A Duke’s Overlooked Spinster (The Courting Season #1)

Chapter 4

Robert stared at the young woman who stood on the path. Her hair was uncovered by a bonnet, despite the cold breeze, and rich chestnut locks escaped the neat chignon and tumbled to frame her slim, oval face. She was around average height and slim-built, but his gaze barely lingered on her figure—willowy and pretty though it certainly was in the long white-and-green dress. It was her eyes that held his attention. They were a pale grayish sky-blue, in sharp contrast with her hair, and they held his stare levelly.

She was beautiful, but it was not her beauty that struck him. It was her immense confidence and calm as she bent down to Henry, taking what looked like a handful of damp paper from his grip.

“It’s all well,” she said softly to the little boy. He was smiling up at her, his gaze something between entranced and trusting.

Robert stared at the woman, his heart aching. He had not seen someone speak so confidently and so sweetly to Henry for years. He had not, if he thought about it, seen someone with such easy, unruffled confidence for years. His mother was shouting, and her harsh words broke the spell that held him staring.

“Henry! Leave that alone. Let the servant do her job. You should not help her.”

Robert saw the young woman’s gaze frost over, her expression unchanging but a mask of reserve descending over her serene features. He tensed, turning angrily to his mother. He was not sure what made him more annoyed—the harsh way she spoke to Henry or the fact that she had clearly insulted the woman. The young woman might be a servant—unlikely, given her clothing—but it was still rude to speak as though she was not even there and the pain on her face still hurt him.

“Mama,” he began, his voice tight, but before he could say anything more, another woman rounded the corner. This woman, he recognized at once. She was tall, with curly hair with reddish highlights and gentle face. Their hostess, the countess of Averhill. He bowed.

“My lady,” he began, trying to think of whose behavior he ought to apologize for first—his wayward son’s, or his mother’s. Before he could speak, she began.

“Your Grace! Do excuse me. May I have the honour of introducing to you my cousin, the honourable Miss Sarah Brooke?” He gestured to the young woman with the chestnut hair. “Sarah, may I have the honour of introducing His Grace, the Duke of Clairwood? I see you have already met his son, Lord Henry.” She smiled fondly at Henry, who was staring up at Lady Averhill with wide, fearful eyes.

Sarah. That is a pretty name, Robert thought distantly. His eyes moved to Miss Sarah Brooke, meeting her pale blue ones. She dropped a formal curtsey, and he bowed. His heart thudded rapidly as though he had run far, though he could not think why.

“Miss Brooke,” he murmured. “It is an honour to meet you.”

“As it is for me to meet you, Your Grace” she said softly. Her voice was barely audible. Robert shot a sharp glance at his mother. The poor woman must be mortally offended! She was no servant at all, but the cousin of their hostess.

“Your Grace?” Lady Averhill was addressing his mother. “I would be honoured to introduce you to my cousin, the honourable Miss Sarah Brooke.” Her voice was just a little hard, and Robert guessed that she had heard his mother also. He winced, but at that moment Henry came over to him, the damp papers still in his hand.

“What is it, son?” he asked gently. “What have you been doing?”

“Sorry, Papa,” the little boy murmured, sounding genuinely regretful. “I ran off. I wanted to see the horses.”

“I know,” Robert said gently, ruffling the little boy’s hair. His son was clearly upset, and Robert could not blame him. He had been trying to please everybody since the coach-journey began, and tension between adults always upset him. Robert bent to lift the little boy up, but his gaze strayed to the pile of papers in his hand. “What are those?”

“Pictures!” Henry told him excitedly. “She had them in that bag,” he added, indicating Miss Brooke with a tilt of his head. He had learned already that it was rude to point at people.

“Pictures?” Robert was curious despite himself. Lady Averhill and his mother were still talking, and Miss Brooke was standing gazing silently over the garden, seeming not to see everyone around her. He reached for the pile in Henry’s hand. On the top was a very realistic sketch of a coach with horses in the traces. He smiled at the rendering of the horses. It was delicate and beautiful, not as accurate as the coach was, but it was plain in every line of the drawing that the person who had drawn it loved animals and understood them well. The lines were expressive and flowing, the attitude of the weary horses captured beautifully.

