Page 4 of The Burdened Duke (Willenshires #4)

“We’re almost there. We’re almost there!”

“Oh, dear! Gillian, have a care! Don’t bounce up and down so. You’re crushing my gown.”

Lavinia pressed herself a little tighter against the side of the carriage, trying to ignore the bickering of her mother and sister.

Their carriage was an old one, built to smaller proportions than its modern equivalents. While technically suitable for four, it was a tight squeeze inside, made tighter by the countless bandboxes and bags Lady Brennon and Gillian had insisted upon bringing. It was a landau, more suited to summer-time pleasure drives, but their finances indicated that they use it all the time and pretend it was out of preference.

They were dressed in their best clothes, of course, which meant discomfort and voluminous skirts to manage. One had to make a good impression, after all.

Lavinia sat alongside her father, who was notably silent, lost in his newspaper. She supposed that he would spend most of their stay trying to be invisible, locked away in libraries and in card-rooms, or eating quietly at the dinner table.

She wished she could similarly go unnoticed, though of course not into the card-rooms.

They had passed vast, green fields, all part of the extensive Willenshire estate, and several fields were full of beautiful horses, which Lavinia craned her neck to see as they went by.

I bet I won’t get a chance to ride during our stay here. The gentlemen will ride, I daresay, and the ladies will have to resign themselves to walks.

“Do we know whether the Duke will be here this week?” Lavinia found herself saying.

She earned herself an odd look from her mother. “I should think so. It is his house.”

“I thought it belonged to the dowager.”

“No, of course not. He is the duke, so it is his property. The Dowager has not said anything, but it’s fair to assume he will be present. I intend to introduce Gillian to him – rumour has it the Duke is looking for a wife this Season.”

Lavinia glanced over at her sister, who smiled weakly at her. Some of her excitement had drained away, perhaps at the reminder that this week was not a holiday, but a serious excursion for her to collect a suitable husband. Lavinia wished she was close enough to take her sister’s hand and squeeze it.

The carriage took a turn, and began to climb up a steep, gravelled drive, winding through exquisite gardens. Their path led up towards a large, sprawling building in the Grecian style, with white stone and tall, thick pillars.

They were not the first guests to arrive, of course. Several carriages in varying styles and levels of fashion stood around on the paved courtyard in front of the house, with footmen, valets, and ladies’ maids darting to and fro, unloading bags and boxes and trunks.

As the carriage slowed to a halt, they passed an exquisitely dressed trio, an older man and woman and a dark-haired young woman with spectacles. The bespectacled woman eyed them curiously as they went by.

Lady Brennon let out a most unladylike curse, earning a shocked stare from her family.

“That’s Miss Bainbridge,” she said sourly, folding her arms tight across her chest. “One of the richest women in England, and a conniving little miss into the bargain. She’s making a play for the Duke, I just know it.”

Gillian sank back into her seat, looking worried.

“She’s not as pretty as Gillian,” Lavinia spoke up, not sure why she was getting involved at all. “And gentlemen don’t like clever women, do they? That’s what you always say, Mama. Miss Bainbridge looks entirely too clever for the Duke.”

Lady Brennon gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Lord Brennon chuckled, shaking his head.

“Careful, Lavinia. That indicates of bitterness.”

Lavinia blushed hotly, the curse of all redheads. “I am not bitter , Papa. I am realistic.”

“As you say, dear, as you say.”

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of a set wide marble steps, and serious-faced footmen in immaculate livery hurried forward to open the doors.

Lavinia was the first one out, to give Gillian time to rearrange and shake out her skirts before emerging into the light.

And, of course, she was closest to the door.

Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Lavinia waited impatiently for her family to manoeuvre themselves out of the carriage. She noticed that the grand steps were immaculate – not a smudge or streak of dirt or dust clung to the fine marble – and found herself wondering how many unfortunate maids had been set to scrubbing those very steps.

And then at last Gillian came tumbling out of the carriage, red-faced and crumpled despite their best efforts, and there was nothing to do but climb the shining marble steps and greet their host.

Ahead, the Bainbridges were just taking their leave, heading towards the wide, red-carpeted staircase, flanked by a small army of servants which they had no doubt brought themselves.

Lavinia thought uneasily of the servants they had brought – Hannah, who served as a head maid and often helped the girls and Lady Brennon dress, and Thomas, a manservant – and hoped they wouldn’t look too shabby. Was everybody bringing their own servants?

She recognized the Dowager Duchess at once. She was a thin, hollow-looking woman with lank curls and a sense of having been drained of colour and energy. She wore a rich velvet gown, black of course, trimmed with a profusion of lace, pearls, and silver beads. No doubt her gown cost more than Lavinia’s and Gillian’s put together, but it had the effect of making her seem thinner and frailer than ever.

