Chapter Nine #3
As a grown man, he’d never taken his mother into his confidence. Then again, perhaps he should have. “Because of me, a lady has become embroiled in this—this mess with John.”
“Because of you? How is that possible?”
“The peer Temperance mentioned—I know who that man is. And, tonight, that same man attempted to publicly ruin this lady’s reputation. And he did so, I believe, simply because he’d noticed my interest.”
“A lady this time?”
Neville nodded. “He’s always kept his attentions on lower-ranked women before. Within Society, he’s always played a careful part. But something, I fear, has changed. A degeneration of his mind, or a threat of some sort that has pushed him to desperation.”
His mother studied him anew. “Do you have a connection to this lady?”
“Yes. Ah. No.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I mean, not as yet. But I cannot think of another way to keep her safe, or to repair the damage he’s done, other than to ask for her hand tonight, and then marry her by special license as soon as possible.”
His mother jerked back in surprise. “Oh—oh, Ambrose. No. Marriage is nothing to be entered into hastily.”
“I want to marry her.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. He’d no answer for her skepticism. “I cannot live without her?”
His mother’s frown deepened. “And how does she feel about you?”
“I don’t know.” He grimaced. “I’ve been…short with her. Critical.”
“Ah,” she acknowledged quietly. “That is why the comparison to your father troubled you more than usual.”
Reluctantly, he nodded.
“Your father was, in many ways, good and decent. But he, too, thought rescue a solid foundation for marriage. I can assure you, it is not.” She raised her brows. “Not, at least, if one expects gratitude in perpetuity.”
Was that why his father was so disappointed in his mother? Because she hadn’t been grateful enough?
“Do you love this lady?” she asked.
Of course she would wish to know. But he hadn’t dared to ask himself yet. “I care for her,” he hedged. “I want to protect her.” Both those things were solid, true.
Much less ephemeral than love.
“Yes? And…?”
“She is, by far, the loveliest creature I have ever seen.” So lovely his throat grew tight just thinking about her.
“So your father once said of me.” His mother sounded sad. “I know your intent is noble, but if you do not love this lady, please find another way to keep her safe.”
He’d thought, of all people, he thought his mother would be delighted he wished to wed. But her concern felt true—the very concern he had yet to admit to himself. A concern still amorphous, undefined.
“Why?” he asked hesitantly.
“Because if you think her lovely—something only to preserve—you won’t be saving her, you’ll only be trading whatever kind of prison she currently faces for another.”
He searched his mother’s face. “You think being married to me would be a prison?”
“Of course not.” She reached out and cupped his cheek, as she often did when he was a child. “The lady who wins your devotion will be very lucky, indeed. But marriage is…”
“Yes?”
“Long. And intractable. And it will change and challenge you. You need something to hold onto to survive. And that thing is a deep and abiding love. Promise me you will only marry her if you truly love her.”
“How can I tell?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but now that he had, he couldn’t be sorry.
His heart thundered in his ears as he waited for her response. Hearing his mother’s answer felt vitally important.
“Before you ask her for her hand,” his mother said carefully, “ask yourself if you can make an honest pledge to do all you can to help her thrive. No matter what they profess, most men don’t hesitate to smother a woman’s true nature.”
In his mother’s grave expression, he read thousands of long, lonely nights.
He’d known she’d been unhappy, but to see that laid bare in her eyes in the context of his future hopes was devastating.
“Go, do what you must.” She turned away. “Just promise me you will answer my question honestly, if only to yourself.”
“I promise I will return tomorrow, and then, we will go over everything we’ve learned. But don’t expect me back tonight.”
“I won’t.” She smiled with affection. “Good luck.”
He desperately needed luck.
If love was the same protective surge that had followed John’s pale-faced frantic confession, the same pledge-all feeling after he’d first been pinned with the Neville coronet, then he did love Millicent Wainwright.
He felt for Millie the same devotion-fueled commitment, whole-hearted dedication he pledged to everything that mattered—an earnest offering of every skill, talent, and resource he possessed.
But would Millie thrive from such devotion?
Or would binding her to him be the most selfish thing he’d ever done?
*
Somewhere, at the front of the house, Millie heard metallic squeals. Several rounds of incessant banging followed—the knocker being removed from the door.
The drapes had been drawn, the staff had been ordered to their rooms, and Millie’s family—Harbury and Cassie, Adrian and Eliza, Sarah—had gathered in the library. Only Emily, Nettie and Lenora were missing, and Mrs. Vane had gone to D’Acre House to be with them.
