A New Home for the Duke: A Regency Romance: The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square (Book 4)

by Pearson, Rose

  “Miss Edgington,” he repeated, something beginning to nag at his mind. “You knew my late wife, I believe?”

  She nodded, a slight wariness about her eyes. “I am a distant relation to Lady Matthews and to the late Lady Carrington,” she agreed.

  He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting away from her. His thoughts began to fill with memories of his wife, wondering just how much Miss Edgington knew of Lady Carrington and whether she had any memories of her that she might share with him.

  Miss Edgington’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Yes, Your Grace? What is it?” She made an impatient gesture towards the door. “I must return to the children.”

  “But of course.” Focusing his gaze, he rubbed at his chin and felt the roughness there. Both unkempt and scruffy, then.

  Wincing inwardly, he looked up at her, still uncertain as to whether or not he would be able to stand. “I must apologize, Miss Edgington.”

  Her brows rose but she said nothing.

  “I believe that I may have made some inappropriate remarks,” he continued, a flush rising steadily into his face. “I do apologize profusely, Miss Edgington. I do not recall yesterday’s events with any particular clarity, but –”

  “I do not think, Your Grace, that it is I who needs your apologies,” Miss Edgington interrupted, showing no regard for his status as a Duke and the master of the house. Stephen clenched his jaw, knowing full well that no other servant in his employment would ever speak over him in such a way but yet feeling that he had no right to demand her respect.

  “Your children, Your Grace, are distraught over your inability to so much as give them a simple greeting,” she continued, her voice sharp. “I have consoled them as best I could but it is still not enough. Your son believes you to have been overcome by the length of the journey back to England and I did not feel it to be my place to correct him. Therefore, they are both hoping that, once you have recovered, you might, in fact, speak to them and welcome them into your embrace.” She held his gaze steadily, as though she could see the struggle going on within his heart. “I can imagine that it must be a difficult thing to consider, Lord Carrington, but for the sake of your children, I hope you can do such a thing.” Without allowing him to reply, without even waiting for him to allow her to quit the room, Miss Edgington turned on her heel and strode towards the door, flinging it open and marching through it without so much as a look behind her.

  Stephen stared after her, more than a little astonished that she had chosen to speak to him in such a manner and then had disappeared from his presence without his agreement. This new governess, whomever she was, certainly had more mettle than he had expected – and Stephen was not entirely sure that such a thing pleased him.

  Her final few words began to rise up again within the silence of the room, flinging themselves at him until he was awash with guilt. There was no doubt within him that he had done wrong when it came to his children, but to go to them now, in the way the governess demanded, was almost impossible to consider. Their faces would remind him of Martha. Their voices would crash through him, bringing memories and emotions with them until he was overcome, swamped with all that he felt. Most likely, he would break down completely, and what would his children think of him then?

  They would not mock you for it.

  Wincing, Stephen closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. For whatever reason – reasons he could not quite understand – he did not want to share the truth of his feelings with another living soul, and certainly not with his children. It was not the correct behavior for a Duke. A man with his title and status ought to remain stoic and unaffected, no matter the circumstances. It was, however, much too difficult to behave in such a manner even though he knew it was for the best.

  Shaking his head to himself and wishing that he had not been so affected by what the governess had said, Stephen rose to his feet and tugged at the bell pull. There were a few things he would need to set to rights, and one would be to have his things moved to another room. He did not want to have to continually sleep in the parlor or in any other room of the house simply because he was avoiding the memories that would come from residing in his own rooms. Therefore, he would have to have his belongings moved to the largest guest bedchamber within the house. It would become his residence for as long as it was required. He did not care what the staff would think of him doing such a thing, for it would be all the worse for them to discover him continually drunk and asleep in any given room of the estate! And then, of course, he would have to do as the governess had stated and greet his children.

  One hour later and Stephen was feeling a trifle better, given that he had washed, dressed and shaved. He was dressed impeccably. As he stood with his face towards the door, he drew in a breath and lifted his chin a touch. He would have to remain strong if he were to do what was required.

  A scratch came at the door and he called for them to enter, refusing to acknowledge the gnawing anxiety that was beginning to stir within him. The door opened slowly and, as he continued to fix his gaze upon it, saw the two small faces of his children.

  Devoid of any liquor by which he might be able to dispel some of his tumultuous emotions, Stephen drew in a long breath and tried to smile, hating that his two children were looking up at him with such uncertainty in their eyes. They had changed somewhat since he had last seen them but their eyes held the same touch of fear as they blinked up at him.

  “Do come in,” he said, aware that his voice had cracked but unable to do anything other than continue on regardless. “I am glad to see you both.”

  Mary took a few hesitant steps towards him, her eyes huge and her hands held tightly in her lap. “Truly, father?” she whispered, her voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear her.

  “Yes, of course,” he replied, with as genuine a smile as he could manage. His heart began to tear inwardly as he looked down into her face, seeing so much of Martha there and finding himself assailed with memories all over again. As much as he wished to turn away from his children, he forced himself to put out one hand and rest it gently on Mary’s shoulder, feeling the tension in her small frame. “I am sorry I did not greet you properly before, child. It was only that my legs had not quite recovered from the journey.” It was nothing more than a lie, but a lie that the governess had given to him to use by way of excusing his behavior to his own children. Clinging to it, he saw Mary nod slowly, her eyes still large as she looked up at him.

