Читать книгу The Duke's Unexpected Bride - Lara Temple, Lara Temple - Страница 9

Chapter Two

Max watched the young woman until she disappeared into the entrance of Number Forty-Eight and then glanced down at his sister with the remnants of amusement in his eyes.

‘That proves it. Madness is clearly heritable, Hetty.’

His sister laughed again and shook her head as they turned and continued heading eastwards towards Brook Street.

‘Nonsense, Max, I doubt that girl or Lady Huntley are any madder than I. Lady Huntley has just given herself over to the enjoyment of being a famous recluse and eccentric. From what I gather from my maid she is kept fully up to date on all London gossip. And that young woman is probably just bored to tears and happy to talk with anyone if she is the latest of Lady Huntley’s relatives commandeered to attend to her. Really, that woman seems to have more cousins and indigent relatives than anyone I have ever seen. Even with her fortune, if she ever does have to divide it up among them, there won’t be more than a pittance apiece.’

‘Perhaps this latest helpmate is hopeful Mad Minnie’s canines will win her exclusivity on the Huntley fortune. She certainly seems quite happy conversing with that...dog, if you can even call it that. She almost had me convinced he knew what she was talking about.’

‘You are such a cynic, Max. I don’t doubt I’d be reduced to talking to the dogs if I had to spend more than a day in there. I heard Lady Huntley sometimes doesn’t speak to these relations at all, just sends them commands through her butler. And once she sent one of them away on the night mail with only twenty minutes’ warning! I can’t imagine what would happen to that poor child if she lost Mad Minnie’s favourite pug.’

‘She’d probably find herself locked in the cellars, or worse. But I would think she would be grateful to be evicted, even if it is by the night-mail coach. And she’s hardly a child. I would say twenty-three or four.’

Hetty snorted in a very unladylike manner. ‘Of course I wouldn’t dispute the verdict of the connoisseur of all things female. Are you certain you cannot fix the date more accurately? Or wasn’t she beautiful enough to merit that degree of examination?’

‘Don’t be snide, Hetty. She was tolerable, but I don’t favour pert little country misses, not even ones of her undisputed originality. Far too tiring.’

Hetty sighed.

‘You don’t favour anyone, Max dear. Please try and be a bit more positive when we reach Lady Carmichael. She and Lady Penny won’t know what to do with your biting comments. Do behave!’

Max stopped himself from uttering just such a comment about his sister’s current offering for potential spouse. He should really learn to reserve judgement. After all, he had only spoken to Lady Penny once, at a very tedious evening at Almack’s, and he should hardly be surprised if all she had to say for herself was a sampling of the same inanities which young women felt were expected of them in such occasions. And to be fair, she did appear to be, as Hetty pointed out, a pretty, sweet and modest young woman from an excellent family. She would do very well as Duchess of Harcourt and mother of his heirs. And if she really was too boring, Hetty had promised she had three other candidates in mind.

And most of all he should show Hetty some gratitude for being willing to help him fulfil his highly regretted but inescapable promise. The thought of going through the forest of debutantes and potentially marriageable women on his own was more daunting than any military campaign he had ever undertaken. He would almost be willing to face Napoleon again rather than an endless row of Wednesday evenings at Almack’s. And that meant he needed Hetty’s help. She had been by far the most socially adept of his five sisters and until her marriage six years ago she had known everyone who was anyone in the upper ten thousand of London.

‘That is twice I’ve been called to heel today, Hetty. Have pity,’ he replied with a rueful smile.

She chuckled.

‘That was funny! And she did manage to bring a Duke to heel even if it was only you and not the pug. If I ever feel the need to take you down a peg, I shall share that story with your friends. Everyone takes you far too seriously.’

‘If you do, I might be forced to remember some of your more embarrassing escapades from our childhood,’ Max warned. ‘That was bad enough, but to liken that fur ball to Napoleon on St Helena is carrying eccentricity too far. That peculiar girl obviously has no town sense to be talking to strangers like that. She’ll get into trouble.’

Hetty waited until they had crossed Mount Street before replying.

‘I do feel sorry for her. She seemed so eager to talk. Perhaps I should be brave and introduce myself while I am in town. You know I always wanted an excuse to cross the portals of the Huntley mausoleum.’

Max smiled down at her.

‘You’ve a soft heart, Hetty. But remember what happened to Mother when she went to visit Mad Minnie after Lord Huntley died? Are you sure you want to risk a similar rebuff?’

‘Pooh, that was years and years ago. And Mama never had the slightest notion of tact and certainly no sympathy so I’m hardly surprised she was sent packing. You’re just scared of Mad Minnie.’

They stopped in front of the elegant town house on the corner of Brook Street and Max sighed with resignation.

‘Frankly, I would prefer to spend the afternoon with Mad Minnie rather than at Lady Carmichael’s. I wish I had never promised Father I would marry within ten years. Thirty-one seemed like a hell of a long time away back then and a fair price to pay to get his approval to join Wellington in Spain.’