Still, the smile on her face was genuine.

“Lady Brennon! What a delight!” she cooed, coming forward, hands outstretched. “And these must be your lovely daughters. I am afraid I was not already acquainted with them, but I look forward to getting to know you all better!”

“These are my daughters, Miss Lavinia Brookford and Miss Gillian Brookford.”

They curtsied in tandem. The Dowager smiled benignly at them, gaze skipping over Lavinia and dwelling on Gillian.

“My, what a beauty, Lady Brennon! You must be proud. Her prospects, I should think, are very good.”

Lady Brennon said something grateful. Lavinia didn’t bother to ask for clarification on which daughter the Dowager meant.

“Go straight on upstairs, girls,” the Dowager said, beaming. “You’ll be shown to your rooms, and you can settle in directly.”

They curtsied again, murmuring thanks, and then Lavinia and Gillian were left to sweep away up the wide staircase, deferential servants passing them with downcast eyes.

How am I going to manage? Lavinia thought bleakly. I hate this place already.

A straight-backed housekeeper led them along the carpeted hallways, never once glancing back or addressing them. Gillian followed along after the woman, gaze fixed straight ahead, but Lavinia lingered.

“Where do all these doors go to?” she asked once, calling to the housekeeper. The housekeeper was by this time a good way ahead, faltered, turning back with a vague expression of annoyance.

“Bedchambers, morning rooms, one or two upstairs parlours, and so on, Miss,” she answered shortly. “The upstairs rooms are seldom used by guests, beyond their rooms, of course. Generally, the unused rooms are kept locked.”

A not-so-subtle hint. Gillian nodded earnestly shooting her sister a look which probably meant pray, stop the questions .

Lavinia, of course, was not listening.

Why shouldn’t I explore a little? I’ll likely never stay in such a fine house again, so I might as well make the most of it.

She was already trailing behind, and it was the work of a moment to slow her steps until she was out of sight entirely. Turning around, Lavinia eyed one door in particular, the one which had attracted her attention almost immediately.

It was a huge doorway, arched, with a heavy wooden door and a sparkling brass knob. There was, amusingly, a door-knocker on the outside, shaped classically, a lion with a knocker in its mouth.

She paused, straining her ears, but could hear nothing from inside.

The guests have only just started arriving, she told herself. I doubt this room is occupied yet. Perhaps not at all. If it is, I can always say that I got lost. If it’s not to be used, well, then, it will be locked, won’t it?

She reached out for the brass doorknob, shivering a little at her own daring.

Just a peek won’t hurt.

And then the door abruptly whisked open, leaving Lavinia blinking in the doorway, hand still outstretched for the doorknob.

She found herself staring directly at a nicely folded cravat, sitting atop a yellow waistcoat which stretched across a rather broad chest of a remarkably tall man.

And then Lavinia risked a glance up, and all but wilted.

The man towering over her was the most handsome gentleman she’d ever seen in her life. He was tall, as mentioned, with broad shoulders, a strong chest, and a square-jawed, even-featured face. He had olive skin, thick dark hair, and dazzling green eyes.

He was also rather familiar. Oh, yes. Lavinia had met him before, on the balcony of a party some months ago, when she’d talked with a man under most improper circumstances and talked freely and openly about subjects that ladies were not meant to discuss.

She had assumed that the man – a stranger – would not know her again or remember her. More to the point, that she would not meet him again.

“Your Grace,” she gasped, realizing with a rush just who exactly this man was.

Goodness, this will be a longer and more humiliating stay than I imagined.

The Duke of Dunleigh peered down at her, face impassive. Did he recognize her? It was impossible to stay. Either way, Lavinia’s heart was thundering.

Was he this handsome last time I met him?

“I believe you have the advantage of me,” the Duke said at last, after a few seconds of taut silence.

She cleared her throat. “I am Miss Brookford. Miss Lavinia Brookford. I…we… my sister and I just arrived with our family.”

A flicker of recognition passed over his face, hastily muffled.

“Miss Brookford,” he said, inclining his head.

There was movement behind him, and Lavinia glanced over his broad shoulder into the room. It was a little sitting room, she could see now, and a young woman sat in a chair by an unlit fire, a maid hovering behind her.

Miss Bainbridge, Lavinia realised with a rush. Of course, Miss Bainbridge is here to see my humiliation.

“I… I was just exploring,” Lavinia stammered, feeling colour rush to her cheeks. “I wondered what was behind all of these doors, you see.”