  His heart was being slowly ripped to pieces as he dragged his gaze away from his daughter to look towards his son, who wore something akin to a mutinous expression. Clearing his throat and setting aside his own pain as best he could, Stephen nodded his head in his son’s direction. “John,” he said, clearly. “I am glad to see you also.”

  John said nothing, but returned his father’s gaze with something of a mocking expression, one side of his mouth curling upwards. Stephen swallowed hard, wondering if his son knew all too well that the excuse of being without his land-legs was nothing but a lie and that, in being aware of it, he despised Stephen for speaking so.

  “It has been some time since we last saw one another, I am aware,” he continued, not quite certain what else to say but aware that he needed to fill the sudden silence. “However, I have returned home now, as you see, and have no intention of leaving again.”

  “You have been sent away from the army?”

  John’s voice was hard and filled with suspicion, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked up at Stephen.

  “My duty is done,” Stephen lied, refusing to even consider telling his son the truth. “I will not be returning there.” He eyed John carefully, feeling his heart begin to ache all the more as he took in the boy’s dark expression. Was John afraid that Stephen would leave the estate again? That he would separate himself from his children once more? He could not blame his son for thinking such a thing, not when he knew all too well that there was, in fact, a desire within him to do precisely that.

  “I
….” He trailed off, a lump beginning to form in his throat. He wanted to speak of Martha, wanted to tell his children that he knew they had suffered greatly in the loss of their mother, but found that he could not even think of speaking of her. It was costing him too much to even speak to his own children, for even looking at them was bringing her to mind.

  “You should return now,” he said, thickly, dropping his gaze from his son and turning a little away. “It is near time for you to retire, is it not?”

  There was nothing but silence for some moments. He heard John mutter something to his sister and then the sound of footsteps making their way to the door. Tears crept into Stephen’s eyes as the door was pulled open, and he turned away all the more, refusing to allow a single drop of moisture to fall. He could not bring himself to do so, not when he had remained fighting against his emotions for so long.

  “Good night, father.”

  Mary’s whisper caught his ears. Drawing in a ragged breath, Stephen turned his head to bid her good night, his whole being ravaged with pain, but by the time he looked around, the door was closed. She was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  “Of course, I am very glad to hear that your father was so willing to speak to you.” Jenny tried to smile as Mary looked back up at her with a questioning look in her eyes. “That is wonderful indeed.”

  “He did not speak to us a great deal,” Mary replied, slowly, her brow furrowing gently. “There was not much for him to say at all. In fact, I cannot be certain that he was glad that we had come into his presence.”

  “I am certain that is not so,” Jenny replied, firmly, knowing that this was most likely true but deciding it was best that the girl not think badly of her father. “He will still be tired from his journey and, besides which, there are a great many responsibilities for him to take on now that he has returned to the estate.” She smiled down at Mary, making sure to tuck the blankets in carefully. Mrs. Blaine had told Jenny on more than one occasion that the estate desperately needed the master’s guidance and that things were going rather badly for the estate as a whole, so now that Lord Carrington had returned, Jenny knew there would be a heavy burden of responsibility settled back on his shoulders. “You must simply try to be glad that he welcomed you, as he did,” she finished, resting her hand atop Mary’s for a moment. “That is quite wonderful, is it not?”

  The child did not look completely convinced, but her brow began to smooth itself from the frown that she had worn ever since she had climbed into bed. Jenny smiled softly, glad that Mary had begun to speak to her openly and had stopped behaving in such an angry and discontented manner. It was only a day or so since the Duke’s return, but even in such a short time, Jenny felt as though she barely recognized the children; such was the altering of their characters.

  “I must bid good night to John,” she told Mary, as one of the maids walked into the room, ready to set about a few final duties before Mary went to sleep. “Good night, Mary. I shall see you in the morning.”

  Mary nodded and grasped Jenny’s hand tightly for a moment, her eyes fixed on her face.

  “Good night, Miss Edgington,” she said, in a quiet voice. “Thank you for not leaving us.”

  Jenny’s heart ached at the vulnerability in the girl’s voice. Leaning over, she kissed Mary’s forehead, smiled and wished her good night. Then she rose and made her way quickly to John’s room, which was next to Mary’s. Her heart filled with an aching happiness at Mary’s quiet expression of gladness.

  “John?”

  John was lying on his side already, his face set.

  “Good night, John,” she said, not drawing near him as she might have done to Mary, for he certainly was not as open to her company nor her presence. “I do hope you have a restful sleep.”

  She made to turn around, only for John’s voice to reach her ears.

  “He will leave us again, will he not?”

  She turned back around. “Your father, do you mean?” Looking at John, she saw that he was looking fixedly at the wall, his jaw working furiously. Realizing that he was battling with his own emotions, Jenny drew near to the boy, wishing she could find a way to reassure him. “No, I do not think so, John. He has duties and responsibilities here that he must take on. You shall have to be taught about such things also, for when the time comes for you to take on the title.”

