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

Chapter 7

The morning sunshine slanted through the curtains, hurting Robert’s eyes. He winced and pulled the curtain shut, then shook his head. It was eight o’ clock and time he readied himself to join the rest of the household for breakfast. He tugged on the pale brown trousers and high-necked shirt that he had left out on the back of the chair. As he dressed, his mind wandered over the events of the previous evening.

I need time to think, he thought a little despairingly as he tightened his cravat. Miss Brooke had dominated his musing since he saw her at the dinner party—all pale blue eyes and thick chestnut hair and that endearing smile. Talking with her had been refreshing, uplifting him in ways nothing else had. Even as Miss Brooke’s sweet oval face drifted into his thoughts again, Elizabeth likewise filled his mind. Guilt swamped him, making his heart ache. Elizabeth was the only woman who had ever made him feel that way. It felt terrible—disloyal, confusing, wrong—to think of another as he had of her.

“Come on,” he told himself aloud and impatiently. “Get yourself down to breakfast. You need food and tea.”

He walked down the hallway, listening for the sound of conversation. As it happened, there was no loud chatter drifting out of the breakfast-room. When he reached it, it was empty, all except for Edward, who was sitting at the table calmly buttering some toast. Edward looked up as Robert entered.

“Ah! Robert! Good morning, old chap. I trust you slept well?” Edward asked, standing to shake Robert’s hand as he came over to sit down. Robert shrugged.

“Well, enough,” he answered. “Thank you,” he added, not wanting to be impolite. “The bedchamber is more than adequate.” The chambers assigned to himself, his mother and Henry were more than fitting for their needs—it was sumptuously decorated, and he felt as comfortable there as he did at home—for all that it felt odd to be in a space empty of memories.

“Grand. Grand. I am pleased to hear it. Tea?” Edward asked, lifting a white-and-floral porcelain teapot. “We’re not usually early risers here at Averhill House,” he added with a grin. “And it seems most of the guests are not, either.”

Robert inclined his head, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. “Yes, please. It would seem that we are the only early risers, as you say. My sister and brother will certainly sleep for another half an hour at least,” he added with some amusement. Victoria had always been a late riser, and somehow, she was also impervious to any criticism their mother leveled at that fact. When Papa had lived, he had accommodated everyone’s foibles, and that had led to himself, Charles and Victoria being sufficiently confident to withstand their mother’s critical tongue.

Edward poured Robert some tea and Robert thanked him absently, lifting the cup and sipping without even tasting it. Thoughts of the previous evening spiraled through his mind. Miss Brooke, smiling at him, disregarded his mother’s discourteous dismissal, and caught his gaze across the table.

He had yearned to converse with her during the repast, but his mother had, through some artifice, ensured that no one aside from herself was able to utter more than a syllable. He harbored a suspicion that she was doing it purposefully, trying to prevent him from conversing with Miss Brooke, but that seemed preposterous. She could not possibly know how much the young woman dominated his thoughts.

Robert ran a hand through his hair, feeling uncomfortable. It was not possible that his feelings were so evident on his face, that even his mother had noticed, surely? He looked around the room, trying to distract himself, and caught Edward’s gaze on him, his brown eyes considering and not unkind.

“Do you wish to go riding, perhaps?” Edward asked gently.

Robert shrugged, a blush creeping into his cheeks as he realized that Edward must have seen that he was troubled. “No idea, old chap. Henry is not awake yet, and I cannot leave him in the care of his nurse all day.” His fingers tightened on the cuff of his shirtsleeve, plucking it worriedly. He had sworn to himself that he would not simply hand Henry over to the staff for his care, but that he would play a role in the child’s upbringing, as much as his duties allowed. But being part of the house party was making that hard. Already he had seen less of him in the past two days than he would have liked.

