Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
That afternoon, Lord Raeburn, the Duke of Selkirk, found Lord Wentworth at home as Aurora had promised.
As he was being shown to the library, a room principally used by that worthy gentleman in which to take his afternoon nap, he happened to pass a breathtakingly beautiful Millicent Wentworth on the staircase at that particular moment.
“Your Grace,” she breathed as she acknowledged him, under lashes which fluttered just so.
“Miss Wentworth,” he said, unable to fully bow because of where he was standing.
“I understand you are to meet with my father.”
“Yes, I believe he is in the library.”
“Please come and visit us in the morning room when you have completed your—” she inserted a little pause around the next word, “business with him. I miss our little tête-à-têtes.”
She continued her way down the stairs, leaving a perplexed Alec literally unbalanced.
What tête-à-têtes? He had gazed at her, that is true, and there had been one country dance, but that was the sum total of their interactions.
Uncertainly, he ran a hand through his hair and looked up again at the butler waiting to lead him to the library.
Money. I need money. That’s why I’m here.
That was his honest response. Suddenly, his daughter’s face came to mind.
It released some frustration and gave him something to hold onto.
It wasn’t money for money’s sake, after all; he was doing it to secure his daughter’s future.
This is for Marjorie. Assuming the military posture which had become second nature to him, he continued to the next floor, where he was ushered into Lord Wentworth’s presence.
* * *
Alec was not aware, from the gallery one floor higher, that his intended bride-to-be had watched the entire exchange.
“Oh, Papa,” Aurora whispered. “What am I to do?” She retreated to her room and sat down in a chair, pleating her skirt repeatedly, completely oblivious to any wrinkles she might have been causing.
She looked briefly in the direction of her bed, where her set of men’s clothes was hidden in her father’s old doctor’s bag, tempting her to escape.
She had a wild moment of thinking, Yes! She could get changed and easily clamber down the wall outside her window using the footholds she had scouted out over these past weeks.
She had enough money she could hire a horse and tear up the Great North Road, back home.
She could feel the fresh air on her face.
She could imagine all the familiar sights.
She could hear the clack of the looms and see the sunlight illuminate the heads of the weavers.
She could feel her feet walking in between the rolled-up bolts of new cloth, reaching up to rub an edge with her fingers.
It felt warm and comfortable, like home.
But they would be so disappointed, was the next thought. The physical present inserted itself once more, blotting out the memories. No, I must stay here and see this out. Her parents had sent her with a goal, and she needed to meet it.
Her mind returned to London, leaping from one recent memory to another.
All revolved around one person: him. The first time she saw him, the first time she spoke with him, his gentle teasing, melting into his arms as she waltzed with him, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her, the way he knelt down before his daughter to speak with Marjorie, his sharpness, his social station far above her own or her comfort level?
It was all summed up by the fact he was poor, and she was rich.
Finally, regardless of whatever romantic feelings she had, this was business.
Could only be business. For he loved Missie.
He must love Missie—it was obvious. Beautiful, socially perfect Missie.
Born to a title and generations of breeding. But love Aurora? Never her.
However long she waited to be called down to the morning room, she never afterward could tell. But it felt like forever.
* * *
“Lord Raeburn, the Duke of Selkirk,” the butler announced and then stepped back so Alec could move forward into the library.
Lord Wentworth was sitting in front of a small desk, his chin lowered to his chest as he leaned back into his chair.
It looked most uncomfortable. Alec studiously ignored the start the man gave and the quick flourishing of a handkerchief to dab at a drop of drool which was gathering at a corner of his mouth.
“Come in, come in.” Lord Wentworth woozily pushed himself to his feet and came around the desk to give a short bow. Alec returned the courtesy. “Please, have a seat. May I offer you a glass of something? This house is either too cold or too hot. A bit of refreshment is always helpful.”
Alec allowed himself to be seated in one of a pair of leather chairs in the middle of the room and acknowledged the offer with a nod.
This was the first time he had looked closely at the older man, and it suddenly came to him that he looked nothing so much as like a rabbit.
The man’s ears practically quivered. The baronet’s eyes—they were reddened and bleary, the color a washed out and pale blue.
Good Lord! How did such a paragon of all that was beautiful descend from this slight, quivering, chinless being?
Completely ignorant of Alec’s musings, and as if grateful to have something to do before the discussion commenced, Lord Wentworth fussed around the decanter, pouring a glass of sherry for Alec and for himself.
Reluctantly, Alec dragged his eyes away.
He was so intent on not looking at the man that it took two attempts on the gentleman’s behalf before Alec realized he was being handed a glass.
His lordship finally situated himself in the chair opposite his, whacking the seat a few times first for some reason and then making a slight slurping noise in his haste to take a drink.
Alec politely took a sip. In the absence of any further statement from his host, he decided to commence negotiations. “Lord Wentworth, am I correct in my understanding you are acting as proxy for Miss Hardcastle’s matrimonial affairs?”
“I am, sir, I am. I have been trusted by her father with this most solemn responsibility. While Mr. Hardcastle is a fine businessman, that is, an excellent man, a lion of industry, he is astute enough to know he is not, well—not quite, as one would say—he is not a gentleman and does not know our ways. Please know, I mean him no disrespect. Miss Hardcastle is a superb example of young womanhood, don’t you know, all that one would wish for, etcetera. ”
“Thank you, sir. I am interested in—” Here Alec had to give himself a minute.
Steady on, man. Lord, he hated all of this.
It felt so shabby. Out with it. “I wish to discuss terms of marriage concerning Miss Hardcastle. I believe she would well suit my daughter and me as a wife, mother, and duchess.”
“Yes, just so,” rejoined Lord Wentworth. “Excellent decision. Most thoughtful of you to bestow your attention on her in—that is to say—a matrimonial direction. Excellent, excellent.”
There was a pause, with each man obviously a bit unsure as to who should proceed next.
Alec took up the reins again. “I will be completely honest, sir. The property belonging to me as Duke of Selkirk is wholly mine and not entailed. In addition, the title is secure. But as to wealth, that is where I am frankly lacking. My estate, while I have attempted to manage it well these past several years, is having difficulties recovering from the years of poor management it sustained under my late father.”
“Yes, yes, just so,” responded Lord Wentworth.
Alec took a swallow of his sherry and continued.
“To be quite blunt, I am seeking a bride who, in addition to whatever personal qualities she brings to the match, would also possess the funds to assist with making the estate whole and further securing it for the future. This would, of course, benefit any future children,” Alec stumbled a bit over this as he had been keeping the prospect of marital relations at arm’s length considering Miss Hardcastle, and those direct, intelligent blue eyes, seeing through his mercenary intentions and judging him almost as harshly as he judged himself, “of our union.”
“Yes, to be sure. Most sensible. Yes,” returned Lord Wentworth.
Another silence.
Alec tried again. “Therefore, sir, what are the terms to be settled on Miss Hardcastle in the happy event of her marriage?”
“Oh, yes, yes, her marriage. Yes, of course.” Lord Wentworth abruptly stood, crossed over to the desk, and began rummaging in what had been a neat stack of papers in one corner.
He seemed not to be certain as to what he was looking for until one paper caught his eye.
He scooped it up with an “Ah-ha, yes, this!” and returned to his seat.