Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
Alec Raeburn, Duke of Selkirk, stood outside the door of Mr. Hardcastle’s office.
His heart was beating so hard, he wondered how the sound didn’t echo off the walls, and his jacket felt tight.
He ran a finger around the carefully tied neckcloth which he had instructed Archibald to make as simple as possible.
Which now felt too tight. And hot. He felt hot.
He exhaled slowly and deeply, then raised his hand to knock on the office door.
Knowing Mr. Hardcastle’s ill health, Alec did not expect to hear a strong response through the door, so the muffled reply was enough for him to turn the handle and step inside to make his formal farewells.
His host’s office was a small room, clearly intended for his personal use.
Alec saw again the humble nature of the man he had come to admire.
This was no grand showroom but rather a space slightly bigger than a cupboard, with no windows but only a small fireplace directly facing the door with a tiny mantel, on which sat a utilitarian clock set to strike the hours and not much else.
A well-worn desk, piled high with ledgers and files willy-nilly upended onto its surface, was on his right.
A small stool was shoved into the far-right corner, out of the way but on casters so it could easily be wheeled about.
To the left of the door was a cabinet, slightly ajar, from which he could see additional ledgers and papers peeking out.
There was no need for a fire today, and silence reigned apart from the ticking of the clock and the breathing of the person seated at that desk. The room was peaceful and welcoming. Alec felt his shoulders come down a peg.
Instead of the balding head he expected to see bent over the papers, however, he was greeted by a plaited crown.
Aurora turned and looked at Alec in surprise. He, in turn, took a sharp step back, and crashed into the door, which he had not realized he had pulled closed behind him, so as to keep what he assumed would be a difficult discussion private.
“What are you doing here?” exclaimed Aurora.
“I might ask you the same question!” he shot back.
“I came to bid farewell to your father, to thank him for his hospitality and the trouble he has taken over my suit.” He stood even straighter than he had been standing since he entered, and his body became rigid.
The sight of her was doing something uncomfortable to his breathing.
Her eyes, he could see now, were puffy and reddened.
He wanted to take the steps (how many was it—two?
Three?) and kiss those reddened eyelids, and then her lips, until he couldn’t tell where she ended and he started.
But pride pulled him up short, pride and the rawness of his discovery at the manufactory.
“I have not forgotten how to behave like a gentleman and a man of my position and breeding. Regardless of your behavior. And nothing will induce me to do so.”
Aurora’s lips pressed together, and she took a sharp breath. Her head lifted and she gave him a look filled with hurt and pride. No apology. No plea for forgiveness. “Well, your farewell has been registered. I shall pass it along to my father when he is well enough again.”
“Obliged,” responded Alec, practically clicking his heels together, followed by a slight bow.
How cold she was. There was business and then there was business.
He now knew his marriage could not be a business; his daughter could not be sacrificed on that altar.
Furthermore, the woman who would mother his daughter could not take it on as simply a business interest. Marjorie was the daughter of a duke, and she would be raised as one.
He did not realize he had remained standing there, unmoving, until she spoke again. “Your duty has been performed, sir. I hope you have a pleasant journey back to London.”
“We are not returning to London,” rejoined Alec. “I am taking Marjorie back home. I have had enough of London for the present. I shall need to consider other options for our current situation.”
“I see. Well, then a pleasant journey back to your home.” Her words were a clear dismissal. He watched her deliberately turn her back to him.
Alec wanted to turn and leave. A conversation with Aurora, of all people, at this moment, felt beyond his ability.
It was, frankly, unsupportable. But his feet would not move.
In his mind’s eye, he saw himself turning, lifting the latch, walking out, and shutting the door behind him forever. But he could not move.
The room stayed silent, save for the ticking of the clock on top of the tiny chimney in one corner and two sets of breaths. He could feel the pressure in the room building, but it was Aurora who released it when she whirled around in her chair to face him.
“What, Alec? What?”
He felt the words dragged out of him, as if he had lost command of his tongue.
“Your father, about the manufactory. I just realized…I explained my inexperience to him, and he told me there were solutions. Or a solution. He meant you, didn’t he?
” He sucked in his breath. Yes, it was all becoming clearer now.
“You were what he had in mind. He meant you would be on hand to manage. That was the plan.”
“He said that? Oh.” Aurora swallowed. He watched splotches of color rise in her cheeks as her eyes softened and grew moist. She ran a tongue along her upper lip, but snapped her mouth closed when she noticed him watching her. She squared her shoulders and continued.
“Yes, I would be one of the ways to manage the business. I have been raised for this. I know the factory, its operations and its people, inside and out. I know I am repeating myself, but I have been apprenticed to Calum almost from the day my father took over sole management, and it was clear he could not keep me away. This work, these people: they are my father’s legacy, and I owe them.
I also owe it to him to keep that legacy alive.
” She looked down at her hands and clasped them together.
“I do understand, Miss Hardcastle.” The continued formality between them, the use of the Miss and not Aurora—he clung to it.
He could not bring himself to speak to her with familiarity, otherwise, he might be undone.
The strictures of polite conversation were perhaps the only thing propping him up right now.
But he also could not stop talking. “So, I now know your terms to be this: you would maintain management of the manufactory, and I, as your husband, would simply be your partner in this.”
“Yes.” A pause, and then, “And—”
“You mean there is more?” He couldn’t keep the scorn from the words.
His tone served as a goad to Aurora, he could see that, and it caused her to look directly at him again.
This time, she did not stop a note of defiance from creeping into her voice.
“And I also wish to maintain control of my money, that is, continue to have a hand in how those funds are used. In short, I wish my marriage to be a partnership of equals.”
