Chapter 14
Henry had scarcely finished guiding Felicity through another clumsy attempt at bowls when a group of gentlemen hailed him from across the lawn, one of them scowling and another wearing a mischievous grin.
His gut twisted. They had been eyeing him all morning, no doubt speculating on his predicament. The moment he drew near, one of them—Sir Duncan, a jovial fellow with slightly too much brandy on his breath—clapped Henry on the shoulder in a comradely fashion.
“Arundel,” Sir Duncan teased, “do you think you might spare some of the ladies for the rest of us? They’re all vying for your attention, old fellow. We’re getting positively overlooked.”
Henry mustered a dry smile. “You are welcome to them, I assure you.”
Another man, Lord Robins, raised an eyebrow. “Certainly does not seem so, Arundel, when they flutter about you like butterflies. Tell me, are we mere ornaments at your house party?”
Henry tensed, mindful that William stood close by with his arms folded, ready to jump to his friend’s defense. “Hardly. I have never encouraged such fuss. In truth, I wish you all the best in your attempts.”
Lord Robins chuckled, shaking his head. “We know your mother is keen, though. She is determined you must choose someone at this party, is she not?”
Henry forced a casual shrug. “She has her aspirations, but that doesn’t mean I share them. I am not yet finished with my lighthearted days of bachelorhood.”
“So you say,” Sir Duncan quipped. “But sooner or later, you shall have to wed. Best to resign yourself, unless you wish to be hounded by all the young women of the ton forever.”
A third gentleman, a Mr. Redford, offered a sly grin. “There are any number of candidates to amuse yourself with. Why not give more attention to the polished ladies rather than that little wallflower?”
Henry’s annoyance flared at this reference to Charlotte. He sensed William stiffen as well, though his friend held his tongue.
Henry drew a short breath. “I will assist whomever I choose, and I see no reason to dismiss Lady Charlotte so rudely.”
Sir Duncan raised both hands, feigning innocence. “Peace, Arundel. No offense intended. Merely an observation.”
Henry realized his temper was too near the surface. He had no wish for these men’s jibes to worsen. He set his shoulders back, summoning a semblance of composure. “If you will excuse me, I have an errand to run.”
He offered a curt nod and turned away, ignoring the curious stares that followed him across the lawn. William kept step with him for a moment, concern evident in his glance.
“Are you all right?” he murmured quietly.
Henry set his jaw. “As well as can be expected.”
William sighed. “I know you don’t like this attention, but I thank you for your defense of Charlotte.”
Henry simply nodded in response, ignoring the question at the end of his friend’s words. He quickened his pace toward the house, seeking refuge.
Indeed, inside the cool corridors, his tension eased a little.
He needed a quieter retreat, somewhere no one would search him out with insistent demands for a stroll or conversation.
The library came to mind; few guests ventured there unless they wished to appear studious, and he had discovered that many were more interested in talking of fashion, politics, or gossip than books.
Sure enough, the library was peaceful when he slipped in. Henry let out a soft sigh of relief, stepped deeper into the room, and began scanning the shelves. He was about to take down a volume on British antiquities when he heard the light rustle of skirts.
He turned to see Charlotte and Miranda examining the shelves on the opposite side of the room.
Miranda spotted him first, dipping into a stiff curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said loudly, alerting Charlotte.
“Oh, Your Grace!” Charlotte looked flustered as she closed a book she had been flipping through. “We did not think anyone else would be in here at present.”
He offered them a polite half smile. “Nor did I. What were you reading?”
Charlotte tapped a slim volume she held. “A bit of fiction. Something restful for the afternoon. I confess I needed a reprieve after the excitement on the lawn.”
He chuckled. “I hope you didn’t find the morning’s entertainment too tedious.”
“At least I wasn’t hurt,” she said tactfully. “How is your foot?”
“Better.”
Miranda made a sympathetic noise. “Felicity isn’t a fan of sports. I must say I do find bowls rather dull, although there were plenty of young ladies who were suddenly very enthusiastic about playing.”
He tried not to grimace remembering that swirl of eager faces.
“They were enthusiastic, certainly. I didn’t mean to neglect you, Charlotte.
