Chapter 5
Henry had been sitting peacefully at his desk in the oak-paneled study, the late morning sunlight filtering through the tall windows and falling in bright rectangles onto the polished surface, before his mother came barging in.
He ignored her for a moment, focusing instead on the letter in his hand that he’d received earlier that week from the manager of his country estate.
It was filled with details about the harvest, the current price of grain, and the projected yields for the coming season.
Not the sort of reading that inspired much passion in a man of his age, but Henry found comfort in these practicalities.
Unlike the unpredictable and exhausting pressures of the marriage market, which his mother was sure to bring up any second now, the land and its cycles were reassuringly steady.
He could count on seasons passing, on fields growing green and then golden, on tenants working and thriving. As long as all was handled properly.
He leaned back in his chair, pushing a strand of dark hair away from his eyes.
The figures were better than expected this year—if the autumn rains held off, there would be ample wheat and a fair return.
The barley, too, looked promising, and the orchard trees, newly fertilized, should yield more apples than in previous years.
Such incremental improvements pleased him.
They were small victories he could take pride in.
“Henry,” his mother barked, clearly unimpressed that he hadn’t immediately dropped his letter to address her.
“I’m rather busy, Mother,” Henry said as neutrally as possible.
His mother swept farther into the room as though he had issued a warm invitation instead. She carried herself with the assured grace of someone who always knew her place—and everyone else’s.
“My dear Henry,” she began, gliding closer. Her slender fingers, adorned with a single emerald ring, trailed along the back of the leather armchair opposite his desk. That ring itself was worth a few orchards, Henry thought. “Whatever you are reading is not more important than what I have to say.”
Henry placed the estate letter face down on his desk and folded his hands over it. He raised an eyebrow. “More important than ensuring the prosperity of our lands and the welfare of our tenants? I hope not. Without proper stewardship, the name Arundel would mean very little.”
She made a small, dismissive sound. “Prosperity that ends with you will not continue, no matter how attentive you are to the barley crops, Henry.” Her lips curved into a thin, knowing smile.
“I am here because what I have to say concerns your future—and that of the entire line. A future that depends, my dear, on securing an heir. You cannot—you will not—keep avoiding this conversation.”
Henry’s face hardened, but he kept his tone calm. They had this conversation regularly, although it had grown more urgent of late. “Mother, I’ve told you, I’m not currently inclined to wed. I am not past my prime, nor am I without options. There is no need for alarm.”
Her spine straightened, and he could see the faint lines around her eyes as she narrowed them at him.
“No need for alarm? Tell that to your late father’s memory.
We sacrificed so much to ensure your inheritance.
You are the Duke of Arundel by special arrangement, by grace and goodwill that required more than a little careful maneuvering.
” She lowered her voice, but it was edged with steel.
“You owe it to this family’s name to do your duty and produce an heir.
Or shall all we have done be for nothing? ”
The familiar coil of resentment and guilt wrapped around his insides. The secret of his birth weighed heavily on them both, a shadow that felt as though it clung to every corner of their lives.
“Duty,” he repeated softly, picking up his quill and twirling it in his fingers.
“Duty to what, Mother? To whom? I am living as a duke, managing our lands, representing our family’s interests in parliament when required.
I have done everything society expects of me except one thing—choose a bride.
Is that not enough for now?” He winced at the note of pleading in his voice.
“No, it isn’t,” she said bluntly. “A dukedom must be continued. Without an heir, our line perishes in a generation. Surely you will not allow that to happen?” She took a step closer, and he could see the determination blazing in her eyes.
“What is your objection? Are you holding out for some great love story? That is nonsense. Marriages of our station are not about love. They are about alliance, stability, and the future. You know this.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line, putting the quill down carefully. “I know that, Mother. You needn’t worry that I have rose-tinted dreams of romantic bliss.” He paused, meeting her gaze. “My hesitation arises from other considerations entirely. You know why.”
She wasn’t fazed, as he knew she wouldn’t be.
Instead, his mother gave him a tight smile.
