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

Chapter 14

Robert blinked at his reflection in the looking glass. The lamps flickered, casting enough light for him to see himself despite the darkness beyond the windows. He tied his cravat, tilting his head thoughtfully. He had chosen a frothier, fancier knot than usual and he wondered if the effect was right. As he stepped back from the looking glass, he frowned as a realization hit him. It had been years since he had paid any heed to his clothes.

“Dash it,” he said aloud, a mix of surprise, amusement and shock filling him. He knew perfectly well what the cause of this sudden care was—it was Miss Brooke. He wanted to look good for her. The thought amused and shocked him.

“Elizabeth,” he said aloud, speaking to her in the silence of the bedroom. “I hope that you do not mind.”

Edward had assured him that Elizabeth would be happy for his happiness, but it was hard to let himself believe it; hard to accept that he was allowed to be happy when she was no longer alive.

Well, if Mama has her way, I certainly will not be following it, he told himself with a grim lift to his lips. If he wanted suffering, she had certainly heaped her rage on him the whole of the afternoon. The moment she had time alone with him, she had lectured him about his shocking lack of manners and how he had made a fool of her by inviting Miss Brooke to view the Roman Baths with him. The entire afternoon between returning and dinner had been filled with her anger.

“She is not appropriate as a duchess,” his mother had raged. “She is unknown in society, and she has no connections, no reputation.”

“But not a bad reputation,” Robert had pointed out.

“That is not the matter at issue!” His mother had shouted. Robert had said nothing, deciding that if he just remained silent, she would eventually run out of things to say. As it happened, he had been right.

He looked at himself in the looking glass, studying the effect of the outfit. He had dressed carefully for the music concert that they would attend in Bath that evening. He had chosen a blue velvet coat, fashionably cutaway in front and with long tails. His knee-breeches were a darker blue and they were fastened over clean white stock. His shirt-collar was high, reaching his jawline, and the wide cravat filled the space in the opening of the coat. He looked quite fashionable.

“Not bad,” he said.

He shook his head at himself, amused, and went to the door that led into the central room of the suite. It was empty. His mother had started dressing half an hour earlier, and she was already prepared and sitting in the drawing-room with the other guests, waiting for him. He tiptoed to the room where Henry slept and peered in. Mrs. Wellman was sitting in a chair by the fire, and Robert guessed she had fallen asleep, because she did not see the door open. Henry was in bed, his eyes shut, his breath steady.

“Goodnight, little one,” he whispered from the doorway, and then closed it as silently as he had opened it and tiptoed away.

As he wandered to the drawing room, recollections of the morning filled his mind. He recalled Henry, presenting his gift to Miss Brooke, and how delighted she had seemed with it. Seeing the way she accepted—no, cherished—his son filled him with tenderness and joy. He had not realized how much he had missed that; how much he had wanted that for his son. Mrs. Wellman was excellent at taking care of him, but she was strict and distant in ways that Miss Brooke never was. Miss Brooke opened her heart to the boy without reserve and Henry clearly opened his heart to her, too.

And she is good company, too, he thought with a grin. He had enjoyed talking to her at the Baths, and at the Pump Room as well. She was amusing, intelligent and intriguing. He blinked as the thought of Elizabeth filled his mind and he hastily pushed the images of Miss Brooke away. Despite a feeling that perhaps Edward was right, and that Elizabeth would truly not mind, he could not allow the feelings permission. Not yet.

“Son! There you are!” his mother greeted him as he wandered into the drawing room. She was sitting by the fire on the chaise-longue, Lady Marina on her left and Lady Bardwell on her right. Lord Bardwell was seated beside her. Robert drew in a breath and bowed. He itched to look around the room to see if Miss Brooke was there, but his mother commanded his attention.

“Good evening, Mama,” he said quietly. “Good evening, Lady Marina. Lady Bardwell. Lord Bardwell,” he added, bowing to each of them in turn.

“Good evening,” Lady Marina greeted him.

“Well, we’re all here,” Lord Bardwell said, good-naturedly. “Shall we go down to the coach?” He looked at Robert, one brow raised as if awaiting a reply from him.

Robert looked at his mother confusedly.

“Mama...should we not travel in our own coach?” Robert asked swiftly, his heart thudding. If they went with Lord and Lady Bardwell, he would miss the chance of perhaps being seated beside Miss Brooke. He would have no chance to look for her, since his mother—and Lady Bardwell—would ensure that he could not wander off.

“Oh, no, son!” his mother smiled. “Lord Bardwell has a Landau. There is more than enough room in there for all of us.”