” He hesitated, uncertain whether to confess his frustration.
Instead, he cleared his throat and offered a faint bow.
“I shall let you two continue your search for reading material.”
Charlotte hesitated as though thinking of a response. Then she simply smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace. Enjoy your book.”
The ladies departed, their skirts whispering over the polished floor. Henry watched them depart, a knot of regret tightening within him. He would like to spend more time with Charlotte, he realized. She really had grown into a most intriguing young woman. If only—
He cut off the thought and returned to scanning the shelves, eventually choosing a history text that looked promising. He retreated to one of the plush chairs by the window and attempted to read, though his mind wandered.
Only when a servant appeared to inform him that his mother had been searching for him did Henry stir from his seat.
Deciding he wished to avoid her for a while longer, he tucked the book under his arm and headed out, mindful of the guests scattered about.
Perhaps he could slip upstairs to his bedchamber, read there for an hour, and dodge any prying eyes.
He was halfway up the main staircase when a faint melody reached his ears.
It was cello music, warm and resonant. Helena Steele, no doubt.
She had mentioned hoping that her instrument could be brought along, and Henry had permitted it, believing it would provide some pleasant recitals.
Miss Steele was very talented and gathering quite the reputation for her playing.
He followed the music to one of the manor’s smaller salons.
He pushed open the door quietly. There sat Helena by a window, absorbed in a slow, sweeping tune, her cello balanced between her knees.
Henry stood quietly listening, intending to slip away before she noticed him.
But an older gentleman and lady sat on a nearby chaise, and they spotted him before he could retreat.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Steele said a little too eagerly. “We had no idea you were here. Do come in.”
Helena halted her bow mid-stroke, casting Henry a slightly apologetic look.
“That was lovely, Miss Steele,” Henry managed, giving Helena a polite nod. “Please, do not let me interrupt.”
Mrs. Steele stepped forward, beaming. “Helena is quite devoted, you know. I’m very proud of her; she’s a young woman of passion and spirit. And capable of responsibility—even, I declare, that of a duchess!”
Poor Helena went crimson at her mother’s boldness.
“I can see she is talented,” Henry said politely. “I trust she will do well in whichever path she chooses.”
Mr. Steele bowed to him. “Helena possesses many accomplishments, Your Grace. She would be an asset to any man.”
Helena set aside her bow, her cheeks coloring. “Papa, please.”
She was clearly mortified, but her parents pressed on regardless. For once Henry had to agree with his mother; they were vulgar.
“I have no doubt of her merits. For now, I shall not intrude.” He inclined his head in Helena’s direction. “Thank you for the music, Miss Steele.”
Mrs. Steele pounced on that. “Perhaps we could arrange a more formal recital, Your Grace, if you so desire. Helena’s playing never fails to enchant.”
Helena offered him a quick, pained smile and Henry sensed her silent plea to end the discussion. “That is most generous, but I am rather busy just now. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I—”
“Oh, but certainly.” Mr. Steele winked. “We know you are a busy man with many decisions to make.”
Henry forced a polite laugh. “Indeed.” He backed toward the door, refusing to linger. “I shall leave you to your music.”
He escaped the salon, tension knotted in his shoulders.
The blatant suggestion that Helena might make an excellent duchess set his teeth on edge.
Do none of these people have any shame? While Helena was a fine woman, Henry would not feel inclination toward her as a potential wife even if he had been open to the notion of marrying.
Still reeling from the encounter, he nearly stumbled into a young lady ascending the stairs. He vaguely remembered being introduced to her that morning. Catherine somebody? Fareham, maybe? She gave a start, then flashed a bright smile, slipping into an overly familiar tone.
“Oh, Your Grace! I was searching for you. I had hoped we might share a moment of conversation.” She lowered her voice, glancing around the empty corridor. “Why not here? No one is about.”
Henry tensed, the memory of all too many near-compromises flickering through his mind. “I beg your pardon, Miss… Farnham, is it? I fear it would not be proper for us to converse privately, unchaperoned.”
She gave a light tinkling laugh. “It’s Fairweather. We are only steps from the main stair. Surely that is not so improper. And what better time than now, while you are free?”
