomach. “I am standing before you to tell you how wonderful it is. Not always easy, perhaps, but wonderful. It takes effort. A lot of it to be honest, but it’s worth the hard work.”
Winston bit back a quick retort to choose his words carefully. “For you, obviously. But not for all.”
That truth was depressing, yet Winston knew it for a fact, proven by the pitifully few relationships he’d had over the years. They had each ended disastrously, and he had no one to blame but himself. For him, taking a wife was a necessary evil but little else.
“I realize your parents soured your view on married life,” Trentworth began, “and I can’t claim to be an expert when we haven’t yet seen our first anniversary.”
“Good point.” Winston scowled as he turned away from the pretty mare to gaze across the rolling fields of the well- maintained estate. “I don’t know that you should be handing out advice.”
“I only do so because your sister and I want you to be happy.” Trentworth paused, causing Winston to look at him, certain his friend had more to say. “And you are not.”
“Nonsense.” Winston denied the claim with a wave of his hand. “I am quite content.” He chose to ignore the voice in the back of his head that called him a liar.
“Content sounds like settling. We want more for you than that. Deliriously happy would be far better.” Trentworth cleared his throat. “And then there is the matter of the management of your holdings.”
Winston muttered a curse under his breath and turned away once again.
“You can’t think to leave the care of the estate and other properties to your steward for much longer.”
“Why not?” Winston protested. “He’s doing a better job than I could hope to.”
Silence greeted his response until at last he glanced at his friend, dreading the sight of disapproval on Trentworth’s face. He hated disappointing his family and friends, as well as himself, but knew his limitations.
The feeble attempts he’d made to improve the estate soon after he’d inherited had only proven he didn’t know what he was doing. The few times he had tried since then confirmed it. Hadn’t he suggested a different manner of rotating crops last autumn since the price of wheat was declining, only to have the steward point out all the reasons why that would be unwise?
He didn’t care to look a fool, nor did he want the tenants and others who depended on the title to suffer because of his ineptitude.
His father had been a poor teacher when he’d bothered to try. And their long-time steward had dismissed Winston’s laughable attempts to learn more about managing the holdings, telling him that he needn’t worry about such details when he was far better suited for a life of leisure, just like his father.
It hadn’t taken long for Winston to decide not to bother. Why fight a losing battle? Better that he continued to be thought of as a carefree rogue than a fool.
Trentworth heaved a beleaguered sigh and looked away. “I truly hope you change your mind. I don’t like to see Eliza upset.”
Winston was tempted to walk away but remained where he was, undecided whether to be hurt or touched by their concern. After a moment’s reflection, he chose not to decide, a pattern of the last half a dozen years from which he wasn’t willing to deviate. He preferred neutrality as it resulted in fewer arguments and disappointments.
“I appreciate your concern, but all is well,” Winston insisted.
He waited for Trentworth to put the moment behind him so he could do the same. He didn’t intend to allow the duke’s remarks to ruin their friendship.
Trentworth held his gaze for a long moment. “I know I can’t say anything you haven’t heard before, but you are capable of more. I look forward to the day when you finally realize it.”
Winston had definitely heard the same message from his sister, but it meant something coming from a friend who had been through his own share of challenges. He ignored the small pang of what?—longing? He wasn’t sure. A shrug of his shoulders helped to dispel the uncomfortable feeling.
“So,” Trentworth said as he studied the horse once again, “you approve of the mare?”
“I do. Eliza will love her.” Winston grinned, unable to resist teasing his friend, and anxious to shift the duke’s focus to a more lighthearted topic. “Probably more than she loves you.”
Trentworth laughed as Winston intended. He’d learned long ago that humor was one of the better ways to deflect topics he was uncomfortable discussing, and he would continue to use it.
The future could wait until he was damn well ready to deal with it. And that was not today.
Regent Street bustled with shoppers as Millie and Tibby made their way toward the modiste’s. Though the air was chilly and the sun nowhere to be seen, she still felt the lure of spring, and it was refreshing to be out of doors.
