Page 30 of His Illegitimate Duchess

“I do not see any physical reason for whatever ails you, Your Grace,” Doctor Cooper said as he finished examining the patient.

They were in Talbot’s study, and the Doctor sat down across from the Duke as he was putting his waistcoat back on.

“You don’t sound too certain.”

Doctor Cooper seemed to be carefully formulating his next question. “Have you experienced any events lately that might have upset you? Gone through any big changes?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” Talbot frowned.

The Doctor sighed and leaned back in his chair. “The human mind is largely a mystery to us, but in my many years of experience, I have found it to be an extremely sensitive organ. When the mind is plagued by problems, it can affect the body as well.”

“Frankly, that sounds rather implausible.”

“You don’t have to believe it for it to be true,” the Doctor smiled good-naturedly.

“Say that it’s true, that a patient of yours has experienced some… inner turmoil ,” Talbot said as he twisted his mouth in distaste at the idea that he might ever fall victim to something like that, “how do you cure such an affliction?”

“We usually recommend change. Not only a change of air and one’s surroundings, although that is of tremendous help as well, but a change in one’s habits and attitudes, the company he keeps and the like.

I always tell my patients to take some time to look into their feelings and search their thoughts.

In many instances, they know the reason for their ailment, but are not consciously aware of it. ”

Talbot scoffed, annoyed that he had wasted his time, and the Doctor smiled knowingly.

*

A week later, Colin Talbot dreamt that he was in his childhood home, the manor at his family’s Norwich estate.

In the dream, his parents were away, in London, and he was free from the heavy cloud of their presence.

He felt calm and at peace. As he got ready to go fishing with the other village boys, he was filled with an anticipation and joy that he’d almost forgotten as an adult. Almost .

When he woke up and the memories rushed back into his body, the weight on his chest felt heavier than ever, despite the fact that his father had been dead for ten years and his mother was somewhere in Italy, trying to relive the youth that she felt had been taken from her by Talbot and his father.

He donned his dressing gown and entered his dressing room, where his valet, Stevenson, was already waiting for him.

The fire had been lighted, the curtains were open, and the room had clearly been aired.

The clothes he was supposed to put on that day were already waiting for him, carefully brushed and cleaned.

The water in the bath was hot, and the razors were sharp.

Talbot exhaled in relief as the unchanging and exact nature of the morning ritual brought him a step closer to the man he was now, and away from the boy who had, once upon a time, gone fishing with Stevenson.

“You need a haircut, Your Grace,” the quiet, serious man said as he was cleaning the razors in the washbasin. “Let me take care of it now.”

Talbot said nothing as he observed himself in the looking glass. Stevenson was, of course, right. Talbot couldn’t remember the last time he’d let his hair grow this long - perhaps during his youthful adoration of Brummel, before he’d developed his own style.

Talbot took further solace in the familiar motions of Stevenson’s hands as the valet later tied his cravat, helped him into his waistcoat, then his coat, assembling all these ordinary items into an armour which would allow him to survive another day.

“It is Wednesday,” the duke said, somewhat stupidly.

Stevenson merely hummed as he looked him over one last time, then nodded, satisfied with his work.

He has always been unfailingly thorough, even as a young boy , Talbot thought before adding, “I’ll be going to Almack’s tonight.”

“Of course.”

“I shall be leaving at eight.”

If Stevenson was surprised by the unusually early hour of his master’s departure, he didn’t let on. He busied himself with putting the various items used for his master’s toilette away, and Talbot went into his study.

A package was waiting on his desk. The elation and excitement he usually felt whenever unpacking new books were absent. Upon seeing The Monastery, he did experience an emotion, but it was an unpleasant one.

He suddenly realised he’d never have the opportunity to discover what she thought of Ivanhoe. Would she have an irreverent opinion that would amuse him greatly? Would she, like she often did, notice something that he’d completely missed and open his eyes to a new perspective?

Alas, the morning after that damned conversation (during which she threatened to refuse any future invitations to dance with him, a Duke!) all the books that he had so carefully selected to nurture her imagination and stimulate her intellect were returned to his house without even so much as a note.

