She lowered her gaze to her gloved hands, resting in her lap.
“You’d mentioned that you had doubts about our marriage the morning of the wedding. I thought perhaps you would appreciate a little more time…” Dear God, but the lie didn’t roll easily off his tongue.
She lifted her eyes to his. “The doubts are waning. I’ve seen aspects to you that I’d never before known, and I’m certain I’m married to the man I was destines to wed.”
“Torie—”
“My feelings for you have grown; Robert. I know it has been little more than a week, but I care for you much more today than I did yesterday. Do you care for me?”
“Immeasurably.”
“You say that as though it is a terrible thing.”
It was. To yearn so desperately for something he couldn’t have. He was growing weary of worrying that Torie would figure him out, but now was the worst time of all to tell her everything—when they were nearing their destination. So instead, he leaned across the space separating them, took her hands, and told her what he could.
“Torie, I know my behavior at times must seem odd to you—”
“I simply—”
“Shh.” He squeezed his hands. “Hear me out.”
She nodded.
He brought her gloved hands up to his mouth, held them against his lips, looking deeply into her eyes, hoping that she could see into his soul. “Torie, for quite some time, I’ve been…lost. I think that’s the best way to describe it. But at long last, I feel as though I’m found.”
A corner of her mouth quirked, her dimple appeared. “Those are words from hymn I used to love to sing. ‘Amazing Grace.’”
“Ah, yes, I remember the words. But in my case, it’s more of a returning.”
“Returning to what?”
“To what I should have been.”
“I’ve never found fault with the way that you were.”
“I wasn’t happy, Torie. So much changed the day I married you.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I still can’t believe my good fortune. I quite honestly adore you.”
He released her hands and settled back against the seat, embarrassed by all that he’d said. He’d gone a bit too far, but he wanted her to have no doubts regarding his affections, especially if she was lying awake at night waiting for him to come while he was busy pacing, trying to keep himself from reaching for the door.
“Ah, we’re here,” he said, as the familiar drive came into view.
The coach rocked to a stop. Although he was anxious to be out and to see about business, he waited for the footman to open the door and to help Torie clamber out first. Coward that he was, he’d avoided looking directly at her, not certain what he might see in her eyes, in her face. Thinking it better to live his life in ignorant bliss of her true feelings, because whatever she felt would be for John, not him.
Once outside, he extended his arm, and once she’d placed her hand on it, he escorted her up the steps that led to the grand manor. He felt his stomach clench as he got nearer the door, and when the butler opened it, it was all he could do to force himself to go against his good friend’s wishes and enter.
But once inside, calmness settled over him. He’d been as at home here as he’d been at Hawthorne House.
“Welcome to Drummond Manor, Your Grace,” the butler said.
“Watkins.” He extended his card. “Will you let the duke know that I’m here?”
“Certainly.”
His wife had released her hold on him and was studying several portraits hanging on one of the walls.
“Nervous?” he asked.
“A bit.”
“He’s really quite nice.”
“I’ve heard he’s a distant cousin to the queen.”
“So am I.”
She spun around, her mouth open, her eyes wide.
He cocked his head to the side. “Did I fail to mention that?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Don’t let it unnerve you. Most of the aristocracy are related in some form or fashion.”
He heard the soft patter of footsteps, turned toward them, and knew a moment of gladness as the small, smiling woman held her arms out to him. “Eleanor?”
“Hello, Robert. It’s been a long time.”
Indeed it had. Eleanor Darling, the Earl of Beaumont’s daughter. The first time he’d set eyes on her, he’d considered courting her. But he’d not yet been ready to court, and she’d been only sixteen. That Weddington had not hesitated to woo her didn’t surprise him.
He took her proffered hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “You look marvelous.”
She laughed. “You don’t. Your complexion looks a bit sallow.”
“All the rain, I fear.”
“There hasn’t been that much, and it’s a beautiful day today.”
“So it is. Allow me the honor of introducing my wife.”
Eleanor was as gracious as always in welcoming her guests, and Robert couldn’t help but believe that Torie held her own, and that she would do well as a duchess. Even if only for a short time.
When Eleanor turned her attention back to him, he asked, “Will Weddington not see me?”
“He’s not here. He’s out on the yacht with Richard.”
She gave him a look that seemed to say “Don’t give me that blank expression. You know who Richard is.”
“Our son,” she continued.
“Ah, yes. Congratulations are in order.”
“You’re five years late.”
“Five years.” He hoped she heard the regret in his voice, and he was beginning to suspect that where this friendship was concerned, John might have done something that Robert couldn’t undo. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be here when he returns. I’d sent him a missive and he’d replied—”
“I know what he replied. He and I don’t keep secrets from each other. The fact that you came anyway says a great deal.” She reached up and cradled his cheek. “A great deal. And I think he’ll welcome it as a start for mending the rift between you. Shall we have some tea in the garden while we wait for him to return?”
Torie liked Eleanor Stanbury, the Duchess of Weddington. She had light blue eyes and a warm smile, and when she spoke of her husband and son, the love she felt for them was evident in every word.
