Chapter Ten
Neil hurried down the stairs, biting into the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.
He could still feel the touch of Miss Winter’s hand—light, cool, impossibly soft. The recollection made his own hand curl into a fist, the knuckles whitening until the skin creaked.
What on earth possessed me to ask her to dance in such a fashion? How intolerably awkward I must have made her feel.
She had looked uncomfortable, her gaze darting around and her cheeks flushing. Of course, she would not have been able to refuse him. He was the duke, after all. Her employer. He should not have put her in such a position; that much was true.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and was thankful to see that he was not followed.
Jenny would hopefully get Emma dressed and ready to greet her great-aunt later.
For now, Neil had to deal with these unexpected guests.
He had glimpsed a second carriage trundling up the drive behind his aunt’s and suspected that Aunt Harriet had come with a definite purpose in mind.
Crawford was already lingering in the hallway with a couple of footmen and threw a nervous glance towards Neil.
“Guests, your Grace?”
“Unexpected ones,” Neil responded grimly. “Are there any spare rooms ready?”
“Of course, your Grace.”
“Good. Inform Mrs Thornton and arrange for a larger dinner this evening. For now, let us greet our uninvited visitors.”
Neil stepped through the open front door, reaching the top of the steps just as the first carriage drew to a halt. It was a handsome, well-sprung vehicle, freshly lacquered and drawn by four high-stepping horses. A liveried footman leapt down to open the door before Crawford could reach it.
Lady Harriet Westbrook—Aunt Harriet to him, but “the formidable Lady Westbrook” to the rest of Society—descended with her usual energy. A patroness of Almack’s and arbiter of fashion, she had long been a power in the ton, her approval courted by debutantes and dowagers alike.
Tall, sharp-nosed, and never a beauty, Aunt Harriet had been clever enough to realise early that wit and character were far more valuable commodities than looks.
She had charmed her way through her Season, and later into marriage with one of the richest men in London.
Now a widow, she was still brisk, commanding, and utterly indomitable.
She alighted from the carriage with surprising agility, her black gown trimmed with pearls that gleamed against the fabric. Her hat, wide-brimmed and festooned with painted wooden fruit and vegetables, was unmistakably hers.
“Neil, darling,” she called, surveying the facade with disapproval. “You’ve let the place go to rack and ruin. Look at those gardens.”
Neil forced a smile. “The gardens are fine, Aunt. What brings you here?”
She blinked innocently. “Why, I’ve come to visit. Did you not receive my letter?”
“I received no letter.”
“How odd,” she said airily. “It must have gone astray. Well, we are here now.”
She climbed the steps to stand beside him, leaving her footmen to assist the other occupant of the carriage.
“There was no letter, was there?” Neil muttered under his breath.
“Really, Neil, what an accusation. And even if it were true, family requires no invitation. Now, where is my darling great-niece? I long to see her.”
“She is at her lessons.”
“Ah, so she is. Well, later then. Ah! Here is the young lady I wished you to meet.” Aunt Harriet gestured grandly towards the carriage. “Neil, allow me to introduce Lady Constance Fairfax. Her father is the Earl of Farendale—a most respectable connection. Constance, come along, my dear.”
The young woman emerged, a little flushed from her efforts to descend gracefully. Once free of the carriage, she smoothed her skirts and regained her composure at once.
“It is a great honour to meet you, your Grace,” she murmured in a soft, cultivated tone that spoke of an expensive education. She sank into a deep curtsey, lifting her eyes to him as she rose, lashes fluttering.
Oh, confound it, Neil thought darkly. I’m to be hunted for sport in my own house.
Another carriage rattled up the drive. He barely glanced at it.
“I assume that one contains Lord and Lady Farendale?”
“Of course,” said Aunt Harriet briskly. “I could hardly bring Lady Constance without a proper escort. The Farendales are eminently suitable people, and you ought to know them. Now, where is the butler? Crawford—Ah, there you are. I’ll take the Blue Suite as usual. It is ready, I trust?”
“It is, Lady Westbrook,” Crawford answered, with commendable composure.
“Excellent. Find a couple of spare rooms for Lady Constance and her family, and have them shown up at once, if you please. I shall speak with my nephew in the meantime.”
Crawford hesitated, glancing towards Neil. Biting back a sigh, Neil nodded. The butler sprang into action at once.
Lady Constance shifted, her composure slipping for an instant. Neil could feel her gaze on him—a careful, assessing curiosity—and wondered if she truly wished to marry him or had merely been ordered to try.
“Go to your parents, Constance,” Aunt Harriet directed. “You’ll be shown your rooms and may find me in the Blue Room later. My nephew runs his household like a regiment, so I advise punctuality at dinner. You’ll meet my great-niece then, I hope. Now, walk with me, Neil.”
Without waiting for a response from anyone, Aunt Harriet turned and sailed into the house, gesturing for Neil to follow her.