“Thank you for offering to meet me here.” Tibby smiled. “I didn’t relish making the selections on my own, and Michael insists everything looks nice on me. I am in need of an honest opinion.”
“The pleasure is mine. I’m happy you asked me. Besides, shopping is always more enjoyable with a friend.” Millie sent Tibby a knowing smile. A week had passed since the league meeting, and Tibby looked even happier, if that was possible. “It’s not every day you have the privilege of ordering a new gown or two to make room for a baby.”
Tibby’s blush warmed Millie, her excitement over her pregnancy delightful. “You’re right. It’s not.” She paused before a shop window but closed her eyes as she drew in a deep breath. “I am beside myself with joy and overemotional with it.” She opened her eyes and turned to Millie. “Thank you for understanding.”
“And thank you for sharing it with me.” Millie looped her arm through Tibby’s. “Now let us see what the dressmaker can do.”
“I only want two or three new gowns,” Tibby said as they continued forward. “Several of my current ones can be modified to loosen the waist and will serve me well for the next few months. After that is when attire becomes more challenging, or so Phoebe has told me.”
“I cannot wait to see you then.” Millie shared another smile. “Already you’re glowing with happiness. Captain Shaw is pleased, as well?”
“Very much.” Her friend’s expression softened. “Thrilled, in fact. However, I tend to think he will soon be driving me mad with his overprotectiveness.”
Millie’s heart melted. “As he should be.” At Tibby’s questioning look, she quickly added, “Protective, that is. Not the driving-you-mad part.”
Tibby laughed. “He is spoiling me rotten in between writing another book as quickly as he can. Apparently expecting a child is helpful to his creativity as an author. He says the ideas are flowing faster than he can write them down.”
“How exciting! That means we will soon have another book to read. I cannot wait.” Millie enjoyed his mystery novels. They held just enough suspense to keep one on the edge of their seat. She was willing to endure a sleepless night or two as they were impossible to put down.
“Your support, along with the other league members, has been so helpful. He is appreciative of you all.”
“He’s an excellent author, and we are the lucky ones to get to read his work.”
“Miss Davies?”
The deep tone of a familiar masculine voice caught Millie’s attention, and she turned to see the very man who took up far too many of her thoughts of late.
Winston Chadwick, the Marquess of Linford.
“Linford.” How she hated the blush stinging her cheeks. He couldn’t possibly know of her feelings for him, therefore, there was no need for embarrassment. At least, that was her hope. She dipped into a brief curtsy. “How nice to see you.”
“I hope the day finds you well, Linford,” Tibby added with a dip of her head.
“Lady Shaw. It does indeed.” Winston glanced between the two of them. “How fortuitous to come upon you both. I hope Captain Shaw is busy crafting his next novel.” He lifted a brow at Tibby.
“He is.” Tibby nodded.
Millie allowed the conversation to drift around her as she drank in Winston’s presence. He had a restless energy that was at odds with his relaxed, careless mannerisms, but suited his lean, wiry build. He was undeniably appealing with dark brown hair that held a hint of a wave and green eyes a shade darker than Eliza’s that brought to mind jade, with all its subtle nuances.
And seriously, no man should have such long eyelashes. Not when they lent a boyish charm to his handsome features.
Millie jerked away her gaze, realizing the heat in her cheeks was growing worse the longer she studied him.
“Out for a bit of shopping?” Winston asked as he sent her a curious look as if wondering at her thoughts.
“We are.” Tibby gestured toward the nearby modiste’s. “A new gown is on our list.”
“How nice.” Winston’s gaze swept over Millie from head to toe. “I look forward to seeing it.”
“Oh.” Millie glanced at Tibby. “Not me.” Did he think she needed a new gown? Millie couldn’t help but look down at her striped blue and white silk, wondering if something was amiss—or worse, out-of-date.
“Just me,” Tibby said with a smile. “Miss Davies has offered to share her opinion to help me decide on one or two.”
