“I could have dismounted myself your Grace,” she said, a blush visible on her cheeks even in the darkness; “But thank you of course, for rescuing me.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Michael said softly, and as Miss Peregrine fled up the drive, and entered the house without even a glance over her shoulder - Michael reluctantly conceded that perhaps the pleasure had been all his.
Chapter Three
As pretexts went, the return of a book borrowed a decade before was rather flimsy – though Michael knew that Horsefield wasn’t the suspicious type. And so the next evening, at the rudest hour – when Horsefield would be forced to invite him to dine or be most de trope – Michael found himself being led into the library of Longleaf Hall, by the elderly butler who seemed to have served as the family retainer for centuries.
“Blackmore old chum, it’s been an age,” Jack Horsefield, Viscount Longleaf stood and gave his childhood friend a hearty clap on the back in greeting;“When did you return?”
“I arrived in London the day before yesterday,” Michael replied, surreptitiously surveying his old friend. Horsefield seemed in blooming good health, though he was a little fatter around the middle than the last time they had met. Marriage appeared to suit him, something Michael would never have suspected when they were young Hellions wreaking havoc in Oxford and London. Viscount Longleaf had had a reputation as insalubrious as his own in those days, his love of womanising only rivaled by his love of drinking. Now, more than a decade on, he appeared most domesticated and content.
“When I arrived at my London residence however, I was informed that my mother, my brother and his wife, and most importantly my three nephews were all in Bedfordshire,so here I am” Michael continued, before casually passing the battered book of local history that had been languishing in his library for years to his friend; “Also - I stumbled across this, I must have borrowed it without returning it. I do apologize, I hope you haven’t missed it?”
“Oh thank you,” Horsefield looked amused as he glanced at the cover; “I’d truly forgotten I had lent it to you.”
The two friends settled down, to share a snifter of port. Longleaf filled Michael in on the news from the villages, and of old friends from Eaton - all now married and producing brats.
“I seem to be the only one of the old guard who remains unencumbered,” Michael commented blandly. He did not wish to give weight to the feeling of longing which shot through him at the news that his friends were now settled, whils he remained alone.
The gong for dinner sounded throughout the house, and Jack looked at Michael sceptically.
“I don’t suppose you fancy staying for dinner? Lavinia’s sister is visiting from Devon.”
“Sounds delightful,” Michael replied nonchalant, suppressing a grin at Horsefield’s shocked face. The two men had been friends for nearly three decades and not once had either man spent a sober evening together - they had preferred to engage in less salubrious acts. Longleaf was too honest however, to assume that Michael’s calling so late was in fact an indecorous ploy to be invited for dinner.
“I’ve been away from polite society for so long that it will do me the world of good to practice my manners,” Michael added, to a thoroughly bemused Horsefield. The Ducal Seat of Blackmore was one of the richest and most prestigious in the land – Michael could spit on the floor of Almack’s and no one say a word, he had no need to practice for polite society.
“Well Lavina will be delighted,” Jack said after a delicate pause, then led his friend to the dinning room whilst calling instructions to the servants for an extra place to be laid at the table.
Isabella was late - again. As she raced down the corridor, straightening her hastily donned evening gown, she could hear voices drifting from the dining room.
More voices than usual.
“Ah Isabella you’ve arrived,” Lavina her sister stood as she entered the room with a warning glance to her younger sister, whose tongue could always be counted on to say something unladylike when shocked. Isabella’s mouth hung open as she took in the sight of the Duke of Blackmore taking up an obscene amount of room at the dining table, and even more when he rose to stand in greeting. He was obscenely big. And manly. It was nearly rude. And terribly distracting…
“Your Grace may I present my sister Isabella Peregrine,” Lavina continued, with a sharp elbow to Isabella’s ribs to remind her to curtsy; “Isabella this is the Duke of Blackmore.”
Her head in a state of utter confusion, Isabella glanced at the Duke, who appeared to be holding back a smile at her obvious turmoil.
“Enchanted,” Blackmore said as he stepped forward, took her hand, dropped a light kiss against her fingers and gave her a conspiratorial wink.
“As am I,” Isabella replied, her panic subsiding – it appeared the Duke was not going to out her as having been wandering around Blackmore Forest unchaperoned with a notorious rake the day before.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Isabella ventured to Lavinia, as she took her seat opposite the Duke; “I was sketching in the copse near the top field and I quite lost track of the time.”
“Of course you did,” Lavinia said with a smile that was a mixture of exasperation and fondness. Lavinia had always been the more sensible of the two sisters, whilst Isabella could always be counted upon to be late or get lost. Occasionally they clashed, but mostly the two siblings were terribly fond of each other.
“Isabella is most fond of botany your Grace,” the elder of the sisters explained to the brooding Duke, who appeared to be furiously regarding his soup.
“Is that so?” Blackmore raised a dark eyebrow in question, and Isabella had the definite suspicion that he was teasing her.
“She’s an expert on Wallflowers at any rate,” Horsefield interjected with a self-appreciative chuckle at his own joke, which he quickly silenced at his wife’s stern look of censure.
