The Duke's Marriage Mission (17 page)

“Miss Shaw, I must apologize...”

“Please forgive me, Your Grace!”

Their words collided in the solemn stillness as their gazes met then quickly skittered away.

They tried again.

“There is no need, truly.”

“I protest—the fault was mine.”

Again their replies clashed.

Hayden’s tightly wound nerves unraveled in an outburst of awkward laughter. Miss Shaw sputtered with answering mirth. Hayden’s legs felt suddenly weak. In a lamentable breach of good manners, he sank onto the stairs. The lady did likewise, with no sign of offense.

Meeting her gaze again, he held it this time and raised his hand to signal his wish to speak first. With a self-conscious grin and a barely perceptible nod, she gave him leave to begin.

“I am sorry I offended you, my dear, in speaking as I did of your grandmother. When a person claims they mean
all due respect
I fear it is often an excuse to say something thoroughly disrespectful. I am certain your grandmother advised you as she did out of regard for your happiness. I of all people should know it is possible to do or say something harmful, even with the kindest of intentions.”

Leah Shaw hesitated a moment before replying, perhaps to be certain he had finished. “I accept your apology as I hope you will accept mine, sir. I do not know what made me speak to you that way. I suppose I still feel compelled to defend my grandmother from anyone who would question her care of me.”

“You do not need to apologize for such feelings.” Hayden hunched forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “Least of all to me.”

“But I should have realized you were trying to defend the idea of marriage—a connection that made you happy and gave you your son. It is only natural that you should find Gran’s views on the subject disagreeable.”

It might serve his plans far better if Leah Shaw continued to believe his marriage had been idyllic. Yet Hayden could not bring himself to deceive her, even by omission. “I must admit, your grandmother’s views do trouble me, but for the opposite reason you might think.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Hayden twined his fingers together in a tight knot and brought his chin to rest upon them. “Since Celia’s death, I have tried to deny it, but I fear my wife might have agreed with your grandmother.”

“Oh.” Leah managed to infuse that brief word with too many different feelings for him to be able to sort them out.

Had he just destroyed any hope of ever persuading her to accept an offer of marriage from him?

* * *

The duke’s marriage had not been a happy one? That notion left Leah bewildered and saddened...yet oddly relieved, much to her chagrin. She recalled Lord Northam mentioning that his late wife’s interests had differed from his, yet he’d also said how much he enjoyed spending time with her. Her treasured friendships had taught Leah that two people did not need to be exactly alike in order to share a deep, abiding affection.

“
My
grandmother never wanted me to wed Celia,” the duke continued. “She thought her unsuitable to assume the mantle of Duchess of Northam and mistress of Renforth Abbey. Looking back, I realize Grandmother was right, but at the time I was too smitten to see it.”

Was he confiding in her to atone for their earlier quarrel? Leah wanted to assure him it was not necessary to dredge up painful memories in order to appease her. Yet something deeper than simple curiosity kept her hanging on his every word.

“I did not fall in love with Celia in spite of our differences, but
because
of them.” Lord Northam stared down at the wide gallery below as if he could picture his first wife scurrying past, laughing. “That Season was my first taste of London society and everything about it seemed to bubble and glitter. Only later did I realize how quickly bubbles burst and how easily things that glitter can shatter into dangerous shards.

“I was young,” he continued, “and for the first and only time in my life, I felt a trifle rebellious. Grandmother’s disapproval made me all the more resolved to marry Celia, as did the competition of several other suitors. I was beside myself with happiness when such an admired toast of society chose to accept
my
proposal.”

All those years later, the duke still sounded surprised by his late wife’s decision. Leah was not. How could any of those other suitors have compared to a man like Hayden Latimer? Not for his title and fortune or even his handsome looks, but for his many fine qualities of character that Leah had discovered since coming to Renforth Abbey. If Lady Celia had been the giddy butterfly she sounded, was it any wonder she’d been drawn to a man of quiet strength and prudence—one who could be relied upon to protect her from a harsh world that might take advantage of her reckless high spirits? Leah found she could sympathize all too well with the motives of the late duchess.