Robert bit his lip. There was nothing whatsoever that he could reply to that. He inclined his head to Lord Bardwell.

“It is very kind of you to take us,” he said politely.

“Oh, it is nothing, Your Grace. Think nothing of it.” He smiled.

Robert tried to ignore his anger at his mother and stood back for the ladies to exit the drawing room. They all wandered down the stairs to the front garden.

“I cannot wait to see the Assembly Rooms!” Lady Marina said with a wide smile. “Bath is so fashionable. And very beautiful too.”

“It is,” Robert agreed. He wished he could think of something to say. It was simple, talking to Miss Brooke. He never even had to try. But with Lady Marina, who never really said anything other than make polite comments on the scenery or the destination, he had no idea what was appropriate. He felt as though she had a script, and he was supposed to know his lines.

“Well, here we are!” Lord Bardwell said, gesturing them to the waiting coach. “The sooner we alight, the sooner we will be at the concert.”

“Oh, Papa! I am filled with anticipation!” Lady Marina gushed. Robert could not help thinking she sounded a little insincere.

They drew up at the Assembly Rooms just twenty minutes later. The chandeliers were lit, the candlelight intense after the evening darkness. Robert blinked and stared up, marveling at the grandeur of the place. He was largely inured to the exquisite details of luxurious interiors—he had been in so many. But the Assembly Rooms, he had to admit, were impressive. They were led by a man in black livery into a room with a chandelier suspended high overhead, a pianoforte set out at the front of a semicircle of elegant wooden padded chairs. Robert allowed Lady Marina to guide him to a seat, aware of his mother on his right, ensuring that he remained at Lady Marina’s side.

“This is the best seating,” Lady Marina said swiftly. She led them to the second row from the front, directly behind the pianist. “Here, we shall be able to hear—but not too loudly—and to see her hands on the keys.”

“You are right, Marina,” his mother said warmly. “How well-versed you are in these things.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Marina said humbly.

Robert ignored the interchange, which he was sure his mother had instigated to show how socially aware Lady Marina was, and sat down beside Lady Marina. His mother settled on his other side, and Lord Bardwell sat on the aisle seat. Robert twisted his head, looking to the door for Miss Brooke. He still had no idea if she was going to attend the concert.

He saw a group of people come through—Victoria and James, Philipa and Charles, and Lady Amelia and her parents were among them. His heart sank. Miss Brooke was not there.

“Mama! Robert,” Victoria greeted them, grinning as she took the seat directly behind Robert. “I take it you are looking forward to the music? Good evening,” she added, acknowledging Lady Marina and her parents. Victoria was wearing a blue dress, the muslin decorated with gauze and the neck a low “v” shape. Her dark hair was styled into a chignon and decorated with tiny sparkling silver-ended pins that caught the candlelight discreetly. James, sitting beside her, grinned at Robert.

“You weren’t too impressed by the Bath water, eh?” he asked. “Bath water,” he added, laughing. “By which I do not mean the water out of a bath.”

Robert shrugged. “I was impressed enough,” he added.

“Oh, James,” Victoria chided. “Let Robert enjoy the concert.”

“I will, but until the music starts, allow me to torment him just a little.”

Robert had to laugh. He liked James, who had a good sense of fun. In that, he and Victoria were identical. She had always had a good sense of fun.

He looked around as James and Victoria settled down to chat. Perhaps Miss Brooke would still come—they were early, and there were many empty seats.

The room began to fill up slowly. Robert tried to refrain from looking around for Miss Brooke, and tried to focus on his mother and her constant efforts to make him talk to Lady Marina. But he could not concentrate. Every sense strained for the arrival of Miss Brooke’s party.

The sound of chatter was loud—so loud that individual conversations were almost impossible. Robert leaned back. He spotted the other door—the one that led to the front of the room—opening fractionally and he guessed the musicians were about to make their entrance.

Just as the door opened, another group of people arrived. Robert watched as Lord and Lady Averhill, two other guests whose name he did not recall, and then Miss Brooke, crossed the floor. The only seats left were the ones in the front row. Robert watched as they hastily took their seats. His heart ached. He studied the back of Miss Brooke’s head, willing her to turn around. Her chestnut hair remained resolutely turned towards him, her face towards the front.

Turn around, Robert wished, but the musicians were already filing out of the doorway and the applause to welcome them filled the room. Robert clapped, surprised as always by how muted it was by the indoor gloves that he—and everyone else in the audience—wore.

The musicians took their seats. There were five of them—four musicians with stringed instruments and one pianist. Robert watched as they tuned up. He liked music, but had little interest in how to play anything, and he did not watch too intently as the pianist lifted her hands onto the keys and began to play.

