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

Chapter 23

The sound of light chatter mingled with the clink of teaspoons and cake-forks and the din wore on Robert’s shattered nerves like the tight cravat that chafed at his neck. He turned away from the terrace and gazed out over the garden. He had briefly spotted Miss Brooke on the lawn, but she appeared to be there no longer, and his heart sank. He took a sip of his lemonade, draining the glass. He winced at the sourness of the last few drops and put the glass on the trestle table.

“Where are you going?” Lady Marina asked him as he turned towards the steps that led into the garden.

“I thought I might take a turn about the grounds,” Robert replied politely. “It is overly warm up here.” He gestured around him, where people stood crowded about, sipping lemonade or sampling the light delicacies.

“I will come as well,” Lady Marina said tightly.

“I would prefer some quiet,” Robert said honestly.

“I will be quiet,” she replied.

Robert inclined his head. Inside, he was wishing he could run off like he had when he was Henry’s age. He wanted nothing more than to hide in the hedge like he had when he was a child and wait for the Venetian Breakfast to conclude.

He said nothing.

Lady Marina followed him down the steps. Robert walked as briskly as he could without drawing undue attention, striding past a group of young ladies who laughed uproariously as they played quoits, and past the young men and young ladies who were tapping a shuttlecock to each other with the long-handled racquets.

“You seem in a hurry,” Lady Marina murmured as Robert strode swiftly past the group and on down the path, heading into the shaded area of the garden.

“I am. I have a great deal to think about,” Robert answered, deciding to be honest. She had seemingly forgotten that his son had collapsed just that morning—aside from a brief, polite inquiry as to Henry’s health, she acted as though it was a day like any other day, which, he supposed, it was for her and for the other guests.

“Are you thinking about the ball tomorrow?” Lady Marina asked. The entire house-party had been invited to join another friend of Edward’s—the Duke of Rudley—at his manor for a ball.

Robert looked straight at her. “No,” he said honestly. “No, I am not. I do not think I will go, as it happens. I have more important concerns here.”

“Oh?” Lady Marina’s nose wrinkled and her blue eyes, which were often sullen, flashed with spite. “Are you thinking about that silly governess? Or whatever she is? The one who joined you in Bath? She looked terrible today at the party. So worn out and pale! How can she think to appear in public like that?”

“Mrs. Wellman?” Robert asked, shocked because he had not seen her at the breakfast that morning. Then he realized who she meant, and he gaped at her. “Miss Brooke?” he exclaimed. “She is no governess! She is the cousin of our hostess here at the manor! She is equal to any of us in rank.”

“She is not equal to me,” Marina said, her face crinkled with distaste. “Or to you,” she spat.

Robert looked at her. He felt more astonished than angry, and more distressed than anything else.

“She is a human being,” he said tightly. “Therefore, she is all of our equal. And she is a kind, decent, moral human being, which makes her a good deal better than most. She is not your equal, you are right. I would not flatter you.”

“Oh!” Marina turned on him, rage showing in two spots of color on her cheeks. Robert turned away, feeling weary.

“I am sorry, Lady Marina,” he said tiredly. “But I am exhausted from Henry’s illness, and I wish to be left in peace. Please, allow me to return indoors.”

“Oh! You...scoundrel,” she spat the word at him.

Robert inclined his head. “I deserved that,” he told her, truthfully. He had been cruel to her—but then, he had been cruel from the beginning, for ignoring his own need to tell her how he really felt. It would have been kinder to put a distance there from the beginning.

“I don’t even like you,” she hissed at him as he walked past.

Robert nodded. “Well, then, I am doubly sorry,” he said, though inwardly he felt relieved. That much, he had thought was true for a long while. She seemed to find himself as distasteful as he found her. At least he would not be upsetting her too much.

He walked up the low flight of steps towards the manor.

He strode up the stairs to his room and shut the door quietly and walked to the inner door, the one going into Henry’s chamber. He opened the door a crack. Henry was in bed, his eyes closed. Mrs. Wellman was by the fire, apparently asleep. Robert tiptoed in.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Wellman greeted him. She sounded sleepy, but she was still awake, and she had evidently been awake the entire time, judging from how she clutched her sewing in her hand busily.

“How does he fare now?” Robert asked. He glanced towards Henry, heart thudding.

“He is sleeping. His fever is a little less than it was,” the maidservant explained.

Robert slumped forward with relief. “Good. Has he awoken?” he asked.

“He has slept since the morning,” Mrs. Wellman told him. “I have done nothing to wake him save for wiping his brow with a damp cloth, as Miss Brooke did. He seems a little cooler.”

“Good. Good.” Robert closed his eyes for a moment, gratitude overwhelming him. He had been unable to think of anything else. He had only gone to the party because he knew he was not particularly useful in the sickroom and that if he sat around by himself, he would go crazy. He had too much to think about.

“I will sit with him,” Mrs. Wellman said gently.

“I will be close by,” Robert assured her, and went back to his room, shutting the door silently behind him. He went to the window and stared out. The party was on the other side of the house, and he could see none of the guests, just the empty grounds and then woodland stretching to the distant hills. He gazed out of the window, his mind moving from Henry to the other topic that was never far from his thoughts: Miss Brooke. He remembered how she had worked tirelessly to help Henry. How she had sat by his bedside, the little dog with her, and how Henry had looked at her and called her his mother.