Hetty considered. ‘I think he might have let you enlist even if you hadn’t. I know what Harcourt meant to Papa, but he was a stickler for duty and he saw nothing wrong in your wanting to serve your country. He just wanted to make certain you married eventually. I think he was afraid you might not...after what happened with Serena...’

Max stiffened involuntarily and her voice trailed off.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned her,’ she said contritely.

He shrugged, trying to relax the tension that always took hold when anything brought back memories of Serena. He would have happily traded quite a bit of his worldly goods for a magical remedy that could slice off that year of his life. His father, as stiff as always, had made one of his rare attempts at being paternal and supportive when he had offered him the trite ‘time heals all wounds’ aphorism. But though time had dulled the pain and guilt and all the other emotions he had tried to escape by drowning in the horrors of war, he didn’t feel healed. Just muted. Older and wiser. Another cliché.

He could vaguely remember the excitement that Serena’s beauty and vivacity had sparked in him, but just as he remembered his favourite childhood books—intense but distant, not quite real. More powerful were the feelings that gradually took their place—confusion, resentment, helplessness. Hatred. She had definitely widened his emotional repertoire. And each time something evoked her memory he still flinched involuntarily and the throb of guilt came back, proof that there was still a core of poison inside him that refused to dissipate. He grimaced at the thought. A poor choice of words...

‘It was a long time ago. It almost seems as if it happened to someone else. As for Father, whatever his motives, I was too shocked that he agreed to let me go to Spain to even consider negotiating his terms.’

‘You know, you don’t have to marry if you don’t want to. I mean...surely he wouldn’t expect you to hold to a promise if it is something you—’ She broke off as she met his gaze. ‘Oh, dear, of course he would. Poor Papa. But he’s dead and so—’ She broke off again. ‘I forget who I am talking to. Of course you will hold to it.’

Max forced a smile. He wished he had it in him to break his promise as she suggested, but he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t. It hadn’t been an idle, arbitrary promise. He might never have felt very close to his father, but the previous Duke of Harcourt had done a very good job inculcating him with a sense of what they owed to their position and the people who depended on them. The Duchy was not theirs individually, but theirs in trust. Fulfilling his duties wasn’t just a matter of honour; it was a matter of practical concern for hundreds of people who depended on their properties. His father had allowed him to put that on the line by joining the army because he had been clever enough to understand that Max had needed to get away from the setting of his tragedy, but he had made it clear that every indulgence came at a price and he had chosen this particular price with a sense of evening out the scales.

And Max couldn’t really find fault with his father’s concern. He might have chafed at his parents’ constraints as a child and even fantasised that he had been stolen as a baby from the Shepstons, a warm family of fishermen from Port Jacob on Harcourt land who had often taken him fishing with them, but he was a Harcourt after all. He would not let something as important as the succession be completely subverted by his and Serena’s mistakes. There was nothing wrong in principle with a marriage of convenience. He and his parents had just miscalculated, royally, about Serena’s suitability.

Max hadn’t even wanted to get engaged so young, whatever his father’s concerns about the succession, but his father had cleverly not pushed the point, merely invited Lord Morecombe and his daughter to join them in London. The first time he had seen her she had been dressed in a bright yellow dress, bursting with excitement at finally being released from school, her dark eyes hot and focused with an intensity that was completely foreign to him. He had agreed to the engagement the very next day and had sealed their fate. Serena had gulped at life and kept demanding more and at first it had been exhilarating, utterly different from anything he had ever allowed himself. He should have known they were just too different. Part of him had, but by the time he had stopped to think it was too late. This time he would be more careful. What was the point of making mistakes, especially monumental ones, if you didn’t learn from them?

‘It’s not so bad, Hetty,’ he said at last. ‘I have to marry eventually; I might as well get it over with.’

‘It isn’t something one can simply get over with!’ she said with unusual asperity. ‘You will be stuck with your choice for the rest of your life, you know!’

‘Only too well. So I will do my best to choose someone comfortable and conformable. Even if it weren’t for the promise, I think I would have a very hard time leaving the succession to Uncle Mortimer and Cousin Barnaby and they certainly wouldn’t thank me for it.’

‘They would make dreadful Dukes, wouldn’t they? How did Mortimer put it? That the Duchy was hanging over them like a swarm of locusts about to descend upon his beloved gardens.’

Max sighed and headed up the stairs to strike the knocker.

‘Right now it does feel like one of the plagues of Egypt. Or one of those fairy tales with a cursed treasure where the genie informs you you’ve had your fun and must now pay the piper. But you’re right; I can’t have the whole of the Harcourt estate depending on them. No steward would be able to withstand the destructive capabilities of those two well-meaning idiots. They’d have all the tenants put off so they could grow a dozen different breeds of lilies and roses instead of grain and feed. Couldn’t Mother have supplied Father with another male heir so he wouldn’t have forced me into that promise? I don’t really need five sisters, you know.’

Hetty laughed.

‘I won’t ask which of us you can do without, Max dearest. Now do try at least to be charming. I know you can, if you would only put some effort into it—’

She broke off as the door opened and Max clenched his jaw and followed his sister and the butler to meet one of his potential future wives.