Chapter Twenty-Five
Since returning to Ashmead House two days earlier, Will had thrown himself back into his duties. Letters had been answered, accounts checked, disputes settled and appointments made. He’d hoped the rhythm of the familiar responsibility would settle him, but so far it had not worked.
In times past, if he’d ever felt unsure of himself or unsettled, Will would take a few minutes to walk along the upstairs landing, stopping in front of each painting.
The walls there were lined with pictures of his ancestors, a long line of dukes stretching back centuries.
Over the years fashions had changed, hairstyles were vastly different, but each duke had an air of wisdom, a gravitas about them that reminded Will of his duty.
Today he had spent fifteen minutes in the upstairs hallway, and still he felt unsure of himself.
His ancestors had not all been moral, upstanding citizens; as with every family, there had been a few black sheep, and even the well-behaved ones hadn’t been averse to using their position to their full advantage, so he did not think any would have begrudged him his summer affair with Amelie.
Rumours would swirl for a while and then another scandal would capture the interest of the ton and his indiscretion with his housemaid would become a thing of distant memory.
Many negative emotions were vying for prominence, but most of all he felt lonely.
This past year, Will had tried to pretend he was coping well.
His grief at his sister’s death had been catastrophic, but he had mourned her as expected and then thrown himself into his work.
Only when Amelie had come along with her kindness and her companionship had he realised quite how lonely he was.
Now he was alone again, and it was a loneliness of his own making.
Closing his eyes, he was hit with images of the time they had spent together.
He remembered long walks along the river Cam, talking about dreams for the future.
Lazy afternoons spent between the sheets.
Dinner times when Amelie had listened to his dilemmas about his book and offered up her opinions.
He missed her so badly, it felt as if he had a physical wound.
By late afternoon he had achieved nothing. The accounts he was meant to be reviewing sat untouched and he had read and re-read his correspondence multiple times without actually taking in any of the contents. He was relieved when there was a gentle knock on his study door.
Mrs Potter entered, her gait slow, her breath raspy. Immediately he stood, crossing the room to offer her his arm and leading her to a seat.
She looked as though she had aged in the time he had been away and he remembered Amelie’s warning to him before they had departed. He had ignored it, thinking she was being presumptuous, but now he could see Mrs Potter was struggling.
‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ Mrs Potter said once she was settled in a chair.
‘Are you not well, Mrs Potter?’
‘In truth I have not been well for some time. I have tried to muddle on through, but the strain is taking its toll.’ She levelled him with a forthright stare. ‘I am here to give you my notice, Your Grace. I can no longer perform my duties to the standard I am happy with.’
‘Have you seen a doctor? Perhaps there is something they can do?’
She smiled at him sadly. ‘I have. The doctor said it is likely my heart. There is no cure, just a gradual decline. In a month I will be able to do a little less than I can now and that pattern will continue.’
‘I am sorry to hear it.’ It was another blow. Mrs Potter had been his housekeeper since he had inherited Ashmead House and all his other properties. She was efficient, had exacting standards and ran everything with military precision.
‘I do not know how much time I have left, but I wish to spend a bit of time with my daughter and grandchildren.’
‘Do you plan to move to the coast?’
‘I do.’
Will paused, formulating his response. ‘I will be very sad to see you go. I think I will be lost without you, but I cannot in good conscience press you to stay. Your health must be the priority, and spending time with those you love.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace. I feel privileged to have served you all these years.’
‘I will arrange for a pension for you, in recognition of your loyalty and service.’ He frowned, wondering how long his housekeeper had left.
Mrs Potter stood, smoothing down her skirt.
‘I will of course be happy to train whoever you decide should take over. I had hoped Amelie…’ She trailed off and for a moment they were both silent.
‘She was a good girl,’ Mrs Potter said eventually.
‘Kind. I think you needed some kindness, Your Grace. I just hope she can recover from the scandal.’
‘Have you seen her?’ He felt his hopes soar. If he could see her, perhaps he could fix some of the terrible things he had said.
‘No,’ Mrs Potter said quickly. ‘I have packed her things, but she has not called to collect them.’ She chewed her lip. ‘I hope she knows I would not judge her. Hearts can be impossible to control.’
Before Will could reply Mrs Potter dipped into a curtsey and hurried out of the door. He felt another pang of loneliness. Amelie had gone, and now his faithful housekeeper was leaving.
Leaning back against his desk, he wondered where Amelie could be.
She did not have many possessions here, but he would have thought she would call to collect those she did.
Since she had left, he’d had no word from her; no forwarding address had been left.
The only proof he had that she’d even made it back to London safely was a short note from Mrs Hampton confirming Amelie had picked up her brother and sisters.
Anything could have happened to her since then.
She was alone with three young children, her name notorious… and it was all because of him.
The carriage seemed to move slowly through the outskirts of London and Will had to resist the urge to jump out and spur the horses on himself.
Before the wheels had even rolled to a stop he jumped down, not missing a step as he strode up the path to the front door of Tranquillity House.
He was aware Amelie and her family had left Mrs Hampton’s care, but he had felt restless, in need of visiting where Amelie had been to see if she had left any sort of message for him.
‘What a pleasant surprise, Your Grace,’ Mrs Hampton said as she opened the door to him and ushered him inside.
She led him through to the tastefully decorated drawing room and offered him tea, which he declined. He was in a hurry and there was no time for social pleasantries.
‘Now then,’ she said, ‘Why have you come? And do not tell me it is to enquire after my health or any such rubbish. Do not forget I was privy to every lie you told when you were growing up.’ Her voice was firm but kind and Will was momentarily taken back to childhood.
