Chapter 5 #2
Henry rubbed his temples. Must she always be so relentless? He felt a headache coming on, a dull throb behind his eyes.
“Mother,” he began more gently, “I am not saying I will never marry.” That was a lie, of course, but he needed to placate her, or this might well continue on all day.
“I’m simply saying I do not wish to do so this instant, nor under the threat of an ultimatum.
I have time. I am not yet so old as to be pressed against a final deadline.
” He tried a small, conciliatory smile. “Surely we can agree that rushing into a disastrous match does us no favors? Better to wait a season, find someone suitable.”
“Wait a season,” she repeated slowly, as if tasting the words.
“We have already waited. This season is half gone. Your dithering makes tongues wag. People are watching, whispering, wondering why the Duke of Arundel is so particular, or if he hides some peculiarity of his own. We can’t afford more speculation.
If you do not choose someone soon, I will choose for you. ”
Henry’s eyes snapped up, his temper flaring. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said, his voice flat. “You cannot force me to marry.”
She lifted her chin. “Do not underestimate my resolve. If I must invite suitable candidates to tea, parade them before you, and approach their fathers to strike a bargain myself. The Arundel name will not die because my son refuses to fulfill his role.”
He exhaled, hands clenching under the desk.
Arguing further would only deepen her determination.
He knew his mother well: Once she decided on a course of action, it was nearly impossible to dissuade her.
Even though she couldn’t technically force him to wed, she could certainly put him into a very difficult situation.
He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the life he wanted—freedom, security, and no risk of his secrets emerging. But that last part was impossible with marriage. A wife would be close, a partner, someone who might discover things best left buried.
Yet standing firm against his mother’s demands would bring its own calamities.
If she began openly meddling, who knew what messes might result?
Gossip, scandal… and if the truth surfaced, it would not just ruin him, it would ruin anyone tied to him, including any unfortunate bride she foisted upon him.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, and his mother watched him like a hawk.
“I am not unreasonable,” she said eventually, softening her tone as if to offer a small mercy.
“I will give you some time to make your choice. But I mean what I say. If you cannot or will not select a suitable bride, I will do so for you. You owe that much to this family. And there are ways of changing your mind.”
She was threatening him?
Henry nodded stiffly, knowing he had no choice but to acquiesce for now. The tension in his shoulders was almost painful. “I understand,” he said coldly. “Thank you for affording me that time.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, a small, satisfied smile touched her lips.
“See that you use it wisely,” she said, and turned to leave, her skirts whispering over the polished floor.
At the door, she paused. “I do hope you’ll remember your obligations when next you attend a ball or soiree.
There are many eligible ladies who would make fine duchesses.
” Then she left, the door clicking shut with a soft finality.
Alone once more, Henry released a long, shuddering breath.
The clock on the mantel ticked softly. Henry sighed and turned his attention back to the estate’s affairs.
He might not have a clear path forward on the matter of a wife, but at least he could control something.
The earth would give its harvest, the tenants would get their fair share, and life would continue for now…
but he couldn’t continue to keep this storm at bay forever.
The words on the letter swam in front of his eyes, suddenly refusing to make any sense.
His head was pounding, and he could no longer concentrate on considerations of corn harvests.
He put the letter into the drawer and stood up.
He was due to meet William at White’s gentleman’s club shortly and so decided to take a stroll there rather than using the carriage. Perhaps that would clear his head.
He walked down Pall Mall and soon wished he had taken the carriage after all. Couples strolled past arm in arm, young ladies with their chaperones—who were only too delighted to greet the Duke of Arundel—and a few of his peers who inevitably stopped him to inquire about his day.
Henry couldn’t walk more than a few yards without stopping to make polite and boring conversation with some other member of London’s fashionable set. By the time he reached White’s, he was positively drained.
The club was highly exclusive. Only men of around Henry’s rank or higher were admitted. It was a very different place to the club he’d boxed at just a few days before. As he entered and gave his coat to the footman, the smell of tobacco and expensive leather wafted over to him.
He walked past an imposing bust of the late King George II and made his way to his usual—and coveted—seat by the huge fireplace. William was already there, sitting at their usual table with a cigar in hand and the news sheets open in front of him.
“Reading the gossip sheets again?” Henry smiled, leaning over his friend’s shoulder.
William started guiltily and quickly turned the page. “Not at all,” he blustered. “That’s for the women. You’re early.”
William waved to the waiter as Henry took his seat opposite.
“I had to get away from Mother.” He groaned, rubbing his temples. The stuffy air did little to help his headache. “She’s insisting I marry. Soon.”
“And she’s taking no notice of your protestations that you would rather remain a bachelor for the time being,” William said glumly.
A statement rather than a question. Henry was well aware that his friend was in the same boat. At least, on the face of it, they were. It was Henry who held all the dark secrets.
“Lady Fitzgerald is of much the same mind, then?”
William rolled his eyes. “Absolutely obsessed with my duty to continue the Fitzgerald line.”
“I’m well acquainted with that one.” Henry stared into the glass of brandy being set down before him. Its amber-colored liquid looked all too tempting.
William handed him a cigar. “So, how did you leave things? Does she have anyone in particular she wants you to court?”
“Oh, there were a few suggestions.” Henry thought it wise not to mention that Charlotte’s name had come up in the conversation. He wasn’t sure what his friend would make of it, and neither did he want to examine his own feelings of fondness that had arisen for his best friend’s younger sister.
