The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex) (8 page)

“A great deal of chaperoned time.”

His sister’s face whitened, and she pulled herself up. And he had thought her posture impeccable before. “You weren’t here all those years.”

“I couldn’t be.”

Hammerstead shoved the teacup on the table and clattered to his feet. “I must go. It has been a pleasure seeing you—both.”

William nodded, daring his sister to see him out.

Instead, she waited until Hammerstead left the room. “What was that about? Must you be so rude?”

“You were alone with him.”

“I thought you found the ton constricting. And yet you quote their rules to me.”

“I must look after you.”

“I’ve been alone all this time.”

“So you’ve—” William swallowed. “You’ve entertained male guests alone before?”

“Like the best courtesan,” Dorothea said.

William swiveled his head round. “Really?”

“Of course not.” His sister crossed her arms.

Perhaps Sir Ambrose was right to call her willful.

“Then why did you invite him?”

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “I told you.
He
told you. He came to call to ask about Sussex. I believe he wants to start an investigation into some dubious activity there.”

“And you’re the expert?” he scoffed.

Dorothea’s eyes dampened. “My opinion was once respected.”

William’s chest tightened. He was not even good at being a brother. He only sought to protect her, and somehow he behaved with all the acrimony and moral self-righteousness of the ton. He rushed to her side and grabbed her hand. “And it still is.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I behaved poorly.”

His sister smiled, tousling his hair. For a moment, he was fifteen, she was twelve, and everything was all right.

“I actually did want you to speak with him,” she said. “I didn’t expect his visit, but I was hoping you might return. I do think you might have some things in common with him.”

William grunted. Anything he might have in common with Sir Ambrose’s burly nephew was unlikely to be flattering. “Let’s hope not.”

When he regarded his sister again, she was staring at him. She looked away quickly. “Penelope should be here soon.”

“And then the duke,” William muttered.

“Exactly.” Dorothea scrutinized him again. “But you’ll be gone then, won’t you?”

He wasn’t sure if the last was a question or a request. Despite the innocence that Dorothea claimed the meeting had, William remained shaken. Her actions did not resemble that of a woman devoted to her suitor. Perhaps he did not know his sister so well after all.

*

The sun shone through the net curtains of Dorothea’s drawing room, reflecting a dazzling array of perfectly formed fleurs-de-lis on the wooden floor. Sebastian smiled, aware he had grown fond of visiting her.
Is this love?

Sebastian called on Dorothea every other day at two o’clock. Sometimes Cousin Penelope joined them and sometimes Aunt Beatrice: she was always well-chaperoned. He liked that Dorothea behaved so sensibly; she would make an excellent duchess.

He had not seen William since the man had dashed from his bedroom to fulfill his engagement in Hyde Park.

Eager to learn about William’s childhood, he had plied Dorothea with questions. Dorothea’s childhood intrigued him as well, of course, but somehow they always returned to William’s. It must be because William and he were both men, and Dorothea’s childhood, surrounded by dolls and a stream of governesses teaching her the intricacies of needlework, did not amuse him as consistently.

In contrast, William’s behavior troubled him, occupying his mind. Even though he had given him permission to marry Dorothea, Sebastian sensed something displeased him.

He did want William to be happy. Sebastian decided he would ask him to be his best man. If Lewis had lived, he would have been Sebastian’s best man. But if Lewis had lived, Dorothea would be married to him, and Sebastian would be living in Yorkshire. He would likely have met William at some dreadful weekend country ball.

Today he had arrived early.

The floorboards creaked, and Sebastian turned his head to the noise. The cream-painted door stood ajar, the laurel-covered cornice framing a tall figure in the hall instead of the paneled entryway.

William.
Sebastian swallowed, and his eyes widened at seeing the man he had just been contemplating. The captain stood tall and radiated handsomeness.

Discomfort flickered over the captain’s face, and his jaw appeared more set. “Your Grace.”

