Chapter 4
Heron House
The garden
E verything that Rufus had suspected about Miss Portia Miller was clearly true.
Standing on the edge of the garden party unfolding at Heron House with his much younger sister, Margery, on his arm, there was really only one thing to conclude. Miss Miller, even if she would not be the Diamond of the Season, was the most popular lady of the Season.
People clustered around her.
They moved about like hummingbirds to a particularly beautiful flower with sweet nectar inside. Bees to a hive also came to mind, all buzzing happily, clearly in love with life because Miss Miller was in love with life. Being in love with life was a noble concept to him because he’d not been taught to love life. Largely, he’d been taught to manipulate and cope with it.
After all, an attack could happen to him at any time if someone wished to make it so. At least that’s how it had been when he was a boy. But after his father’s death, he had risen to power. He became the one to control things, but he’d never been able to enjoy himself and come out of his shell.
He projected strength, and he was strong. One cannot be beaten frequently without developing a certain sort of strength. But in that strength was a wariness of other people, a knowledge that he could easily be hurt again if he was not careful. And there was the general recognition that the parties that occurred at his house were nothing like this.
Oh, no. His guests came, and they paid their respects to him. They were quiet, they were subservient, and they ate their cake and drank their tea, but there was never anything to compare with the enthusiasm here.
Certainly, his guests did not interact with himself or his sister in the same way that the company here was doing with Miss Miller. She had a veritable crowd of admirers.
The group was not limited to just young men, though there were dozens of young bucks in their brightly colored coats and fawn breeches who were eager to please her. Young ladies, in their swishing, full lacy skirts in various pastels bobbed about with glasses of lemonade in hand too.
The brightly hued guests reflected the colors of all the flowers filling the garden with hope and a scent that was close to heaven.
Miss Miller stood in a pale yellow gown, as resplendent as the sun. Her cheeks were pink, her russet hair curled softly about her intelligent face, and a light in her eyes positively danced.
“Who is that?” his sister asked, all but awed.
“That is Miss Portia Miller, and she is why we are here,” he said.
Margery squeezed his arm and jerked her eyes up to his. “Truly?” she asked, clearly astonished and yet surprisingly hopeful. “Are you thinking of that young lady?”
“Yes, I am,” he allowed, his plan sharpening with every passing moment.
Margery’s lips parted in a rather jolly smile as if she was being offered a slice of chocolate cake after a long period of abstinence. “How interesting,” she said. “Not at all the sort of person that I would’ve imagined you with.”
Imagination was key to his future, of that he was certain. He needed to have a bit of it, or else he was going to end up completely at his wit’s end. And ineffective.
Times were changing. And while he had to be the sort of duke to make his family proud—his father had made sure of that—he also knew that the old ways needed a bit of modification.
He needed someone who loved people, someone who loved company, because he did not. In truth, he could barely stand company. Often, he wished to be alone, to fortify himself with the silence of a room, books, and possibly music. But he desperately longed for silence where he was not judged, where no one complained about him, where no one tried to tell him exactly how he should be.
Yes, that isolated life was what he preferred, but a dukedom could not be run in silence. Unlike his father, he struggled to be both distant and a force in society ballrooms. So, he needed a duchess who was particularly loud, but in the very best way.
“She is the niece of the Duke of Westleigh,” he added, as if this explained his choice.
“I have heard of her,” she exclaimed excitedly.
“Have you indeed?”
“Yes,” she enthused as if being permitted to take part in an indulgent treat. “And of course, Heron House is legend. Thank you for bringing me. I never thought you would.”
“Why?” he asked, frowning. His sister was having her first Season, and it was his duty to make certain she was taken out and about, though he would arrange a good marriage for her. One where she would be content and safe and never harmed.
She bit her lower lip as if trying to find a suitable reply. “Because the family is…”
“The family is a bit much,” he finished.
Margery let out a sigh that sounded almost like a swoon. “They’re like a living novel,” she breathed.
“That is not necessarily a good thing,” he pointed out as they continued to observe from a distance.
“Well, it’s better than the mausoleum of our house,” she groaned.
He blinked. “Do you really think it’s like a mausoleum?” he asked.