Music, sweet, rich-toned and gentle, poured through the room. Robert shut his eyes, surprised by how it affected him. The sweet notes soared as his heart did when he saw Miss Brooke. The melodious tune reminded him of how relaxed he felt in her company, how he longed to talk to her.

“She’s very talented,” Lady Marina whispered.

“Mm,” Robert replied, wincing at the interruption. He had been lost in thought, imagining Miss Brooke where she stood on the balcony at the ball, her chestnut hair catching the pale light, her skin petal-soft in the half-dark beyond the window.

Beside him, his mother was entranced, her eyes half-shut, head nodding slowly. His heart twisted—sometimes she seemed so vulnerable, and he remembered that she was really just frightened of losing her own power and status. His wife would displace her. She had barely tolerated Elizabeth at first, but Elizabeth had understood how vulnerable she really was.

Miss Brooke might too, he thought, frowning.

He glanced over at her. She was sitting very still; the elegant hairstyle she wore the only detail he could see clearly. He gazed at her, taking in the rich chestnut tones of her hair, her pale skin visible above the neck of the gown, and the long peach dress that she wore. He had never seen her wear that color.

The music rose and fell, weaving a magical space in which he was free to imagine whatever he wished to. He filled the space with images of Miss Brooke—her laughter, her bright eyes as she looked up at him, her hand gentle as she reached out to Henry, who was running along the terrace, laughing, his smile as bright as the daylight that fell on the pond nearby.

Robert reached up, realizing that a tear had run down his cheek. Imagining little Henry so happy, seeing him laugh and joke as he did with Miss Brooke—had healed something inside him.

I want that for him. I want him to be happy again. I want happiness for myself, too. Miss Brooke makes me happy.

The thought cannoned into him like a blow, making him catch his breath. Being around Miss Brooke, made him remember how to be happy.

What is happening? he thought wildly. Am I falling in love?

He swallowed hard. Indeed, it was possible. He had fallen in love before, and he knew how it felt. This, admittedly, was different. Elizabeth had been different and he had been younger; not the same. But the joy, the ease, the wonder—those were the same.

He glanced down at his hands, needing to anchor himself in the present. Yes, he was falling in love.

His gaze roved up towards Miss Brooke, staring at the back of her head.

He willed her to turn around, but the musicians had concluded a piece and applause swelled and grew around him. He added his own, clapping with sincere appreciation for the musicians.

Another piece followed, and Robert’s attention wandered to Lady Marina sitting beside him. She was watching the pianist, her paper fan folded and tapping against her lips as she watched. She was pretty and polite, and he wished he could feel anything at all for her, but he could not fall in love on command. He glanced over at his mother, feeling helpless. She had wedged him into an intolerable position—literally, by seating him next to Marina, and figuratively too. He was being cornered, edged towards a future he wished to escape.

The sound of clapping—loud and harsh—interrupted his thoughts, and he joined in, lost in thought. The concert wore on.

As the triumphant notes of an encore faded, Robert shot up in his seat. He had to get out of the room. He had to find Miss Brooke. His heart raced.

“Son! Perhaps you could escort Lady Marina and myself to the terrace? I feel quite faint. I need to take the air. It is too hot in here.”

“Mama...” Robert began, but Lady Marina spoke up.

“Yes. Please, Your Grace. I feel terribly lightheaded. I think I might suffer a fit of the vapors.”

“Oh.” Robert tensed. “Of course, my lady.”

He bent his arm, allowing Lady Marina to rest her hand in the crook of his elbow. It felt strange after having walked in the same way with Miss Brooke. It felt wrong, somehow. Lady Marina was somewhat shorter than Miss Brooke, her hands slightly smaller, but that was not why it felt odd. It just felt traitorous somehow—he wanted to walk with Miss Brooke, and he was not sure who he betrayed more: Lady Marina, Miss Brooke, or himself.

Dash it, he thought despairingly as Miss Brooke stood up, making her way towards the doors. She and her cousin were much closer to the door than he was—she would be out in the street before he had a chance to say anything to her.

As her party joined the line of guests moving to the door, she turned around. She was three or four people ahead of him—close enough for him to see her gray-blue eyes fasten on his.

He held her gaze, wishing that he could convey a message to her—an apology, a thanks and a wish to talk, all at once. But her party was moving to the door, and she turned around and he had to look away as his mother’s hand tightened on his arm, steadying herself in the press of people. He gazed after Miss Brooke, and, despite not having said a word to her, he felt better. He had seen her, and that was enough. He would talk to her again soon.