“I find that hard to believe,” Blackmore responded quietly, his intense gaze causing an already blushing Isabella to turn a charming shade of tomato. Before she could stammer out a witty reply, Lavina smoothly changed the subject to matters abroad. Isabella had to marvel at her sister’s abilities as a hostess, as over the three courses Lavina delicately managed to extract a detailed account of the Duke’s military activities over the past five years, his role in the Vienna treaty - and - Isabella blushed, the hint of a scandalous entanglement with an Italian Countess. The quartet were happily finishing their sweetmeats and discussing the Italian countryside, when all hell broke loose.
‘Mo-oothher!”
A whirlwind of blond - Isabella’s oldest niece Patience - dressed in a white cotton night shift burst into the dining room and flung herself at Lavina, burying her head in her lap and sobbing hysterically.
“Oh dear your Grace,” Lavina stuttered as she tried to soothe the sobbing child in her arms.
“It’s perfectly f-”
The Duke began to speak, but was cut off by the appearance of another child, William, a blanket held up to his face whilst he sucked his thumb and looked confused.
“I didn’t do it,” Patience sobbed softly - unaware that no one had actually accused her of doing anything. Jack glanced at his eldest daughter suspiciously.
“You take him,” he said to his wife, springing into action; “While I take her.”
Both parents worked as one - with apologetic murmurings to his Grace - as they extricated their warring children from view.
After they left, quarreling voices could be heard as the family made their way across the great hall and up the staircase.
“They named her Patience not knowing that the patience of a saint would be required to raise her,” Isabella quipped to break the silence.
“Indeed,” was the Duke’s response and he cleared his throat, tapping his fingers on the immaculate white table cloth impatiently.
Isabella flushed - why was he here? He looked so annoyed and forbidding as he glared at the tablecloth, as though trying to find fault wi
th it.
‘I-,” the Duke began slowly, looking entirely uncomfortable as he cleared his throat; “I am glad to see you again Miss Peregrine, most glad.”
Isabella’s jaw dropped open, and for once in her life she had no reply. She stared at the tablecloth, then at her hands, before finally lifting her eyes to meet the Duke’s burning gaze.
“I,” she whispered, her chest heaving as a family of butterflies emerged from their chrysalids and into her stomach; “I -”
“Don’t ever get married and have children if you ever want to enjoy a good after-dinner brandy Blackmore my friend.”
Viscount Longleaf returned to the dining room, in his usual loud way, tutting disapprovingly at his own mistakes, who it seemed were now back in bed.
“Don’t listen to my brother in law your Grace,” Isabella quipped quickly, glad to be distracted from the frisson of tension that had passed between her and the Duke; “If you lived with him you’d know that he’s besotted by all of his offspring. William added two and two together yesterday and the Viscount had the Butler send a letter to Oxford demanding they admit this three-year old progeny.”
“You’ll find Isabella is exaggerating,” Jack responded, though the tips of his ears were pink.
Isabella smiled to herself at his discomfort - she had not been far from the truth. The Viscount and her sister adored their three children to the point worship, it was heartwarming for Isabella to see. Both she and Lavina had had a warm relationship with their mother, but their father was slow to show his feelings…Isabella liked to say that she had been waiting twenty-five years for him to show he even felt one and he still hadn’t revealed it. Longleaf’s adoration of his offspring gave Isabella hope that perhaps one day, she might meet a man who wasn’t all bad.
“Never thought I’d see you so settled Horsefield,” the Duke replied gruffly.
How verbose, Isabella thought dryly to herself, though as she glanced over at him his eyes once more caught hers in a stare that sent shivers throughout her body.
“Drinks?” she blurted, with a pleading look to her brother-in-law; “Perhaps the Duke would like a drink after his dinner. You need not wait on Lavinia, it takes her hours to settle William. Don’t wait here on my account I beg you.”
As though determined to prove her wrong Lavinia reappeared with a smile upon her face, and an apology for delaying the Duke.
“Would you like to have tea in the drawing room your Grace?”
“I would but I’m afraid I must return home,” Blackmore said; “I came to Bedfordshire to see my family and I am yet to spend any time with them. They will think me most remiss.”
Isabella felt a slight pang of disappointment that he was leaving so soon, despite feeling like a skittish doe every time he looked at her. He really was pleasant to look at - not conventionally handsome - he was far too broad and masculine compared to the effeminate dandies of the ton, but then Isabella had never been overly fond of those men. She preferred a man who looked like he could protect her, and the Duke certainly looked like he could hold his own in a fistfight.
“It has been a most pleasant evening,” Blackmore stated stiffly, bowing curtly to both Lavinia and Isabella as they stood to say goodbye.
“A pleasure to meet you your Grace,” Lavinia responded, with Isabella echoing her.
As the trio stood at the front door of Longleaf to wave his Grace off, Horsefield turned to look at Isabella in shock.
“If I didn’t know any better Isabella I’d swear that the Duke of Blackmore was flirting with you the entire way through dinner - luckily you’re not his usual type.”
“Oh,” Isabella replied dully, her brother in law really knew how to make a girl feel special. Catching the look of censure on Lavina’s face however, Isabella turned to him with a wicked smile; “What type does his Grace usually prefer?”
