Page 17 of The Burdened Duke (Willenshires #4)

“You’ve behaved badly, Will. Very badly, indeed!”

Katherine’s words rang in his head. William stood in front of his dressing-room mirror, angrily tying his cravat. What had possessed him to dismiss his valet so soon? He had been dressed, but endless fidgeting with his cravat had made the linen lose its sharpness and droop, obliging him to untie it and choose a fresh one. And now his fingers would not work, and the knot simply would not sit.

He should have known that Katherine would have something to say about the situation. He hadn’t snubbed Miss Brookford, not really. He’d simply… simply avoided her.

Wasn’t that sensible? His own feelings had taken him by surprise. If anything, their meeting at the horse paddock had shown him that he was becoming distracted from the woman he should be pursuing – Miss Bainbridge – and that simply wouldn’t do.

Miss Bainbridge is the choice I have made. She’s perfect for the Duchess of Dunleigh. Why would I choose anyone else? And it’s certainly not fair to give Miss Brookford false hope. Well, not false , exactly, as my feelings towards her are…. Again, this matters not at all. I cannot marry her. She’s not suitable for a duchess. Even… even if I felt differently, I am tied to Miss Bainbridge now. The thing is done. Soon an announcement will follow, and then that will be that. It isn’t Miss Brookford’s fault. It is mine.

His hands dropped from the knotted mess of his cravat. His hair was wild – he must have run his fingers through it at some point – and the overall effect was entirely too dishabille for a dinner party. His mother would be thoroughly displeased if she found him in the dining room presented in such a manner.

Sighing, he moved over to the bell pull at the corner of the room. It was a pity to summon the poor man back after he’d been dismissed, but really…

A gentle knock sounded on the door. William paused, hand inches from the bell pull.

“Who is it?”

“It is I, William. May I come in?”

He crossed the room at once, pulling open the door.

“Mother? What are you doing here?”

Mary was dressed for dinner. She wore a long lawn gown in dark blue, decorated with pearls and a few diamonds. The candlelight made her look younger and less gaunt than before.

William stood there for a moment, staring. Had his mother ever visited his room before? He couldn’t recall if she had. He certainly never visited hers , not even as a child. He wasn’t even sure he could find his way to her room.

“Mother,” he managed again. “What is it?”

Mary blinked, waking herself up from a reverie. “Oh, I came to talk to you. Might I come in?”

“I… Of course. I am about to ring for my valet, though. My cravat is undone.”

Mary glanced at the wrinkled mess of linen at her son’s throat and sighed.

“I shall tie it for you.”

William blinked. “What?”

Mary slipped past him, stepping into the room. William closed the door after her, feeling as awkward as a child. He placed his hands behind his back, decided that it was a silly position, and after a moment, let them hang by his sides.

His mother went straight to the wardrobe, selecting a fresh-pressed piece of linen.

“Katherine spoke to me,” she said, after a pause. “I ought to be closer to my only daughter, I know that. Alexander’s wife – Abigail – says as much. I hold Abigail in high regard. She possesses a commendable sense and is remarkably considerate.”

William pressed his lips together. “Did you come here to tell me how much you prefer your daughter-in-law to your true daughter, Mother?”

That was entirely too sharp, and he could have bitten off his tongue as soon as the words were out. Mary, however, did not seem upset. She only came over to him, deftly untying the knot of his cravat and tossing the ruined linen again.

“My point,” she said, carefully sliding the fresh piece of linen around his neck, “is that Katherine rarely asks me for favours. Never, in fact. So, in light of Abigail’s rather stern advice, I have listened to Katherine carefully. I am here to speak to you about the matter of your marriage, William.”

He deflated. Of course, his mother had not simply come to see him. She had come to lecture him some more. Part of him longed to tell her that she had no need to worry about that, as he was engaged to Miss Bainbridge, and that was that. He couldn’t tell her, of course, as the secret engagement would quickly become public.

“I am not in the mood, Mother. Pray, from whence did you acquire the skill to don a cravat?” He observed, seeking to shift the discourse.

“My brother could never quite master it, and in our youth, we were rather impoverished. Our circumstances shifted, indeed, and quite dramatically, but for a time, we had to learn to attire ourselves and arrange our own coiffures. My brother would assist me in securing my tresses, and I would knot his cravat. It functioned admirably.”

William had never heard this before. He blinked down at his mother, wondering if he knew the woman at all.

“I… I had no idea, Mother.”

“Well, once we were married, your father never wanted me to talk about my old life. About the hardships we encountered. You see, your father married me because he thought I would make a good duchess. I was well-bred, of one of the oldest families in England. I was graceful, shy, thoughtful, beautiful. I did make a good duchess, so I suppose he chose wisely there. But I married him for love, and I thought things would work out in the end. Sometimes such marriages work. Mine, I suppose, did not.”

She let out a long, slow sigh. Her fingers worked deftly, manoeuvring the stiff linen into a simple, plain cravat knot, more than suitable for a dinner party with dancing afterwards.

“I never really stopped loving your father,” Mary continued, a slight frown appearing between her brows. “It would have been easier, I think, if I had, but one has so little control over these things. Marriage is a most intricate affair, William, even when one selects the most suitable partner. I daresay you may surmise the nature of my counsel.”

“Are you about to tell me to follow my heart, Mother?” William managed. His mouth had gone dry, and he had to put some effort in order to speak.

Mary made a little sound . “I am about to tell you to choose wisely . You aim to marry the Bainbridge girl? Very good, she’s a wise choice. She will make a fine duchess. But there must be more, William. Any woman can make a suitable wife, but more is required. More is always required. Do you have any intentions of pursuing Miss Lavinia?”