Or the memory of how charming she had looked in that dress at last week’s ball.
“I suppose you told her that you had no intention of marrying?” William ran his fingers around the rim of his glass thoughtfully.
“Well, what else should I say?”
“Look,” William leaned in toward him, his voice dropping to a low and confidential tone. “If there’s one thing I have learned recently from dealing with my own darling mother, it’s that pressing your case just doesn’t work. Mothers don’t listen.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Henry gave William a look of horror. Of course, William didn’t know his deepest, darkest secrets—although he had often wished he could confide in him, if only to share the burden—but his friend had so far been firmly in the bachelor camp with him.
“Pretend to consider it. Let her believe you are at least beginning to think about it. Show a semblance of interest in a few young ladies, but don’t commit.
You want to be sure, after all. That way, she will think you’re coming around—but what you are actually doing is stalling.
That’s the tactic I’ve adopted for the time being, and it certainly works better than having to argue my point constantly. ”
William grinned and knocked back a glug of brandy, pleased with his own ingenuity.
Henry couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a rogue, William.” He chuckled. “You were one at Oxford, and you’re still one now. But maybe you’re right. I could at least dance with the young ladies she points out to me, I suppose.”
“That’s it,” William replied with a nod. “Play for time. We have years yet before we need to settle down with a bride. I don’t know why they are so impatient. When the time comes, we’ll choose a woman ourselves. No need for all this matchmaking.”
Henry’s mood darkened again. “I will never marry,” he said quietly but in such a tone that William looked shocked.
“You really do mean that, don’t you? It’s not just that you’re not ready. Why are you so against the idea? It’s what awaits all of us, surely? Just not yet.”
For a moment, Henry again longed to spill his secrets to William in the hope of finding relief from them for a few brief moments.
But he knew that was unthinkable. William would recoil from him, and then Henry would be even more alone than he already felt.
He couldn’t bear to see the look on his friend’s face when he realized that he didn’t truly know Henry at all.
Henry swallowed back the urge to confess and forced a laugh instead, one that sounded hollow even to his own ears. William continued to watch him with open curiosity, but had the tact to let the matter drop—at least for the moment.
The hum of voices around White’s, the soft clink of glasses and shuffle of newspapers, filled the silence.
A puff of cigar smoke drifted between them, and William tapped ash into a nearby tray. “You’ll figure it out, I suppose,” he said, finally. “I can’t pretend to understand your reluctance, but I’m sure you have your reasons.”
“I do,” Henry said in a tone that indicated he intended to discuss it no further.
William took the hint and changed the subject.
Sort of.
“Speaking of marriage—did I mention that Sir Roger Leonard called on Charlotte yesterday?”
Henry straightened in his seat. “Roger Leonard?” He recognized the name instantly; they’d crossed paths with the man at one point or another. An earl’s second son, if he recalled correctly—and a bit of an oaf, if the rumors were to be believed. “What the devil did he want with your sister?”
William gave a little shrug and lifted his glass, swirling the last of his brandy.
“He wants to court her, I expect. The season is half over, and Charlotte is… well, not exactly inundated with suitors. Perhaps Sir Roger thinks she’s an easy match.
” He pulled a face that made clear his own opinion of Sir Roger.
“An easy match,” Henry repeated, his voice low. His teeth clenched unconsciously around the words. He thought about Leonard’s less-than-pleasant reputation and grimaced. “Surely your mother won’t encourage Charlotte to wed him.”
William gave Henry a long look, one eyebrow arched.
“Mother doesn’t entirely approve—Leonard’s habits are questionable at best. But Charlotte doesn’t have many choices, does she?
She’s not known for her social brilliance.
She’s sweet, of course, and perfectly respectable, but she’s not the kind to command attention in a ballroom. She doesn’t flirt or dazzle the crowd.”
Henry experienced a flare of defensiveness on Charlotte’s behalf. “She’s more than capable of sparkling when she chooses,” he said quietly, though he wasn’t sure if William heard him. “It’s just… not her nature to compete for notice, perhaps.”
William nodded, glancing at his friend as though he found Henry’s mild protest interesting. “Perhaps so. But that also means fewer prospects come beating down our door. And you know how it is: If the next season arrives with no offers, talk starts turning to spinsterhood. Nobody wants that.”
Henry pressed his lips together. The idea that Charlotte might feel forced into a match with someone like Roger Leonard sat ill with him. Charlotte was a nice girl. “She deserves better.”
“I agree, but unfortunately our mother doesn’t.
She reminds me daily that we cannot afford to let Charlotte waste away without a husband.
And Charlotte herself knows that her inheritance is not so grand as to attract a wealth of suitors.
Leonard, for all his faults, has at least shown an interest.” William sounded frustrated.
“I’d sooner see her hold out for someone pleasanter, but what can I do?
She’s a grown woman, and our mother wants her settled. ”
Henry wondered why he was so affronted. Charlotte Fitzgerald was no real concern of his. Yet, to his own surprise, he found himself blurting, “You can’t seriously be considering Leonard as a brother-in-law, can you? The man is a cretin.”
William winced. “Of course I’m not. He has about as much refinement as a goat. But you know how it goes: Sometimes one can’t afford to be picky.” He sighed and rubbed his hand across his chin. “Look here, Henry, I don’t like it either. But the truth is that Charlotte’s options are thin.”
“Poor Charlotte,” Henry murmured and then decided to say no more. He felt unnerved by his own reaction to the news.
“Poor Charlotte indeed,” William echoed.