Chapter 2
“What business could His Grace possibly have with Father?” Della asked nonchalantly from where she sat in the morning room with her Aunt Tilly. “Ow!” she looked down at her hand where a small bead of blood appeared on her finger, having pricked it with a sewing needle.
“I have not the faintest idea, but your father said it was business of a…” Tilly looked around. “Sensitive nature,” she whispered.
Aunt Tilly was a plump woman, round as she was tall, with green eyes and black hair tied back at the nape of her neck. She always had such a cheery personality that Della sometimes wondered if perhaps her aunt imbibed a little when no one was looking. Della had been all but five years of age when her mother fell ill, and Tilly had come to stay with them. Not long after, her mother passed away, and Della’s father asked Tilly to stay on a more permanent basis to help watch over her.
Tilly’s husband, Mr. Timothy Blatchford, had passed away at a young age before they had the chance to have children of their own. When she was still a young girl, Della had been curious why Tilly had not chosen to remarry. She remembered the wistful look on Tilly’s face as she recalled her marriage to Tim. She explained that even though their marriage had been brief, the depth of her love for her husband was not something she ever expected to feel again.
Besides, to marry another man meant risking the comfortable living Tim had left her. She had become far too used to doing what she wanted when she wanted. No other man, in Tilly’s eyes, had ever been worth the risk of having those choices taken away from her.
As time passed and Della grew up, they developed their own small and special traditions. Which is how—twenty years later—they sat in the morning room, drinking tea, pretending neither of them was horrible at needle point.
“What could that possibly mean?” Della asked, looking down concernedly at her needlework. Somehow, the dog she had started out with had sprouted an extra tail and was now missing a leg. She set it on the settee, picked up her teacup, and took a sip.
Tilly shrugged. “I would wager it has something to do with the late Duke.”
“Oh,” was all Della said. Well…whatever business they had to discuss was of no matter. If it did not involve her, she did not feel the need to pry any further. Della looked out the doors that led out onto the terrace, a small sigh escaping her lips.
At five and twenty years old, Della was slightly taller than most women of her acquaintance. And despite not being particularly well-endowed, she had some curves that made her dresses fit decently. But her brown-blonde hair and hazel eyes could not compare to the golden-haired girls who had debuted alongside her. Especially when compared to a woman name Miss Putnam.
Radiant from head to toe, Miss Putnam had been considered a diamond of the first water when she made her debut. With a severe but beautiful countenance, Miss Putnam was quickly the object of every man’s desire and was soon engaged, but her fiancé had been killed tragically in a horse racing accident.
As soon as it was appropriate, she had graced the ballrooms with renewed hopes of finding another match.
Della froze when she heard a knock at the front door and looked at Tilly. They swiftly snatched up their needlepoint and started some trivial gossip, so they were not suspected of being nosy.
“Right this way, Your Grace. Mr. Rowntree is waiting for you in his study.” Croxton’s voice echoed from the hall.
Della heard the tread of footsteps and caught a glimpse of Royce as he followed Croxton past where they sat in the morning room. Once they had passed, she turned to Tilly and was about to say something when a figure appeared in the doorway.
Royce wore an expertly tailored coat with a white cravat and tan breeches tucked into a pair of highly polished black hessians. His dark brown hair was short, curling slightly at its ends. Royce was a duke now, and Della supposed he had to look the part…and he did so…very well.
“Your Grace.” Della stood, stepping on the hem of her dress, which caused her to curtsy awkwardly.
“Miss Rowntree.” Royce smiled as he grasped her hand and bowed, his warm breath whispering over the backs of her fingers. “Lovely to see you. We missed you at the ball.”
“I am sorry I could not make it, but Father was under the weather, and Tilly was out of town. I did not think I could enjoy myself while my father was unwell.” Della looked down to where his hand still held hers, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked.
She gazed at his handsome face, at the thick eyebrows that perfectly framed his deep, captivating brown eyes…she could have looked into those eyes forever.
“I understand.” Royce said softly.
Her heartbeat quickened at the sound of his voice. It was deeper than she recalled, richer, smoother. Only when Royce’s hand slid from hers did her heart begin to slow its erratic rhythm. With a polite bow to her aunt, Royce left to accompany Croxton to her father’s study.
Della was astounded by the changes a year could bring, how people could transform, and memories could fade. Only a year had passed since she had seen Royce at his father’s funeral. But if someone had asked her to describe him, she would have been at a loss for words. She most certainly would not have been able to paint an accurate picture of the man that had just stood before her.
She took a deep breath before settling back onto the settee, her hand nervously playing with the fabric of her dress. It should have come as no surprise that the sight of Royce stirred such emotions in her. For years, she had secretly harbored feelings for him, and she would be lying if she said she had not once dreamed of Royce reciprocating her affections.