“We were happy at first.” A gnawing edge of wistfulness in the duke’s tone tugged at Leah’s heart. “But I was unaccustomed to the hectic pace of London Society and soon tired of it. Celia miscarried twice. Her physician said it was because of the late hours she kept, the rich food and constant overexcitement. When my grandmother fell ill, I felt obliged to return to Renforth Abbey. I thought the wholesome country atmosphere would do Celia good. It seemed to for a time.”

Leah began to understand why the duke was telling her all this. She wished propriety would permit her to make some gesture of consolation.

“While the weather was fine, Celia seemed content. She invited friends to visit, hosted picnics and went riding. She often visited a nearby estate, owned by a friend of my sister. But when autumn came and all her friends flocked back to London for the Little Season, Celia wanted to go, too. It was impossible for me to desert my grandmother when it was clear she had very little time left. Celia begged me to let her go to London on her own but I did not dare permit it. She was with child again and I knew if she fell back into her old ways, it could be dangerous for her and for the baby.”

Leah could understand all too well how confining the fun-loving duchess must have found Renforth Abbey in the late autumn with no company and the weather cold and dull. How she must have resented her husband’s preoccupation with his ailing grandmother, who heartily disapproved of her. And yet, Leah could not blame Lord Northam for his actions. He had only wanted to do what was best for his grandmother, his wife and his unborn child.

“Celia had far too much spirit to accept my decision tamely.” The duke’s jaw tightened and the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes seemed to deepen. “We had some terrible quarrels. You have seen how Kit can be when he is denied what he wants—Celia was nearly as bad. And you know from experience that I am far too easily provoked to anger.”

A painful qualm of regret gripped Leah. Their argument over dinner must have reminded Lord Northam of the darkest times of his marriage.

“The accusation Celia most often hurled at me was that I had taken away her freedom when we wed. She said Renforth Abbey was like a prison and I was more a jailor than a husband. No doubt you and your grandmother would agree with her.”

How hard it must have been for him to hear those same sentiments about marriage echoed over his dinner table so many years later. Leah wished she had held her tongue. And yet she would not deny her beliefs, which the Northam’s marriage illustrated so painfully.

“It is not quite as simple as that, Your Grace.”

“Is it not?” The duke turned his head to fix her with a searching stare.

Leah met it for a moment, hoping he would see she meant what she’d said. But she could not risk holding such a gaze in case he should glimpse how deep her sympathy ran and perhaps confuse it for something else.

“I do not blame you for acting as you did.” She edged closer to the banister. The staircase was not the most comfortable place to sit. Yet it seemed to put them on a more level footing, not as master and employee, but simply two people with beliefs and feelings of equal importance. “I know you were not prompted by selfish motives, but by loving concern for those you felt bound to protect.”

Lord Northam shook his head slowly. “That was what I believed at the time and what I have told myself often since then. But now I realize I have too often made the wrong choices in spite of my good intentions.”

Leah gave a rueful nod. “That is what I meant when I said it was not simple.”

The subtlest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips then quickly faded. “I have told you most of the story. I suppose you might as well hear the rest.”

Why was he sharing so many private, painful memories with her? Simply because he regretted their quarrel? If so, he had done more than enough to atone already. She had been as much to blame for their argument as he, if not more. Yet Leah could not subdue her curiosity to learn the rest of the story.

Why did the subject of his past fascinate her so? Was it because it had been every bit as difficult as hers in its way, even though he was a wealthy peer and she a former charity pupil?

After a long pause, the duke continued. “My grandmother died, six years ago nearly to the day.”

“I am very sorry.” More than ever, Leah longed to rest her hand upon his.

No wonder his temper had been more easily provoked than usual. Anniversaries of painful events from her past always brought feelings of sorrow, guilt and anger closer to the surface than she usually allowed them. On top of that, to hear her talk about Gran, whose views had been so sharply opposed to those of the Dowager Duchess, could only have aggravated him further.

The duke acknowledged her sympathy with a brief nod. But before he could say another word, a door opened and closed on the ground floor and the decisive footsteps of the butler approached.

Without hesitation or consultation, Leah and the duke leaped to their feet as if they were about to be caught committing a crime.

