Page 5 of The Burdened Duke (Willenshires #4)

Several Hours Previously

William was vaguely aware that it was his duty to go downstairs and greet guests alongside his mother. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he could face it at the moment. Besides, Mary loved this sort of formality and having him standing awkwardly at her side would not enhance her enjoyment.

He was striding along the hallway, lost in thought, when he heard his name called. His Christian name, no less.

Pausing, William glanced over his shoulder to find none other than Miss Bainbridge standing in a doorway, one hand hovering nervously on the doorknob, staring after him. She flashed a quick smile.

“There you are, your Grace. Have you a moment to spare? There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

He blinked. “I… what is the matter, Miss Bainbridge? I’m not sure it would be proper.”

“My maid is here,” she assured him. “It’s not improper.”

He wavered for a moment, instincts warning him to retire. But Miss Bainbridge looked… well, nervous . That was not like her at all. He bit back a sigh.

“Very well. I can spare five minutes.”

Smiling in relief, she gestured for him to follow her, which he did.

The room in question was a decently-sized one, set aside as a private parlour for the more honoured guests, which apparently the Bainbridges were. Miss Bainbridge seated herself in an armchair beside the fireplace, the promised maid smothering a yawn behind her seat.

“I want to talk to you about a delicate matter,” Miss Bainbridge said at last, indicating for him to sit opposite her.

“Oh?”

“You’ll recall that I spoke to you rather bluntly about… about future plans. Our future plans, to be precise.”

A shiver rolled down his spine. Miss Bainbridge wanted to marry him, that much was clear, but it was odd to encounter a woman quite so forthright about what she wanted.

“I remember,” he said at last.

She lifted an eyebrow. “And have you thought about it?”

He cleared his throat. “Briefly.”

“Mm-hm. The thing is, your Grace, I believe that you and I would be well-suited. You’re a sensible man, looking for a suitable wife, and I have a great deal to offer, as have you. Frankly, and I don’t mean this in a self-congratulatory way, I don’t believe you will find a better Duchess in Society this Season.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “You are a fine woman, Miss Bainbridge,” he answered, honestly enough. “But marriage is a serious thing, and not something to be rushed.”

She inclined her head. “I agree. However, we both know that you do not have the luxury of taking your time, your Grace.”

He flinched as if he’d been slapped, staring at her. “I beg your pardon?”

Miss Bainbridge bit back a sigh. “I must tell you that I know about the terms of your father’s will. You must marry within a year or lose your inheritance entirely.”

There was a brief silence.

“H-How do you know?” William stammered.

She had the grace to look a little ashamed. “My family knows many things, your Grace. For what it’s worth, I believe it is terrible for you to be in such a situation. However, there is no denying that you are in this situation, and that time is running out for you.”

He sagged back into the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No sense denying it, is there?” he muttered. “I’m a penniless duke. It is rather amusing, is it not?”

Miss Bainbridge hesitated, making an abortive movement forward, as if planning to lay a hand on his arm but changing her mind at the last moment.

“Railing against the way things are is a waste of time,” she said firmly. “A man like you might easily take several Seasons to choose a perfect Duchess, but of course you do not have that luxury. That is why I believe my proposal is the best for you. I wish to be Duchess of Dunleigh, and I know without doubt that I can fulfil the position perfectly. I should like us to come to some sort of agreement, or at least an understanding. And soon.”

He raised his eyes. “Are you asking me to marry you, Miss Bainbridge.”

She allowed herself a small, wry smile, leaning back in her chair to mimic his position.

“Why, yes, your Grace. I suppose I am.”

William was silent for a long moment. He did not love Miss Bainbridge, that was clear, but what did it matter? He would never have the chance to fall in love. There simply wasn’t time, and he was not the sort of man who fell in love, in any case.

Almost without thinking, he moved his hand to his pocket to touch the locket that sat there, the locket that was no closer to being returned to his owner.

He whisked his hand away, angry at himself for being so silly.

I must marry. I have duties. Surely Miss Bainbridge, with her logical thinking and cool manners, is the best choice!

“I accept,” he heard himself say. “I accept your proposal, Miss Bainbridge.”

Her face lit up. “Excellent. There is no need to make an announcement anytime soon. We can wait until after the house party is done, and then Society will believe that we formed an attachment here. Marriages of convenience are the norm, but the ton will expect us to pretend it is a love match. It is annoying, but there it is.”

He nodded, feeling as if his head were underwater, ears full and head ringing.

“I shall leave the announcement to your discretion,” he said at last, rising unsteadily to his feet.