“Ahh - it’s just he likes - and you’re not at all…”
“Be quiet dear,” Lavinia said affectionately.
Michael arrived back to a house which lay in darkness. Blackmore Manor was a huge sprawling example of Elizabethan architecture, built in the sixteenth century by the first Duke to hold the title. Its sweeping corridors and grand rooms were so plentiful, that every now and then even Michael had been known to stumble across a room he had never encountered before.
The main wing of the Manor, which housed the Duke and his family when they came to stay, was quiet despite the hour not having struck ten. Michael was making his way towards his library, when he heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching.
“Is that you Michael?” his mother Tabitha, the Dowager Duchess called.
She was still dressed, with a shawl around her shoulders to ward off the night-time chill. The candle in her hand spilled light onto the floor of the corridor and threw shadows on her still beautiful face.
“I should hope so Mother, else you’re talking to an intruder,” Michael replied sarcastically, honestly who did she think would be wandering around at night apart from him?
“No need to be snippy dear,” his mother replied mildly, slipping past him and into his library, where a fire burned in the grate. When the Duke was home, which was almost never, the staff knew to always keep his library warm and well stocked with spirits. He was a rather easy master to please.
“Brandy?” Michael asked Tibby, striding over to the drinks cabinet and pouring himself a large measure.
“Just a small one,” his mother replied absently, her back to him as she perused the shelves which lined three walls of the huge room. It was a quintessentially masculine area of the house, dark wooden panels and low leather sofas set the tone, while the smell of cheroots mixed with old books to create a comforting, unique scent.
“Thank you,” Tibby said demurely, accepting the small tumbler of amber liquid that Michael proffered to her with a smile. She lifted an ancient tome from the shelf with her free hand, nearly dropping it as she underestimated its weight.
"Les Fées" she read absently, with a perfect French accent, sipping on the brandy in her hand; “I wonder which of your ancestors believed in fairy tales?”
“Well they were a bunch of ogres and trolls if the portraits on the stairs are anything to go by,” Michael said with a snort of laughter, throwing himself down on the seat opposite his mother. It was rare that mother son had time alone together, but whenever they did Michael always marveled at how young his mother still seemed. The Dowager Duchess had only lately celebrated her fiftieth year, which made Michael reflect on how young she must have been when she married his father. And the only memory Michael had of his father was of an elderly man attempting to rut with a housemaid. He gave a shudder as he recalled that awful night, and sank deep into thought.
“How is the Viscount?” Tibby inquired, breaking the silence.
“Much as the last time I saw him,” Michael shrugged, unwilling to be drawn into idle gossip; “A little fatter around the middle despite having to run after three young daemons all day.”
“His sister in law is visiting,” the comment was dropped innocuously, his mother’s eyes fixedly staring at the page of her book.
“Mmm,” Michael replied, wondering at his mother’s perceptive nature, but refusing to take the bait; “ Isadora or something. Nice girl. Where’s Edward?”
“Augusta and he went to bed not long after the boys,” Tibby said, throwing the book of fairy tales aside as they failed to keep her attention.
She stood up and stretched, before tip-toeing over to Michael and dropping an affectionate kiss upon his head.
“It’s only the lonely souls like you and I that wander around empty corridors this late at night. Goodnight dear.”
“I’m not lonely,” Michael spluttered as she swept grandly from the room, his brandy slopping all over his shirt so violent was his indignation.
“Of course you’re not dear,” he heard his mother reply as she softly shut the door, in a tone that a governess might use to placate a child.
‘Wel
l I’m not,” Michael thought mulishly, standing to pour himself another brandy. He was just bored - he needed something to occupy his time. Edward had been overseeing the management of his estates while he was away, now that Michael was back on a permanent basis he’d help to shoulder some of the responsibility. And there was his seat in the House of Lords…he’d have that to keep him busy.
“I’m not lonely,” he repeated absently, then laughed - as there was no one there to hear his protest.
Chapter Four
The woodland surrounding Longleaf was beginning to emerge from its winter slumber. The curious blue heads of grape-hyacinths peeked up through the grass at Isabella as she made her way through the trees towards a clearing, where an enormous ancient oak tree grew.
This had been her secret hide-away during her stay in Longleaf, for although Isabella loved her sister and her husband, and adored her nieces and nephew – she needed to escape them all from time to time.
If she took up a position as a lady’s companion – or even a governess – she would never be afforded this kind of time to herself, Isabella thought as she settled herself against the bark of the tree. Taking out her sketch book, she idly traced a few lines on the page, though in truth her mind was else-where.
If she married, even a man she detested, then at least she would be the mistress of her own home Isabella thought as she sketched. If she took up paid employment however, she would always be at the mercy of her employer – her time would never be her own. Despair overwhelmed Isabella as she thought on her choices for her future – so much so, that when she first heard the soft sound of sobbing, she thought for one mad moment that perhaps it was her.
It was another second before she realised that the sobs were real, and not a figment of her imagination – and that they sounded like they belonged to a child.
“Hello?” she called out carefully, into the thickets where the soft cries were coming from. The bushes before her shook ferociously in response.
Proposing to a Duke Page 3