Chapter Seven #2
He spoke with William a little longer, turning the conversation toward safer topics—East India shipping and the profits of long-term investment. After ten minutes, William rose.
“I promised your sister we would ride this morning,” he said. “She fancied a turn in the countryside.”
Sebastian wished him a pleasant ride and, once William had gone, sat in silence for several moments, contemplating what he had just done.
It was a wild idea. A wonderful idea. And it terrified him.
Having told William was nearly equal to telling Gemma—and Gemma would be distressed indeed if he changed his mind.
Above all, he tried never to upset his sister.
She had endured too much at their mother’s hands while growing up; it had made him fiercely protective of her.
I cannot risk this, he told himself bleakly. Alone in his study, he could admit the truth. If I wed her, I will come to love her. And if I love her, I place my heart entirely in her keeping—and I swore I would never do that. I have seen too much misery to follow in those footsteps.
He stood up, deciding that he, too, should go for a ride. It was the only activity that ever helped him think. Words chased themselves around his head, statements and notions that made no sense. He hoped that a ride would clear his mind.
***
Obtaining a license proved neither as simple as William predicted nor as difficult as Sebastian had feared. As a duke—and one generally well regarded—doors opened readily once he applied pressure in the right places. Within a week, all formalities were settled.
It was a bright, warm morning when he set out for London.
The road was clear, and sooner than expected, he found himself riding past the small houses dotting the outskirts of the city. The address of Caldwell House had been easy enough to obtain—Lady Evandale knew it and had readily supplied it.
Riding along the busy Kensington street, he observed the modest yet well-kept exterior of the house, its little front garden tended with care. He dismounted, strode to the door, and hesitated. The action felt weighty, momentous. He drew a breath and knocked.
He did not know what he hoped—that Lord Calperton would oppose him, or that he would not. The wildness of his own plan unnerved him more than he wished to admit.
When the door did not open promptly, irritation pricked him. He knocked again—then a third time. At last, the door flung open, and an elderly butler bowed low.
“Good afternoon, my lord. I apologise for the delay. Are you calling on Lord Calperton?”
“I am.” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man, who must be the butler. He was finding it hard to draw breath, as though he had been running. It was most untoward, but before Sebastian could dwell on it, the butler continued.
“Do you have an appointment, or a card I may present to his lordship?”
“Yes,” Sebastian said, temper rising. “But you may simply inform him that the Duke of Brentfield calls. I imagine he will choose to receive me.”
“Oh—yes, your Grace,” the butler murmured. He looked mortified. “At once.”
Sebastian watched grimly as the man hurried away.
He gazed down into the little garden, irritation chafing.
The roses climbed the fence prettily; sunlight lay warm across the grass.
He imagined Miss Caldwell seated there and felt an unexpected twist in his chest. The scene was peaceful, inviting—dangerously so.
He pushed the fancy away with effort. He had foresworn sentimental domesticity; childhood had taught him the misery that marriage could bring.
“Your Grace?” the butler said, startling him.
“Yes?” Sebastian snapped.
“I regret to inform you that his lordship is indisposed. He cannot meet with you this morning.” The butler looked genuinely distressed.
“For perdition’s sake—” Sebastian bit off the rest. He did not intend to ride back to Brentfield Manor only to return again tomorrow.
It had been troublesome enough to slip out of the house without his mother’s questions, and his day was already pressed with appointments—with his solicitor, and later with the steward who oversaw the tenant farms. He could not spare another journey.
“Can anyone else of the household speak to me?” he demanded.
“Um… mayhap, your Grace,” the butler stammered. “Miss Caldwell is upstairs, but it would be highly irregular…” He wet his lips anxiously.
Sebastian shook his head. “I will see her, if I may,” he said firmly. Irregular, yes—but the entire situation had long since departed from propriety.
“Yes, your Grace,” the butler murmured, plainly unhappy. “I shall escort you. She is in the drawing room.”
Sebastian handed over his hat and coat and strode up the narrow stairs.
The house was small, the carpet worn thin, the walls undecorated save for the occasional oil lamp—yet everything gleamed with meticulous care.
Sebastian found himself wondering what it meant to maintain a home so diligently with so evidently scant resources. The reflection humbled him.
“Your Grace?” the butler called softly, having hurried to catch up. “This way.”
Sebastian followed—and stopped short the instant he reached the doorway.
Miss Caldwell stood in the centre of the drawing room. She looked startled, almost frightened, her wide brown eyes fixed on him. Her lips parted; her white muslin gown and softly pinned hair gave her an air of innocent simplicity that made heat surge through him.
“Your Grace! I—” she faltered.
Sebastian bowed. “Miss Caldwell. I beg your pardon for calling unannounced. I had hoped to speak with your brother, the viscount, but I am informed he is indisposed.”
His tone chilled slightly—not for her sake, but to chastise the butler for the awkward reception.
“Yes. Yes, your Grace. I must apologise.”
“There is no need,” he replied as coolly as he could.
The butler was still hovering uncertainly, and he did not wish to speak openly in front of him. Miss Caldwell glanced around the room uncomfortably, and Sebastian winced. He had thought she was at ease with him, but her fear was apparent.
“Fetch tea for his Grace, please,” Miss Caldwell told the butler. Sebastian shook his head.
“No need,” he repeated. “I came to speak with you. I believe the matter will not take long.”
He cast a deliberate look at the butler, who bowed hastily and retreated.
When Sebastian looked back, Miss Caldwell had turned to the fire, biting her lip. Her posture—unguarded, uncertain—sent another tide of heat through him. He cleared his throat.
“Miss Caldwell,” he began. “I think it is likely plain to you why I am here, so I shall be brief.”
“No… no, your Grace,” she whispered. “It is not plain to me.”
Her gaze lifted to his—fear and trust mingled in a way that unsettled him. Her directness irritated him slightly, yet impressed him as well.
“I have caused damage to your reputation,” he explained carefully. “Unintentionally, but undeniably. As a gentleman, it is my duty to repair what I have harmed. Therefore, I have come to request your hand in marriage. Doing so will silence the whispers.”
“Your Grace!” She drew a sharp breath, stepping back. Her eyes were wide with what looked like dread.
Sebastian stiffened. Dread? Was he truly so unappealing a prospect that a marriage proposal from him caused fear? He bristled—but she continued in a rush:
“I mean—I mean—I did not expect—”
“I believe that you did not,” he said, cutting gently across her flustered protest. “Allow me to explain the advantages. I can also be of assistance with your… financial situation.”
Her cheeks blanched. Sebastian regretted the blunt phrasing. His speech had been meant for her brother, not her. He had wanted to be courteous—he simply lacked practice.
“And for my part,” he added more quietly, “the marriage will allow me to access funds tied up in my father’s will. Funds contingent upon marrying within the year.”
“Um…” Miss Caldwell looked stricken. He felt instantly remorseful. None of this—least of all his abrupt manner—was fair to her.
“I believe matters are simple,” Sebastian said, attempting gentleness and secretly fearing he had no talent for it. He had witnessed so little gentleness in his life. “All necessary papers have been secured. Nothing remains but your consent.”
He paused. “I also assure you this shall be a marriage of convenience only.” His throat tightened with embarrassment. “I do not… expect anything of you. In terms of… wifely duties.”
Her eyes widened. Brown and luminous, they held his in a way that sent a sharp jolt through him. She was undeniably desirable. He had spoken of convenience—but he did not want convenience. He wanted her. Entirely. And that was precisely why he could not allow such a desire to take root.
He waited, heart pounding. She bit her lip, thinking, then drew a breath to answer.