Engaged. I’m engaged. I have just gotten engaged to Miss Victoria Bainbridge.

He stumbled towards the door, suddenly eager to leave the room at once, keen to get out as soon as possible. He yanked open the door, and found himself face to face with a beautiful, surprised-looking young woman.

No, not any young woman.

Miss Lavinia Brookford. The woman he had met at the party a lifetime ago, the owner of the locket he held in his pocket.

Recognition flashed over her face.

“Your Grace,” she gasped.

What have I done? William thought, fingers tightening on the doorknob. What have I done ?

***

Later, That Day, Shortly Before Suppertime

William’s head was pounding. He wasn’t entirely sure when his headache had arrived, but it was fairly sure it was during his conversation with Miss Bainbridge. William reviewed the conversation he had had with Miss Bainbridge only a few hours ago. He kept thinking of Miss Brookford, too, and hated the way his chest tightened at the thought of her.

I should have reviewed my mother’s guest list, then I would have seen her name. I would have known. I would have been prepared. I fear that I have made a rather serious mistake.

Would he have accepted Miss Bainbridge’s proposal if he had known he would meet Lavinia Brookford at last?

The plain answer was, quite simply, no.

It was too late for a change of heart, though. He was more or less engaged to Miss Bainbridge. While there was only herself and her maid to witness the exchange, no gentleman would go back on his word in such a matter.

William eyed his reflection impassively. His valet was gone, the man’s work done, and the party downstairs was already underway. His mother was in charge of it all, naturally, and dinner would be a truly marvellous event. There would be dancing first, though, to allow people to work up an appetite for the supper.

Or something like that. William did not intend to dance before dinner. Not much, at least. He would be expected to stand up at least once, and the question of who he would dance with would be on everybody’s lips.

Katherine would be a perfect solution – dancing with one’s sister, assuming it wasn’t a waltz or anything improper, was a good way to avoid showing attention to any lady in particular – but she had already mentioned that she would not be dancing tonight.

His mother wouldn’t be dancing – and if she did, not with him – and so that meant that William would have to choose a partner from among the ladies staying at their house.

Who to choose, though?

Miss Bainbridge was here, of course. She’d greeted him with a cool, disinterested smile and glided off with her family earlier on. There were half a dozen or so other young ladies, all pretty and young and looking for husbands, and even the most obtuse man could have read hope in the looks they shot at him.

As he’d known she would, Miss Lavinia Brookford fought her way to the front of his mind. He would have known that she would be here, naturally if he had reviewed the invitations.

And, of course, it was ideal for returning the necklace.

Aware that he was only postponing the moment he had to go downstairs and join his guests, William wandered over to his wardrobe, opening the drawer that held his various jewels. The little muslin-wrapped parcel lay in the corner, and he carefully unfolded it to reveal the glinting silvery locket.

Miss Brookford’s locket.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to return it to her now. He could slip it into his pocket, go downstairs, and find her.

“Here you are, Miss Brookford,” he would say, airily handing her the necklace. “I believe this is yours?”

She would stare at it, surprised, and then glance up at him.

“ Oh! Thank you! I feared I had misplaced this treasured item. Pray, might I inquire how you came by it?”

“ Ah, I believe it slipped from your possession and, upon noticing it, I took the liberty of retrieving it with the intention of returning it to you.”

“ But how, pray tell, did you ascertain that it belonged to me? We have not been introduced, as you rightly noted. Might you not have entrusted it to our host instead? For how long, if I may ask, have you held onto this necklace?”

Of course, he had no answers to those very good and relevant questions.

And then it would be over. The locket returned, he could put Miss Brookford out of his mind and concentrate on the much more pressing matter of his impending marriage.

Assuming, of course, that he could choose a suitable bride.

No.

William set the wrapped necklace back into the drawer, closing it firmly. He would return the locket, of course he would, but not just yet. He would see how things stood between Miss Brookford and him, and he would choose his moment. As if he’d forgotten all about the locket until now.

He certainly would not tell her he’d hired a private investigator to discover who the necklace belonged to.

Glancing at the clock on his mantelpiece, William bit back a sigh. No more delays. He would really have to attend the gathering now.

***

The party was in full swing. William did not recognize half of the guests – his mother’s friends, no doubt – but they all seemed to know him. He weaved his way through the ballroom, suddenly keen for a deep glass of brandy. Or wine, or whiskey, or just about anything to take the edge off the evening.