“I see,” the Duke echoed. His expression did not shift. Behind him, Miss Bainbridge smiled unkindly.

“This is a private parlour for myself and my family, as the Duke arranged” she said, a smirk playing across her lips. “Would you like to come in and take a look around?”

Lavinia’s face was beet red now. “I…”

She was saved from further humiliation by hurrying footsteps along the hallway.

“Lavvy, where did you go… oh.”

Gillian came scuttling around the corner, followed by the housekeeper, and pulled up short at the sight of the duke.

“Your Grace,” the housekeeper gasped. “Forgive me, I had not realised that Miss Brookford had fallen behind.”

He only shook his head. “It’s of no matter. Miss Brookford, do please introduce your sister.”

Aware that she was failing in her duties as well as humiliating herself, Lavinia introduced Gillian at once.

The Duke bowed to each of them but made no motion to grasp their hands and bestow a kiss upon them.

Lavinia was thoroughly relieved. She had stripped off her gloves the moment she walked into the house, which perhaps had been a trifle presumptuous.

You are not at home, she reminded herself. You cannot be informal, fool.

“I shall take the ladies to their room now,” the housekeeper said, “and leave Miss Bainbridge and you to your conversation, your Grace.”

Something passed over his face, something tight and pained, but the expression disappeared so quickly that Lavinia was not entirely sure she had really seen it at all.

“No need,” he said brusquely. “I am just leaving.”

The housekeeper nodded and shot a baleful glare at Lavinia.

“Come, Miss Brookford, Miss Gillian. Shall we?”

***

“Well,” Gillian announced, parading around their new room with her hands on her hips. “Well .”

“It is pretty, is it not?” Lavinia admitted, settling herself on the long, padded window seat. She was still reeling from their meeting with the Duke himself.

Could I possibly have humiliated myself even more? Ugh, I am mortified. Imagine, caught “exploring” in the man’s own house. What must he think of me?

“Pretty? Just pretty ? This is the most beautiful bedchamber I have ever seen. And this is a guest room, Lavvy! Look at this carpeting! Look at the silk! And the bed…! Goodness, we won’t even notice that we’re sharing with each other.”

Lavinia smiled to herself.

The bedchamber they were shown to was larger than their parlour back home, dominated by a truly vast four-poster bed, draped in silk and satin and covered with brocaded curtains. The windows were huge, a glinting chandelier full of candles hung from the ceiling, and the carpets were so plush and deep that Lavinia thought she could have comfortably slept on the floor instead of the bed.

Their room overlooked the gardens at the back of the house, and she could see distant fields behind the manicured lawns. It was the perfect landscape for riding. From this angle, one would scarcely believe they were so close to the centre of Bath, with all its bustle and Society.

“We must see the Roman Baths,” Gillian said, throwing herself backwards onto the bed and stretching out her arms with a sigh, “and I imagine we shall visit the Pump Room quite a few times. Everybody does in Bath, you know.”

“Not everybody. Just rich people, like us.”

“You mean Society ?”

“I suppose one could say that.”

Gillian propped herself up on her elbows, sighing. “You don’t seem pleased, Lavinia. Do take care to temper your advances with the Duke, if you please. He may not appreciate such forwardness.”

Lavinia sniffed. “I do not hold much regard for the Duke's preferences, whether they be favourable or adverse."

“Indeed, you ought to consider them. It is, after all, his dwelling.

“How many houses does a single gentleman require? And why, I ask, should one be so grand in its design? I daresay he has never even ventured into this chamber, for instance.”

“Lavinia!” Gillian gasped, sitting upright and blushing. “Why are you imagining the Duke coming into our room?”

“I’m not… oh, it does not matter.”

Lavinia shifted to lean against the window. The room, despite its high, wide windows, was cool. She wished she could feel the sun on her skin outside.

Movement in one of the distant paddocks caught her eye. Squinting, Lavinia pressed her forehead against the glass.

There was a horse out there. Just one single horse, galloping round and round in wide circles under the watchful eye of a groom.

It was the most beautiful horse she had ever seen. He – she was sure it was a stallion – was bigger even than Stepper, with a glossy black hide and a long, flowing black mane. Its neck was beautifully arched, and muscles rippled under that smooth coat.

What I wouldn’t give to ride that horse. I bet it’s the duke’s own beast. I daresay he never rides it himself but won’t let anyone else touch it. Great men can be so very selfish.

She was jerked out of her reverie and entirely unfounded opinions on the duke by Gillian throwing a cushion at her.

“Stop gawping out of the window,” Gillian commanded. “There’s going to be a fine dinner and probably dancing this evening, so we should start getting ready.”