“I shall need to bathe and clear myself of this wicked filth, and change my clothes, m’lord,” Anne said; she had maintained her chipper tone and bright outlook on their future, in spite of what he knew had been a harsh demeanor on their ride back to the manse. Their embrace had not been pleasurable for him, for when he held her in his arms, he saw that expression burned into her face - the same expression her mother had worn, tears staining reddened cheeks. He could never trust himself not to fall into the brandy the way his father had. And he had for so long feared the rakish life of a man like the Earl of Carteret, a life spent using women until they no longer served him, that he had instead forbidden himself from all but the most socially acceptable of touches; of courtships.
And yet now a woman stood before him who conjured feelings he had never understood; never confronted. And his blood burned for fear - and it was truly his father’s blood. Anne came close again, her smile warm, and embraced him; not full of tears, this time, a circumstance for which the duke was quite thankful. Whether her face contained joy or fear or sadness, he could not bear to see it burning, eyes red, full of tears. He had heard his father’s unearthly screams when he had seen her cry against his chest - and he tried as best he could to quell that unholy rage, consuming all of his memories. They embraced; he gave her a gentle hug, though he wished to hold her close and tight forever.
“Shall I see you when I return from the bath, then?” Anne chirped, full of hope. He could not bear the thought of lying to her, particularly after the intimate moment they had shared, but he could do little else. She would thank him in the end.
“O… of course,” he answered. She looked, bright-eyed; happy. Content with that answer. Another squeezed shared between them, she left him with a dash up the stairs, though she spared no gaze back over her shoulder in delight at him.
His shoulders fell as she disappeared beyond his sight. With duty heavy upon him, he resolved to do what he had promised to do - what he, at least, knew himself capable of doing. Arranging for the freedom she so desired, if not the love she thought she had found in him. He knew he could not love her - not as a woman with so vibrant a soul deserved, without that specter of trust haunting him into his grave.
“M’lord,” Lawrence announced as he pushed open the doors to the dining chamber. At its far end, across a table emptied of the steaming meats and silvery serving platters it had borne just a few hours earlier, he saw the man waiting patiently - the viscount, with what remained of his wasting grin worn proudly in anticipation at the far end of the table.
“Ah! Lord Strauss, I had hoped to see you again,” the skeletal man responded. As greatly as disease had ravaged him, he took every opportunity to play the role that laid before him of the stout and self-assured gentleman. Unfortunately, the ragged wheeze and coughs that accompanied each statement told a different story. Lawrence knew the man’s time had grown only more limited with each passing week, and he felt himself obligated - now, certainly more than ever, with the passion of intimacy he had so thoroughly and roughly robbed from lovely Anne.
“I’ve come to discuss the matter of your estate, and your daughter,” Lawrence declared businesslike.
“Indeed,” the viscount responded, brimming with what joy he could still radiate. “An afternoon in the moors… and quite a torrential one, at that,” he laughed. “I’ve a curiosity in my mind on just precisely how you and lovely Anne spent the afternoon, amid the rain, but I shall keep my questions to myself, for your own sake,” the viscount commented wryly, his expression playfully conspiratorial. “Have you taken to her, Lord Strauss? I know her exterior is rather rough, and I blame myself, but beneath is a soul so willing to live.”
“I hoped we could talk about the terms - perhaps even draw up some manner of agreement that outlines our obligations to one another,” Lawrence answered, quite unmoved by the lord of the house’s gestures. Taken aback, the viscount cleared his throat, gesturing to the serving girl standing near the kitchen’s swinging door; a few whispers later, and the girl disappeared to fetch supplies from the study.
“You need not tell me the details, of course, Lawrence, but I should hope the courtship itself is going well?” the viscount attempted again to discuss the topic amiable.
“It is…” Lawrence’s memories flashed into his mind once more and he held his eyes shut in a pained expression. “M’lord, I shall make this as simple as possible for myself, and for your daughter.”
“Simple?” the lord queried in confusion. “Such relationships are rarely simple,” the old man joked. “I imagine her thoughts on you are not quite so simple, either.”