There were countless eyes on him, itching at the back of his neck and making him squirm. William hated being looked at, and hated having to pretend that he did not care even more. Ladies and gentlemen alike were eyeing him, no doubt whispering about how serious he seemed, whether he would turn out to be the same sort of tyrant as his father. Who would he marry? Would he marry? Would any woman take the risk? Rich, young, and handsome he was, but his father was all of those things once upon a time.

Oh, yes, William read the scandal sheets diligently. He was aware of what was said about him, and the opinions the world held of his father. Accurate opinions, for the most part, but now they were being applied liberally to him.

He noticed young ladies eyeing him thoughtfully, taking in his well-dressed form and broad shoulders, thick hair and good, even features.

They weren’t seeing him, though. They were seeing the dukedom, the fine house, and the money they imagined that awaited them if they engaged into matrimony with the Duke.

It was a relief when a familiar face materialized out of the crowds, heading his way.

“Good evening, brother,” Alexander said, grinning. “You look lost.”

“I detest soirees.”

“Don’t we all. Well, I don’t, but Abigail is deeply uncomfortable. Come, let us take a walk around the room.”

William would have much preferred to find a quiet corner and sit unnoticed, but that was unlikely to happen. Abruptly, Alexander nudged him, nodding.

“Observe, there stands Mother’s acquaintance, Lady Brennon or some such appellation. She is a most amiable lady, and it warms my heart to witness Mother cultivating new friendships. Her daughters appear to be of fine character as well. The eldest approached Abigail with the utmost friendliness and engaged her in conversation without hesitation. Abigail seems quite enchanted.”

William felt as though his chest were tightening. Glancing over to where Alexander pointed, he saw the three women enter the ballroom.

Lady Brennon walked in front, head held high, wearing a blue gown which hadn’t been in fashion for at least three years, although it suited her well. Her two daughters came behind her.

The youngest girl, Miss Gillian, was wearing the newest and prettiest gown. It was a shade of pale lilac – pastels were in this Season, if William was not mistaken – and the ruffled, airy style suited her very well, complimenting her honey-gold hair. Several gentlemen threw her appraising, approving glances as she passed by.

But William’s eye was drawn, not to the sweet and beautiful Miss Gillian, but her older sister.

Miss Lavinia Brookford wore a green gown that belonged to last year’s styles, sleeves too long and heavy to suit a ballroom. The colour made her red hair glow like fire, so that one barely noticed its simple style. She kept her head up, gaze raking through the ballroom, meeting the eyes of gentlemen and ladies alike squarely.

The music suddenly started up in earnest, making William jump. There was a flurry of excitement, with gentlemen and ladies pairing off and taking their places on the dance floor.

As he watched, a gentleman approached the two Brookford girls, bowing and making his introductions. To William’s surprise, he seemed to be asking Miss Gillian to dance, instead of her older sister.

Miss Gillian demurred, glancing up at her sister for instruction. Miss Lavinia gave the tiniest of nods, and Miss Gillian turned back to the man with a shy smile.

He led her off, leaving Miss Lavinia to stand alongside her mother, arms folded. She seemed to recollect that her arms were folded, which was not proper for a lady, and unwillingly untangled her arms, letting them hang by her side. She discreetly checked the clock above the mantelpiece, and William bit back a wry smile.

An elbow dug into his ribs, waking him up from his reverie.

“It is impolite to stare,” Alexander said pointedly, lifting his eyebrows.

William flushed. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about.”

“You most certainly do. Miss Lavinia. You’ve stared at her like you’re seeing a ghost. Are you shocked by her unfashionable gown, or do you admire her?”

“Neither.”

“Hmph. Well, are you going to dance? It’s the first dance to open the ball, and to start off Mother’s ball. You ought to dance. Why not ask Miss Lavinia? Mr. Hasselford just asked her younger sister to dance instead of her, which is rather rude in my opinion.”

“I’m sure Miss Lavinia is not offended. Mr. Hasselford is a simpleton.”

“That’s a fair observation. Nevertheless, you ought to make inquiry of her. She has not signified an interest in you, and as she is nearly a spinster, it is likely her ambitions do not extend in your direction. No one will raise an eyebrow should you choose to ask her.”

William wavered. Could he ask her? Should he ask her?

And then Alexander hissed between his teeth, nudging him again.

“Wait a moment. Miss Bainbridge is coming our way.”

The woman in question slipped quietly through the crowds, small and unobtrusive among the frilly pastel gowns around her. She wore a simple dress in a deep blue, flattering but hardly eye-catching. Miss Bainbridge had an interesting face, round and even featured, with large blue eyes and dark hair dressed in a somewhat austere style, with a pair of round spectacles perched on her nose.