He was in delirium, he thought firmly. Henry must have believed that his mother—Elizabeth—was in the room. The thought made Robert’s heart twist. At the same time, Henry had called Miss Brooke “mother”. If Miss Brooke was not particularly motherly, the confusion would likely never have occurred to Henry.

He stopped thinking, the realization cannoning into him like a blow. Miss Brooke was motherly. She was incredibly motherly. She had been so from the very first day that they met. That was why they had met, in fact...Henry had sought her out first.

“God, thank you,” he said aloud. He had never been particularly religious—in fact, after Elizabeth’s passing, he had struggled with his faith. But in that moment, he knew that there must be some higher power guiding him. He was no longer confused or afraid. He could see it so clearly.

“She is exactly what Henry needs,” he said aloud.

He had been afraid that his mother was right, afraid that if he pursued that course of action, he would ruin his son’s chances in society. But what did that matter when Henry would have a mother—someone he could trust and love? Somebody he already trusted?

Robert strode to the door and out into the hallway. His mother was at the party, but that did not matter. He had to speak to her. He had to find her.

He walked down to the entrance foyer, where a door led off to the terrace, and he tensed as he saw a party of guests coming in. Lord and Lady Bardwell and his mother were among them. He stepped back, feeling uncomfortable.

“Mama,” he greeted her as she spotted him. He had barely spoken to her since their argument after the ball and she looked at him coolly.

“We are coming inside to the drawing room,” she informed him. “It is too noisy out there and we need a brief respite.”

“Of course,” Robert replied. He looked at his mother, not sure of how to ask her if she had a moment.

“What is it, son?” she asked him a little impatiently as he joined them on their walk up the stairs. She had lingered behind to speak to him, letting Lord and Lady Bardwell and the other guests go up. He seized the opportunity it presented.

“Mama? If I may, I would like to ask you to speak with me a moment.”

“Good,” his mother said briskly. “Because I also wished to speak with you, as it happens.”

“Oh?” Robert’s eyes widened.

“Come,” she said, gesturing to an anteroom that Robert had not noticed on the left of the upper hallway. “Then we need not worry for Henry.”

“Thank you,” Robert replied gratefully. He followed his mother inside and she shut the door.

“Now, son,” she said, turning to him. “I have decided that I must demand something of you. I must demand that you ask Lord Bardwell for permission to court Marina. You’ve been dithering, and...”

“Mama! Please,” he began, feeling his heart leap. He had picked the exact right moment—or the exact wrong one, he was not sure. “I must demand something of you first. I must demand that you listen. Please. This is important. Marina is not suitable. She is too young and too—well—too self-interested to be a suitable mother for Henry.”

“She is socially acceptable and well-versed in etiquette. She is a very suitable mother for Henry,” his mother countered, her eyebrows shooting up with affronted surprise.

“Henry is a seven-year-old,” Robert began, trying to hold onto his temper. “It will be many, many years before he needs lessons in etiquette, and then, if he needs them, I think I can be the one to give them to him,” he stated with a little offended pride.

“You don’t seem to have grasped the rudiments, given what I saw you doing the previous night,” his mother shot back. “Which is exactly why I must demand this of you. It is the only way to undo any scandal you might have created. If you make the announcement, then anything that anybody saw will be forgotten.”

“Nobody saw except you.” Robert looked at her firmly. “And if the whole world had seen, then I think the understanding that I am courting Miss Brooke would make more sense.”

“Courting! Miss Brooke!” his mother shouted. “Are you entirely out of your wits? Do you understand what you just said?” she demanded. “She is nobody!”

“Nobody is nobody,” Robert said tightly.

“Oh! What nonsense,” his mother scoffed. Robert felt rage boil inside him: huge, hot and impossible to suppress.

“Elizabeth said that,” he said coldly. “And she was the wisest person I ever met. If that is nonsense in your world, Mama, then your whole world is nonsense, and I want no part in it.” He turned his back on her and walked to the door.

“Son! Son!” his mother shouted as he opened the door. “Don’t you dare walk out of that door.”

Robert continued walking and his mother ran up and grabbed his arm. He turned around.

“Son!” she said angrily. “Don’t do this. Don’t you dare do this. Your father would...”

Robert glared at her. His rage must have shown in his eyes because she took a step back.

“Do not,” he began, quietly and angrily, “do not ever presume to threaten me with my father. I loved him. He was someone I cherished and looked up to and I know, without a doubt, that he would have approved of what I am doing. He would not have seen things as you do. Don’t you dare put words in the mouth of a dead man to blackmail me. I will not accept that.”

He turned around and walked down the hallway.

When he reached the end of the corridor he turned around. His mother was still standing in the doorway of the small room, and he felt a twist of pity for her. She looked so small, so suddenly old. Without her manipulative ways, she was someone he loved and cherished too, and he felt guilty for having been unkind. But he could not allow her to manipulate him out of the most important decision that he had ever made. He was certain. He was more certain than he had ever been before. He was going to find Miss Brooke and he was going to ask her to marry him. He had never been so sure of anything in his life. He turned and walked down the hallway, hurrying to the garden. He had to find her.