He lifted the first sketch, wincing as the damp paper stuck to the one below. The next sketch was of a building surrounded by forest. The crumbling stonework was expertly drawn, the picture capturing a desolate, haunted atmosphere. Robert drew in a deep breath, moved beyond words by what he was seeing. Before he could look at the next one, though, the young woman who they belonged to came over to him.

“Your Grace?” she said softly, avoiding his gaze. “May I?”

“Of course,” Robert said swiftly, handing her the sketches. “I am sorry. Allow me to apologise for my son. He was rather overly excited after sitting still for hours in the coach.”

Miss Brooke had been gazing at the lawn under their feet while he spoke, but at the mention of Henry, she lifted her gaze and smiled.

“No harm was done. He is a charming child.”

Robert grinned. “He is a little rascal sometimes,” he said lovingly. “But yes, he is charming. Thank you,” he added warmly. He passed her the damp pile of sketches, drawing a breath as her fingers briefly brushed against his.

Miss Brooke looked down again, suddenly shy. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured and turned around, going back towards the house.

Robert felt his heart ache. She had seemed so confident when he saw her, so centered. But his mother’s cruel, callous words had silenced her. Despite the insult, she walked with her head held high, her sketches back in the white satchel she carried. Robert felt a sullen anger at his mother burning in his stomach, but Henry’s bright smile distracted him.

“Can I see the horses, Papa?”

Robert nodded. “Yes. But do not run. And come back in five minutes,” he added, tapping his pocket-watch as though he was going to be counting the minutes down.

“Yes, Papa! Thank you, Papa!” Henry cheered, and hurried off before anyone could stop him. Lady Averhill turned to Robert.

“Your Grace, it is an honour to have you here with us. If I may escort you inside...? Edward is already within, greeting the other guests.”

“Of course, my lady,” Robert said politely. His spirits lifted at the thought of seeing Edward again. He was a good friend. They had spent a year at Cambridge together, before Robert had decided to study history at Oxford instead. Robert had liked Edward’s open, uncomplicated manner and friendly ways. He followed Lady Averhill into the house, his mother walking beside the countess.

“Robert!” Edward greeted him, crossing the wide tiled floor of the entrance way. He clapped him on the back, shaking his hand informally. “Grand to see you. Where’s that delightful child of yours?”

Robert smiled. “He’s exploring your stable. I told him to come back in five minutes. I hope he can stay out of mischief for such a short time.” He recalled, vividly, how Henry had surprised Miss Brooke on the path. “It’s grand to see you, Edward,” he added, shaking his hand and smiling with real warmth in his gaze.

“I’m sure he cannot get up to too much mischief. The garden is big enough for one small boy not to break anything,” Edward said with a grin.

Robert hid his smile. “Do not be too certain,” he said warmly.

They both laughed and Robert followed Edward to the stairs.

“The other guests are already here. Charles is not here yet, and nor is Victoria, sadly,” Edward replied, naming Robert’s younger brother and sister, who would also be staying with the earl and countess for a month in Bath. “But Lord and Lady Elworth are here, and Viscount Barrow.”

“Grand. Grand,” Robert said distantly. He winced. Lord and Lady Elworth had a daughter, Amelia, to whom his mother would insist that he talked. His fingers tightened, gripping the edge of his coat-sleeve, a nervous habit.

“Your Grace!” Lady Elworth greeted him as he entered the drawing room, her voice warm as honey. “How grand to see you. Do join us. Amelia, you must recall His Grace, the duke of Clairwood?”

Robert bowed low. Lady Amelia was very pretty, with thick dark hair, black eyes, and pale skin. She had a neat, pretty mouth, a small nose and a tall, elegant form. She was wearing a fashionable red silk dress, and she curtseyed low; just the right curtsey with which a marquess’ daughter might greet a duke.

“Lady Amelia,” he greeted her politely, bowing low. “I am honoured to meet you again.”

“I am honoured to meet you again as well, Your Grace,” Lady Amelia murmured, straightening up from her curtsey.

“Amelia will be in London later in spring, for the Season,” Mama commented, standing beside Robert. “Is that not a pleasant prospect?”