“I do not relish complications, m’lord, particularly when it comes to the matter of a woman who seeks freedom as yours does. I will not get in her way,” the duke responded, a chill not unlike the freeze of cool autumn rain on his tone. The viscount’s expression began to curdle, sunken eyes once full of hope, now growing empty and wallowing.
“I’m… certain, that you’re the right man for my daughter, Lawrence, but,” the viscount expressed, “I’m not certain I understand. She’s an emotional woman, of course, but those emotions I’m quite certain, will work in your favor. Sir Gilbert spoke to me about the two of you at dinner. He said…”
“I wish not to offend, m’lord, truly, but I think it best we discuss the terms more concretely,” Lawrence rebuffed the dying man. Lawrence had not expected that the elderly man would worry so much on whether his daughter had found love - in fact, he believed that the viscount in truth did not care on the matter at all. Lawrence stilled the regret panging dully in his stomach, reassuring himself that the viscount, if he knew the truth, would be thankful for Lawrence’s unemotional approach to the idea of marriage. His daughter would certainly be better off, the duke reasoned.
“Ah, thank you, my dear,” the viscount said as the serving girl returned. Lord Strauss intervened with a wave of his hand.
“I shall draw up the terms, m’lord - no need to trouble yourself with such matters,” he insisted. The serving girl hesitantly delivered the pen and heavy, thick sheets of paper, quite official-looking with the viscount’s seal upon each sheet, to the duke. He took a deep breath and began to scribble; each word, each letter presented a pained struggle. He knew the conflict hadn’t subsided within him, but he had already come to his determination. As he completed the contract’s terms, fidgeting with the pen so that it bled ink properly, he slid it across the table to the bewildered, ailing man, who seemed utterly mired in the confusion.
“I must confide, Lord Strauss, I had doubt you’d find her manner agreeable - or, at least agreeable as any manner of lord in this entire nation would find her agreeable,” the old viscount coughed out with a laugh. “Below the skin, and the fire, and all those wild ideals she carries in her head, she’s one of the gentlest, sweetest, and most dedicated hearts you’ll find, I trust.” The ailing lord’s words hurt, each of them a reminder of that passionate moment Lawrence had spent with Anne; a reminder that he would fail so beautiful and wonderful a woman as Anne, just as his father had failed his mother. “I’m fortunate to know a man like you will be taking care of Anne, and the estate, once things… well, once I’m gone.”
“There’s no need to be fatalistic, m’lord. Anne will have what she wishes,” Lawrence insisted, finishing the last lines. He drew an ‘x’ and a line at the bottom of the contract, drawing a line across it and scribbling his name to the terms he had drawn up - then left two more lines for Anne and her father. He turned abruptly and offered the page to the viscount, who began to read its terms with a face full of mirth.
“May it be known the Duke of Amhurst, Lawrence Strauss, and Lady Anne Hatley of Roxborough, be joined into a contract of matrimony, this contract be its binding and governing document,” the viscount’s smile bloomed, though the next line began to sour what had been a hopeful grin. “…and maybe it be known that their marriage be one of… financial, marital convenience, for the maintaining of Roxborough estate and tit
le, and that the new Duchess Anne shall be known as steward of Roxborough, bound not by the usual… sorts of marital expectations…” the old man’s voice trailed as he continued to read the terms; Lord Strauss recalled them in his head, and when the old man finished, he nodded.
“A marriage simply for your daughter’s convenience, inheritance of title. Protection of your family. She’ll not be beholden to me. She’ll be free to court and to live as she pleases. I’ll have… well, nothing to do with her. This is what we discussed, isn’t it, m’lord?” Lord Strauss queried; he felt warmth in his cheeks as a melancholy struck him, as if tears threatened to well over his eyes and splash upon the pages of the contract. “I think it best for both of us. And for the future of your estate.”
“B… but, Lawrence, certainly you don’t think my daughter would be happy with this?”