“You will have plenty of time with the little fellow,” Edward assured him. “There are no entertainments planned for today—many of the guests wish to go and visit Bath and see the sights. In fact, I have a better notion. I belong to a gentleman’s club here—nothing earnest, just a small, friendly sort of club where one might read the newspaper and have a drink in the evening. Mayhap you and I could take luncheon there? It strikes me that we have not seen each other for a long time.”

Robert drew in a breath. That sounded like exactly what he wanted. Friendly company, nobody expecting anything of him, a chance to relax and discuss the matters close to his heart.

“I would like that,” he said simply.

Edward smiled. “Good,” he agreed warmly.

A noise in the corridor made them both look up. Robert tensed to see his mother drifting in, a smile on her haughty, squarish face. Beside her walked Lady Bardwell, and a little behind them walked Lord Bardwell and his daughter, Marina.

“Robert! Good morning! Why! Look who was taking a turnabout the grounds when I sought out the fresh air this morning.” Mother greeted him. At the same time, her right-hand gestured Marina forwards.

Robert had stood up politely as they entered—as had Edward—and he bowed low.

“Good morning, Lady Marina,” he greeted her politely. Lady Marina’s heart-shaped face lit up, her catlike blue eyes slanting in the corners as she smiled. She was a magnificent woman—striking, lovely—but he had never warmed to her, even when she was a girl. There was something cold about her, just as there was about Lord and Lady Bardwell. She executed a perfect curtsey, dipping low as befitted greeting a duke.

“Good morning, Your Grace. May I say how delightful it is to see you?” Her voice was neither high nor low-pitched, and had a pleasant resonance, her enunciation perfect.

Robert smiled—or his lips moved up at the corners of their own accord, simply because it was polite and because the three ladies—Mama, Lady Bardwell and Lady Marina—were smiling at him.

“Thank you, my lady. It is an honour to renew my acquaintance.” He inclined his head politely. “And it is an honour to renew my acquaintance with you, my lady, and with you, my lord,” he added, bowing to her mother and then to her father. Lady Marina beamed.

“I trust you are enjoying the pleasant weather in Bath?” she asked him. Robert inclined his head.

“Yes, it is pleasant here,” he agreed. “It seems milder than in London.” The words were halting—it had been many years since he had to make polite conversation with anyone.

“Quite so! Yes! A fine breeze. It was delightful to walk in the garden this morning, so cool and refreshing to have the breeze ruffle one’s hair.” She patted her lovely reddish-blonde curls.

Robert inclined his head. “Yes. I imagine it was very fine.” Inside he was cursing at himself. The young lady was beautiful —poised, graceful and lovely—and his mother was practically forcing him into the conversation. Any other man would have been flattered by the attention. But he could not be.

It is reasonable, he reminded himself silently. I am mourning for Elizabeth.

“Have you broken your fast?” Lady Bardwell asked him. Robert shook his head.

“No, my lady. I am still at breakfast.” He gestured to the table. His stomach grumbled at the sight, and scent, of the sweet pastries and croissants there.

“We shall join you. A walk about the grounds does increase the appetite for breakfast.” She smiled dazzlingly at him. She looked similar to her daughter, Robert always thought, except that her face was more oval in shape, her nose slightly more upturned. Robert pushed back his chair, wishing that he could escape. But he was too hungry. He helped himself to a croissant, trying to eat it as quickly as possible while Mama conversed with Lady Bardwell and Marina. Lord Bardwell remained mostly silent, nodding and smiling throughout the discussion.

“I must excuse myself,” Robert said after hastily consuming a slice of toast as well. His mother raised a brow.

“ Must you hurry off, son?” she asked him disapprovingly, raising her eyebrows.

Robert nodded. “I am afraid I must, Mama. My duties call me. Henry is surely awake by now.”

His mother made a face, her lips compressing tightly, and he knew that she was thinking that Henry had a nursemaid. But she was too polite to contradict him, and Robert returned to his chambers to find Henry jumping on the chaise-longue and being scolded by his nursemaid.

