A Soulmate for the Heartbroken Duke

by Bridget Barton

  As soon as she began to make her descent, Thomas saw her and rose to his feet. He stood for a moment where he was, and then suddenly hastened to meet her, taking both her hands in his the moment they were face-to-face.

  “I had to see you, Catherine. I have to tell you something that I did not want to put in a letter. Will you listen?” he said with his pale, sky blue eyes fixing hers in a way that made her want to fall into his arms.

  She simply nodded.

  “Catherine, I love you as much as I ever did. Not a day has gone by when I have not thought of you, and my love for you has not waned one ounce in all the years we were parted. I have never loved anybody else, and I never will love anybody else. I want you and you only, so will you have me? Will you consent to be my wife?” He paused for a moment, and Catherine stood staring at him, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. “It is true that I will have very little to offer you, for I will undoubtedly be disowned. But you know the pain of that situation yourself, and you know how it can be overcome. What do you say? Can we just get back to where we were?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” she said and threw her arms around his neck, feeling his strong hands on her waist lifting her from the ground and spinning her around until she was so disorientated that she had to protest and have him put her back on her feet again.

  “I love you, Catherine,” he said and cupped her face in his hands.

  “I love you, Thomas. It was always you; it has only ever been you.”

  When he leaned in to kiss her, the years rolled back as easily as a rug. It was the most wonderful moment and one that she had never imagined would happen to her again.

  Chapter 25

  “So, we shall make a very merry little party at the ball, shall we not?” Eleanor Barchester said with forced brightness as the four of them sat down to afternoon tea in the drawing room at Winsford Hall.

  Thomas could not bear Winsford Hall with its ostentation and the ever-present threat of the décor changing in a heartbeat to be in line with the current mode of doing things.

  The drawing room was testament to the owner’s deep concern with appearances and opinions. The walls had recently been re-panelled in the darkest oak to almost three-quarters of the room’s height. The plain walls above were painted in a rich red, the colour of blood. The fabric of the armchairs and couches was either red or a rich golden yellow, and many of the large and plentiful portraits of the previous Earls of Winsford were framed in gold.

  There seemed to be far too much going on for Thomas’ liking, and he always had the feeling he could not settle when he was a guest there.

  Of course, he knew it was very likely the company he was in which unsettled him, rather than the determinedly up-to-date décor.

  The Earl of Winsford was a source of constant irritation. He was a sycophant like so many other men who had hovered around the Duke of Shawcross over the years. If he was honest, there were many who had tried to occupy the space around him too in the years since Pearce had died. He could see how they might think that to align themselves with the future Duke was as important, if not more important, than aligning themselves with the current Duke.

  But Thomas had rudely rejected any attempts, very likely swatting away genuine offers of friendship along the way. Not that he cared particularly.

  “I think we shall all travel together,” the Duke said, and Thomas marvelled at the way his father made what should have been a pleasant offer sound more like an order. “We shall collect you here in my carriage an hour before. That should give us plenty of time to get there.”

  “Quite so, Your Grace.” The Earl inclined his head so far that Thomas almost laughed.

  He thought that the Earl must spend a whole day with a sore neck after even the briefest of encounters with the Duke.

  “How nice that we shall arrive together for a change,” Eleanor said directly to Thomas. “It makes a statement to the county, I feel.”

  “Does it?” Thomas knew he was being obtuse.

  He also knew this obtuseness was a means of putting off the need for a more forthright and honest conversation with Eleanor. Not only Eleanor but his own father.

  As for the Earl, he was of little matter to Thomas, and he could not imagine that would change. Eleanor would no doubt be the bearer of bad news as far as her father was concerned.

  But first, Thomas would have to get it all said. It had been some days since he had seen Catherine down by Stromlyn Lake.

  He had been so filled with joy when Catherine had agreed to marry him that he had quite forgotten that there would be more to it. Thomas knew, of course, that he could not marry Catherine without ever mentioning a word about it, but he had been riding high on a wave of euphoria and had been able to push what was to come to the back of his mind.

  But the ball at the home of the Earl and Countess of Hargrave was the following evening, and he knew that Catherine and her brother would be in attendance.

  He had not specifically stated when he would give his father the news, and knowing Catherine as he did, he did not think she would have expected him to ride straight home from Stromlyn Lake and deal with it all. Still, he would have to make his mind up to some course of action and do what he could to have a few minutes in private with Catherine at the ball and let her know his plan.

  He smiled to himself, thinking that trying to secure a few moments with her right under his father’s nose would be like old times.

  Suddenly, he was hit with the old excitement, just as it had been all those years ago when he first began to take notice of her.