As she grew up, Della saw Royce less and less while he attended Eton. It was there he crossed paths with Aden, and they quickly became the best of friends. There had been several holidays and summers that Aden had joined the Derrington family, and Della always looked forward to seeing him.
His laughing and joking nature had been a much-needed distraction from her feelings for Royce, and he had become a good friend to her.
When Royce and Aden were of age, they left for a tour of the continent and spent a great deal of time away. Della had missed them greatly but had become accustomed to their absence. While abroad, the Duchess asked that they make their way back in time for Della and Maggie’s debut.
Aden had asked Della for the honor of her first dance and Royce had danced with Maggie. But later that evening, her heart had nearly skipped a beat when Royce had offered to partner with her.
Della was sure the Duchess had put him up to it, but it did not matter. She was not about to pass up the only chance she might ever have to dance with him.
She had never been graceful, and Royce had caught her more than once as she stumbled her way through the steps, but he never mentioned it as he swept her around the room.
He smiled at her, and she at him, but the song was over all too soon, and Royce turned to bestow his smile on another young lady. In that moment, Della had realized Royce would never care for her the way she hoped he would.
He was the heir to a dukedom, forever out of her reach. And since her father held no title, she would never be worthy enough—in the eyes of the Ton—to be his duchess.
After that night, fortune hunters seemed to come from everywhere once they learned of the ridiculous amount her father had settled on her. Della herself had given up hope that there was any man who wanted her and not just her dowry.
As time went on, Royce and Aden continued their travels. Meanwhile, the Duchess and Tilly dragged Maggie and Della here and there, placing them in the paths of any eligible gentleman they deemed a good match. Della danced and talked with them, but none ever held her interest.
Many gossips of the Ton called her too picky for someone with no status, but she did not care. Della had decided the night of her debut—when she realized that she and Royce would be nothing more than friends—that she would not settle for a marriage of convenience with only mild affection. Nor would she marry a man who only wanted to use her dowry to fill his coffers.
She wanted to marry for love, like her parents had, and was more than content to wait until she found what she wanted.
She most looked forward to her weekly tea with Maggie and the Duchess at their London home and hearing the Duchess rant about the infrequency of letters from a particular son. It was the only time Della had gleaned any information about Royce and Aden, aside from the occasional gossip rag.
The Derrington and Rowntree households had become like family. The duke and duchess had been there when Della’s mother had passed away, offering comfort in their time of need and, likewise, when the duke had passed. Della had felt a keen loss for the man who had been like a second father to her.
Afterward, the Duchess moved the family to their London residence permanently, stating that Derrington Chase no longer felt like a home without her husband.
Della had wondered when she would cross paths with Royce since she could not attend the ball the Duchess had hosted for him upon his return to London. She thought, perhaps, it might be at their weekly tea, but each time he had been out.
It had come as a surprise when her father announced Royce was paying them a call later, and though she said she would not pry, she had to admit; she was curious.
“I think I am going to stroll in the garden for a spell, should anyone need me,” Della said. Tilly simply smiled and nodded.
After I stop by the study,Della thought to herself. After all, changing one’s route to the garden was no big deal. It was just a fortunate coincidence that the study just happened to be on the way.
“Della, are you not going out the terrace doors?” Tilly asked softly.
“I am going to, uh, to get my wrap from my room first,” Della quickly said the first excuse that came to her.
“What about the wrap you were just using?” Tilly motioned to the swath of fabric that lay forgotten on the settee.
“That is the wrap that I like to leave in here. I shall go upstairs and get the wrap I use outdoors.”
It was a pathetic excuse, but Della did not give Tilly time to reply as she made her way into the hall. She looked around to make sure no one was about; heaven forbid someone caught her eavesdropping.
As she drew closer to the study door, Della felt torn between what she wanted to do and what she should do. She wanted to listen in on the conversation but knew she should probably walk away. Despite her best efforts, her inquisitiveness triumphed over her self-control.
Della grabbed a small, empty glass vase sitting on a nearby table and placed it against the door. Leaning closer, she pressed her ear against the cool, smooth surface , and attempted to listen in on the conversation from the other side.
“That letter should have been the first thing your father’s solicitors delivered upon his death.” Mr. Rowntree shook his head. “I had wondered why you had yet to approach me on the matter.”
“You want me to honor the request?” Royce’s voice rumbled darkly as he paced in front of the fireplace, raking his hand through his hair. It was a habit he was trying to break, but it was becoming increasingly difficult when his temper got the better of him.
“I do,” Mr. Rowntree said matter-of-factly.