He was not the most attentive of hosts, but even he knew that leaving guests lingering on the doorstep, shifting awkwardly while servants fetched them in, was quite beyond the pale.
Still, this was Aunt Harriet—and these were her guests, not his.
Suppressing a sigh, he offered Lady Constance an apologetic smile before hurrying after his aunt.
***
Aunt Harriet’s favourite room, the Blue Room, was decorated exactly how one Aunt Harriet’s favourite chamber, the Blue Room, was exactly as its name implied: every possible shade of blue, from deep navy on the bedspread to pale turquoise curtains at the window.
A glass table stood in the centre, surrounded by blue-and-white brocaded chairs.
Aunt Harriet carefully unpinned her hat, dropping it down on the table.
“Now,” she said briskly, “you look fit to explode, my dear boy. Say what you must and let’s have done with it.”
Neil exhaled sharply. “How dare you invite people to my house without asking me? You are family—you may come uninvited if you wish—but they are not.”
“They are one of the leading families in London,” she replied coolly, settling into a chair. “Ring for tea, won’t you, dear?”
He ignored her, taking a step forward. “Now is not a convenient time for me. I cannot entertain guests.”
“There is never a convenient time with you,” she said with a sigh. “If I had written to ask, you’d have refused. You forced my hand.”
“They must go.”
She gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You know perfectly well that you can’t send them away. To do so would be beyond rude—even for you—and Society would not forgive it.”
“At this moment,” Neil said between his teeth, “I do not much care. Why have you brought Lady Constance here?”
“I should have thought that obvious,” Aunt Harriet said crisply. “I wish you to marry her. It is high time you chose a wife. I have spent months considering the matter and have decided that Constance will do very well.”
Neil almost laughed aloud. It seemed ridiculous that only minutes previously he had been in the schoolroom, inches away from that infuriating governess, with her hand in his and her eyes lingering on him.
He pushed the thought aside. There was a time and a place for such nonsense, and now was not the time.
“I am not going to marry Lady Constance Fairfax,” he said flatly.
“Why not? You must marry someone. You have grieved long enough.”
“Grieved long enough?” His voice rose. “Aunt, my brother-in-law was murdered—murdered—and my sister died of grief soon after. I watched her fade before my eyes, and I could do nothing!”
Aunt Harriet rose and crossed to him. She was nearly his height, her posture straight as ever. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she said softly, “I did not tell you to forget, Neil. I said only that Catherine would be horrified to see you wasting your life like this.”
He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. Shrugging out of her grasp, he moved to the window.
Outside, Crawford supervised the unloading of the Farendales’ absurd number of boxes.
Lord Farendale—thin, cadaverous, and irritable—scuttled about, berating footmen who were not his.
His wife, a small, faded woman, stood motionless, staring into space.
Beside her, Lady Constance looked tall and radiant, but her eyes were glassy, unseeing, as though she were somewhere else entirely.
“Why are they here, Aunt?” Neil asked quietly. “Lady Constance is very pretty. Can she not find a match in London?”
Aunt Harriet sighed. “Fair, willowy beauties are not in vogue this Season. It’s all dark, statuesque ones now.
Constance’s pale hair and blue eyes have not drawn the attention they deserve.
The family is comfortable, but her dowry is modest. I daresay Lord Farendale nearly bit off my hand when I suggested this visit. ”
Neil turned, incredulous. “You cannot mean that hair colour and figure go in and out of fashion like bonnets and shoes.”
“I mean precisely that,” she said. “For women, at least. Men may look as plain as they please, so long as they’re rich.”
He glanced over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow. “You are cynical, Aunt.”
She sniffed. “Perhaps so, but I am not wrong. Now, my dear boy, I cannot compel you to marry. But you know as well as I that a duke must have a duchess. Constance and her family are aware of your reputation, and they have not been deterred. Why not at least consider her? We cannot very well send them packing now.”
“No,” he said tightly. “You have seen to that. I remind you, Aunt, that the last man who presumed to dictate my choices now breeds sheep in Scotland, too afraid to return to London.”
Her mouth curved in a wry smile. “There is one crucial difference in that sentence, nephew: man. I am not a man—and I am not going anywhere.”
“I have no need of a duchess,” Neil shot back. “I manage Burenwood perfectly well alone, and Society can go hang. Emma is thriving, and I have secured an excellent governess to help raise her. All is in hand. I require no wife to improve matters.”
Aunt Harriet gave a patient smile. “I’m sure your little governess works very hard, but a governess is not a mother—not the same at all. If you cannot see that, I truly fear for Emma’s future.”
He flinched at that. “I will not marry Lady Constance.”
She sighed, moving to the door. To his chagrin, he realised she meant to dismiss him from his own room.
“I am not ordering you to marry her,” she said, her tone weary. “I am merely asking you to think about it. Will you do that, at least?”
Neil’s shoulders sagged. The fight drained from him.
“Very well,” he said curtly, striding to the door. “I will think about it.”