To Love, Honor, and Obey... (Fated for Love) (2 page)

Chance returned to the manor and changed before making his way to his father’s
room. When he arrived, Horace, his father’s valet, had him sitting up and sliding on his robe.

“Here
, Horace, let me help.” Chance rushed to the bedside.

“I should be attended to by women
—pretty, busty women,” his father grumbled. “It’s humiliating to be waited on by one’s own son.”

“Some humility would be good for you
, Father.” Chance smirked. “For too long now you’ve terrorized the countryside and its inhabitants.”

“Oh
, bah,” his father rumbled. “Tis nice to see you, too.” His eyes crinkled with a smile. “I need some grandchildren to soften me up.” He caught Chances eye and grinned.

Chance exhaled with an exaggerated sigh.  “This again?”

His father chuckled as Chance and Horace moved him to his movable reclining chair. His father’s beard was growing thick and wild, and almost white, but the old man was in good spirits.

“An interesting chair you have here.”

“Yes, well, it keeps me from being tied to the bed. I like to sit in the garden in the afternoons and feel the sun on my face. Will you join me?”

“Your every wish is my command
, Father,” Chance said playfully.

“Don’t think I won’t hold you to that.”

“Shall we begin our adventure then?”

“Adventure? I’ve wrestled tigers in the jungles of India, boy. You’ve no idea how it feels for a man like me to be so
restrained
,” he said with disgust.

Chance just laughed and pushed his father down the hall
toward the stairs. With the aid of two footmen, they carried him down the stairs, and Chance pushed him out the side door into the refreshing air. They wandered toward the topiary garden, enjoying the warm afternoon sun.

His father was unusually quiet as they strolled through leafy figures of charging horses and chess pieces. Chance wanted to speak, to provide the easy banter that was his shield, but held his tongue. There was so much that needed to be said, but so little time to say it. He didn’t want to fill it with meaningless words. As if his father could read his thoughts, he spoke.

“I want to see you married, Chance,” he said quietly.

“I know father.” They'd had this argument many times.

“Have you been looking for a wife?”

“I have spent many seasons in town father, but have yet to find a woman that I could stand to spend my life with, let alone one you would tolerate.” An image of Obedience in her wet shift popped into his mind
, and he thrust it away.

“Ha, the pickings are slim. I could see that when I was last in London. What about that woman you spent many evenings with... Cranston’s daughter?”

“Lady Lillian, you mean?”

“Yes, her. She was beautiful and quite intelligent if I remember.”

“She married The Earl of Redwick. They are most likely expecting their first child by now.” Chance smiled fondly as he remembered how happy and in love they were when he last saw them.

“Really? You had no interest there?”

“No, Father. Lilly was a good friend, that’s all. I am very glad they found such happiness together.”

“I want to see you happy, my son.” His father’s milky blue eyes met his. “I want to see you settled before I can no longer be a part of your life. My time is waning.”

“Please don’t talk like that. We will find the best doctor in the world. We won’t stop until we do.”

“It will make no difference, Chance. Please do this for me.”

They stopped before the image of Venus on the shell. Chance frowned. “I cannot summon a wife at will, Father. I wish I could. I’d give anything to do this for you. To see you hold your grandchild as you wish and know our line will continue, but I’m at a loss as to how I can do that for you, when time is the only thing I don’t have on my side.”

His father was silent as he stared down at his hands. “I want you to marry Obedience.”

“I beg your pardon?” Chance was stunned.

“She has been a great comfort to me. She is intelligent and beautiful.”

“Don't forget willful and rash,” Chance added.

“She will make a fine duchess and mother. She may not be a brainless twit like those London darlings with blood as blue as royalty, but I love her like she is my own.”

“But Father, I’ve known her since she was a child. I couldn’t think of her that way.” He didn't even believe the words as he said them.

“Dammit, Chance, have you seen her lately?”

“Yes.” Chance looked away. His neck felt hot.

“Ha, I knew it. Damned beautiful
, isn’t she?”

“Yes, and every bit the hellion she was years before
,” Chance groaned.

“Then what is the problem?”

“I just... I’ve never thought of her that way,” he said sheepishly.

“Well, start. Nothing would make me happier. Give this dying man his one last wish. You will see that I am right, and you will be as happy as I was with your mother.”

Chance remained silent. He looked over the gardens, thinking of the mother he barely remembered. He could still hear the sound of her voice, smell the hint of jasmine of her perfume, but her face was blurry.  He focused on the garden again and the sun soaked flowers. In the distance, he saw a woman. She weaved through the garden paths like a harvest goddess, steps graceful and buoyant with her spirit and joy. Chance silently cursed his whimsical thoughts. She looked up and smiled at him, an impish smile.

“I will think about it
,” Chance said suddenly. He would court her and see if anything could come of it. It was the least he could do for his father. He didn’t know the woman Obedience had become, but he couldn’t deny that she stirred something inside him. He steeled himself as she approached.

“Good afternoon
.” She curtsied. “I trust you are enjoying your stroll?”

“Better now that you’re here, my dear. My son has become the proverbial stick in the mud.”

Obedience smiled uneasily at Chance. “Teddy has always been a model of decorum. We should not poke fun at him for it.” She placed a hand on the duke’s chair. “After all, someone around here needs to teach us to behave.”

“Nonsense.” The duke barked with laughter.

Chance laughed, too. It was good to hear his father be so happy. “How did a comely young woman befriend such a beastly man? This is highly irregular, and I'm sure completely inappropriate on some level,” he teased.

The duke hooted with more laughter. “Make it appropriate
, son. I beg you.”