Henry was awake, and he had time to play a quick round of cribbage—with the rules simplified for a seven-year-old—before the little boy had to eat breakfast. Afterwards, they played in the garden. At half an hour past eleven, he excused himself from accompanying Mama to luncheon.

“Robert! Why! That is most irregular! How will I explain to the guests? To Lady Bardwell?”

Robert held his breath for a moment. “Mother, I am sorry. But our host has invited me to take luncheon at the club. Besides, many of the guests will be in Bath this afternoon. I am surprised that Lord and Lady Bardwell are not likewise engaged in the town?”

“Well!” his mother sniffed. “It’s most uncharitable of you, son. With whom should I talk at luncheon?”

“With Charles and Philipa? Or Victoria and James?” Robert asked.

His mother looked annoyed but inclined her head.

“Very well. But I am displeased, Robert. It is most irregular behaviour from you.”

Robert let out a sigh. “I have not seen Edward for a long time, Mama. It is natural that he and I wish to speak a while alone.”

“Very well,” his mother said, though he could hear the disapproval in her voice. She had a head much harder than his own, but she was capable of being reasonable too.

“Thank you, Mother,” Robert replied politely, and hurried down the stairs before she could say anything that would upset his mood.

Ten minutes later, he was walking down the street in Bath. He had borrowed Edward’s fine roan thoroughbred, who he led into the stable at the local inn, for an hour or two of care while he was in town. He left him chewing comfortably through a bucket of bran and the groom had strict instructions to spare no expense in caring for him. Robert walked down the street, confident that no harm would come to the stallion and ready to enjoy his hours in town.

The club was not difficult to find—Edward had given him instructions—and soon he found himself seated in a pleasant room with leather-upholstered chairs and dark wooden furniture. Edward strolled in a few minutes later.

“Robert! Grand. Have you ordered luncheon?” Edward asked, removing his top-hat and hanging it up by the door.

“I think I will eat sandwiches,” Robert commented. His appetite was not as it should be—it was his distracted thoughts that had unsettled it.

Edward shrugged. “A fine notion,” he commented. He turned to the proprietor to organize his own lunch, and pushed back his chair a little, relaxing back into it. “How is your son faring?” he asked fondly.

“Well. He almost beat me at cribbage this morning. He’s too clever for his age.”

Edward chuckled. “He gets that from his parents,” he said. Then winced. “Sorry, Robert,” he added. “I didn’t mean to mention...her.”

Robert shook his head. “No. No need to apologise. It is true. Elizabeth was a highly intelligent woman.” He sniffed, grief tightening its grip on his heart. Sometimes it felt good to talk about her—he could spend hours talking to Charles or Victoria of her, recalling her so that, for a moment, he felt close to her. But of late it felt strange to think of her. Each time she came into his mind, guilt stabbed into him. He had thought too much about Miss Brooke and somehow, he felt sure Elizabeth would know.

“And yourself? Does the air here suit you well?” Edward asked politely.

Robert chuckled hollowly. “It suits me as well as the air in London.”

Edward was watching him; a searching quality in his friend’s gaze.

“I am glad you came to join us,” Edward said after a moment. “It is good to be in good company.”

Robert let out a breath. “Not sure what good company I am at the moment, old chap,” he said sorrowfully. “I brood too much. Mama always says so.”

“You’re grieving. Not brooding. There is a difference,” Edward said lightly.

Robert sighed. “True,” he said shakily. His throat felt tight with emotion. Edward, it seemed, was one of the few people who understood how he felt. “But it has been five years. And mother is right. Henry needs me to think about the future.”

“And what do you want to do?” Edward asked gently after a few moments. “Not your mother, or Henry, but yourself.”

Robert ran a hand down his face tiredly. The question should have been simple. It was something that he had not thought about in years, though, and he was surprised to find that he did not know the answer.

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment or two. “To be happy, I suppose,” he said with a hollow chuckle. “What does anyone want?”