“Captain Carlisle.” Sebastian leaped from the armchair and forgot himself, running his eyes over the man in appreciation. A dark green frock coat swung over the captain’s tight leather breeches, accentuating his perfectly formed legs. His polished black boots glistened against the tiled floor, and a riding crop dangled from his long fingers, coarsened from war.

Heat rose to his cheeks, and he hoped William would not see the accompanying blush.

William smirked and strode into the room. His mood seemed to be improved.

“We can revert to calling each other by our first names.” William leaned closer to Sebastian. “There is a rumor we shall be brothers soon.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

The light caught William’s hands, tanned from hot days in the Indian sun. Dark hairs covered his wrists.
What would it be like to touch them?

“Will you make my sister a fortunate woman?” William asked.

Sebastian lifted his head. “Do you think she would become unfortunate by tying herself to me?”

William stared at him, his tone serious. “Nobody could be unfortunate in your company.”

For a moment, Sebastian worried he would lose himself in William’s warm, dark eyes, and he shifted his feet.

William frowned. He closed the thick door behind them and motioned for Sebastian to take a seat on the couch.

Sebastian swallowed. Would he sit next to him? He wasn’t sure whether he felt relief or disappointment when William settled in the armchair opposite him.

They were silent. At intervals, William turned to him and opened his mouth before closing it, as if reluctant to say something. Finally, William buried his face in his hands for a moment before gazing up. “I will not be angry with you if you do not marry her. Just so you know.”

His statement startled Sebastian, and the feeling of warmth abandoned him. “You grant me permission not to marry her?”

William nodded solemnly. “You haven’t proposed yet. Please know that I will not be offended if you never do.”

Sebastian set his jaw. William was mocking him. He resembled everyone who expressed surprise at Sebastian fulfilling his societal expectation. Even if Sebastian was just a country squire whose position had risen to inconceivable proportions, he resolved to be a good duke. He could handle the task of being a husband, just as he could handle the task of managing an enormous estate.

“My intent remains unchanged. I see I was fortunate to previously procure your consent.”

“I only meant . . .” William wrinkled his brow. “Forgive me.”

Sebastian doubted William would outright ban Dorothea from marrying him. He would propose to Dorothea immediately. He had considered inviting her to Somerset Hall on the South Downs to make his proposal there. Perhaps he could simply settle things now. “Think nothing of it. I’ve already forgotten.”

William nodded. “Other options exist . . .”

“How kind of you,” he said, doing his best impression of an icy aristocrat. William did not think he was suitable to marry his sister. That choice was Dorothea’s—not his. He had no desire to see William flounder to make conversation. Sebastian gestured at William’s clothes. “Never mind. I believe you are off to ride again?”

A pained expression flickered across William’s face. He tilted his head down and frowned. “Excuse me.” He rose and bowed curtly and left the room.

Sebastian remained on the couch. His vision blurred, the fleurs-de-lis melding together. The main door slammed, indicating William’s departure, and his shoulders dropped.

A few minutes later, a knock sounded on the heavy outside door.

Dorothea.

Sebastian’s heart raced, and he rushed to steady his breathing, still erratic from his encounter with William. He would propose now. He would be a husband. Wasn’t his outrage, his unsteady breath, a sign that he wanted to marry her? That the other suggestion, not marrying her, horrified him? He would gain a family again, and William would cease to fill his thoughts. He inhaled. It wouldn’t do for his future betrothed to find him out of breath. Sitting in a delightfully decorated drawing room was not supposed to be physically challenging. He staggered to his feet.

The outside door creaked open, and the low murmurs of the butler drifted in.

“I must see her in person,” a man shouted outside, his voice carrying.

“Dorothea is not at home.”

“Take me to the drawing room.”

Sebastian leaned forward. The man’s voice sounded coarse, but his accent was more notable. It was French. Why would a Frenchman be trying to get in touch with Dorothea? His rough words made clear he was not a member of the French aristocracy. At least not like any member he had ever met. The ones he knew wandered around London balls with anxious expressions. Subjects of gossip, their status depended on the likelihood of invasion reported by the newspapers. None of them had sounded similar to this man.