Chance chuckled nervously, catching the confused giggle Obedience politely supplied. Good, Chance thought, at least she was in the dark about his father’s machinations.

“Shall we go inside? I believe it is almost time for tea and scones.” The duke sighed happily.

“You never drink tea,
Father,” Chance remarked.

“I’ve taken to the practice of having tea daily with Obedience. It’s a habit I now cherish.”

“Really?” Chance turned to Obedience.

She rolled her eyes. “He takes his tea with Brandy.”

“Ah...” Chance smiled. “That sounds more like him.”

The trio was silent as they made their way back to the house. Obedience couldn’t pull her eyes away from Chance. Every time she tried to focus on the path before her, or a pretty flower or
statue, her eyes returned to him again and again. She followed behind them as Chance maneuvered the chair over the gravel path. The golden, softly curling hair at the nape of his neck was oddly fascinating, and her fingers itched to touch it. He looked taller and broader in the shoulders than she remembered, altogether more masculine, and that somehow caused an odd sensation in the area of her stomach. She had seen pictures of Greek gods in books in the family library and he called to mind the depictions of Apollo. Golden haired, beautiful, untouchable to a mere mortal, but of course, this was her Teddy, and though he had definitely changed into a sophisticated gentleman, surely things would be the same between them. She hoped.

They reached the house and entered a small informal parlor the duke liked to use. The windows were thrown open to emit the fresher air, and newspapers scattered the floor. It used to be the duchesses favorite room, but the duke had claimed it after her passing and hadn’t changed a single thing, except the messes he made that the staff ignored.

Chance perused the room with a frown.

“He likes it this way
. Don’t mention it,” Obedience warned him.

Chance frowned even more but said nothing. Obedience took her place in the chair she always used, a floral wing back chair near the fireplace. Chance pushed his father to the empty clearing where indentations from his chair marked the carpet.

“Amelia will be here with the tea shortly. Obedience, will you pour?” the duke asked.

“Of course.” She nodded. It’s what she usually did on her visits. She was surprised to realize she was nervous with Chance here. She wouldn’t be surprised if more tea ended up on the table than in the cups. She sat quietly with her hands clasped in her lap as Chance spoke of news from London. She felt uncomfortable in her skin, and her fingers and feet itched to move as they usually did when she sat, always tapping and fiddling. It was a constant embarrassment for her mother.

The tea arrived, and the tray was set before Chance on the low table before the sofa. Obedience, hoping she didn’t look as terrified as she felt, moved the chair by the sofa so she could pour. He smiled at her benignly, only to her it wasn’t benign; it was like a king smiling to the court jester before he performed. She was being melodramatic, and she hated melodrama in anything other than Shakespeare. She set out the cups and began to pour, pleased that her hands were not shaking. She looked up at Chance and found him watching her. She smiled weakly. “How do you take your tea?”

“Just a dash of sugar—no milk, please.”

Obedience nodded. She slowly slid his cup toward him and sighed in great relief when she had accomplished her simple task without making a fool of herself. She took the duke his cup of tea and returned to prepare her own. Once again seated, she forced her muscles to relax.

Chance frowned at his father as he watched him pull a flask from inside his robe and add a splash of Brandy to his tea. He shook his head and gave his attention to Obedience. “How is your family
?”

She froze as she was about to take a sip. “My family? Oh... ah, I suppose I ought to say that they are as pleasant as ever, but that would be untrue.”

The duke chuckled. Chance looked back and forth between them curiously.

“My younger sister—Patience, if you remember, is now ten and seven, and eager to find a husband. She will debut in London next season when my Aunt Edith, who will sponsor her, will be out of mourning.”

“My condolences.” Chance vaguely remembered Obedience’s uncle, Lord Vangerhaut from Whites.

Obedience nodded. “Thank you.”

“And your mother?”

“A grand pain in the
—” the duke started.

Obedience cut him off. “My mother is quite well, and very excited for Patience’s debut.” She smiled nervously. Chance raised a dubious brow—just one—and Obedience found it both unsettling and attractive. “Nothing has really changed around here. Things are just the same as you left them.”

“I will have to disagree with you there.”

His eyes wandered over her body so quickly she would have missed it if she
had blinked.

“You did not debut
,” he said. It was more of a statement than a question. “I would have known it if you did.”

Obedience shrugged. “I didn't want to and mother accepted my wishes.”

Again, he raised his eyebrows, this time in apparent disbelief. Angry grumbling could be heard from the duke. He took mercy on her and turned back to his father. As they discussed a local farm, Obedience became aware of feeling very hot. He had looked at her—really looked at her, for the first time since... well, ever. Dare she hope he no longer viewed her as a brat who chased him through the countryside? She didn’t know what to do now. She was so far out of her element with him. He was a cool and sophisticated London gent, and she was so uncouth that she developed fevers from a single look from him. Perhaps, if she had been given a season, she wouldn't feel so overwhelmed by him, but until now, she had never cared. She looked at the door and contemplated escape. She looked back at him. He was describing some uproar at a place called Tattersall’s and smiling wickedly. She was suddenly glued to her seat, riveted by his lean lips.

His beauty was supremely unfair. How can a man look so perfect? Not a hair or seam was out of place, and it made her feel unworthy. She looked down at her hands to hide a frown.  Things had changed, he had changed, and she was nothing but a country bumpkin. She wasn’t used to feeling self-conscious in
another’s presence, though her mother made it plain how much she loathed the curvy silhouette her figure had taken. Obedience had never paid much attention to it. She rather liked her curves. They made her feel womanly and mature, but compared to Chance’s elegance, she felt like a drab fern to his radiant foliage.