Edward nodded. “We all wish for happiness, it is true. And perhaps it is foolish to think that we know what will make us happy. Sometimes all that we know for certain is what would make us unhappy .”

Robert inclined his head. “That is true enough,” he said with a small, humorless smile. Being thrust into society with Mama’s expectations weighing on his shoulders made him unhappy. Talking to socialites with whom he had nothing in common did too, as did hearing Henry criticized by his mother. But what options did he have? He had to involve Mama in Henry’s care, and he had to believe her that she knew what was best, since he did not seem to know himself.

The proprietor arrived with a selection of sandwiches and Robert helped himself, chewing thoughtfully on one filled with ham and cheese. He recalled the delicious dinner of the previous night, and his lips lifted in a smile as he remembered Miss Brooke sitting opposite him. She had a surprisingly hearty appetite for a slight young woman, tucking into her food.

“You must be acquainted with your wife’s cousin a little?” he asked when Edward offered no topic of conversation.

Edward shrugged. “Sadly not. I only made her acquaintance two days ago. She was hardly ever in society before.”

“Oh?” Robert sat straighter, recalling something she had said. She had mentioned that she was unused to crowds. “She seems very confident for all that she was so isolated,” he mused.

Edward inclined his head. “Confident and competent, yes,” he agreed.

Robert nodded. Memories of Miss Brooke flowed into his mind, vivid and rich. He remembered how she gazed into his eyes, how she laughed. He recalled the way the candlelight played on her hair, painting reddish highlights. He groaned. Guilt was going to poison him.

If Edward saw his pain, he did not say anything, simply sipped the drink he must have ordered while Robert was musing.

“Do you think that one should mourn forever?” he asked Edward after a long moment. “I loved Elizabeth with all my heart—I still do, though she has been gone for five years. I still weep, sometimes. Does she know, do you think?” he asked carefully.

Edward lifted a shoulder. “Some might say no; that she is in Paradise and she knows only bliss. But myself? I think sometimes that the curtain of Heaven parts a little and those who are gone can look down and smile on us.” He paused and the words sank into Robert’s heart.

He looked up from the table to see Edward watching him. A small smile played across Edward’s mouth. “I know that Papa saw me hit a six at Cambridge on the cricket field,” Edward said with a smile. “I am quite sure of it. The only six I ever hit. I almost heard him laugh.” He looked down, eyes shining with warmth.

Robert nodded. “I feel certain of it,” he agreed. Edward’s father had passed away when Edward was twelve. The two of them had been very close. One of their longstanding jests was cricket—Edward's apparent lack of proficiency.

Edward nodded. Robert let out a breath. He too, felt sure that those who were departed could see one sometimes. And that troubled him. Elizabeth might know of those happy moments talking to Miss Brooke, and she might object. It felt wrong, and perhaps it was wrong, too.

“Do you think they disapprove, sometimes, of what we do?” he asked carefully.

Edward chuckled. “No. Of that I am quite sure. Perhaps they shake their heads sometimes,” he added with a laugh. “But I feel sure that all of that is behind them. Our bodies know weariness and fear, worry and anger. But do our souls? I somehow doubt it. I think that all that remains when we are no longer mortal, all that we carry with us, is love.”

Robert swallowed hard. “Mayhap,” he agreed softly. His heart twisted. His love for Elizabeth was there in his heart as ever. He felt sure that she must still love him, too. But would she understand?

I wish I knew, he thought silently, staring out of the window. He did not wish to make her feel betrayed.

Edward lifted his glass, tipping back his drink. “Well, one thing I do know,” he said slowly. “And that is that your son can doubtless already play cricket better than me.”

Robert grinned. “We shall test this notion,” he replied, grateful to bring the conversation back to lighter things. They sat and talked and ate sandwiches, fortifying themselves for their imminent return to the house and all the guests. They both felt sure that they would need all the strength they could muster for another round of parties and entertainments.