Chapter 8
Stephan cast a sharp look at Murrayton, who had abandoned him the moment his wife, the Countess of Murrayton, entered the garden.
Although they had not yet been formally introduced, Stephan knew it must be she.
Even if Murrayton’s fond smile had not been present, she was exactly as Murrayton had described—a dark-haired beauty with blue eyes.
The women before Stephan were beautiful, too.
But Lady Brookshire’s three daughters had descended upon him the moment he set foot in the gardens, and while the prospect of three unwedded misses had seemed promising, he had quickly grown to regret his choice to speak with them.
They were too eager and clearly vying for a proposal, which was…
Desirable, but also frustratingly hollow.
“I am so pleased that you could accept our mother’s invitation,” said Lady Maria, the eldest. “We did not think you would, given that it arrived so close to the date.”
Stephan forced a smile and wondered if Lady Maria or her sisters, Lady Angelica and Lady Catherine, noticed.
There was nothing he wanted to say, but it was apparent that a response was expected of him.
His heart raced. Once, he must have known how to speak to women.
“I was surprised to receive an invitation so quickly. But also, quite pleased with it.”
“Mother will be so pleased to hear that,” Lady Angelica said.
Stephan nodded, only partially listening.
He could not blame the young women for being so eager to win his favor.
Young ladies had very few options in the world, and Stephan never faulted a woman for trying to improve her lot in life.
That did not make him any more eager to be the object of one’s affections, though.
And did these young misses expect a loving marriage? If not, would they be content without one? Stephan did not imagine that most women would be happy committing to that, even if it was expected. Not all these women were like Lady Thornwall.
“I have heard that you were in the navy,” said Lady Catherine.
“I was,” he said. “An admiral.”
“What was it like?” Lady Maria asked, her blue eyes wide. “Oh, you must tell us everything!”
Stephan doubted that Lady Maria wanted to know everything.
He imagined that she had been taught the gentlest version of reality, where naval officers were brave and dashing.
She had not heard of the wounded or dying men, and if she had, Stephan did not imagine Lady Maria understood what it had really been like.
This lady would have heard nothing about the stench of infection or death.
She would not know of the long days spent in the heat or the lashing tempests that rocked the ship perilously from side to side.
“It was…” Stephan trailed off.
The navy was often terrible, but not always. It was probably the closest thing he ever had to a real home, as Evelina had described one. At least, he had belonged there.
“It was awful,” Stephan said, “but marginally better than a garden party.”
The ladies laughed, and Stephan’s smile faltered. He had not been making a joke, but it seemed that was how they understood it.
“I apologize, but my friend is calling for me,” Stephan said. “It must be urgent.”
He departed before the ladies could protest or ask him to stay longer. As he approached, Murrayton grinned brightly at him. “Amelia, this is my dear friend—”
“The Duke of Rothbury,” Lady Murrayton said. “Of course. Your reputation precedes you.”
That was not how a proper introduction ought to occur, and Stephan found himself halting abruptly and staring blankly at her. Lady Murrayton curtsied, and Stephan bowed stiffly. “Lady Murrayton, I presume.”
“Yes.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” Lady Murrayton said. “My husband speaks so very highly of you.”
Stephan laughed, uncertain how to answer her. Murrayton was his friend, so it was not unexpected that he would speak kindly of him. However, something about hearing this elegant lady say it was unsettling.
“I have neglected you,” Murrayton said. “Will you excuse us, Amelia? I convinced Rothbury to attend this garden party with me, and I believe he agreed only working on the assumption that I would help him find a suitable duchess.”
“Oh!” Lady Murrayton exclaimed. “Well, certainly. But I must ask that you spare me at least one dance beneath that charming willow tree.”
Murrayton grinned. “Of course.”
“A pleasure, Your Grace,” Lady Murrayton replied.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Stephan said.
He carefully concealed his relief as she left and was soon lost among a froth of colorfully clad ladies.
“How did you find Lady Brookshire’s daughters?” Murrayton asked. “Not too fetching, I assume. Otherwise, you would not have abandoned them so quickly.”
“They were…” Stephan searched for a charitable descriptor. “They were charming.”
“Only charming.”
“I fear the fault lies not with them but with me,” Stephan said. “I do not feel as if I belong here anyway, and they look so hopeful when they approach me.”
“Of course, they look hopeful,” Murrayton said. “They wish to marry you.”
“The wish to marry a duke,” Stephan said. “But I fear they are imagining a long, happy marriage. They want a man who loves them.”
Murrayton raised a brow. “They are imagining a husband who can provide them with security. Very few ladies among the ton marry for love. You cannot have been away for so long that you have forgotten?”
“No,” Stephan agreed. “But I also have no wish to have a woman be miserable on my account.”