“I fear you were mistaken on the matter of me, and my character, m’lord,” Lawrence admitted, fighting away the pain. “I don’t… think, I’m the man that your daughter would want. But for your sake, and for hers…” he recalled his sister; those painful nights spent arguing. He sighed. “…I want to ensure everything is good and proper before anything dreadful should happen to you.” Lord Strauss’s tone implied that the decision he had made had been quite final.
“Lawrence, did you… not get along, with my daughter, today? Did… something happen?” the shocked old man asked through a cough. “I was certain you would… grow to… love her,” he said, his words limp and pained.
“We got along fine, m’lord. Knowing your daughter… this is what she wants. It’s what’s best for her,” Lawrence said resoundingly. He could see the heart break in the father’s eyes as the dying viscount gained realization. “If you’ll sign it, and have your daughter do the same, all problems will be solved.” Lawrence felt only emptiness at that barren declaration.
“I just don’t… understand, I suppose,” the viscount said with bluster. “My daughter… she deserves love. I had hoped I would see it, before I died. Her face… experiencing that amazing feeling. Do you know it, Lawrence?” Anne’s father asked. Lord Strauss looked away, stilling his raging heart.
“I should really be off for the eve, m’lord,” he evaded answering the question deftly.
“You won’t stay the night? Certainly, it’s too late to be out among the moors, and perhaps we could share a dinner - the hunters have brought back some wonderful venison…”
“I should be off,” the duke insisted.
“…Very well,” the viscount said with a weak sigh, a coughing fit claiming him.
“It’s been a pleasure, m’lord,” Lawrence said.
“… A pleasure,” the ailing man replied.
Chapter Thirteen
“Will you perhaps ensure my bedchamber is quite ready, Emma? It’s been an exhausting day, and I’ve little time to see to it myself. I’ve someone I still need to meet,” Anne said, her heart still brimming with a gleam of struggling hope. Dressed now in a soft white gown as the sun fell over the horizon, bluish-orange streaking through the sky, Anne made haste through the mazelike halls of the estate, forging a path back to the foyer, and the dining hall - where she hoped to see the duke once more, perhaps share a kiss, before the night ended. Just behind the flowing white gown and still-damp, warm body of Anne hurried along a young girl with hair of bushy-blonde, dressed in a loose white dress clean and spotless. A girl of around Anne’s age, Emma bore the countenance and knowledge of a girl who had grown in much less welcoming circumstances than Anne had, and thus Anne had a strange regard for the girl’s insights, even if she had a meek manner about her.
“M-m’lady, I hope it is not terribly improper for me to ask,” the serving-girl responded, her cheeks blushing bright, “but… the man in the dining hall, meeting with the viscount, w-was that the man who—” Emma hurried along behind Anne, nearly out of breath with how quickly Anne made her way through the halls. “The man who’s interested in courting you? Lawrence Strauss, the Duke of Amhurst?”
“You know his name, do you?” Anne joked.
“Th-the viscount had a meeting with the man, and I had a curiosity, so I suppose I eavesdropped,” Emma blushed. “I hope that’s not entirely outrageous, m’lady.”
“What do you think of him?” Anne asked, looking back with a blush.
“He’s— he’s so handsome! I’ve never seen a noble with a face, or features, like that, not any around here, at least,” Emma exclaimed, full of surprise. “Do you think he’s handsome, m’lady? Any noblewoman among the moors would be envious of you, having a man such as that.”
“Yes, he’s far nicer to look upon than the normal sort of buck-teeth, cheap suit-wearing, wormish men one tends to find among the manors and dinner banquets around these parts,” Anne commented wryly. “That, or the portly, blustery fools and the insufferable, womanizing rakes.”
“Your father, when I was a little girl, he was the most handsome noble I had ever seen, but I think this man, the duke? I think perhaps even more handsome,” Emma chattered. They rounded a corner and Anne breathed deeply, tense as to what may wait for her beyond. Emma came quickly after her, hoping excitedly for a brief gossip session with the lady of the estate before she left to attend to whatever business demanded her attention. Instead, Anne quickly and quite bluntly asked her own question.
