Chapter 17
Stephan wondered if sending the Dowager Countess of Thornwall the gown and drawers—especially the drawers—might have been an error in judgment.
He had requested that the seamstress produce both items on a whim, and even when she had protested that she lacked the measurements of his bride, Stephan had insisted.
Lady’s garments were generally quite versatile, and it was not as if the lady was a particularly large woman.
Anything was certain to fit with only minimal adjustment.
He had sent the items as a gesture of goodwill. See? I will make good on my word to give you a child.
In hindsight, it occurred to Stephan that the young lady might have found his gift to be inelegant at best, lecherous at worst. He sighed and nearly ran his hand through his hair before remembering that his valet—seemingly the one staff member who knew how to properly do his job—had spent considerable effort giving him the ruffled owl look that was so popular among gentlemen.
It was his wedding day, and he descended the stairs feeling a little ridiculous. What did he know about encouraging any woman, much less a lady?
“Rothbury!” Murrayton’s cheerful voice boomed from the foyer.
Stephan’s spirits lifted. “You are early.”
Murrayton still stood by the door, the maid fumbling with his card and coat as though she did not know how to manage him.
Stephan grimaced, but if Murrayton thought poorly of him for having an untrained staff, he did not show it.
Murrayton whistled between his teeth and shook his head.
“I do not think I have ever seen you look so genteel,” he said.
“Me neither,” Stephan admitted.
He had not requested that any clothes be made for himself, but he had taken a little additional care in his appearance. It would not do to appear at his own wedding looking as though he did not care a whit about his bride’s honor, after all.
“I thought we might talk before the wedding,” Murrayton said. “I know that when I married my dearest, I was—ah—a mess that morning.”
Stephan raised a brow. “Were you? I find that difficult to believe.”
On the contrary, Stephan found it all too believable.
Murrayton laughed good-naturedly. “It is unfortunate that you could not be there! You would have been a welcome presence.”
“Well, then…” Stephan gestured to his study, and his friend followed quickly. “I suppose we could have a drink before the ceremony.”
“It seems fitting, a toast to your good fortune in managing to secure a marriage so quickly.”
Stephan frowned. There was a note of something in Murrayton’s voice that he could not quite identify. “Do you doubt me?”
They entered the study. While Stephan retrieved the decanter and glasses, Murrayton flung himself into the nearest chair. “Are you certain that you wish to marry Evelina?” Murrayton asked. “Any debutante would have accepted a proposal from you. Why a widow?”
Stephan shrugged. He filled the glasses and dropped into a chair beside Murrayton.
“Well,” Stephan said, giving his friend one of the glasses.
“I would not want a debutante. Young women are always so eager to attend balls and soirees, and I would prefer that my wife care little for either. I do not want her to request my company, and I suspect that a debutante would. She would expect her husband to accompany her at all times. That sounds like a fate worse than death, truth be told.”
Murrayton laughed. “Worse than death,” he echoed. “You do not need to resort to melodrama to prove your point, my friend. You are not an actor.”
“It is how I feel.”
“I see.” Murrayton paused. “I suppose there would be—not to be crude—certain other advantages.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that she knows what to expect. Have you—all is well if you do not wish to say—but have you begun already trying to produce an heir?”
“No,” Stephan said. “I will admit that I considered it, suggested it to her even, but…she refused. I suppose that is for the best. She is a lady, after all, and I have quite forgotten how a proper lady expects to be treated. It was good that she reminded me.”
Murrayton took a sip of his brandy, his expression thoughtful.
“Would it be so bad for her to be involved in your family’s life?
Or for you to be involved in hers? It seems like marriage to the Dowager Countess of Thornwall might prove beneficial in other ways besides merely giving you an heir.
She can remind you what is expected of a duke. ”
“In time, I will remember well enough on my own,” Stephan said.
“So you say,” Murrayton said. “But what is the title and its wealth worth if you cannot pour all that you become into your family? It cannot truly be only that you wish to win over your grandmother.”
Stephan deliberately did not say that besting his grandmother was, indeed, at the forefront of his mind. “You would not understand.”
Murrayton sighed. “You always say that when you do not wish to explain yourself to me.”
“That is untrue.”
Murrayton’s face softened. “No, it is true,” he insisted. “We are friends, and we have survived more together than most gentlemen will in their entire lives. And you have always been kind to me. You supported me when no one else would. I will never forget that.”
Stephan took a large swallow of brandy, trying to bide himself some time, because he suspected that he would not like what Murrayton said next.
“And yet,” Murrayton continued, “when I wish to support you in turn, when I am offering my sympathies and my friendship, when you truly need me—you lie. You obfuscate. You tell me that I do not understand, as though it is some profound failing on my part.”
“I never said it was failing,” Stephan countered.
“Some things do not have to be said,” Murrayton said. “How can you accuse me of not understanding if you never explain anything about yourself?”