Mercy, Cassie and Harbury’s treasured King Charles spaniel, had been too distressed by the tension in the room and had to be taken up to the duke’s bedchamber.
Millie, too, had wished to be “alone” with her thoughts before Neville arrived, and so purposely and forcefully declined both her sisters’ worried attentions.
Her thoughts remained jumbled.
All she could do to keep herself sane was to follow her loved ones’ conversation as they discussed which fake illness to give the doctor waiting for Harbury in the parlor.
“Measles,” Cassie suggested.
Harbury arched a brow. “Much as I anticipate spending time under your care, my dear duchess, you and I would both go mad if we were quarantined here for weeks.”
“True,” Cassie acknowledged. “We don’t have as many books here as at Harbury Hall.”
“Besides,”—Harbury ran a finger along his lower lip—“this afternoon, when Neville was telling me about—” He met Millie’s gaze and stopped.
“As Neville was discussing a concern of his, he mentioned some difficulties he is experiencing. I don’t want to be so indisposed I am unable to offer my help, should things come to a head. ”
Millie frowned. A concern?
A concern in addition to tonight’s events?
Neville hadn’t mentioned any troubles of his own. On the other hand, he had said something odd, hadn’t he? Something about things Millie did not know…
“Well we have to come up with a serious illness, and quickly, too,” Lady Sarah said. “I put on quite a performance as we went through the theater lobby, Harbury. Tears! Me!”
“Over me?” Harbury’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Why, Sarah, I’m touched.”
“Don’t joke.” Sarah folded her arms. “After the dramatic way we exited, you can’t emerge tomorrow and say you merely suffered from sniffles.”
“How about a stomach complaint?” Eliza suggested.
“Wouldn’t that cause suspicion, too?” Cassie questioned.
“Maybe… Maybe not,” Adrian commented, considering. “I’ve seen soldiers instantly taken down, dragged close to death’s door, and then recover in the matter of a few days over something in the rancid food.” He squinted. “Although they tended to look drawn and weak when they emerged.”
Harbury appeared affronted. “I can manage wan!”
“Can you?” Cassie appeared dubious.
“He can.” Sarah chuckled softly. “If you break his heart.”
Harbury narrowed his eyes. “I suppose I deserved that, though my brokenhearted days are long past.” He took Cassie’s hand. “Stomach complaint it is, then. Serious. Death’s door. And only my wife is permitted to attend me. Strict orders. No one else.”
“Edward,” Cassie chided, while smiling that secret smile she offered only to her husband.
For once, Millie didn’t scoff. Instead, she studied. Did that softening of the eyes indicate true tenderness? Is that how one knew one was loved?
“Which leaves us with Millie,” Eliza said.
Her relatives turned, in unison, to her. Like the tripartite mirror atop the dressing table she shared with Lenora, Millie saw multiple reflections of the same expression. Each face was unique, but their looks of concern were one.
Heavens, how that concern stoked her guilt.
She’d rather face one of her father’s beatings. If all she had to endure was physical pain, she could maintain inward defiance, instead of feeling this awful remorse.
Then again, if her father were alive, he would have married her off to one of his friends to secure political favor long before now. Surely that would have been far worse….
“Shouldn’t Neville be here by now?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. Not that she wanted him here, but the wait was excruciating.
“Don’t you remember?” Sarah asked gently. “He said finding Asquith might take time.”
As if summoned by her thoughts, a knock sounded at the door. Millie’s heart leapt to her throat. This was the moment she must decide how she felt.
The duke called, “Enter”, but only Asquith appeared.
Millie exhaled roughly and threw back her head. She watched Asquith study her for a long moment, then his gaze moved slowly between her family before returning to herself.
“Millicent, might I have a word?”
“Please.” She threw out her arm in a way that encompassed all her relatives. “Speak in front of everyone. Apparently, I no longer have a single secret.”
“No? The Millie I know has never been an open book.” He tilted his head and smiled a mocking half-smile. “Won’t you come out to the stables? I’ve acquired a horse this afternoon, and I’d like your opinion.”
Again, her family reacted as one, glancing toward Asquith with expressions of almost comical disbelief.
“That is,” he clarified, “if Harbury does not mind that I’ve made use of his stables.”
“By all means,” Harbury replied. “Use the stables. What’s that to the sudden, debilitating illness my sister has heaped upon my head?”
“Thank you.” Asquith ignored Harbury’s sarcasm. “Millie?”