“Richard is so much like his father. You won’t believe it, Robert. It’s like watching a tiny Weddy walking around. He already has most of his mannerisms. It’s uncanny.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.”
She reached across the round cloth-covered table and patted his hand. “I’ve wanted you to meet him for so long. I’m extremely glad you’re here.”
Torie found the woman’s affection for Robert heartwarming, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had caused the rift between her husband and Weddington.
“So tell me about your wedding, Victoria,” Eleanor said, turning her attention away from Robert.
“Please call me Torie.”
“Oh, I rather like that. So tell me, Torie. Was the church packed to the rafters with the curious?”
“I hardly noticed,” Torie confessed. “I was so nervous, terrified actually.”
“I know exactly what you mean. It was the happiest day of my life and I hardly remember a moment of it. And Weddy was so incredibly patient with me. I did little more than burst into tears every five minutes. I don’t know why. Tell me what you wore.”
“It was really nothing special.”
“You were beautiful, the gown was beautiful,” Robert said. “White satin and lace, with flowers trimming the train.”
Eleanor smiled. “Like Queen Victoria’s. Mine was very similar. You know she changed weddings for all of us. Before her, a girl would simply wear a nice dress and veil. The veil was the adornment that said, Today I’m getting married. But now it’s white satin and Honiton lace and pearls and orange blossoms. I’ve put my gown aside, hoping I’ll have a daughter someday. But first I must see to giving Weddy a spare
. A bit of a bother, that. Not the having of the children, of course, but that it’s so expected that a woman provide two sons. Otherwise, it doesn’t matter what she does, she’s considered a failure.”
“You’d never be considered a failure, Eleanor,” Robert said.
She smiled warmly. “So kind of you to think so.”
“So you only have the one child?” Torie asked.
“Yes. I haven’t given up hope yet, but it’s been five years. Actually that’s the reason we’re here instead of London. Weddy is convinced that the good salt air in summer is just what we need to help the process along.”
“And how long have you been married now?” Robert asked.
Eleanor slid her gaze over to him. “I’d have thought you’d not forget that.”
He darted his gaze between Eleanor and Torie, and she felt a trifle sorry for him, as though he’d been placed on the spot and wasn’t certain why.
“I’m sorry—” he began.
“A little over five years,” Eleanor cut in. “We were married eight months exactly before Richard was born. Weddy and I were under the impression that you were largely responsible for the gossip going about London that I took great pains to seduce Weddy and get myself with child so he’d have no choice except to marry me.”
Torie thought her husband looked as though he wished the sea—visible in the distance—would wash up over him and carry him away.
“Were we wrong?” Eleanor asked.
She watched her husband swallow. “I don’t know what to say, Eleanor, except that I’m sorry and regret any hurt that words spoken against you might have caused you.”
“That’s not really an answer is it?”
“No, no, it’s not, but it’s the best I can offer at the moment.”
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You changed, Robert, after the dukedom passed to you. Weddy missed you terribly. He won’t appreciate me telling you that—pride and all that rubbish—but there you are.” She perked up, a smile blossoming across her face. “And there they are!”
She came to her feet and began waving. Robert and Torie also stood. Torie could see the large, dark-haired man walking, a small, dark-haired boy balanced on his shoulders. Torie saw the man’s long strides falter, slow, then he swung the boy down, held him close in his arms, and quickened his pace.
When he was near enough, Eleanor called out, “Weddy, look who’s come to visit. The long-lost prodigal friend.”
She moved around the table, meeting her husband a few feet from them, reaching up to kiss his cheek, to take their son. The duke’s jaw was clenched, his eyes hard as he glowered at Robert.
“Weddington, it’s good to see you,” Robert finally said.
“Killingsworth.”
“Weddy, allow me to introduce Robert’s wife, Torie.”
Weddington looked at her, and she was vaguely aware of Robert stepping nearer to her as though he thought she might be in danger. Considering the hatred on Weddington’s face, she thought she might very well be.
“A pleasure,” Weddington said, although it sounded as though he found it to be anything but a pleasure. His gaze slid over to Robert. “So tell me, Killingsworth, what rumors should I start spreading around London? What can I say about her that will cut deeply?”
“Don’t say something right now that you’ll regret,” Robert warned.
“I already regret that I greeted you, that I’ve spoken to you at all.”
“He apologized, Weddy,” Eleanor said.
Weddington cradled his wife’s cheek, the love for her reflected in his eyes running so deeply that it took Torie’s breath.
“You’re owed more than an apology, princess.” He shifted his gaze back to Robert. “If you’re not in your coach and on your way in less than three minutes, I shall unlock the case holding my father’s dueling pistols—”
“Unlock it.”
“—and challenge you—”
“Challenge me.”
“—to a duel unto the death.”
“So be it.”
“Are you mad!” Torie cried.
“Weddy, no!” Eleanor screeched.
“You have five minutes to kiss your wife good-bye for eternity,” Weddington said, with the ease of a man about to take a stroll. “I’ll meet you at the bluff in ten.”