  John’s eyes flicked towards her and then back to the wall. “He did not want to see us.”

  Her heart ached for the child, seeing him more perceptive than his sister. Perhaps she ought to be honest with him. “This is difficult for your father,” she replied, slowly, seeing the slight softening of John’s hard expression as she spoke. “This house is filled with memories of your mother. He will struggle, I am certain of it, but it does not mean that he will run from it.”

  “He is not the only one who has found it difficult,” John snapped, a flush rising to his cheeks. “Yet he expects sympathy for his struggles when he gives us none.”

  Jenny opened her mouth to respond, only to close it again. There was truth in what John said, a truth she could not deny. Yet, what was she to say? She did not want to pile condemnation onto their father despite her own feelings on the matter.

  “I do not think I can trust him,” John finished, his eyes glistening in a way that betrayed his own heavy emotions. “I cannot trust that he will not turn his back on us again.”

  “Then I shall pray that His Grace will find a way to earn your trust, John,” Jenny replied, softly, reaching out to brush John’s hair from his forehead and finding, much to her surprise, that he did not jerk away. “But be assured that I have no intention of ever leaving your side. I do hope that brings you some comfort.”

  There was a long moment of silence. John drew in a long breath and sighed, his eyes closing as Jenny lifted her hand from his forehead. There was a heavy weight on the boy’s shoulders, Jenny realized, her heart aching for him. If only there was a way for her to lift it, but, as she considered this, Jenny realized that the only person who could do so was the Duke himself. He had to earn John’s trust, prove to him that he was not about to leave the estate again and that he did, in fact, care for his son and his daughter. The only thing that she could do would be to encourage such a thing. The rest was the Duke’s responsibility.

  “Good night, John,” she said, softly, getting up and making her way to the door. “I pray you have a good night’s rest and feel refreshed come the morning.”

  She did not think that he would reply but, just as she made to pull the door close, she heard his voice whispering towards her.

  “Good night, Miss Edgington,” he said, quietly. “And thank you.”

  * * *

  “Oh, good, you are dressed for dinner.”

  Jenny frowned, a little surprised at Mrs. Blaine’s sudden enthusiasm. “I am wearing my usual dull gown and have redressed my hair into the tight bun that does not suit me in any particular way,” she said, with a slight wryness to her voice. “Shall I do?” It was not at all like Mrs. Blaine to care particularly what Jenny looked like when it came to dinner. Jenny was well used, by now, to sharing her meal with the staff below stairs, even though it was not the done thing for a governess.

  “Oh, but you are not to dine with us this evening!” Mrs. Blaine exclaimed, grasping Jenny’s arm and beginning to propel her towards the door. “No, indeed! The master has requested your presence.”

  Jenny stopped dead, refusing to allow Mrs. Blaine to pull her along the hallway any longer. Her heart quickened as she looked into the housekeeper’s face and saw the way she nodded and smiled, as though this were some wonderful honor. Her mouth went dry, her stomach swirling uncomfortably. Given how the Duke had behaved previously, she did not want to put herself in any sort of danger. It would not be the first time the master of the house had attempted to seduce one of his staff.

  “Come now,” Mrs. Blaine said, urgently. “You will be late.”

  “I do not think I should do such a thing,”
Jenny protested, weakly. “You know very well what he suggested to me last evening.”

  Mrs. Blaine dropped her hand from Jenny’s arm and looked into her eyes, her expression suddenly severe.

  “I do,” she said, firmly. “But you cannot think that we would leave you there all alone with the master now, do you?” She gave Jenny a small smile, which allowed Jenny her first breath of relief. “A maid will be sitting within the dining room with you and there will always be someone by the door. Don’t you go fretting now, Miss Edgington. You’ll be quite safe.”

  Jenny’s stomach was twisting itself into painful knots, her hands held tightly in front of her. “I do not think that –”

  “You cannot refuse the master,” Mrs. Blaine warned, her eyes fixed on Jenny’s. “Come now. He is already waiting.”

  * * *

  Eating with the Duke of Carrington was not a particularly pleasant experience. He drank a good deal of wine and seemed to eat very little, whereas she herself ate quickly and quietly without so much as touching her wine. She wanted to ensure she kept a clear head when it came to the Duke. After what happened the last evening, she was more than a little uncertain about him.

  “So,” the Duke began, his eyes resting upon her for what felt like the hundredth time. “Tell me, Miss Edgington.” He frowned, realizing that he had not spoken correctly. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Edgington.”

  A little surprised, Jenny arched one eyebrow, looking back at him coolly. This was not at all what she had expected, given her previous altercation with the Duke. “What is it you wish to know, Your Grace?” she asked, watching him with sharp eyes as he drained the last of his glass of wine. The conversation she had expected to be having was where the Duke might rail at her for her lack of propriety, for her rudeness in speaking to him in the way she had chosen to do or perhaps, in fact, even stating that she would be freed from her position within the house. This mild, uninteresting conversation had been the last thing she had expected.