  That first little meeting when he had followed her out into the corridor at Lord Vinton’s ball remained one of the most thrilling events of his life. It had begun as a bit of mischief, something to amuse himself with at a ball where two of the most powerful men in the county were eyeing each other and puffing out their chests.

  He had wanted to secretly thumb his nose at them both, and what better way to achieve it than sneak away and talk to the daughter of his father’s enemy?

  But as soon as he had spoken to her, as soon as she had answered him with a confidence equal to his own, Thomas had been lost. He was done for, and he knew that he had wandered idly into a moment that would change his life forever.

  He had studied her before, but never at such close quarters, and it was not until that day that Thomas realized he had never set eyes on a more beautiful woman in his life. Those almond shaped hazel eyes had met his squarely, and he had never known a day thereafter when he had not imagined them as clearly as he had seen them on that day.

  “It brings us closer to our all-important announcement!” Eleanor barked and brought him thundering back into the present moment.

  “I beg your pardon?” Thomas said quietly as he racked his brain for the thread of the original conversation.

  “For God’s sake, boy! Where is your head today?” His father’s near-shout made all present jump in their seats, Thomas included.

  So, his father was going to speak to him as if he were still a child, was he? For a moment, anger and outrage almost caused Thomas to blurt out the news that he was going to marry Catherine Ambrose just like that. No build up to the thing; no warning at all.

  But to do so would be to shock Eleanor Barchester in front of an audience and, as much as he did not care for her, Thomas would never have done such a thing.

  “My daughter was simply referring to the announcement that the whole county has been waiting for,” the Earl began tentatively, reminding Thomas of a dog who expected to be struck by its master at any moment. “Your forthcoming engagement.” His smile was more a terrified baring of teeth, and it made Thomas despise him all the more.

  What sort of man would happily release his daughter into the custody of a bully like the Duke of Shawcross? Still, Eleanor Barchester was more than capable of looking after herself, being much more openly self-serving than her father.

  “I see,” Thomas said and gave a brittle smile he hoped would satisfy them all. />
  “Perhaps that would be a good time to make our announcement,” Eleanor went on, and he could see by her cool demeanour that she was not the least bit affected by the tense atmosphere that hung in the room like an impenetrable cobweb. “The ball, I mean. Most of the county will be there. Anyone of any importance, anyway,” she spoke airily, and Thomas wondered what standard Eleanor Barchester set for a person’s importance in the world.

  More than likely it was nothing more than money, title, and power. For what else was there in the world when you were Eleanor Barchester? Loyalty, humour, wit, these would undoubtedly be things of little or no value to her.

  But to Catherine Ambrose, they were everything. Thomas could not remember a single instance of Catherine showing any sign of a materialistic nature, nor had he ever noticed false pride in her title. And all that he was in life was everything she accepted without the desire to tweak his qualities to suit her own mood. She laughed at his humorous observations; she was interested in his conversation. Catherine was so like himself in all the important things that he could not remember a time he ever felt awkward or cautious in her presence.

  Never had he had to pretend to be anything other than himself. He had never had to assume an air of arrogance or pretend he was a hero or a sportsman. Catherine could not care less if he was an accurate shot at archery or if he was at the front of the pack in the hunt. These things were unimportant; unimpressive. Catherine dealt in the soul, and why would she not? She had the finest of souls, and that was why Thomas had never been able to shake her from his mind.

  “So, is that agreed?” Eleanor was showing signs of exasperation. “We shall announce our engagement publicly at the ball?”

  “I thought we were engaged already,” Thomas said quizzically as his mind raced with all manner of awful outcomes.

  He had just proposed to Catherine, for heaven’s sake. He could not allow the Duke, the Earl, and Lady Eleanor Barchester to upend that with their determination to have an engagement announced that would never come to fruition.

  “Yes, but we have not made it public properly.” Her brow was furrowed deeply and unattractively.

  “Perhaps it would be inappropriate,” Thomas began hastily in his desperation to head off such a thing. “It would be bad form to make Lord Hargrave’s ball a celebration of our own. We ought to announce it at a ball at Shawcross. That would be a better way of doing things. The ball would be for that purpose, and all present would likely know it in advance.”

  “Yes, perhaps that would be best. It would be more fitting for it to be announced at a ball in our honour rather than elsewhere.” Eleanor seemed pleased by the idea, or at least she was placated by it. “Yes, that would do very well indeed.” She always spoke as if the world and everyone in it had one purpose only; to please her.

  Thomas could feel things getting away from him. Instead of extricating himself from this evil engagement, he was entrenching himself deeper into it. But he had to say something; he couldn’t allow them to announce the thing in front of Catherine, even if she did know that he would never go through with it.

  “So, no announcements at the Hargrave ball,” Thomas said and was determined to set the seal on that much at least.