“Mother!”

“She is not at all suited for the role of duchess,” Mary continued, as if he had not spoken, “but she might learn, if your wish was to engage into matrimony with her.” If she had the same strong feelings for you that you had for her. There are many contingencies and considerations to a matrimonial union, William. You cannot simply pick a woman based on one or two qualities, or because you think you ought to pick her. I cannot make that decision for you. Neither can Katherine, or your brothers, or the Bainbridges. Only you can choose. And decisions you make, even in haste, will affect the rest of your life. But only if you let them. Do you understand?”

She stepped back, letting her hands drop. Feeling rather as if he were in a dream, William turned to look at himself in the mirror.

His cravat was knotted neatly, every bit as efficiently and cleverly as his valet had managed. He wanted to lift a hand to worry the linen between his fingertips but forced himself to keep his hands down.

“Thank you, Mother,” William managed at last. “For… for the advice, and for the cravat.”

She nodded. “I am not a complete failure of a mother, you see.”

He turned, smiling nervously. “You… your dress is very pretty, Mother. It rather reminds me of Lady Brennon’s gown.”

Mary smoothed it out with her hands, going pink. “Yes, I thought her gown looked pretty on her and I considered trying something like that for myself.”

“For what it’s worth – of course I have no say over your friends, Mother – I very much approve of this friendship with Lady Brennon. She is an excellent friend for you.”

Mary smiled shyly, almost like a woman decades younger.

“I do like her very much. It is pleasant to have a real friend again.”

“I wish you luck, Mother. Not that you need it, of course.”

She nodded and turned to go. Their conversation, it seemed, was over. William was sure that once his mother had left the room, they would go back to their usual, distant relationship, more like polite acquaintances than mother and son. But they would always have this, wouldn’t they? A neatly tied cravat and some well-worded advice.

Mary paused, one hand on the doorknob.

“Oh, there was something else, I nearly forgot. Katherine said that you’re to apologise to Miss Brookford. She said that you would know what that meant. What does it mean, William? I hope you haven’t insulted the girl.”

He bit back a smile. “Not exactly, but I do owe her an apology. Katherine is very astute. Would you kindly convey to Katherine, on my behalf, that if she does not cease her unwelcome interference in my affairs, I shall be compelled to take decisive action?”

Mary pursed her lips, face heavy with disapproval.

“No, William, I shall not tell her that. Do dress quickly and come on downstairs. And you must dance tonight – it will be expected of you.”

He nodded, ducking his head. “I will, Mother. And… and thank you. For everything.”

Mary gave a tiny nod and a tinier smile. Ducking out into the hallway and closing the door behind her, she disappeared.

William turned back to his own reflection, inspecting the cravat. For the first time, he wondered whether their family might be contacted again. While the old duke was alive, it was out of the question, but now…

A subject for later, he told himself firmly, smoothing down his hair. For now, concentrate on securing a duchess and your fortune, and then we can think about our extended family. It’s likely that they wouldn’t want anything to do with us, and I’m not sure I can blame them.

And then the supper-gong rang, and William cursed to himself and hurried out to join his guests.

***

There was to be music and dancing after dinner, and so the ballroom was filled with a flurry of activity. Servants were doing last-minute cleaning and dusting, polishing up the floors to a high shine, setting garlands and vases of flowers here and there.

William moved through the ballroom to check that all was in order, on his way to the dining room. Already, Miss Bainbridge had dropped hints about dancing with him. He would have to ask her. There was no sense in offending the Bainbridges, and one dance couldn’t hurt, surely?

Famous last words, he thought, hiding a smile. Miss Bainbridge was growing desperate. The fault was entirely his. He ought to be plain with her and decisive with himself. He should decide , and allow Miss Bainbridge or Miss Brookford to seek other husbands, and forget all about him.

I don’t deserve either of them, he thought miserably.

The preparations were all well in hand, and so he was obliged to exit the ballroom and head towards the dining room, where the rest of the guests were gathering. He could hear the laughter and chatter from all the way down the hall. Sighing, he put down his head and broke into a light jog. It wouldn’t do for him to be late, after all.

Then a woman in a pale lavender gown stepped out in front of him, head turned away. She was still fixing pins into her hair, a handful of pearl-topped decorative pins sticking out of her mouth. He narrowly avoided bumping into her.

It was, of course, Miss Brookford.

She turned around, an apology – and the pins – lingering on her lips, and the colour drained from her face when she saw him.

“Oh, your Grace,” she managed at last. “I do apologise. I didn’t see you there.”

“The fault is mine.”

She gave a brief nod, rapidly shoving the last of the pins into her hair and turned to leave.

“Stay a moment,” he blurted out, before he could stop himself.

She glanced back at him, expression guarded. “Is something amiss, your Grace?”

He drew in a breath. “Yes, there is something wrong. I… I was unaccountably rude to you at the picnic. I snubbed you, and you were nothing but friendly to me. I apologise.”

She bit her lip, searching his face for something. “It is quite acceptable. I harbour no ill feelings. I am not angry. You should not feel obliged…”

“I don’t feel obliged to do anything. I am sorry, Miss Brookford. I don’t know what possessed me. I… In fact, I planned to ask you whether you would dance with me tonight.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Oh. I did not expect… that is to say… I would be honoured to dance with you.”

He smiled, a little shaken by the strength of his relief. “I’m glad. Which sets do you have free?”

She inspected her dance card and let out a huff of laughter. “At the moment? All of them.”