“Sir, she is not at home. Can I take a message?”

“No.”

Whoever was outside had given up. Good. The thought of Dorothea being bothered appalled him. Footsteps retreated.

Sebastian tapped his fingers against the fabric of the chair. He should have brought a book with him. Though if Dorothea had been at home, he would have appeared foolish showing up with one. Sebastian considered slipping away, uncertain when she would return. But then William might think he had won, and Sebastian refused to allow that. He would place the choice to marry him or not entirely in Dorothea’s hands.

Rumors surrounded her, whether or not William was aware. Lady Arabella had warned him that Dorothea would find it difficult to become betrothed again given her closeness to her late fiancé. She had little money; her late parents had seen to that. Her engagement to Gregory Lewis had been a love match; perhaps the ton would be more forgiving of her otherwise. They would enjoy tormenting the well-bred yet penniless woman who had come so near to marrying a duke. The ton liked order, and Dorothea had dishevelled society’s rules.

How could he doom her to a life with no children, no family? Merely because of weaknesses and insecurities he felt? He would be strong for her. He was determined to be a good husband. Eventually, he hoped to be a good father. He smiled, envisioning little feet pattering about the household.

If she rejected him, that was her choice. He would not think less of her for it. But he could not withdraw now, not after courting her. She did not need more negative attention on her.

His back stiffened, his mind set.

When the women finally arrived in the drawing room, he scrambled to his feet. He might as well settle things, and he sprang into action.

“Dorothea! May I please speak with you?” He glanced at the rest of the room, noticing the startled expressions on the faces of Cousin Penelope and Dorothea’s lady’s maid. “In private?”

Penelope’s eyes widened, and the maid’s mouth dropped open. Thirty seconds later, they had fled the room, and Dorothea settled on the sofa, arranging her dress so no wrinkles appeared.

“Your Grace.” Dorothea smiled and folded her hands. She had done this before.

“Dorothea, my dear.” Sebastian knelt down in front of her, careful to put his knee on the Oriental rug and not on the colder hardwood floor. He had done this before as well.

“I would be most privileged,” he continued, “if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife. Our time together has been most enjoyable.”

“Your Grace.” She clasped her hand over her heart, her expression formal. “You do me a tremendous honor. I accept with the utmost delight.”

He gazed at her. Her features reminded him of William’s features. He hoped he would not constantly compare them, and he was determined to be a good husband. Whatever obsession he had with William needed to end soon. Was not time the great cure? He smiled at his fiancée.

“When shall we marry?” Dorothea asked.

“Excuse me?” The question surprised him. Henrietta had never asked him such particulars. “I thought we might enjoy one of those long engagements.”

“Why?”

“Well . . .”

“I would like to get married soon.” Dorothea lifted her chin and regarded him directly. “We could have children.”

Sebastian’s chest tightened, and he tried to shove the sensation aside. After all, he approved of her instinct to think of children. This was what he wanted. A family.

“Let us get married soon, then. You name the date,” he paused, knowing something else was expected of him, “my darling,” he said triumphantly. It was affection. He must remember the affection.

He would always miss Charlie, but he would have new children, and he would love them. He would love Dorothea. Perhaps he already did.

“I would like to get married at the end of the season, before London empties.”

“What a wonderful plan, my darling.” Sebastian calculated the wedding would need to be in three months’ time. “I will make the day special for you. Shall we call Penelope back in?”

The door swung open, and Sebastian’s cheeks reddened as he realized his cousin must have been listening to their exchange all along. As Penelope gave her congratulations, her voice crescendoing in enthusiasm, the butler answered a knock at the door.

Perhaps one of Dorothea’s old friends from Lancashire, or one of her new friends from Sussex had called. Or perhaps—perhaps William had returned. He tensed in anticipation. William’s deep voice confirmed his arrival.

“Good afternoon. I trust you’ve had a pleasant day?”

“Most assuredly, my dear brother,” Dorothea said. “In fact, I have news for you.”

“You do?” William entered the room, removing his riding gloves. The cold had made his cheeks rosy.