Alec gaped at her, then burst out with, “Aurora, have you run mad? This is not how it is done. This is not the role and duty of a wife. A proper wife. Damnation, woman! The husband is to manage the finances. The husband is the head of the family and the estate. The wife’s proper domicile is the children and the managing of the household, to see it is smoothly run.
Yes, she should know something about the estate should the husband be away but—manage her money?
Once she marries, it is no longer her money. And run a business? Impossible.”
The two stared defiantly at one another.
He had no idea what she was thinking. And de’il take it—he wanted to know.
He wanted to know what was going through her head now, so badly.
Just a day ago, he had assumed he could.
Not read her mind exactly yet still understand her.
But now he was lost. He could not find the words.
He had spoken truth. That was how things were. He was in the right; he knew he was. But he also felt muddled and uncertain. And deucedly uncomfortable. Why would his wretched body not turn and take him out of the room?
Once again, it was Aurora who broke the silence. “You are still in love with her.”
“What?” Alec felt as if he had taken an uppercut to the jaw and his head swam.
“Millicent. She is still your Ideal. She is the type of woman you wish to marry. After all that has happened, she is who you want.”
Alec simply stared at her. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Of course you do. All this about the way I dress at my father’s manufactory, about bringing Marjorie to see it, dressed as I used to, about my wishing to be a co-partner in the business with whoever my husband is, about retaining a say in how my money is spent, this is really not the nub of it, is it? ”
“Well, Miss Wentworth’s flaws aside, she has been bred to be a duchess, that is true.”
“Ah ha! I knew I was right!” But the look Aurora gave him was far from triumphant.
How could she have it so wrong? And after the way Miss Wentworth had treated Marjorie, too?
It bewildered him. Why was she bringing up that awful woman now?
They were talking about today, the manufactory, his daughter.
Because what Aurora was asking of him was simply unthinkable.
That was what they were discussing. He was to be the husband.
He was the man. There were ways in which things were done.
And I have stretched myself so far. But this was beyond what any man could accept. No one could expect me to accept this.
He ignored her words about Miss Wentworth and returned to what was, for him, the heart of the matter.
“I cannot, Miss Hardcastle. I cannot submit to this form of marriage which you are demanding of me. You are asking me, demanding that I allow my wife to run a manufacturing business and retain control of her own money, instead of bringing all financial affairs under my own control, as is only right and proper, as a husband. You are bringing my honor as a gentleman, damnation, my worth as a man, into question. And you are dragging my daughter into all of this, dressing her in boys’ clothes and introducing her to how a manufactory works.
It is necessary for me to do so, to secure her future.
That is, to go into business. But not for her.
Never for her. She is the daughter of a duke.
” He stopped speaking, but his thoughts spilled on.
He could not abase himself that way. And he most assuredly could not abase Marjorie that way. He had to find another means out of his financial difficulties. Until then, he and his daughter would simply have to manage. But why did it have to be so deucedly painful?
Aurora did not respond but only looked at him. Once again, he tried to guess what she was thinking and came up empty. Once again, he did not leave. And, once again, the silence lengthened between the two of them. For the third time, it was Aurora who broke it.
“I do love your daughter, Your Grace.” Aurora swallowed. “She is special. I believe I have things I can offer her. Beyond Keats and Homer, though those as well.”
On hearing the mention of Marjorie, Alec’s heart gave a further lurch.
What was Aurora doing to him? He accepted this peace offering.
He found refuge, again, in the proprieties, and gave her a stiff bow.
“For that I thank you, Miss Hardcastle. For seeing that she is special. For, for loving her. Or at least thinking so. I do acknowledge that, regardless of how misguided your actions toward her have been.”
The bitterness in the tone of her response to his bow, however, was like a slap. “Well, we have given up the farce of this ever being anything more than a business arrangement. Of my only being a means to an end. You do not have to pretend anymore.”
Stung, his re-built composure slipped again, “I have never pretended anything less in my life! I am no actor. I have always dealt plainly and honorably with you. You sit there, impugning my honor, impugning my motives, impugning, well, just impugning!”
Aurora glared at him, “I am not impugning anything. I am simply stating.”
“No, you are not. You are impugning beliefs and feelings to me which I have never claimed, and which I wholly and thoroughly reject. You are outside the pale, Miss Hardcastle, and I am lucky to have escaped your clutches.”
Her eyes glittered dangerously. “My clutches? I never clutched at you, you horrid man.”
“Of course you did. All that blushing. Making eyes at me. Yet all the time, butter would not have melted in your mouth.”
“Then it is a good thing we will not ever be married, sir. You are free. I wish you all happiness.”
“Aurora—” He could not help himself. Was ever a man so confounded as he was? She was everything. She was also wrong, all wrong. He did not know what he wanted to say. Yet he did not understand why, even now, his feet would not take him out of this room.
But she interrupted him. “Oh, what do you want, Alec? What do you really want? Be honest. I know what I want. I finally know what I want. But what do you want?”
He found he had no words left to say. It was his chance to speak, and his mind went blank.
Had she heard nothing that he had said? When he didn’t reply, she turned away from him and faced the papers sitting on the desk.
“I have work to do, sir. Please give my love to Marjorie. Our acquaintance is happily at an end.”
This final dismissal was what freed his feet from where they had planted themselves.
With a growl, Alec pivoted and yanked open the door, slamming it behind him.
He heard an answering growl from Aurora and the sound of what he surmised was the glass inkpot smashing against the door.
“Dreadful man! Dreadful, dreadful man!” carried distinctly out into the hallway.
Setting his mouth as firmly as he could, something which he appeared to be doing frequently as of late, he wrenched his thoughts away from the woman he had just left and forced them to his impending departure.
I must leave, and I must leave now, was all he could focus on. And then, You are running away, Alec. You know you are running away.
I know, he answered. But I do not know what else to do. There is no solution. This campaign is at an end. And I have failed.