“I doubt your wife would be miserable,” Murrayton pointed out. “The dukedom prospers. You would have enough money to give your wife all the gowns, balls, and soirees she desired.”
Stephan inwardly recoiled, imagining such a wife. He could only hope that she was one who would not want to involve him in her designs for balls and soirees. Evelina’s fierce green eyes came to mind, conjured from the depths of his memory. A woman could not have offered better conditions.
“Of course, that is…” Murrayton trailed off, his brow furrowing.
“Yes?”
“That is assuming she produces an heir,” Murrayton said with the air of a man who was speaking very carefully.
“I have considered that,” Stephan said quietly. “I have a considerable fortune, but…”
There was a difference between a man with a considerable fortune and a man with the means to support an entire dukedom. His throat was suddenly tight, and he tried to clear it.
“It does not matter, though,” Stephan said. “I refuse to let my grandmother win. She manipulated my father for years and always turned everything in her favor. No more.”
“Very well,” Murrayton said. “Perhaps you will be more receptive to Lady Thornwall’s advances.”
Stephan chuckled. His pulse leaped at the thought of the Dowager Countess indicating even the smallest hint of interest in his proposal. He had been significantly more comfortable with her than with the ladies at the garden party, and at least, they both knew what the other expected.
“But Lady Thornwall is not…” he trailed off, as he felt the eyes fixed upon him.
Stephan’s gaze swept over the crowd, and at last, he found her.
She wore a white gown embroidered with sweeping greenery and delicate blue blossoms along the hem and over the bodice.
He inhaled sharply, a warm appreciation curling inside his chest. She was even lovelier in the daytime when he could discern her delicate form beneath the gown.
An older woman stood beside her; the resemblance between the pair was strong enough that he surmised this was Lady Thornwall’s mother.
“She is here,” Murrayton said.
“Yes.” The word was scarcely louder than a breath of air. “Excuse me.”
He struggled to maintain a steady pace as he approached Lady Thornwall. She straightened nearly imperceptibly, her expression sharp. “My lady,” he said, bowing. “It is a pleasure to see you here.”
She curtsied. “Your Grace. May I introduce my mother, Lady Dowell? Mother, this is the Duke of Rothbury.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Stephan said.
Lady Dowell smiled, a mischievous gleam in her dark green eyes. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well. I imagine you would rather speak to my daughter than me, however.”
Stephan frowned. “It is true that your daughter is pleasant company.”
Was that what he was meant to say? Stephan had the notion that she had implied something with her words, and he had misunderstood her entirely.
“I shall leave the two of you to talk,” she said.
Stephan watched the woman as she departed. As awkward as the encounter had been, being alone with Evelina made him feel as though he could finally really breathe. Well, they were not quite alone; there were dozens of other couples in the garden, but they seemed to be paying him little mind.
“Are you enjoying the garden party, Your Grace?” Lady Thornwall asked.
Your Grace. He clenched his jaw. It would be too brazen to ask the lady to call him Stephan, even though he might prefer that.
The title was just another reminder of the man he was supposed to be and of all the responsibilities weighing upon his shoulders.
A longing for the sea rose once more inside him.
“I told some other ladies that it was marginally less enjoyable than the war,” Stephan admitted.
“And is it?’
“Yes.”
Lady Thornwall’s lips twitched in amusement. “You have not given me that impression. I have been watching you for some time, and—”
“Have you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Lady Thornwall smiled slyly. “Do not think too much upon my actions, Your Grace. I only watched you because you are, at present, the most interesting man here.”
“I cannot discern if that is a compliment or a chastisement.”
“You may treat it as both.”
Stephan hummed. “Well, I suppose that would make you the most honest woman that I have met.”
“And what am I to glean from that, Your Grace?”
“That you are the only unmarried woman here who is not playing a role.”
“Have you spoken to every unmarried woman here?” the Dowager Countess asked, a note of disapproval in her voice.
Stephan paused and reconsidered his words. “I suppose I have not. Forgive my presumptions.”
That seemed like the appropriate reply. Stephan was a little cheered by the thought.
He might have spent most of the party stammering over his words and trying to recall how a gentleman was supposed to behave, but with this lady, everything came quite easily.
Maybe it was because he knew the Dowager Countess of Thornwall was also a little unconventional.
“I may,” she said.
“You may?” he asked. “No, I cannot endure that uncertainty. What can I do to persuade you to forgive me?”
Lady Thornwall placed the tip of her finger to her chin and acted as though she was deep in thought. Stephan suspected she already knew the answer and was simply enjoying baiting him.
“I have wondered something about you,” she said, “and I cannot make sense of it. If you tell me what I want to know, I might forgive you.”
A cold wave of foreboding swept over his shoulders. “Yes?”
“What are you so eager to have an heir so quickly?”