Mr. Ezra Rowntree was a tall, amiable man with blonde hair that had silvered at his temples. His hazel eyes had a gentle kindness to them, but also a glimmer of mischief. And his mannerisms and confident air belied his age to that of a man much younger in years.
“Mr. Rowntree, considering the circumstances, might you change your mind? I mean no offense, but I have no wish to marry Della, and I highly doubt she would want to marry me. Unaware of my father’s request, I already have an understanding with Miss Putnam, and I have started to sort out the details with her father, Lord Milton.”
“Brandy?” Mr. Rowntree offered as he walked toward Royce. “Did you know your father approached me several months before he passed? He explained his thoughts on the matter of your marriage should he not be here when you wed. I had my doubts, but I could see he was sincere. So, I agreed to the request of a dying man.”
“You knew he was dying?” Royce asked, taking the proffered drink.
“I did.” Mr. Rowntree nodded as he sat. “He swore me to secrecy and asked me never to tell you or your mother. He did not want you to worry about something that could not be changed.”
“The full truth, Mr. Rowntree, if you please,” Royce demanded quietly.
“Truthfully?” Mr. Rowntree looked at Royce. “I did not see the harm in agreeing if it helped put my best friend at ease.” Mr. Rowntree smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “Besides, it is more about what I am trying to do for Della than what I want from you. I worry about her, and I simply want to help her find a bit of direction. She has turned down several offers of marriage for various reasons, all of which I have gracefully accepted. Recently, however, I am wondering if I have been too lenient in allowing her so much freedom.”
“Perhaps, but even if I did not have an understanding with Miss Putnam, how would you propose I even approach this idea with Della?” Royce leaned against the fireplace, looking down as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass.
“Call on her, perhaps dance with her at a ball, walk in the square…” Mr. Rowntree listed off many things in rapid succession. Royce began to speak, but Mr. Rowntree held up his hand. “If this does not turn into anything more than a continued friendship, then so be it. Maybe your attentions will help her attract the notice of a gentleman she might find suitable.”
“I do not doubt my father did what he thought would be in my best interest, and Della’s.” Royce sighed as he threw back the rest of his brandy and placed his glass down on the polished surface of the table. “Out of the respect I have for you and my father, I will do as you ask, with a few modifications of my own.”
Mr. Rowntree remained silent but nodded in agreement.
“First, I will decide when and how I will fulfill what you have asked of me. I will also decide when it begins and ends. Second, I will not ask Della to marry me. Though nothing of my understanding with Lord Milton and Miss Putnam has been announced, I cannot, in good conscience, go back on my word to them. I will do what I can—within the bounds of propriety. But even with the attentions of a duke, it is not guaranteed that the men who notice Della will have more than two farthings to rub together,” Royce said as he paced.
Memories came flooding back of Della and Maggie standing off to the side of the room. Several men surrounded them, serving as a sign of their successful debut. However, Royce recalled that there had been some men he did not want courting Della or Maggie. Many had gambling debts, were drunks, or had some questionable tastes, so he privately warned them off using the full weight of his title.
“I recall some men that pursued Della after Lord Aynesworth and I danced with her at her debut. If those are the type of men that have asked for her hand, she would be better off remaining unwed. I will speak with Lord Milton today to see if I can delay the proceedings for a short time—though I am not sure what I will tell him. He is not a man I would particularly like to cross, duke or not.”
“Is there anything else, Your Grace?” Mr. Rowntree asked.
Royce stopped pacing and thought over his words carefully. “If I were to have asked Della to marry me and she had agreed, you realize it would have been a marriage of convenience and nothing more? So, my third request is this. Regardless of what happens, you will allow Della to make the final decisions regarding her future.”
Royce knew that forcing a woman to do anything was an unwise decision. He had enough experience with his mother and Maggie. Both were strong-minded women who knew what they wanted and would not be told what to do. And being best friends with Maggie, Royce was sure Della would prove much the same.
Mr. Rowntree looked consideringly at Royce. “Very well, Your Grace,” he said as he stood and walked to the door. “But I also have a request of you.”
“And what would that be?” Royce asked, causing Mr. Rowntree to pause with his hand on the doorknob, and a sudden crash came from the other side of the door.
“Please do not mention this conversation to Della,” Mr. Rowntree said, not reacting to the noise. “I may be getting older, but that does not mean I want my daughter to hasten my shuffle off the mortal coil.” He chuckled at his own joke as he opened the door.
Royce inwardly laughed while maintaining his serious demeanor. “As you wish.”
“Good day, Your Grace.” Mr. Rowntree bowed his head.
“Good day.” Royce stepped out of the study onto a small pile of broken glass; the shattered pieces crunching below his boots. The echoing of footsteps had him looking toward the back of the foyer, where he could have sworn he saw the flutter of a skirt disappear around the corner.