“Thank you for that information, Miss Shaw.” Lord Northam’s voice sounded too loud and hearty for natural conversation. “Perhaps we can discuss it further at another time.”

As he spoke, the duke began walking down the stairs. Clearly he was ashamed to be seen exchanging confidences with her. The thought stung Leah even though she felt the same way. Only she had her reputation to protect. Was he trying to protect it, too? That was the sort of behavior she had come to expect from him.

“Certainly, sir.” She tried to keep her tone from betraying the fact that their conversation had been anything but ordinary and impersonal.

By unspoken agreement, Leah started
up
the stairs. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

“Good evening, Miss Shaw,” he called back.

A moment later she heard him talking to the butler.

What had the duke been about to tell her? Leah wondered as she headed back to her room. Whatever it was, she found herself far more curious than she had any right to be. Would Lord Northam tell her on some future occasion? Or might she never again catch him in so unguarded a moment?

Chapter Eleven

H
ad he been seeking to secure Leah Shaw as a future wife or trying to drive her away from Renforth Abbey? A full week after he had confided in Kit’s governess about his marriage, Hayden was still vexed with himself for revealing so much about Celia’s discontent. Did it not bear out Miss Shaw’s critical ideas about marriage and cast doubt on his fitness as a husband?

In spite of that, he could not deny a strange sense of relief it had brought him to share those memories with her. Their weight no longer seemed such a burden on his heart and conscience. It helped that Miss Shaw had taken a charitable view of his actions. Her understanding meant more to him than he could ever convey.

For several days afterward she seemed to be avoiding him and Hayden did not try to impose his company upon her. He judged it best to allow the volatile emotions they had roused to ease awhile before making any further effort to advance his plan.

As a consequence, he found himself more than ever looking forward to his opportunities to join her and his son for lessons. Today Kit was poring over an atlas Miss Shaw had borrowed from Hayden’s library.

“This is Great Britain and here is Renforth Abbey.” She pointed to a spot in the south of the country. “Can you locate Nethercross, where Sophie lives? It is to the northeast and lies along the banks of the River Thames.”

Hayden wondered whether it was a good idea to teach his son geography. Learning about other places might only stir up discontent and a dangerous yearning to travel. But the boy clearly enjoyed the subject too much for his father to consider forbidding it.

As Kit searched the map, trying to locate Nethercross, Hayden’s mind began to wander. He asked himself whether there were valuable lessons to be learned from his first marriage. Those lessons might help him persuade Leah Shaw that matrimony need not be the prison sentence she had been led to believe.

“There it is!” Kit’s cry jarred Hayden from his drifting thoughts. “Look, Papa. I found where Sophie lives. It doesn’t look far from Renforth at all. Perhaps someday I can go and visit her.”

Hayden opened his mouth to quash such a dangerous idea. But before he could say anything, Leah Shaw caught his eye. Her gaze held a glittering green warning and a warm brown plea that prompted him to reply, “Perhaps Sophie and her sisters could come here to visit you.”

Much to his satisfaction, his response appeared to please both his son and the child’s governess.

“They could?” Kit beamed. “When can they come?”

Miss Shaw spared Hayden from having to make any irrevocable plans that very moment by saying, “Time enough to decide that later. Renforth Abbey and Nethercross may look close on a map, but the distance is a full day’s ride. Lord and Lady Steadwell would never allow their daughters to make such a journey until the weather is warmer and the roads are free of mud. Now, are you ready for a more difficult search? Can you find Knightley Park way up in Nottinghamshire? Cissy and Dolly Radcliffe live there. Their foster mother is another old friend of mine.”

The new challenge immediately commanded Kit’s attention. His finger ranged upward over the map.

Hayden cast Leah Shaw a grateful smile and received one in return that made his chest ache with its radiance. Did he merit that simply because he had offered to invite the Kendrick girls for a visit? If so perhaps he would not find it as difficult to make her content at Renforth Abbey as he had Celia.

A pang of guilt drove the smile from his face. Had he ever truly
tried
to make Celia happy here? Or had he been so caught up in his worry for her, the baby and his grandmother that he could not loosen his protective grip against which she’d rebelled?

