Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Aurora did not answer him. For the second time in two days, she felt a coldness in the pit of her stomach, as if all the blood in her body had plunged downward.
The way the Duke of Selkirk was looking at her, with such disbelief registered on his features, made Aurora feel like she had been caught doing something wrong.
Terribly wrong. Her mouth felt dry, and her tongue seemed to be glued in place.
Her heart was pounding and any of the easiness she had felt in his company at Hampton Court vanished utterly.
The Duke took a step closer to her. “Why do you come to be here? How do you know my daughter?” He paused.
Aurora watched him process what was clearly a shock to see her in the park, outside of their normal social engagements.
She watched the realization dawn in his eyes.
“You? You are Marjorie’s friend from the boat pond? ”
“Her friend? Well, I wouldn’t go so far as—well, I suppose, yes.”
“For how long?”
“Since we met at the Tower.” At the thunderous look on the Duke’s face, Aurora shrank back.
“Why did you never say anything? Why did you never speak of this?”
“I—I thought you knew.” As he said nothing further, she continued.
“I came only once and have been unable to return until this morning. I am so terribly sorry.” She paused, and then repeated, “I did think you knew.” It felt inadequate, wholly inadequate, she could see now. She stumbled into silence.
* * *
Marjorie stared from one adult to the other.
She was greatly confused as to why her father would be upset.
Surely, he remembered she had spoken with Miss Hardcastle at the Tower?
Was that not proper? Had she done something wrong?
She had been angry at him after he accused her of bawling that time, so she had not shared anything of great detail on the subject, her amour propre having been thoroughly insulted.
But why would this matter to him? Did he know Miss Hardcastle?
He hadn’t said anything about seeing her since that one chance meeting.
And the two adults had never been properly introduced—she knew what that was supposed to look like between grown-ups.
She tried to assess whether this was one of her father’s sudden angers, easily smoothed over, or something more.
* * *
Alec’s mind continued to whirl. He scrutinized his daughter’s face.
She was looking from him to Aurora and back again.
He could see, as far as she was concerned, this was simply her friend.
He remembered the day of the storm of tears and how heavy her footsteps had been returning from the park in the days afterward.
That is, when he had been at home to hear those footsteps.
He felt chagrined at his absence from her daily life of late.
Her friend had not returned. And continued not to return.
So, it was Miss Hardcastle who was her friend.
Miss Hardcastle was her friend? What was the woman up to?
Plotting to ensnare him through his daughter?
He attempted to collect himself. Making a scene here would not rectify the situation. Damnation! But what was he to do? “She has been greatly disappointed by your absence,” he stated stiffly.
“Then I am doubly sorry. I did not mean to cause her distress. I tried to explain I would not be able to come very often. I know such explanations do not necessarily—”
“Exactly. Such explanations.” He could not bring himself to say more.
Guilt and anger at his own neglect of his daughter and what felt like the usurpation or intrusion into their lives by this young woman were causing his irritation to flare.
How could he ask someone to marry him if this was how he felt?
Damnation! He hated this whole business.
Why hadn’t he stayed at home? With his failing estate.
That feeling of being caught in a bind returned. His irritation rose further.
During the interchange, Marjorie had come forward to stand in between the two of them. “Papa,” she said. “Pax.”
“What?”
“You must parley for peace with Miss Aurora.”
He knelt down and put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders, careless of the state of his breeches. “What are the terms, General Raeburn?”
“That you are to speak nicely to her and come watch my ship. It is sailing especially well today.”
Alec lifted his head and looked up at Aurora, “Miss Hardcastle, I do apologize.”
“No, Papa, you must stand up and shake hands.”
Alec stood up and extended his hand. “Pax, Miss Hardcastle?”
A tentative smile played around the corners of Aurora’s mouth. Alec noted with relief that the color had returned to her face. “Pax, sir.” She extended her own hand, and he shook it briefly before letting go.
Relieved, Marjorie scampered back over to the Pond where the other contestants were removing their boats from the water. The two housemaids, who had retained their positions at the Pond’s edge throughout, stepped forward to help her pull her ship toward the shore. Aurora and Alec followed slowly.
“I am truly sorry, sir. I should have asked if you minded if I spent time with Marjorie in the park. Or at least informed you I had met. It was thoughtless of me.”
Marjorie’s actions had calmed Alec somewhat, but he found the anger beginning to rise again.
“In the future, Miss Hardcastle, telling a parent you have gone behind that parent’s back to meet with their child and to say nothing—” He interrupted himself.