Stephan inhaled sharply, reeling from the unexpected chastisement. “You know me better than anyone alive.”
“I do, but not when it comes to things like this. Not when it matters.”
Stephan sipped his brandy and considered his friend carefully. “In the British Museum, Lady Thornwall claimed that I am Odysseus.”
“Did she?” Murrayton asked. “Oh, how horrible! She compared you to a clever, heroic man. How ever shall you survive such praise?”
“This is precisely why I do not share my thoughts with you,” Stephan said. “You mock me.”
That was not precisely true, and given Murrayton’s indulgent smile, Stephan suspected that his friend knew he was exaggerating.
“Then, what is the problem with it?” Murrayton asked.
“It is untrue,” Stephan said. “It is the romantic image of a woman who has never seen a war and never will. I belong to wars—to the war. At sea was the only place where I ever really felt that I belonged. I was good at being an admiral and had the respect of my men, and that was enough. I was happy.”
Murrayton slowly nodded. “I see.”
“Do you?” Stephan asked. “Because you seem to be comfortable being in London. Even when we were in the war, you were fighting for her, for your beloved Amelia. You are far more like Odysseus than I am. You even had your Penelope waiting at home for you.”
“It was luck that she was,” Murrayton said softly.
“I know,” Stephan said. “But still, the thought of her was what drove you. You have been welcome everywhere. Has there been a single moment in your life when you felt as though you did not belong?”
“Of course,” Murrayton replied. “Every man has felt at one time or another like he did not belong.”
Stephan shook his head, frustration threatening to boil over inside him. “I imagine you are thinking about when your wife’s family rejected you, but that is a single moment in your entire life. Generally, you have felt at home everywhere you go. At sea, in London—it matters not to you.”
Murrayton sighed. “You make a place your home, Rothbury. Home is not something that simply happens to you; it is something that you must make. It takes effort.”
“And I have tried,” Stephan shot back.
He had lost count of all the times that he had tried and failed to prove himself worthy to the Dowager Duchess of Thornwall. This time, he would emerge victorious. He would take the title of the Duke of Rothbury and all that went with it, and he would emerge victorious in their longstanding feud.
“You have been away from London for a decade,” Murrayton said. “You have changed, and the city has changed.”
Stephan snorted. “I have seen little change in it.”
“You have not been here long enough,” Murrayton said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. “You have not tried to learn London again. If you will but try, you will realize that she has blossomed. She is a place where you can become any man that you like if you will but try.”
“Enough!” Stephan snapped. “It may not have occurred to you, but I have significantly more pressing concerns than making a home. I have no time for these romantic notions of yours.”
Murrayton did not move an inch, but somehow, he seemed to grow stiller beneath Stephan’s fierce gaze. “Of course,” Murrayton said.
“Then, our conversation is finished,” Stephan said, standing. “I have a wedding to attend and an heir to produce.”
Murrayton nodded, his face the picture of dissatisfaction.
Stephan knew that his friend wished deeply to continue their conversation; unfortunately, Stephan could think of little that he would rather do less than continue as they had been.
“I will meet you there,” Murrayton said. “It is an honor to be invited.”
Murrayton was the only person Stephan had invited to his wedding.
Stephan had spitefully considered inviting the Dowager Duchess of Rothbury, but he had been concerned that she might actually make an appearance and conspire to ruin the whole day.
Worse, she might persuade Lady Thornwall not to marry him.
“I wanted you there,” Stephan said gruffly. “That is all. Do you wish to finish your brandy?”
Stephan hoped that Murrayton would want to finish the drink, so they could ride in separate coaches to the church.
Otherwise, his friend might decide to resume their conversation, and the thought of talking with Murrayton any longer about homes and their importance made Stephan wish he was back on the high seas and facing Napoleon.
“I will not take long,” Murrayton said, raising his glass. “To you, Rothbury. May you win your wars abroad and at home, and may you find happiness with your new wife.”
The man tipped his head back and swallowed the remainder of his brandy in a single gulp that left Stephan equally horrified and impressed. Now, he had no escape from his friend’s interrogations.
“I hope you will not spend the whole trip trying to force me to debate you on something as trite as the concept of a home,” Stephan said sourly. “You are not addressing parliament when we are together.”
Murrayton grinned, his face brightening. Something which Stephan did genuinely envy his friend for was Murrayton’s eagerness to speak at parliament. The earl had many ideas for the betterment of London’s populations and the charisma to get agreement for the bulk of them.
“Not yet,” Murrayton said. “But wait, my friend. After this widow softens some of your edges, you might be in parliament fighting alongside me.”
“I disagree. Instead, I think I shall be like Lord Byron, who has never attended a single meeting.”
Murrayton shook his head. “He has attended one meeting, and depending on the meeting, that may be enough. Now, shall we meet your blushing bride?”