He strode past his wife and into the manor.
Eleanor looked at Torie, then at Robert, then at the son she held in her arms. “Oh, my dear, this isn’t good. It’s not good at all.” She started for the house, stopped, looked back at Robert. “Don’t worry, Robert, I’ll talk him out of it.”
“Don’t. bother, Eleanor. He needs this, deserves it, actually.”
“Dueling might be frowned upon these days but firing the pistols at a target isn’t. He’s a rather good shot.”
“I know. He’s an excellent shot.”
“I’m sorry. This is my fault. I should have sent you on your way—”
“No, Eleanor, it’s not your fault. Help him get ready.”
Eleanor released what sounded like a whimper of pain before hurrying into the manor.
“Are you insane?” Torie asked her husband.
He gave her a droll look. “I believe you already asked me that.”
“No, I asked if you were mad.”
“The same thing.”
“You can’t possibly intend to meet him.”
“I do.”
“You don’t have a second.”
“I won’t need one.”
“Have you ever fired a pistol before?”
“When we were fourteen, we sneaked his father’s pistols out and went to the bluff to give dueling a try.”
“And what happened?”
“He missed me and hit a rock.”
“And what did you hit?”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “A seagull. We decided that a seagull was more difficult to hit since it was in motion, even though it wasn’t what I was aiming at. Still we declared me the winner.”
“His anger was palpable. I don’t see him taking aim at a rock!”
“He wasn’t aiming at it before—”
“Don’t make light of my fears! He could very well kill you.”
“If he does, I should like very much for my last memory to be of kissing you.”
He cupped her face between his large hands, angled her head, and lowered his mouth to hers. He tasted of sweetened tea and raspberry tarts. His kiss was as tender as anything she’d ever experienced. Bolder than any kiss he’d given her before, hungry, devastating to her heart.
She didn’t want this. She didn’t want his thumbs caressing the corners of her mouth, making the kiss more intimate than it should be. Or perhaps it was his tongue creating the intimacy as it swept through her mouth, deepening the kiss. Or perhaps it was the fact that she was leaning into him, reaching for his mouth, his lips, his tongue, spurring him on, adding to the madness of the moment.
He couldn’t possibly think that he would actually die. Surely this was some sort of prank. A jest that the two friends went through whenever they came together. Like two ladies exchanging shopping hints, revealing the best place to purchase a fan or a scarf. Only they exchanged bullets.
She pulled back. “This is madness.”
“I know.”
He returned his mouth to hers with an urgency that belied the calmness of the words he’d spoken. She was referring to the duel, but she had a feeling that he was referring to the kiss. One had spawned the other. So they were linked.
She felt an unexplainable sorrow, as though she’d married a man she thought she knew, only to discover that she was married to a man she knew not at all and was suddenly wishing she knew better.
She placed her hands over his where they cradled her face, and she wondered what it would feel like to have them touch her with the same tenderness that his mouth was now exhibiting.
He’d confessed that for a time he was lost…and she didn’t know if she s
hould be more frightened. Would he become lost again?
He broke free of the kiss, pressed his forehead to hers. “If I don’t come back—”
“You don’t truly think that he’s going to kill you.”
He pulled back slightly, holding her gaze. “The Duke of Killingsworth insulted his wife. I think he might very well seek retribution.”
“Death for an insult is hardly equal. Let him blacken your eye or bloody your nose.”
He smiled sadly as he trailed his finger over her trembling lips. “It wouldn’t be enough for me if I were in his place.”
Then he turned and began walking away from her, away from the manor.
She was left forlorn and alone, with the realization that she didn’t know this man at all. Not at all.
A few minutes later, Eleanor came out of the manor, holding on to her son’s hand. “Weddy has gone to meet him. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Men went off to battle, and ladies manned the home front. Torie could do little more than nod.
And so they sat at the table in the garden with the breeze stirring the sides of the tablecloth, the tea cooling in the untouched china cups, the sun shining overhead. They discussed the latest dress patterns, the flowers, the weather, and how remarkable it was that Richard so resembled his father, each one pretending to care about any topic the other presented.
A half hour passed before a gunshot sounded in the distance. A few seconds later another shot echoed.
Chapter 14
R obert stood at the edge of the cliff, staring down at the waves washing over the rocks and the shore, not thinking of his impending death but thinking of Torie, his wife.
He’d enjoyed watching her as she’d visited with Eleanor. He had to give John credit; he’d chosen an exemplary lady to serve as the Duchess of Killingsworth. She fascinated him, and he’d seen in her eyes true concern at the possibility of his death. And her kiss of farewell…
He could still taste it upon his lips.
She loved his brother. Of that he had no doubt, and he knew a moment of despair that far exceeded anything he’d experienced during the last eight years. She could never be his, he could never hold her heart.
He told himself there were other women. That if he resolved this encounter and managed to hold on to his dukedom, he could release her and find someone else to take her place. But would any other woman exhibit her combination of shyness and boldness? Would another woman have her smile or her laughter? Would he find such pleasure in simply gazing upon another woman as he did looking at her?
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