“Emma, pardon the particularly personal query, but,” Anne tapped her chin curiously, “have you ever been intimate with a man before?” Emma giggled loudly, her cheeks blossoming in a bright burst of cherry-red embarrassment.
“M-m’lady! I’m…” she gasped, covering her lips. “I’m not… certain, if I am meant to answer that question, or if it’s s… simply…”
“You can answer as you will, Emma, but in honesty I admire your freedom, and what insight you can offer, and of course I’d never hold your answer against you,” Anne assured her.
“Y… yes, m’lady, I’ve been intimate with men, before,” the serving girl responded coyly.
“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, Emma. You’re a grown woman, and you’re free to find men handsome and interesting, I certainly wouldn’t hold it against you, lest I be guilty of same terrible crime,” Anne joked. She could feel her anxiety in her chest beginning to torment her. “I have a… query,” she continued hesitantly, “about… the first man you were intimate with. How often did you interact with him after?”
“The first man? Oh, I had known him a long time, perhaps my entire life,” Emma recalled, a gleam in her eye; “While we were childhood friends, from the same area, and our parents had known one another for some time, after that night of ours together we’ve… not spoken, often,” Emma recounted with mild bitterness; the manner of her speech suggested to Anne that the girl had not thought much on the subject until prompted. “…I don’t see him nearly at all, though… I like to think that that is, perhaps, on account of our busy and quite separate lives. That may just be wishful thinking, though,” Emma admitted in a malaise.
“Do you think there’s… perhaps… another reason for that, Emma?” Anne asked. Her doubts had begun to stew since the tense moments spent upon horseback with the man she had shared her passions with in that cabin; Lawrence’s distance had put her heart adrift in a confused mire.
“I’m… not well-versed in the manner of men,” Emma laughed nervously. “I suppose… some men, are simply… well, they’ve an idea of what they wish to have, and once they’ve gotten it, they move on with their lives. Perhaps that’s what… my friend, thought. The other serving girls, they’ve… mentioned it, of how men have treated them. It’s an unfortunate part of how the world is, I wager.” Emma mused. “Men of the sort I spend time with, anyway. I’m certain the kind of gentleman you’d find would be quite different, m’lady. Men of stature and character must, of course, carry themselves with some sense of dignity… I would presume, anyway,” Emma said. Anne’s heart stung. If only the poor girl knew that parallels between stuffy lords and the sorts of rapscallions who w
iled away their afternoons in taverns. Neither had a good mind for the sovereignty of a good woman. “Why do you ask?” Emma concluded curiously.
“No reason in particular,” Anne said dismissively, though the reason proffered weighed quite heavily in her mind. She felt embarrassed herself, having such little experience in these matters. The books she loved as a child had taught her so very much, but when it came to matters of the sexes and of relationships, Anne feared that the warm and sunny allure of the romance novels had obscured her insight into reality. She hadn’t even considered so crass a thought before she had given herself to temptation and drunk so hungrily along with the man who she thought shared her intoxication in one another.
Had she been used?
“That’s… all I need for now, Emma,” Anne announced, clearing her throat awkwardly. “My bedchamber—”
“It’ll be quite prepared for you by the time you return from speaking with your father,” Emma said with a curtsy.
“Come now, you know you need not impress me with such silly gestures,” Anne commented. “I should be back… soon. Perhaps… I’m…” Anne’s voice fell away, and instead memories and fears filled her head until she stood in a malaise, like a fool staring into the moon. A row of windows lined the hall they stood within; the moon had begun to rise on the far side of the horizon, just cresting over the trees, and each time they swayed she remembered that afternoon, traipsing along the forest floor with the man she held a deep passion for, her heart throbbing in want for him even now.
“M’lady?” Emma’s question broke Anne’s meandering reverie.
“I’m… sorry, yes, Emma, my mind’s just…”
“Did something happen? With you, and Lord Strauss?” Emma asked, a conspiratorial smile on her lips.
“That’s quite a question to ask,” Anne said, her tone biting, though the blush on her cheeks was perhaps more revealing than she wanted it to be.
Desiring The Duke (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 4) Page 10