Mrs Hampton had never shouted or chastised him physically, instead always remaining calm and pushing him to explore the consequences of his actions.
Will’s throat tightened. ‘I suppose you have heard the rumours and know a little about what has happened.’
Mrs Hampton folded her hands in her lap. ‘I do not listen to gossip, but I know Amelie came back from Grantchester with a broken heart. And I know you were the one who broke it.’
The words landed hard and he flinched. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming need to explain.
‘I never meant to hurt her. I thought we could have our affair and no one would ever know. I didn’t set out to ruin her.’ He sighed, feeling the weight of his actions pressing down on him. ‘I thought I could protect her.’
‘But you couldn’t protect her from falling in love.’
He closed his eyes, taken back to the moment when she had told him she loved him.
What pained him the most was that he had never said it back.
He did love her; of course he did. He’d been infatuated for weeks, but as they’d grown closer that infatuation had turned into love.
Now she was out there in the world and she would never know he loved her.
‘No,’ he said, his voice barely audible. ‘And then I broke her heart.’
‘Through carelessness or callousness?’
‘A little of both. I asked her to accept my marriage to Lady Elizabeth Dreadon and remain as my mistress. She refused and declared her love for me and I told her that I could not marry her—that I had to put my duty first and that she was not a suitable duchess.’
‘Did you drive a knife into her heart at the same time or were you satisfied with wounding her emotionally?’
Will dropped his head, sinking it into his hands. He had been callous. This was the woman he loved and he’d trampled over her emotions when she had laid open her heart, when she’d been at her most vulnerable.
After the scandal of losing her childhood home and her father ending up in debtor’s prison, Amelie had rebuilt her life, ensuring she relied on no one else.
Her trust had been broken by her father and her former fiancé, and her life blighted by the shame of falling so far in society.
Yet her nature was open and honest, and her instinct had been to trust him.
Despite the gulf in their social standing, despite his reserved nature, she had allowed him close, allowed him to see what she felt ashamed of.
Then he had cruelly told her she was not worthy to become his wife, that he needed someone better, when in truth there was no one more pure of heart or generous in spirit than Amelie.
‘It was poorly done,’ he admitted.
Mrs Hampton regarded him for a few seconds, letting him sit with the knowledge of what he had done to Amelie.
‘Do you understand why she refused you?’
‘She wanted the possibility of love, true love. Of someone who would love her and not hide her away.’
‘Sensible girl,’ Mrs Hampton murmured. ‘Amelie should not be confined to the shadows. No woman you care about should. Either it is love or it is not.’
‘There are other considerations.’
‘If you mention your duty one more time, William Beescroft, I will scream.’
‘It seemed important. I thought my duty was clear: to my family; to my title; to marry a woman who is above reproach. A duke does not marry the daughter of a man in debtor’s prison.’
‘You are the one who brought scandal to her door.’ There was a pause and then Mrs Hampton leaned forward, her eyes suddenly fierce.
‘And what good is a title, Your Grace, if it leaves you hollow? What good is duty if it slowly kills you? Your sister would not want that for you. I do not want that for you.’
He did not want it either. Running a hand through his hair, he thought of how Amelie had made him feel, of the happiness that had blossomed for the first time this summer. He could not remember a time in this past year he had felt carefree, until Amelie.
He was slowly beginning to realise that was what Catherine had meant when she’d extracted her promise from him to do something just for himself, forgetting duty for a short while.
He had taken it literally, taking time away from his normally rigid schedule, but he was starting to see that Catherine had meant it to be more than that.
She’d wanted him to step away from his duty so the other joys of life could be allowed space to blossom.
It had been her way of making him see there was more to life than the role and responsibilities he had inherited.
Mrs Hampton spoke again, this time her voice returning to its normal calm, smooth tone. ‘Think carefully, Your Grace. Duty is important, but do not mistake stubborn pride for duty. They are not the same thing.’
He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing against the ache in his throat. It was dawning on him that he had made a terrible mistake—ruining his life and Amelie’s in the process.
Will returned to Ashmead House that evening with Mrs Hampton’s words echoing in his mind.
The house was quiet, too quiet. Normally he welcomed the silence after a day of obligations, but now it pressed down on him, suffocating, reminding him of everything he had lost, everything he had let slip away.
He poured himself a glass of brandy and stood before the fire in his study.
The flames leapt and crackled, casting shadows along the bookshelves.
Catherine’s old chair still sat by the hearth, untouched since her death.
He had never allowed anyone to move it. Loneliness flooded through him, threatening to overwhelm him.
Do not mistake stubborn pride for duty.
Mrs Hampton’s voice sounded in his mind again. He had thought himself a man of reason, a man who understood his responsibilities. But what if he had mistaken fear for reason? What if the chains he called duty were only of his own forging?
He thought of Amelie—her smile that had undone him so easily, the way she had trusted him even when she’d had every reason not to.
He remembered her voice when she’d told him she could not be his secret; her bravery in telling him she loved him and then walking away, holding fast to her convictions.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath.
He had spent a year building walls around his heart after Catherine’s death, convincing himself it was noble to be untouchable.
But Mrs Hampton had been right: he was not noble.
He was simply lonely. And he had let that loneliness dictate his life.
He set down the glass, untouched, and pressed his palms against the mantelpiece. ‘What would you say to me, Catherine?’ he murmured into the firelight. ‘Would you tell me to hold fast to duty, or to let it go?’
There was no response. The silence stretched out and he had no sense of her. His sister’s voice was quiet in his mind.