Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
It was a relatively subdued Alec who stopped outside the door of his hired rooms, taking a deep breath before he entered.
He had no idea how his daughter would respond.
He knew she needed a mother—a daughter needs a mother’s hands, right?
Not a rough old campaigner’s like his. Would she want one?
They had scraped along pretty well, the two of them.
Hell, he didn’t believe Marjorie even remembered her mother. She never asked about her anymore.
So maybe they could get along without? No.
The cursed blunt. He needed the money. His daughter needed the money.
Besides, Miss Hardcastle was schooled in more than simply the womanly skills of deportment and the like.
She would not turn his daughter into a niminy-piminy chit.
The woman he was coming to know had a mind, and some spirit in her.
He was coming to look forward to the possibility of facing her over the jam-pot every morning.
In addition, Aurora seemed fond of Marjorie. The two had formed a friendship. That was definitely in the plus column.
Lord, Alec, you are havering about out here. Get to it, man! His inner drill sergeant could be called upon to bring him to his senses. He opened the door and stepped inside.
The front room actually appeared fresh and cheery today.
Marjorie was seated quietly on a chair, reading a book.
For once, she was still neatly dressed, even this late in the afternoon, and her hair was carefully plaited and tied together with a matching bow.
Peg was tatting or some such thing nearby.
Archibald was blacking a pair of his dress boots and chatting with them both.
It was very, well, very non-Ton. It was cozy. It felt like home.
They all looked up when he came in. Marjorie put down her book, exclaimed, “Papa!” and jumped up from her chair, coming toward him to be embraced. He gave her a hug and kissed the top of her head.
“Imp, you and I need to have a serious discussion. Archibald? Peg? Would you please leave us?”
His two employees immediately complied and whisked themselves out of the room.
He supposed they should have been sitting in the kitchen doing what they were doing, and perhaps Miss Hardcastle would put that sort of thing to rights, but, frankly, he did not care.
He looked down at his daughter, took her hand, and led her over to the small sofa.
He patted the cushion next to him. “Sit down, Marjorie.”
Marjorie’s eyes had become very large. Regardless, she did as she was told. As he took a couple of minutes to settle his thoughts, he felt a soft hand on his knee and heard a quiet, “Have I been very bad, Papa?”
“Oh, no, imp. Not at all. It is simply that I have a decision to make. Well, I’ve made it. Err, well, I need to finally make it. Well, that is, I need to discuss it with you.”
He watched his daughter process his scrambled words, trying to guess their meaning. Then she sat up straight, pressed her hands together in her lap, and said quietly and steadily, “Then you must tell me, Papa. I am old enough now.”
“Yes, you are, sweetheart, yes you are.”
He cleared his throat again.
“Marjorie, I know we have been happy, the two of us, yes? It has been several years since we lost your Mama. Though I know I am not her, it hasn’t been too terrible with only your grouchy old Papa as your parent?”
Marjorie emphatically shook her head. “Oh, no, Papa. You can be a bear, but you are my bear. I don’t think anyone else has a Papa as wonderful as you are.”
Alec gave a rueful chuckle. “I am far from wonderful, my daughter. And you put up with quite a lot from me.”
Marjorie swallowed, pulled herself even straighter, and said, “So are you sending me away, Papa? Arabella at the park yesterday said she was being sent away because she was too much of a burden on her parents. Am I to be sent away, too?”
“Oh, no, imp. Decidedly not. No, I am not ready to let you go yet.”
“Then what, Papa?”
“Damnation! You would think a man would be able to—all right, Marjorie, here it is: It is time you had a mother. A proper mother. She would not take the place of your Mama, I know, but you need a mother. A girl needs a mother. Well, truth to tell, any child needs a mother. And I need a wife. You and I, it is—well, it is time to come out of our bearish cave and become more civilized. Now, what do you think of that?”
“A mother?”
“Yes, a mother.”
“What kind of a mother?”
“What do you mean, what kind of a mother? A mother-mother.”
“No, Papa. I mean, a fine lady who will make me dress just so and learn French and dancing and how not to ruin my petticoats?”
“Well, those are not bad things, Marjorie. You will need to learn French. You are the daughter of a duke, after all.”
“Yes, Papa.” She looked warily at him.
“It will be a disruption in our routine. We will have to change the way we go about our daily lives.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Will it be so very terrible, though?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“Well, if she is like the wicked stepmother in one of Charles Perrault’s tales. And hates me and makes me wear rags and scrub the floor.”
“No wicked stepmothers, imp.”
“How do you know? If it is someone like the Beautiful Lady, I don’t think I should like it.”
“The Beautiful Lady?”
“The one we saw that day at the Tower. The one who did not seem real. It was wonderful to look at her, but I think I would not like to have her for my stepmother.”
“Whyever not?”
Marjorie shivered. “She seemed very cold. I do not think she would be fond of little girls.”
“Well, that is an assessment of which we cannot be sure. Her name is the Honorable Miss Millicent Wentworth, and she is the daughter of Lord and Lady Wentworth. Also, yes, she is beautiful and refined and elegant.”
Marjorie nodded numbly and ducked her head.
“Nevertheless, she is not the woman I have asked to be my duchess.”
“She’s not?”
“No, sweetheart. Miss Wentworth needs a fortune. I cannot provide her with one. Miss Hardcastle, on the other hand, does not find my lack of a fortune to be a hindrance.”
“Miss Hardcastle?” At that, Marjorie’s head shot up. “My friend, Miss Hardcastle? Aurora?”
“Calling her Aurora is very forward, Marjorie.”
“Oh, Papa—she told me to. My Miss Hardcastle? You are going to marry my Miss Hardcastle?”
“Yes, imp. I have asked her. And she has accepted me. Provisionally, that is. She wanted me to speak to you first, however. She wanted to make sure you approved.”
“Approved? Oh, Papa!” Marjorie jumped up and flung herself against her father. “That is the most wonderful news! Then I can be friends with Miss Hardcastle forever! I never have to say good-bye to her, ever ever ever!”
Her father drew her to him and kissed her on each cheek. “I take it you are happy, then, with my choice?”
“Oh, yes, Papa. When do I get to see her?”
“Soon. We are going to take a trip up to her family’s home so I can settle the details with her Papa. Would you like that? To take a trip to see Auro—Miss Hardcastle’s home?”
“Oh, yes, Papa. Will I be able to ride in the carriage with her?”
“I believe that can be arranged. In the meantime, we should start packing. Are you sorry to be leaving London?”
Marjorie shook her head. “I have seen enough, Papa. I am ready to leave.” She hopped down off his lap, where she had briefly settled herself, and headed toward the door that would eventually lead her to her room. “I shall inform Peg. We shall begin getting ourselves set to rights.”
Her father smiled at her. “Excellent, sweetheart.”
Marjorie turned, though, before she stepped out and looked at her father with a clear and cool appraisal in her eyes. “So, we came to London on a campaign, then. And it was successful.”
“Yes, Marjorie, it was successful.”
“Of course it was, Papa. You are the most brilliant soldier in the world.”
“What? Even greater than Wellington?”
“Well, perhaps not greater than Wellington. But very near the top.”
With that parting summation, she stepped away.
Alec deflated back into the cushions. Thank God that ordeal was over.
It had gone a great deal better than he had expected.
Now he only had to report back the results of his conversation with Marjorie to his near-affianced bride.
And pack. And tell Finn. He was not yet home free, and he had a momentary wonder whether he would ever truly be again.