“But I know I have also been greatly remiss in my parenting duties. I have been so focused on other things that I have not been attending to my daughter. Nor fully listening. Nor asking enough questions. And definitely not spending enough time with her. She and I had a bit of a contretemps a few weeks back—entirely my fault, I must add—and she has refused to speak to me about her friend in the park since. Except to make it clear the friend had not returned.”
He took a deep breath. This was exactly why he needed a wife, wasn’t it?
To help make up for his faults as a parent.
Might there be a bright side to this—his daughter appeared to like this woman?
He loathed this wretched mercenary matchmaking business.
What was he getting himself into? And what was he getting his daughter into?
He concluded abruptly, “Perhaps we are equally at fault, Miss Hardcastle.” Hearing himself, he stopped speaking but, after a moment, tried again.
“Apology accepted. You very much caught me by surprise. And it is time for me to apologize again to you for nearly biting your head off. I have a very strong bark. I am…not an easy man.”
She stopped and gave him one of her direct looks, something he had come to notice was unusual for the young women being paraded out on the Marriage Mart. “I prefer that to the smooth courtesies of the dandies I have met since I came to London.”
She hesitated and then continued. “I do not truly know you, sir, nor you me. We are the barest of acquaintances, in point of fact. I am—” she began to blush at her presumption and dropped her head to stare at a smooth gray pebble on the ground.
Her combination of directness and bashfulness reminded him again how young she was.
She was not yet twenty and he was one-and-thirty.
Yet how different she seemed from the various young ladies he had encountered to date.
Her manner allowed him to relax, pick up the reins again of his damned campaign, and so step closer and gently take her hand, this time retaining it in his.
“Then allow me the right to become better acquainted with you, Miss Hardcastle. You may not like what you get to know.”
“I am sure I will,” she replied, albeit a bit breathlessly, raising her eyes to his.
The utter openness and trust in her gaze undid him.
He found himself responding to it. The uncertainty and frustration with this entire business remained, along with the awareness that she was right—damn her eyes, but she was right.
They did not truly know one another. And trust was still an open question.
But a tiny corner of hope, like the first flickers of a flame catching on a stack of logs in the hearth, began to make itself felt. Maybe this could be something more.
He remembered their waltz. He remembered their day at Hampton Court.
He found himself becoming a bit breathless as well, as though he had been running in a race and was about to burst over the finish line.
How odd, said one corner of his mind, is not Millicent Wentworth my Ideal for a future duchess?
A wail from Marjorie as she reached too far and fell into the Pond brought him to himself. He turned and saw his dripping daughter being helped out by a laughing Peg and the young woman he presumed was Miss Hardcastle’s maid. “Marjorie!”
“I slipped, Papa. I’m terribly sorry. And—oh!” Here the wail returned, “I snapped off the mizzen mast when I fell!”
Her father was quickly at her side and carefully took the boat from her. “It can be repaired, imp. Now, we must get you home before you catch your death. Whatever will Miss Hardcastle think of you?”
“I shall be very pleased she did not drown,” was Aurora’s only reply.
“Pooh,” replied Marjorie. “Tisn’t very deep at all. At least not at the edge. And the water isn’t cold either, not like the stream at home. Which,” she gave a quick wary glance at her father, “I never approach without someone to attend me.”
Lucy ran over with a blanket from the phaeton. “For Lady Marjorie,” she said shyly as she handed it to Peg.
“I’ll take it,” said Alec. He proceeded to envelop his daughter in the blanket, scrubbing her with it until she shrieked with laughter. “I think she’ll live.”
He scooped up his daughter and headed toward his horse. “I will ride back with Lady Marjorie, Peg. You can follow directly.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Peg looked relieved. She smiled gratefully at Aurora, as if she were responsible.
Alec settled his daughter on the horse. He realized his mind was made, that he had finally come to a decision through the course of this morning. He turned to face Aurora before hoisting himself up behind Marjorie. “Miss Hardcastle, will I find Lord Wentworth at home this afternoon?”
“Ye—yes. I believe he will be at home.”
“I shall call upon him then.”
Gracefully, he swung himself up into the saddle and, turning the horse around, he headed out along the pathway.
* * *
Long after they had disappeared from sight, Aurora stood there stunned, not quite believing what she had heard. But her recent hours of training by Lady Wentworth, as well as by Missie, soon rushed to the fore. “Quickly, Lucy. We must get back quickly. Good day, Peg!”
Encumbered with the bulky ship as she was, Peg gave a quick curtsy and turned to follow the path the Duke of Selkirk had taken out of the park.
Aurora headed toward the phaeton, Lucy in her wake.
She would have to use the ride back to prepare herself for her conversation with her forbidding chaperone.