Chapter 6
“You have a visitor, Your Grace.”
Stephan slowly lifted his eyes from the ledger and folded his hands over his desk. A sense of foreboding swept over him, his grandmother’s warning ringing in his ears. “Is that so?”
Nathanial stood in the doorway of the study, seemingly pleased with himself. “It is a gentleman, Your Grace.” Nathanial withdrew a small card from his jacket and squinted at it, as if he was having some difficulty in reading. “Lord Edward Dowling, Earl of Murrayton.”
Stephan sighed in relief. “Murrayton is welcome. Send him to me.”
Nathanial bowed. “At once, Your Grace.”
Stephan closed the ledger. As far as he could discern, everything seemed to be in order. For all his father’s faults, it seemed as though the man—or maybe the Dowager Duchess—kept meticulous records. The dukedom seemed to be managing well. At least, it would be for the next year.
If he could not marry and produce an heir before the year’s end, Stephan did not know how the dukedom would fare.
His grandmother would have the fortune that ought to be his.
Would she be obliged to use it for the good of the dukedom, or would she be allowed to do whatever she pleased with it?
Stephan grimaced, imagining the Dowager Duchess gleefully taking her fortune and leaving him with a crumbling dukedom and no means to maintain it.
She was cruel enough to do something like that, and Stephan knew that everyone would assume he was at fault.
No one would ever question the grieving mother who had lost her son.
Footsteps pounded outside the doorway, and Stephan straightened his spine, trying to feign as though he was unbothered. Murrayton was an astute man, and if Stephan showed even the slightest sign of being distraught, his friend was certain to find it.
“Rothbury!” Murrayton burst into the room, grinning broadly.
Stephan returned the smile without even a second’s hesitation. Murrayton had a gift for winning over even the most disagreeable of men. There was simply something so genuine about him, so kind and bright, that it was impossible to be melancholy in his presence.
Murrayton bowed theatrically, and Stephan shook his head. “That is unnecessary.”
“But you are a duke, my friend!” Murrayton declared, his blue eyes bright with good humor. “I know it was a hard-won position.”
“Harder than it should have been,” Stephan agreed, gesturing to the empty chair opposite his own. “Please, sit with me.”
“I would be delighted to.” Murrayton dropped into the chair and glanced around him, seemingly inspecting the unfamiliar room. “It is good to see you at last in your rightful place.”
Stephan sighed. “We shall see how long I can manage it.”
“Do you plan on surrendering the title?” Murrayton asked, brow furrowing. “What is the matter?”
Stephan inwardly winced. He had done a poor job of concealing his worries. Wryly, he wondered if his desire to share his concerns with someone who would listen was simply too great to be hidden. “It is a long story.”
“I have some time,” Murrayton replied. “My wife is attending a garden party this afternoon, but I have no other obligations until then.”
Stephan frowned. “Is that Lady Brookshire’s garden party?”
“The very same. I trust you received an invitation?”
“This morning,” Stephan said dryly. “I have no notion of how she learned so quickly of my arrival in London.”
Murrayton chuckled. “She is your neighbor, so I imagine she learned very quickly. Servants do gossip.”
“I imagine that is especially true of a poorly trained staff,” Stephan mused.
Maybe that had been his grandmother’s true motivation in procuring an entirely new staff for him. She would leave him with a poorly managed household and a string of gossip, which would undoubtedly find her ears.
“Do you have complaints about her staff?” Murrayton asked.
Stephan raised a dismissive hand. “It was just a musing. I am thinking that some of my staff may need to be replaced.”
“That is unfortunate. However, if that is the only difficulty you encounter—” Murrayton cut off abruptly. “Ah, I can see in your face that it is not the only one.”
“If I am to keep the title and its holdings, I must bear an heir within a year,” Stephan said, reaching for the decanter. “Would you like a drink? I feel as though a brandy will significantly improve this conversation.”
“That would be welcome,” Murrayton said. “A year? That is a preposterous condition. You should speak to a solicitor and fight such a stipulation.”
“Would I succeed?” Stephan asked. “I had considered that, but if the matter is terribly complicated, I would lose valuable time that might be better spent procuring a wife and heir.”
Murrayton frowned contemplatively as Stephan poured two crystal-cut glasses with the amber-brown brandy. “I suppose that is true,” Murrayton conceded, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To you and your newfound conundrums.”
Stephan clicked his glass against the one his friend held. “To me,” he said dryly.
They both took a hearty swallow of brandy. As expected, it was of sublime quality, and Stephan took a moment to savor the warm, invigorating taste.
“Besides,” Stephan continued. “I imagine the ton would soon learn of a legal dispute between my grandmother and me. Can you imagine how vicious the gossip would be?”
“Terrible,” Murrayton admitted.
“Doubtlessly, I would appear the villain,” Stephan added, gazing mournfully at his glass. “My grandmother would not hesitate to tell everyone that I was the cause of her woes. I would appear monstrous to them, a cruel man distressing a grieving mother.”
“I wish I could tell you otherwise,” Murrayton said. “But that is all probably true. I fear that you have few other options, though.”
“Except to have this heir,” Stephan said. “Even if I decide that I do wish to challenge my grandmother’s stipulation, it might be beneficial for me to try for an heir. If my challenge failed, I might still have a son.”