Then her expression softened—ever so slightly.
“Henry, if you have not found a lady who suits you, it’s simply because you have not tried.
Have you even looked? The season is teeming with well-bred young women—granted, some are too grasping, others too dull, but there are gems among them. ”
His hand curled into a fist on the desk. As usual, she completely ignored his protests. “I assure you, I have looked sufficiently to know that there is no one that I have any interest in marrying.”
Unbidden, an image of Charlotte Fitzgerald popped into his mind. Which was ridiculous, of course.
His mother tilted her head, considering his words. “What about the daughters of the Marquess of Hollingford? The eldest is reputed to be handsome, the younger very talented. Either would bring a fine alliance.”
Henry shrugged a shoulder, dismissing the idea. “I have seen them. There is nothing in either of them that appeals to me.”
“Lady Agnes Wilton, then?” his mother pressed. “She is said to be agreeable and comes with a substantial dowry.”
He made a noncommittal noise and shook his head. Agnes Wilton bored him to tears, and he was fairly sure the feeling was mutual. “We would have nothing to talk about beyond the weather.”
A hint of exasperation crossed her features.
She tapped a finger on the armchair. “If conversation is what you seek, then you must be interested in someone with a brain, not just a pretty face. What of that Fitzgerald chit, the one who used to follow you and Lord Fitzgerald around like a puppy years ago?”
“Charlotte?” he asked, startled. Had she read his mind?
A sly smile curled her lips. “Yes, Charlotte. Isn’t she out again this season?
Her family is respectable, if not extraordinarily wealthy.
She’s well-mannered, and, from what I hear, no scandal attaches to her name.
A little quiet and no great beauty, maybe, but very bright, I understand. And you already know her.”
Henry went very still. He didn’t like the way his mother had dismissed her appearance in favor of her mind.
While she was, no doubt, bright, Henry thought she had also blossomed in other ways, and it was a damn shame she was so overlooked by society.
Recalling William’s concerns about her marriage prospects, he grimaced.
She deserved better than some predatory old fool.
In spite of himself, his pulse quickened. Perhaps if things were different, she would make a good match. Yet the idea of tying her to him, involving her in his secret-laden existence, set his teeth on edge. Charlotte also deserved more than a marriage founded on necessity and deceit.
“Charlotte Fitzgerald is indeed a sweet young lady. However, the last thing she deserves is to be saddled with a situation like ours. I have a great respect for her and her family. I will not drag them into a tangled past.”
His mother’s lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, her carefully composed mask slipped. “Situation like ours,” she repeated, her tone turning cold. “The Fitzgerald family would be honored by a match with the Arundels.”
Henry’s jaw tightened. He would not rise to the bait. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Mother. Charlotte Fitzgerald deserves better than a man forced into marriage by circumstances beyond his control. She deserves a husband who can give her an honest future, free of shadows.”
His mother rolled her eyes skyward, her patience wearing thin.
“She isn’t exactly inundated with proposals, Henry.
I imagine she would be grateful for your attentions.
You claim to care so much about what others deserve, yet you give no thought to your own obligations.
This is not about who deserves what; it’s about securing our future. ”
She pursed her lips. “We chose a path that allowed you to hold this title, this wealth, this position. We protected you. We shielded you from scandal. And now you hesitate to do the one thing required to ensure it was not all in vain.”
He gripped the edges of the letter beneath his hands, feeling the crinkle of paper as his knuckles went white. He knew the weight of his parents’ sacrifice. He felt it every day. That knowledge was what bound him so tightly, stifling his attempts to live freely.
“I am aware,” he said, voice quiet, “of what you have done. But I cannot simply pick a bride like choosing a suit of clothes. Not when the consequences are so dire if any hint of the truth emerges.”
She tossed her head, her voice rising a fraction.
“Then keep the truth buried, as we have all these years. Stop inventing reasons to delay. You are not a boy, Henry. You are a man with responsibilities. Everyone expects you to choose a wife. If you cannot find a reason to do so for yourself, do it for the family’s sake. ”