“I cannot find Knightley Park.” Kit pushed the atlas away. “There are too many places on this map.”

“Look for the town of Newark, in the middle part.” Miss Shaw nudged the book back toward him. “It will be in bigger letters than some of the others.”

Thus encouraged to continue, Kit narrowed his search.

Meanwhile his governess approached Hayden. “I have a suggestion that I hope you will consider.”

When he encountered her hopeful look, Hayden wondered how he could possibly deny her. “Of course I will
consider
anything you suggest, my dear. Whether I can agree is quite another matter.”

Her smile widened in response to his rallying tone. “I believe you might this time. You see I am a little anxious about Kit being carried from his bed to his chair for lessons and meals.”

Hayden nodded. He was no stranger to such worries. In the past they had been strong enough keep his son bedbound. Lately he had learned to act more on hope and less on fear. But that still did not banish his concerns altogether.

“I thought it might be safer for Kit if we fix a set of wheels to the legs of his chair so it could be brought right up to the bed then pushed to the table once he is safely seated.”

Before she even finished, Hayden began to nod vigorously. How could he refuse a suggestion that would allow his son more freedom without compromising his safety? “That is an excellent idea. I shall look into it immediately.”

“I found Newark,” Kit piped up. He seemed to have been too deeply engrossed in his search to have paid any attention to the exchange between his father and governess.

“Well done.” Miss Shaw leaned over the table to point out the location of Knightley Park. “I believe we ought to add Cissy and Dolly to your correspondents and perhaps Peter Romney.... I mean Lord Edgecombe. He is nearly your age, as are some of the young Chases. My friend Miss Fairfax is their governess.”

Kit nodded. “Where do they live? I will write to them and perhaps they can
all
come to visit.”

His son needed contact with other children. Hayden could not mistake the boy’s tone of longing. But might that carry a different sort of danger? He recalled how mercilessly some of the boys at school had ragged anyone who was the least bit different—smaller than the rest, slower to grasp their lessons or with a speech impediment. Might a boy who could not walk be shunned or tormented?

Making friends by letter would provide Kit with many of the benefits but none of the risks. Hayden admired Leah Shaw for devising such a clever compromise.

Might there be a way he could learn from her? Were there things he could do to make life at Renforth Abbey more agreeable for her—providing a semblance of the freedom she so craved?

One possibility occurred to him. “If you will excuse me, I must go confer with the gardener...I mean the carriage maker in the village about wheels for Kit’s chair.”

His son looked up from the atlas with a hopeful sparkle in his eyes. “Wheels for my chair? Why?”

“Miss Leah will explain.” Hayden ruffled his son’s hair then headed off.

His lungs felt buoyant, like a pair of hot air balloons, lifting his spirits and lightening his step.

Halfway out the door he turned and called back. “You will dine with me tonight I hope, Miss Shaw? So we can discuss other ideas you might have for this young fellow.”

“Of course, sir.” She glanced up at him and Hayden was struck afresh by her vibrant beauty.

Though he needed to wed the lady for Kit’s sake, it would be no hardship for him. Quite the contrary.

* * *

During the following fortnight, it seemed to Leah that Lord Northam was determined to make up for their earlier quarrel by being more than usually obliging. He wasted no time adopting her idea to get wheels fitted on a chair for his son, which delighted both her and Kit.

“It reminds me of the garden chair my grandmother used in her later years,” the duke mused the first time he pushed his beaming son from the bed to the writing table.

Later on, when Lord Northam left them alone for their lessons, Kit begged Leah to push his chair around the room, which she was happy to do.

But when her pupil pleaded to make another circuit, she had to refuse. “We must get some work done. Otherwise your papa will guess what we have been up to. Would you like to write a letter to Sophie about your new chair? Perhaps you can draw her a picture to go with it.”

“I wish you would push my chair out of the nursery so I could see other parts of the house,” said Kit as Leah trimmed his pen. “Then I would have even more to tell Sophie. I want to do some of the things she writes about—riding ponies and boating on the river. I would not need strong legs to do those, only Papa’s permission.”