“Your Grace,” she said, making a neat curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, Miss Bainbridge.”

Many ladies took their mammas along with them when it came to approaching gentlemen. The rules for women were much more austere than that for men – the idea of pressing oneself on a gentleman’s notice was rather disgusting for ladies, and that involved talking to a man who had not expressed interest in speaking to her first.

It seemed ridiculous to William. He remembered all of these rules from when Katherine was younger, and their father was making a valiant effort to compress his daughter into the social mould for young women. Katherine, naturally, did not fit, despite him applying all of his force.

Most other ladies submitted, and he couldn’t particularly blame them. However, Miss Bainbridge struck him as a woman who had politely refused to become the model of a Proper Young Lady, and quietly went on her own way.

Miss Lavinia also seemed like that sort of woman, albeit a little louder about her nonconformity than Miss Bainbridge.

Miss Bainbridge was also much richer, and money meant that people would forgive almost everything.

Alexander greeted Miss Bainbridge, drawing William back to the present.

“My congratulations on your marriage, Lord Willenshire,” Miss Bainbridge said, voice cool and even. “Miss Abigail Atwater was an unusual choice.”

Alexander visibly bristled. “Unusual? Why, because she has no dowry?”

Miss Bainbridge allowed herself the tiniest of smiles. “I only came to offer congratulations.”

“Right. Well, thank you. I shall pass your congratulations on to Abigail.”

He made his excuses, shooting a significant look at his older brother, and melted away into the crowd. Miss Bainbridge watched him go, eyes narrowed.

“Your brother appears to be thriving,” she remarked, as if seamlessly continuing a discussion from earlier.

“He is,” William said, feeling protective for a reason he could not quite identify.

“He has drunk nothing but water and lemonade all night.”

Ah. That was what she was getting at. William cleared his throat. “Yes, I believe Alexander avoids alcohol these days. He said he has lost the taste for it.”

“I imagine we have Miss Atwater to thank for that? Forgive me, I ought to call her Lady Willenshire, but there are two of them now. You have an extensive family.”

William fidgeted. “Yes, I do.”

She smiled thinly up at him. If she could sense his discomfort, she did not care. Her round spectacles glinted in the copious candlelight, making it difficult to read the expression in her eyes.

“You are not dancing, your Grace.”

“Neither are you.”

She laughed at that. “Then I assume you know why I’m here. Tell me, your Grace, have you thought at all about our discussion?”

He cleared his throat, her stare burning into him.

“I… I’m not sure that is something we should discuss.”

“Oh, come, your Grace. Being demure does not suit you. I’ll be frank in a way you will not benefit from again in this society. Everyone is musing and conversing about your forthcoming nuptials. Every unmarried lady present envisions herself as the Duchess of Dunleigh. You would indeed make an exemplary husband, and every woman perceives it. You could readily have your choice, and all are acutely aware of it. That, sadly, signifies that every action you undertake, every word you utter, is subject to scrutiny. Should you be unduly careless, you may find yourself ensnared by some enterprising young lady, all but coerced into matrimony.”

He eyed her for a moment. “I imagine I know what that feels like.”

She allowed herself a small smile. “Why not exercise what little agency you have left? Announce your bride, before Society chooses one for you.”

He sighed. “Has anyone ever told you, Miss Bainbridge, that you are a terrifying young woman?”

“On several occasions, yes,” she answered, without missing a beat. “Now, to business.”

“This discussion was not business?”

“Certainly not. It was free advice, which I do not usually hand out. No, I see that the dancing is beginning. You’ll be expected to dance, your Grace.”

“Yes, I know. I have to ask a lady to dance, and I am paralysed by indecision.”

Unbidden, his gaze wandered over to where Miss Brookford stood beside her mother. A gentleman was speaking to her now, a man he did not recognize. They were just talking at the moment, but no doubt he’d ask her to dance in a moment.

William’s heart sank, and then sank further at the realization that he was disappointed.

“Come, your Grace,” Miss Bainbridge said, intent gaze landing squarely on William’s face. “Ask me to dance, won’t you? It’s what expected of us both, I believe.”

She offered a small smile, wry and meaningful.

She doesn’t want to dance either, he thought, the inevitability settling over him like a heavy blanket. And yet we both have to.

“Miss Bainbridge,” he said, offering his arm with a flourish, “will you dance with me?”

She affected surprise. “Goodness, your Grace, what a surprise! But yes, I shall dance with you.”

Arm in arm, they moved towards the dance floor. He did not allow himself to look back at Miss Brookford.