“I do not imagine having a legitimate heir will be easy,” Murrayton said. “You are not even courting anyone. And you know it is—well—it is not always easy to conceive an heir quickly.”
“You managed it,” Stephan noted. “And within the first year of your marriage.”
“A girl,” Murrayton said. “And my circumstances were quite different from yours. Amelia and I were a love-match.”
Stephan grimaced. He did not begrudge Murrayton his happiness, of course, but sometimes Stephan was forced to bury the ugly surge of envy he felt when his friend spoke of his wife.
Murrayton was the fourth-born son of an earl, expected to inherit only a pittance.
He had fallen madly in love with Lady Amelia, and she with him.
Her parents had not agreed to the match, and Murrayton had joined the navy to prove himself and to survive.
Then, tragedy struck. Murrayton’s brothers had all died in quick succession, and he had returned to London as the Earl of Murrayton, an appropriate match for the lovely Lady Amelia.
“How is your wife?” Stephan asked.
He did not particularly care to look after the lady’s health, but Stephan cared about his friend. It seemed appropriate to ask after the man’s wife.
“She is well,” Murrayton said. “She has already planned the first several weeks of the Season for us, if you can believe it.”
Stephan nodded, at a loss for what else to say. He had never met Murrayton’s wife. “Having someone to handle the invitations on your behalf would be pleasant.”
“You are trying to distract me,” Murrayton said. “How are you going to find this woman?”
Stephan took a swallow of brandy. The image of Evelina, the Dowager Countess of Thornwall, flashed like lightning in his mind.
Although his offer of marriage had been made hastily, he could not deny that the prospect of an amorous encounter—several amorous encounters—with the beautiful countess was far from arduous.
They would share a few enjoyable months together and amicably part ways.
“I have already begun searching for her,” Stephan said.
“And do you have prospects?” Murrayton asked. “I would imagine that a duke has no shortage of potential brides.”
“I suppose not,” Stephan said.
If Evelina—no, if Lady Thornwall—did not wish to marry him, what would be the next step?
Stephan balked at the thought of attending balls and soirees to meet women.
Aside from the chance encounter with the countess at the tavern, he had barely spoken to a woman in the past decade.
The thought of flinging himself after all those ladies made his stomach churn.
I imagine this is how the countess felt.
A swell of compassion bloomed in his chest. The poor woman might have been unable to continue with her plan, but Stephan did not know if he would have the same resolve to do something so humiliating.
“What do you know about the Dowager Countess of Thornwall?” Stephan asked.
Murrayton furrowed his brow, an expression which Stephan knew well; his friend was thinking, trying to recall if he knew who Lady Thornwall was. “Red hair?” Murrayton asked at last.
“I would have called it auburn.”
“You are charitable,” Murrayton said, smiling wryly. “I do know some things about her. Let me think. She is…Amelia has called her an unconventional woman.”
Stephan nearly laughed. There was certainly no denying that.
“She has a club.”
Stephan raised a brow. “A club?”
“For ladies,” Murrayton clarified. “My understanding is that it is like a gathering of bluestockings. Their topics of conversation are said to be unusual. For ladies, I mean.”
“Interesting.”
“I suppose.”
“What about the late Lord Thornwall?” Stephan asked.
Murrayton shrugged. “I never met him. He died several years ago, and Lady Thornwall never remarried.”
“Do you know if it was a happy marriage?”
“I do not,” Murrayton said.
Perhaps Stephan’s second theory about Lady Thornwall being a lonely widow was not entirely wrong. He took another swallow of brandy, thinking about her wide green eyes and the way her breath had hitched when he looked at her in the drawing room.
“Are you considering the countess as a potential wife?” Murrayton asked.
“I think…” Stephan trailed off.
As much as Stephan appreciated Murrayton’s friendship, the encounter with Lady Thornwall in the tavern felt too personal to share.
Murrayton would never tell anyone about the meeting, but Stephan still found himself discomforted with the prospect of telling anyone that he had seen Lady Thornwall in such a compromising way.
“Perhaps,” Stephan said. “We have spoken briefly about the possibility. I have given her two days to consider my offer.”
That was the truth without anything incriminating.
“She is…” Murrayton trailed off. “A spirited woman.”
“I have noticed.”
However, it did not matter what manner of lady the countess was. Once Lady Thornwall had her child, they would never need to speak to one another again. At worst, they might agree to appear at the same event for appearance’s sake.
“What will you do if she does not accept?” Murrayton asked.
“I will ask another woman,” Stephan said. “What choice do I have?”
Murrayton’s eyes narrowed. “If you wish to attract the attention of marriageable ladies, you will need to announce your presence to the ton,” he said.
“I suppose that is true.”
“If only you had been invited to an event,” Murrayton said. “A garden party, perhaps. Being hosted by a persistent woman with unmarried daughters.”
Stephan finished the remainder of his brandy in a long, heavy swallow. “I can think of few things I would rather do less than attend a garden party.”
“But you need a bride and an heir.”
“Yes, I do.”
Stephan thought of Lady Thornwall with something close to longing. As suitable as she seemed, he must consider the possibility that she might refuse his offer. Stephan would be foolish not to meet other ladies, just in case.