“Well, it’s as silent as one. And cold and filled with marble,” she said tentatively, clearly not wishing to hurt him. But then she gestured to the cheerful crush of Briarwoods mingling with the many, many thrilled guests. “This party is so…happy. Now, I’m parched. It is a particularly warm summer. I’d like a glass of lemonade and one of those cakes. Pink! Look at the frosting,” she gushed. “How delightful.”
The truth was they could have had as many pink cakes as they wanted, but neither of them were whimsical people. They had never been allowed to be. Not even his darling sister, who was charming, but her charm had largely been repressed out of fear of displeasing their parents, specifically their father.
Both of them had learned to curb any particular sort of characteristic that stood out. It made them both seem as if they felt they were better than everyone else. They’d been raised to believe it. But they’d also been raised to have any sort of uniqueness in their person crushed.
“Come along then,” he said, his heart aching for his sister. He wished he could do a better job of correcting all the ill done to her as a child. Even after several years free of their father, they were both still prisoners of him in many ways. “Let us indulge.”
“Aren’t you going to go over and speak to her?”
“I will,” he said. “But first, let us make certain that you’re—”
“Oh, no. I should like to meet her immediately. Let us go,” Margery exclaimed, all but tugging him along towards the crowd of people.
He felt himself wincing, trying to pull back. It wasn’t something that he wished to do—to immerse himself in the horde of admirers about Miss Miller.
Then a voice called just behind him. “You’ve come.”
Rufus swung his gaze and met the rather boisterous Lord Huxton’s gaze. “Well, I was invited,” he pointed out.
“Yes, you were, Your Grace,” Huxton agreed heartily.
Lord Calchas popped up from what seemed like nowhere, but he had clearly been just behind his twin.
They were prints of each other, except for their clothes, of course. Lord Calchas was in his naval uniform, and Huxton stood in his beautiful but slightly austere clothes.
“I suppose you two had a hand in the invitation?” Rufus asked, brow arched.
Huxton nodded. “Indeed.”
Lord Calchas scowled. “I didn’t think you should be invited. I think that you will be a disaster.”
“I, a disaster?” Rufus asked, rather amazed that the young man had managed to say something like that to him.
“Indeed,” Lord Calchas said. “This can’t turn out well.”
“Why not?” Rufus demanded.
“Well, you’re you,” Lord Calchas said as if it was obvious.
Huxton clapped his brother on the back. “Don’t be so rude. People can be full of many surprises. Look at all of our family.”
Lord Calchas snorted.
“Now, now,” the duke rushed, “I appreciate the invitation, Lord Huxton. You clearly sensed that your cousin and I had a successful time together, and you felt that I might enjoy the society of your family more.”
“Was I correct?” Huxton asked, waggling his brows, then looking over to Lady Margery. “How do you do? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Actually you have,” Margery replied, giving a nervous smile.
Huxton winced. “I’m so very sorry. I don’t recall it. Perhaps I was being a nitwit and was under the influence of too much champagne or brandy.”
Lord Calchas was silent, as was Rufus.
They were aware that Huxton did not over-imbibe, but it was rather gallant of him.
Lady Margery gave a tight smile. “How very kind of you.”
“May I take you to the refreshments table?” Huxton said suddenly, offering his arm. “A lady like yourself deserves a sweet treat, especially having to put up with us dolts of men.”
Lady Margery laughed and tentatively placed a hand on the arm of one of the most handsome men at the gathering.
Rufus hoped that his sister enjoyed it and didn’t find it too overwhelming, for it was not likely that Lord Huxton would take an interest in Margery. Though another union between the two families could be most interesting. Huxton was the son of a duke after all, and Margery was the daughter of one. The power there would be astronomical.
But Lord Huxton was still young, and a marriage was unlikely. Still, he rather appreciated the kindness. Not everybody was always kind to Margery for the sake of it. They were only kind to her because of the dowry she had and the potential influence that she could wield.
As the two departed, Lord Calchas eyed him. “You were going to go over and speak to her, weren’t you?”
“Well, Margery wished to.”
“And you don’t wish to speak to her?”
“She is surrounded at present.”
“She is always surrounded,” Lord Calchas pointed out. “Wherever she goes. You’ll have to get used to that if you decide to pursue her.”
He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Is it that obvious?” he asked at last. “The possibility that I might pursue her?”