Low breeding, he had thought disdainfully, hating himself immediately for thinking it, but clinging to the thought as if it were his salvation from the hell he was living in.

Hell. That was exactly it.

Dear Lord, is there a way to rip this discomfort from my chest? He thought.

Not even Lady Violet’s refusal to marry him had stung this much.

My pride is hurt, he realised, that is why it is taking this long to move past this.

What was he supposed to have said that night in the library?

That he’d be happy to marry a bastard?

That his ancestors wouldn’t be turning over in their graves if he brought someone like her to Norwich?

That he’d be happy to go against everything that had been instilled in him since he’d been old enough to talk?

Duty was the operative word in the young duke’s life. He had a duty to his name, to his title, to his estate. And that duty was to do right by them, to not sully or dishonour them, to work hard and do his best, and to beget an heir with a lady of worthy breeding, his duchess.

Miss Hawkins, he thought with a sneer, was born outside of wedlock, brought up by a mistress, and then most likely walked unchaperoned through questionable neighbourhoods daily on her way to... work!

How would such a woman birth and, more importantly, raise the future duke of Norwich? What would become of England if they were all to just follow their whims and give in to interesting, beautiful women who made them feel confusing things?!

No, he thought, for the thousandth time since the time his hands had touched Lizzie last, it is better like this. Let her marry the swain and leave London, and when she is gone and I never have to lay eyes on her again, everything shall be alright.

But when he entered Almack’s that night, his face frozen in the bored but haughty expression he’d perfected over the years, the only thing he felt was want. The desire to see Elizabeth’s dimples, even from afar, was so strong that the disappointment born from her absence was almost painful.

It was only the years and years of honing his impeccable manners and spending his evenings in ballrooms that allowed him to continue functioning, to extend bows and greetings and polite inquiries, and to even go as far as to ask some unlikely partners to dance.

Both Viscount Oakley’s sister and Lady Fairchild had seemed stunned that he’d approached them, but he was a gentleman. No young lady would want for a dance partner while he was present! He asked them both to dance, wondering about how Lady Louisa had made her way into Miss Hawkins’s little group.

Why does she collect these quiet, shy girls when she is anything but? Is she, with her fits of pique, drawn to her opposites? He wondered.

He desperately wanted to ask Elizabeth these questions and to have her respond in that frank and, at times, unsophisticated way she had. She spoke the way she moved, with purpose, in a manner that didn’t tolerate foolishness or empty nonsense.

“I fear my friends shall die of envy,” Lady Helena said in a sultry voice as she waved her intricate fan.

“Why is that, Lady Helena?” Talbot asked as he glanced at the door again.

He’d chosen this spot by the refreshments in order to keep an eye on those entering. He could hear Pratt laughing with Lady Helena’s annoying friend, Lady Emma. Or Ella? He had no idea.

Is she unwell? Is that why she isn’t here?

“I may have accidentally revealed to them that you shall be escorting me to the Opera next week,” Lady Helena said, sounding anything but remorseful.

Colin suddenly remembered that he’d absentmindedly offered to do so some days ago after she’d cleverly hinted at it as they were walking in the Park with a group of friends. He’d been focused on looking around for a bold-coloured dress. Devil take her!

“Yes, Mister Pratt and I are looking forward to it,” he parried, and Pratt nodded, like a true friend.

Lady Helena’s disappointment was immediate, but she covered it up with a smile.

Just then, Miss Hawkins and her curmudgeon aunt entered Almack’s, and Talbot silently praised God for creating balls and ballrooms and dresses and aunts and tendrils of hair and dimples and for giving him eyeballs that enabled him to look at all those things.

The relief he felt almost caused him to take an unthinking step towards her, but luckily, the only movement he made was turning his head back to the woman in front of him.

“Forgive me for not asking sooner, but would you do me the honour of waltzing with me, Lady Helena?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Shall I put you down for the first or the second one?”

Talbot, eager to be on the dance floor at the same time as Lizzie, made the mistake of telling a young woman who was eager to have a duke for a husband, “Both.”

The object of his attention danced the reel with Powell, who looked so utterly out of place as he performed the steps of the merry dance that Talbot was tempted to smile for the first time in days.