He pressed his lips together. “I must insist. We shall speak tomorrow in the drawing room or the gardens, with others present.”
She pouted, clearly disappointed. “But Your Grace, I meant no offence. I only wished to say—”
He offered the faintest bow. “I bid you good evening.”
Without waiting for further protest, he took the final few stairs and strode quickly down the corridor, his heart pounding. Enough of these attempts. He was not about to be cornered into marriage simply because an ambitious young woman found him alone.
Guilt prickled at him for dismissing the poor woman so abruptly, but he had no alternative.
My mother can lecture me later for my rudeness, if she must. Better that than risking a scandal.
Too many men of his acquaintance had been pushed into marriages due to being found in a compromising situation.
Upon reaching his bedchamber door, he slipped inside and locked it behind him. Only then did he release a breath of relief. He leaned against the door, allowing the tension to drain away.
He placed the book on a small table, then crossed to the sideboard where a decanter of brandy awaited. He poured himself a measure and took a fortifying sip. The warm burn eased his frayed nerves somewhat.
With care, he began to remove his coat and neckcloth, laying them over a nearby chair. By the time he unbuttoned his waistcoat, he felt both literally and mentally lighter. With any luck, he could hide in here for a while before his mother came looking for him again.
Briefly, the thought of Charlotte arose in his mind. He would welcome her calm presence now. If only he was truly free to consider his options… perhaps he could approach William for his sister’s hand?
If it were only a matter of preference, he might be open to exploring a bond with her. Certainly she was the only woman who had sparked his interest. But no, he could not risk her or any woman discovering the truth.
He set his half-empty glass aside and wandered to the bed, intending to read for a time, or perhaps even doze. As he pulled back the coverlet, he noticed a folded piece of paper lying on his pillow. He froze. Had a servant left him a note from his mother? Or from William?
Frowning, he picked it up. No seal. Good god, was it some kind of love note?
Carefully, he unfolded it, then scanned the few lines that had been written in an unsteady hand. The message was brief, but each word cut like ice.
I know what you are hiding. I’ll let you know what is required to ensure my mouth remains stay.
They knew his secret. Someone here knew.
And they intended to blackmail him.
A chill ran through him. He turned the paper in his hand, studying the penmanship. It seemed feminine, but not obviously so; it could be anyone’s handwriting who had a shaky grasp, or perhaps it had been deliberately disguised.
His stomach clenched. Who could it be?
He thought of the unmarried miss from the corridor, of Helena’s parents, or of the many cunning mothers who might rummage for leverage. Possibly someone else entirely.
His breath quickened. So many people had come to the manor, each with their own aims. Was it a guest who had put this here, or even a servant?
Certainly they had more knowledge of the rooms. He tried to compare the shape of the letters to anything he had seen before, but no obvious match came to mind.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, his heart racing. Could it be real, or was it a malicious trick? If genuine, then the family’s entire effort to preserve his position was in jeopardy.
What do they want?
He raked a hand through his hair, all his earlier exasperations dwarfed by this new threat.
Part of him wanted to rush out and corner every soul in the house, demanding to know who had placed the note.
But that would only draw suspicion to the very secret he was supposed to keep.
Perhaps if he did not respond, they would approach him soon enough. Then he could discover the truth.
And find a way to silence them.
He pressed a hand to his temple, a ripple of dread coursing through him. He had managed to keep everything buried for so long. Now, it seemed he was mere steps away from potential disaster. If word spread among the guests, he would be finished, and so would the Arundel name.
His eyes drifted to the pile of pillows.
He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in them and shut out the world.
But the note was a silent threat that demanded attention.
He took it up again and folded it neatly.
He must keep it somewhere safe until he could decipher how to handle this blackmail attempt.
He rose and slipped the note into a small locked drawer of his writing desk. Then he returned to the bed and stared at the unhelpful book he had planned to read.
So much for peace, he thought hollowly. One day into this party, and everything is unraveling.
Never had his family’s careful secrecy been so imperiled. And never had he felt so vulnerable, so alone in a house full of people.
Who knew his secrets, and what did they want with him?