“I see.” Winston nodded awkwardly. “An enjoyable outing, I’m sure.”
“Most certainly.” Tibby sent Millie an inquiring look, but Millie couldn’t think of a single thing to add, given how uncomfortable she felt. “What of you, Lord Linford? Are you shopping, as well?” Tibby asked.
“My aunt’s birthday is next week. I thought it best to look for a gift now as she is a challenge to buy for.” His scowl spoke of his difficult relationship with the woman.
From what Millie knew from Eliza, their Aunt Frieda tended to disapprove of him no matter what he did, as did several of his other relatives. Millie had met the woman on numerous occasions, and she was definitely...prickly. Some people saw only the negative in people and situations. His Aunt Frieda was one of those.
The fact that he was taking the time to shop for a gift for her was sweet, considering their tenuous bond.
“What are you thinking of giving her?” Millie asked curiously.
Winston blew out a breath and glanced at the nearby shop windows. “In truth? I have no idea.” He offered one of those carelessly charming grins of his.
Darn him.
Those particular smiles twisted her heart in a painful manner and sent flutters dancing in her stomach as if a hundred butterflies were trying to escape.
“Any suggestions?” he asked, his eyes holding on her with what looked like guarded hope—or perhaps a plea for help.
“I couldn’t claim to know her well, though she does seem to favor the color blue.” Millie considered several ideas, wanting to lend assistance. “What of a blue glass dish, along with some chocolates to put in it?”
“That’s a lovely idea,” Tibby agreed. “Thoughtful and somewhat practical. That should appeal to her.”
Winston’s green eyes lit with interest, sending another flutter loose in her stomach. “I like it. Not so practical that she’s annoyed and not so impractical that she’s irritated.”
Millie couldn’t help but laugh at his description.
“It’s true,” he protested even as he grinned. “Don’t even ask about her reaction to my Christmas gift.”
“I’m sorry she doesn’t simply appreciate the thought behind them,” Millie said, sharing a look with Tibby. “Most men would send a servant to purchase something and consider it done.”
“Yes, well, perhaps that would’ve been wise, but I suppose I must endure in the face of adversity.” He stared into the distance with a noble expression as if his burden was great and his sorrow deep.
Both Tibby and Millie burst into laughter at his antics.
Winston broke his pose to laugh with them.
Was it any wonder why her interest was so thoroughly caught by this man? Millie clutched her reticule to keep from pressing a hand to her pounding heart, willing away the dull ache of it.
“Do you have any idea where I might find such a dish?” Winston lifted a brow, his expression hopeful.
“Actually, I saw one in a shop window we passed.” Millie glanced back the way she and Tibby had come. “Just a few doors down, I think.”
“Excellent.” Winston dipped his head. “Thank you, Miss Davies.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I am forever in your debt.”
“Oh, my.” Tibby sent Millie an amused look. “I look forward to hearing how you decide to collect.”
Millie’s breath caught as a decidedly inappropriate image filled her mind—one that involved a kiss with the handsome marquess. “It is no trouble,” she managed, shoving the vivid thought from her mind. “You don’t owe me anything. I only hope she likes it.”
“I insist.” A teasing glint lit his eyes, making them sparkle. Be still her heart. “And I look forward to repaying the favor.”
Millie opened her mouth to protest, only to feel Tibby nudge her. She turned to see her friend send her a warning look as if to suggest she remain silent. Millie pressed her lips tight and returned her attention to Winston, uncertain what else to say.
“We wish you luck with your shopping, Linford,” Tibby said, saving her.
“And to you, as well. Good day.” With a dip of his head and a lingering look at Millie, no doubt wondering what was wrong with her, he continued on his way.
Millie drew a relieved breath, realizing just how tense she had become from the encounter.
Tibby took her arm and drew her toward the modiste’s shop door only to halt before it. “Millie, I do believe you have some explaining to do. What is going on between you and Linford?”