The edge of frustration in the child’s tone reminded Leah what limited progress she had made on his behalf since coming to Renforth Abbey. She had freed him from his bed and expanded the horizons of his mind with education, but he was still confined to this one room, spacious and handsome though it might be.

“Try not to be angry with your father.” She rested her hand on Kit’s shoulder in a fond caress. “He is only trying to protect you from illness or injury because he loves you so dearly. He is learning to master his fear, but that takes time just as it has taken time for you to learn how to read and write.”

Every word was true yet Leah felt as if she were being pulled in opposite directions. Was she making excuses for the duke because she had grown to like him so well? Had she slackened in her efforts to liberate Kit because she had come to sympathize with his father? If so, she was betraying her original purpose and the promise she had made to Lady Althea. Her feelings toward the duke were holding her back, preventing her from pushing harder for Kit’s freedom.

Personal attachments constrained one’s freedom of action, Leah reminded herself. She had learned that in school when the teachers sought to control her behavior by punishing her friends. Could the duke be playing upon her sympathy to turn her from his opponent into an ally?

Unstopping the ink bottle, she silently vowed to make Kit’s well-being her top priority again. “Work on your letter for half an hour then I will push you around in your chair again.”

“We have a bargain!” Kit seized his pen and began to write.

As Leah watched him work with such energy, her gaze strayed to the nursery door. Perhaps she and Kit needed to prove to the duke that expanding his son’s boundaries was not as fraught with peril as he seemed to believe. To accomplish that, it might be easier to beg forgiveness after the fact than ask permission beforehand.

When the duke returned a while later, he seemed pleased to find Kit had been so productive with his studies, as well as being in good spirits. If he suspected his son’s new chair was being used for more than conveying him safely from his bed to the table, Lord Northam gave no sign of it.

Kit must have guessed that telling his father about his new amusement might lead to it being forbidden. Though Leah had not asked him to keep it a secret, the child made no mention of his new activity to the duke.

They passed a pleasant afternoon, reading aloud, studying more geography then playing games after Kit’s tea. Though the day outside was overcast and windy, Leah found it did not weigh quite so heavily upon her spirits. She and Kit and his father made their own sunshine.

“I hope you will join me for dinner,” said the duke as Leah headed off. “There is something I would like to show you afterward.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Leah replied, her curiosity piqued. They had dined together several times since the evening of their quarrel, but both had made an effort to avoid any contentious subjects. There had been no opportunity for the duke to confide anything further about his marriage. “May I ask what you wish to show me?”

“You may ask all you like.” His eyes twinkled in a manner Leah found dangerously appealing. “But do not expect me to tell you. I want it to be a surprise.”

“What sort of surprise, Papa?” asked Kit. “Can you tell me? I wish I could see it whatever it is.”

The merry glint in Lord Northam’s eyes faded. Did he regret raising the subject in his son’s hearing when Kit could not share in the surprise? He rallied quickly however. “That depends. Can you keep a secret?”

Kit broke into a broad grin and exchanged a significant look with Leah. “Yes, I can! I promise.”

“Very well, then.” The duke pretended not to notice the byplay between pupil and governess. “I will tell you when I tuck you in for the night.”

As she headed off to dress for dinner, Leah tried to guess what the duke had in store for her. The whole idea of a surprise seemed out of character for a man who liked to keep his world orderly, predictable and safe. Yet the contradiction intrigued her.

She took greater care than usual with her appearance that evening. Unbinding her hair from its plain governess knot, she tied up the loose flow of chestnut curls with a velvet ribbon instead. Then she donned a gown Grace had given her to wear during the Nethercross Christmas festivities. Its rich plum color complemented her hair and eyes and brightened her complexion.

Then she performed a little twirl before the looking glass and asked her starry-eyed reflection why she had gone to so much trouble. The younger-looking woman replied with an impudent grin, “Why shouldn’t I? If Lord Northam took the trouble to arrange a surprise, the least I can do is look my best for it.”

The duke seemed to regard the evening as some sort of occasion, as well, for he appeared very smartly turned out in a dark green coat and crisp, fresh linen.