Chapter Seven
Iam determined to finish my speech. “So, go ahead,” I say to the duke. “Marry Lady Caroline Preston. Her grandmother says she meets every requirement to be an ideal duchess. You will find her lovely and amiable, ready to be your perfect wife and mother of your heir. And she is rich.” As much as I hoped to find a flaw, neither Betsy nor I could fault her when she arrived at the vicarage yesterday.
“My God! Don’t you understand? I have no idea how to be a duke. The only example I know is my great uncle, the man who ruined Aberfeld and its tenants. The last years of his life were miserable, as you can see from the mess he left for posterity.”
I called Philip to our house tonight to break off our flirtation. But when I name it a dalliance, he explodes in rage. His eyes bore into me like a steady flash of lightning. His anger knows no bounds and he speaks through clenched teeth and tight lips.
“What do they mean I have to wed a rich wife? I need an income, it is true, but I intend to achieve it myself. Who is saying I need an heiress?”
“Everyone—the tenants, the staff, Lady Broadmoor. And lots of titled mamas who want their daughters to marry a duke. That’s who.”
“Do you think their opinions mean anything to me?” he hisses. “You are the only woman I love.”
“Your Grace, I have no qualifications to be a duchess. I will spoil your future and you will come to resent me. Everyone knows it.”
“Nonsense. I know my own mind. Do you find me short on brain power? Am I some sort of simpleton?”
“Yes!” I shout at him. “Yes, a dunce. Irresponsible. You have a whole neighborhood that used to depend on Aberfeld. Dozens of families want to make you successful again. Look how they have turned out to help. You have no right to overlook their needs. Do you intend to be as reckless as your uncle?”
“Are you bloody well finished?” His face is red, eyes flashing.
I fight off impending tears. “Yes. I am finished.” I can hardly force out the words. “Finished. Forever.” I turn away and run toward the staircase.
“Correct, Meg. I want forever!”
As I reach the top of the stairs, I hear the slam of the front door.
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A few days later, I am trying to escape into a novel when I hear Philip’s voice.
“I only ask that you hear me out,” the duke shouts through the door of Bowen Hall. “Please, Meg, let me in.”
How can I make him go away? My mind is made up and my trunk is packed for Bath. “Come back tomorrow,” I yell back.
“I need to talk to you now. You know how stubborn I am.”
It is a good thing my father got rid of the butler ages ago. He would have had spasms at this scene. “Go away.”
“I will not leave this doorstep until you give me ten minutes. I mean that, even if I have to sleep here overnight.”
I can hear the pleading in his voice, although insistent and firm. Can I be strong enough to listen without making a fool of myself? I can be stubborn too, but am I a liar? Can I declare I do not love him? Tell an outright fib?
“Open up now!”
With the greatest trepidation, I unlatch the door and swing it wide. To his credit, he looks serious, rather than leering in triumph.
“Thank you,” he says simply.
I nod and lead the way into the Morning Room. I sit, but the duke remains standing. He stares at me for a moment and I stare back, trying to keep any hint of expression off my face, a feat worthy of Drury Lane’s most talented performer, if I am successful.
“Miss Margaret Bowen, my Meg, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t mind if you feel uncomfortable as a duchess, because I feel awkward being a duke. We can be misfits together in Society.”
I tighten my jaw, fighting off hysterical laughter. A misfit; that is exactly what I am.
He remains solemn, not letting his customary grin spread across his face. “I need to learn to be a duke. If I can do that, you can learn to be a duchess. What’s different about duchesses anyway?”
“I have never met a duchess. But I have read about them. The only duke I’ve known was your uncle. And now you,” I add.
“My uncle was one kind of eccentric. I can be a different sort, perhaps odd in that I occupy myself chopping down trees and tending the forest. But in matters of the heart, I suspect I am quite ordinary, just like the young shepherd who pledges himself to his cherished shepherdess in the midst of the sheep meadow. Do you see what I mean, or am I bungling my limited time with you?”
I am seated in my own home, not out in the grass. I am listening to the man I must deny. Shepherd or no shepherd. All I know is that my pulse is pounding, my innards are hollow, my toes are tightly curled. Plus, my brain is overflowing with doubts. “Go on,” is the best I can do at this moment.
“Meg, I cannot imagine life without you. You cannot believe that I would marry Lady Caroline, or anyone else, when I want only you. Forever.”
I nearly cry out in agony. There it is, the thought I cannot allow. Forever. I can feel my face crumpling toward tears and I struggle to fight them back.
“If you run off to Bath, I will follow. I know you love me. I want you beside me here at Aberfeld, restoring the land and filling the house with many little objects of our affection. About four boys and four girls?” His face brightens and a grin spreads across his lips.
I feel a tear running down my cheek. Without a thought in my suddenly empty head, I feel myself nodding.
His smile shakes me to the core. I am melting like jelly on a hot platter. He has won. I
cannot resist this axe-wielding duke. Never has defeat been more agreeable.
“Darling Meg, don’t you see? You are my only duchess.”
He can speak no more. I am smothering him with kisses.