  He was beginning to feel he had let things drift for too many days. He ought really to have announced his decision not to marry Eleanor as soon as he had returned from Stromlyn Lake on that most wonderful of days.

  It was all very well to have sailed along on a cloud of joy, but not very practical. There would be a lifetime of joy ahead of him married to Catherine, and he did not really need to indulge himself now.

  Of course, the thought that he would be immediately disinherited had given him pause for thought and made him a little reticent to have the conversation he knew he must have. For one thing, he would need to arrange so much in advance. He would have to see what little money he did have to his own name and make sure it was untouchable before he made a move of any kind.

  And, of course, he would have to find them somewhere to live. They had not even discussed this matter, and he did not know if they would be staying in Hertfordshire or if she would insist on going back to Derbyshire.

  So far, Catherine had not seemed as if she would settle back in Hertfordshire. She had already told him how she had come to love Derbyshire, not to mention the aunt and uncle she had grown so attached to. There was even the young ward, Henry. Catherine had acted as his governess and would undoubtedly miss him too.

  Perhaps he should have been a little more practical in his approach at Stromlyn Lake, but he had been so overcome with the old feelings of love and excitement that practicality could go hang itself. All he could focus on was her beautiful face, her almond-shaped eyes, and the full and rosy lips he had spent much of the remainder of that afternoon kissing.

  “So, we must set a date for this ball.” Eleanor’s clipped tones disrupted him from happier thoughts and annoyed him immensely.

  “Indeed,” Thomas said flatly.

  “I think it should be sooner rather than later,” Eleanor went on.

  “Quite so, my dear,” her father chimed in.

  “Let us say four weeks from Saturday,” the Duke added, his tone less blustering and hectoring than it had been.

  Once again, Thomas could feel the world moving on too fast, the wheels set in motion for things that seemed out of his control.

  “That would give us time to make all the arrangements,” Eleanor said, and her voice dripped self-satisfaction.

  “What arrangements?” Thomas looked at her fully for the first time that day.

  He had never really paid her much heed; he knew that. And she had a certain obvious beauty, that much was true. But he had never realized quite how angular her features were when she was scheming. And she was most certainly scheming now; working everything out to her own best advantage.

  “I shall need four weeks to have my gown made for a start,” she went on.

  “Wedding gown?” Thomas said and was as perplexed as he sounded.

  “No, silly. My gown for the ball. I cannot have my engagement announced in an old gown.”

  “But are any of your gowns actually old, Eleanor?” Thomas wanted to be anywhere on earth but the drawing room at Winsford Hall talking about Eleanor Barchester’s wardrobe.

  “I am to be announced to the county as a Duchess in waiting, Thomas. I am sure that you would not have me dressed in anything but the very finest. And I am sure His Grace would agree.” She gave the old Duke a wheedling look that turned Thomas’ stomach. “I should not like to let the Duchy down after all.”

  “I am sure you will do no such thing, my dear,” the Duke spoke with uncharacteristic gentleness. “But you must have the best to feel your best. Is that not right, Thomas?” The Duke gave him a secret look.

  It was the sort of look that could blister paint, and Thomas knew better than to argue a ridiculous point any further than he had done already.

  “Of course.” He smiled at Eleanor and, at that moment, thought how much he despised her.

  Chapter 26

  “Did he settle?” Catherine said anxiously as Charles came into the room. “Perhaps I should go up to him.”

  “Settle yourself down, lass,” Charles Topwell said with a warm laugh. “Henry is not ailing at all. He just wanted a long-winded story from his Uncle Charles, that’s all.”

  “Oh, he is a menace when he wants something. I truly thought he had a pain in his stomach.” Catherine sighed. “I wonder if he is missing home.”

  And Catherine wondered if she was not, perhaps, missing home also. Hertfordshire still felt flat to her, although, since her excursion to Stromlyn Lake, it no longer seemed featureless. Perhaps it was Barford Hall itself, with its old memories, that did not feel like home. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Hertfordshire itself.

  At least she would never have to live at Shawcross Hall, even when she and Thomas were married. Where he saw his inevitable disinheritance as a problem, Catherine could
see only its advantages. She would not bury one tyrant only to be forced to live with another.

  “He is perfectly alright, Catherine. As soon as I told him a story, he settled down and is now sleeping like a baby.” Charles laughed. “And he is enjoying himself very well here with all the fishing and so many trees.”

  “Yes, he told me himself that he adores Barford,” Philip added. “And he has a list of the trees he means to climb before he returns home; he has shown it to me.”

  Catherine smiled. Philip was already greatly attached to his nephew, and it was clear to her that he did not really want any of them to leave him alone at Barford Hall.

  For all the wonders of reunions, there seemed to be new issues arising; issues which would need to be solved sooner rather than later.