“Most fine,” Robert said stiffly. His mother had arrived with Lady Averhill, and he saw his mother’s gaze narrow as she came over to join them. He felt a wash of devilment—if she was trying to force him to talk, then he would say as little as possible. Guilt followed the thought instantly—it was not Lady Amelia’s fault that his mother was trying to force him to talk to her. He bowed low to the young lady.

“If you will excuse me a moment, my lady?” he asked politely. “I must find my son.” He crossed the floor and headed towards the door, going to find Henry. He heard his mother suck in a breath, and he knew she was furious. If he made a game out of beating her at her manipulations, then it helped him to feel less resentful. All the same, it did not sit well with his conscience, as he did not like to play games.

“Henry!” He greeted the boy as he ran in through the front door. “There you are. Just on time. Now, mayhap you should join Mrs. Wellman and have a rest?” he asked. Mrs. Wellman was the maid who had traveled ahead to care for Henry.

“I don’t want to sleep, Papa,” Henry countered a little sulkily. Robert ruffled his hair.

“Just an hour, son; while I have tea. Then we can go for a walk, I promise,” he told him honestly. He would far rather escape and take Henry for a walk straightaway, but he felt obliged to remain for a while with his hosts.

Henry held his gaze but nodded. “Yes, Papa,” he said, not sounding happy about the prospect. Robert smiled.

“Just an hour, son. Then we can go for a walk. I promise.”

He followed the butler to the chambers that he, Mama and Henry would share, and left Henry with Mrs. Wellman. He thanked the matronly older woman and hurried back to the drawing room.

“You will of course borrow horses from us while you are here?” Edward asked him as he returned. “You’re welcome to use our stable. And Henry, too, if he wishes,” he added with a warm smile.

“Henry is too little for anything but a pony yet,” Robert said quickly. That was not strictly true—he himself had ridden a full-grown horse at seven, but it was dangerous, and he did not want to put his own son in the same danger.

“Well, if you find a horse in the stable that might suit him, or yourself, then you’re welcome to ride anytime,” Edward commented.

“Thank you.”

Robert stood at the window chatting with Edward for a few minutes. He was aware of his mother’s anger from across the room—she stood with Lord and Lady Elworth, and he could see from her stiff posture that she was still seething with anger towards him. He ignored it. He felt a sour twist in his stomach as he recalled how she had shouted at Henry. The thought made his mind drift to Miss Brooke, and he looked around the room, wondering where she was. As Lady Averhill’s cousin, she would surely be joining the guests at tea, would she not?

“Where is...” he began to ask Edward, but before he could complete the question, the butler appeared in the doorway, accompanied by two more guests.

“May I have the honour of introducing Lord and Lady Balford?” Edward asked the assembled guests. “My lord? My lady? Allow me to introduce our many guests to you,” he added, addressing the young Earl and Countess in the doorway.

Robert smiled and bowed and shook hands along with everyone else, but his mind was elsewhere. He could not stop thinking about the young lady in the garden—Miss Brooke. Her pale gray-blue eyes haunted him. She was so lovely, so untamed in a way he could not describe. She had demonstrated no awe for his status. She had looked straight at him, as though all the trappings of society and wealth were invisible, and she could see straight to his heart.

That’s fanciful nonsense, he told himself firmly. Why would she? Guilt swamped him, Elizabeth’s face filling his thoughts. She had seen him for who he was. Why did he imagine that a young baron’s daughter would instantly know who he was, or even care? He pushed the thought away shamefacedly.

“Your mother mentioned that you were interested in art history?” Lady Elworth asked from beside him.

“Yes, I am,” Robert answered a little uncertainly. He glanced over at his mother and caught her gaze on him briefly before she looked back at Lord Elworth.

“Oh! Well, I wanted to ask your opinion on this painting, here?” Lady Elworth said, gesturing towards the back of the room. “Amelia guessed that it was painted around two centuries ago. Perhaps you could lend your voice to the discussion?”

Robert sighed inwardly. That was his mother’s plan. Lady Amelia was standing by the painting, and he made himself smile as he went over to join the group there. He looked across the room at his mother, but she was ignoring him.

Dash it, Mama, he thought crossly as he went to stand with the group around the painting. I must salute your ingenuity, even if you do use it to torment me.

He stood with the group, listening to the discussion, but his mind was not there with them. It was outside in the garden where he had seen Miss Brooke, wondering where she was and if he might see her again.