Lord Calchas let out a laugh. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve never seen you so animated in my whole life.”
They’d known each other for some time, despite the fact that Lord Calchas was often at sea. Rufus and Huxton were also well acquainted, though they were not exactly what Rufus would call friends. But young men of a certain age and a certain set with power did navigate the same circles.
They attended the same club, went to the same gatherings, were well aware of the same opera dancers and singers.
None of the Briarwoods, and there were several other young Briarwood bucks cutting their teeth on the town at present, could be categorized as rakes. Not really. They loved women, but there was nothing cruel about them, and he would argue that he was the same.
Still, he didn’t know exactly what to say. Was he really so very wooden?
Yes, he supposed he was.
“I liked how bold she was with me, if I’m honest with you. Very few people will talk to me like that because they think…”
“What?” Lord Calchas asked, blowing out a cynical breath. “That you’re going to ruin them? Of course they’re afraid of you. You could ruin them with a single word or look of displeasure. You could do that to anybody here, except, of course, the members of my family. And that’s why…” Lord Calchas’s face transformed with understanding. “That’s why you are interested in her, isn’t it? You want a bit of blowback, don’t you? At last. A group of people who can be honest with you and not cower.”
“You’re very good,” he said. “Have you considered going into government? You read people so well.”
“I’d rather die,” Lord Calchas drawled. “Give me a ship any day. At least the crew is honest. We’re all fighting the weather and the French, and that’s enough.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. I rather admire you for it.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need admiration,” Lord Calchas bit out. “We need more ships, we need more money, and we need better guns.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Rufus replied earnestly.
Lord Calchas’s brows arched. “Will you?”
“Indeed, I will. Napoleon must be stopped. He’s a tyrant, and he’s going to destroy all of Europe and then us if he can.”
“I agree with you,” Lord Calchas said. “He’s been allowed to exist for far too long, and sometimes when I watch people here eating cakes and having parties, it’s damn difficult to reconcile with the truth of war.”
“Truth is always hard to reconcile,” Rufus said softly, “with what’s happening about one.”
Lord Calchas cocked his head to the side. “Still waters run deep, eh?”
“If you don’t think I have a great many thoughts about society, you’re vastly mistaken.”
“Good to know, good to know.” Lord Calchas’s skepticism slipped a bit, and his tone softened. “I was reticent to allow the idea of our darling girl being with you to take root because I feared that…well…”
“Well, what?” Rufus demanded.
“That you really were boring. That you really had nothing of interest to say. That you simply were doing your duty but with no real passion or thought. But if there’s more under the surface…”
“You won’t get in my way?” Rufus prompted, intrigued and surprisingly not offended. Though, was that how society saw him? Someone who merely did his duty but had no passions, no strong opinions?
Most likely, he realized. For he did not raise his voice as his father had. He worked quietly in the background, avoiding people as much as he could, his stomach always on the verge of knots.
“Something like that,” Lord Calchas said. “Besides, you will want her family to like you. It’s the only way she’ll say yes.”
He cringed at that. “And what if I’m not good at getting people to like me?” he asked.
“You’d better start trying now,” Lord Calchas returned.
“Am I succeeding at all?” he queried.
“Perhaps,” Lord Calchas said before he clapped him on the back. “But I’d start trying harder. Let us see this part of you more. The part that clearly hates Napoleon and all he represents. It’s most satisfying. Now, don’t leave Portia too long, or you’ll be battling with five other fellows who wish to marry her.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, “but I am a duke.”
Lord Calchas grinned then. “You’ll learn.”
“Learn what?” he bit out, confused.
“You’ll see,” Lord Calchas said, laughing. “Win over the family, old man. I don’t know why I’m being so nice to you, but…you’ve won me over with your determination to save Europe from a tyrant. We need more powerful men like you.”
Lord Calchas strode off, leaving Rufus to wonder if he could manage it.
Win over Miss Miller’s family?
He really had no idea how to win people over. He’d never had to; he’d never wanted to. Not since that day with the village boys.
Befriending people had been far too risky, not just to himself, but to others. For his father had come down on those boys and their parents, making their lives harder, kicking some of them off the estate for daring to play with the duke’s son.
Yes, making friends with anyone was a dangerous thing indeed.
There were always consequences.