by Gill, Tamara
She walked slowly over to her bed and sat on its edge. “I said to papa, on the night he told me that you were not going to arrive, that he was wrong. That you would come because it was so out of character for you. I could not believe that the boy I loved could play such a cruel joke on me. Lie to my face about what he supposedly felt for me, only to turn about and say it was all in my imagination.”
He went over to her and knelt, taking her hand. “I could not do that to you because I did not do this to you. Our families did this to us. I’m sorry Ava and I promise you that I’ll find out why.”
Tate had a small idea as to why his parents disapproved of Ava. Their social standing was as different as the horses’ temperaments they owned between them. His mother had never approved of their friendship and, now that these letters and who was actually behind them had been revealed, he would confront his mother and demand an apology. One for himself and one for Ava. He was no longer the Marquess, he was now the duke, and he would damn well marry whomever he pleased.
She squeezed his hand in return. “As much as this shocks me, Tate, I’m glad we know the truth and we can go on without any animosity between us.”
The years fell away and he wanted to take her in his arms, surround himself with the smell of roses that always permeated the air around Ava. Certainly, he didn’t want any animosity between them to continue, but he also didn’t wish for them to be distant. Ava had once been his best friend, his heart, and he would give anything to win her back.
She pulled her hand free and he stood, giving her space.
“You should probably leave. We both have a lot to think about. I’m sorry to cut our dinner short, but I think its best.”
“Of course,” he said, heading for the door. “I will bid you goodnight.” Tate closed the door behind him and leaned on it a moment to catch his breath. It was hard to know what to do from here, how to begin again. As young as they both had been when they’d both declared their love, and it had been love, true and as pure as air they breathed. A lot of things had happened since, a lot of time had passed. His own life in London wasn’t something he was proud of. He cringed knowing news of his antics had reached Berkshire and Ava. He’d been a distant landlord after his father passed, wishing to bury himself in the amusements of London than to grow up and return home, take up his role as he should have. All because he was angry, not just at himself, but at the cards life had dealt him regarding Ava.
Tate started for the stairs, needing to return to his estate to organize travel to London. He needed to return to town and confront his mother over her cruel meddling in his life which meant he had lost the one woman who truly knew and loved him for him, not who he was or what he offered.
He clenched his jaw. Due to his earlier careless actions, his trip to town would also mean he would have to visit his leman, not that anyone knew such a thing about him, and part ways from her. The confrontation might not go well and he would have to provide a monetary lump sum for the congé.
Then, he could return to Berkshire and win back his lady. His duchess, as Ava always should have been.
Chapter 6
After sending a missive to Ava, telling her of his plans to travel to town, he arrived in London late the following day just as the little season was starting. Tate jumped down from his carriage as the lamplighters walked the streets and lit the pavement lamps.
Tate went straight round to Whites to catch up with his good friend, Lord Duncannon, whom he’d asked last month to return to London to hire a Bow Street Runner, even though for the past month there had been little evidence come to light nor any further attacks on the estates other than his own.
He went into the foyer and before a footman could take his coat, he was handed a missive from Lord Duncannon telling him he’d been held up elsewhere and would be joining him later than they’d planned.
Tate turned and stared out toward the street, debating with himself if he could put off seeing the woman who’d warmed his bed regularly during the past year in town. Having sent a missive the previous day of his impending arrival, he knew his arrival would be met with her believing all was well and expecting a night of passion would commence.
Girding his loins, he left, calling out the road to his driver and hating himself for the fact that he was going to hurt her. Fleur, Lady Clapham and the widow to Viscount Clapham, did not deserve such treatment. Not that she had ever aspired to be his wife, but he had promised not to make a fool of her in Society, and they were often seen together at events and balls. She had been a friend, a comfort during his flashes of weakness and the loneliness that had plagued him sporadically since arriving back in England.
The carriage rocked to a halt before the portland stone townhouse in Mayfair and he stared at the building a moment before his groom opened the door. Tate jumped down and walked up the stairs. The butler let him in without question or delay, and automatically Tate started toward the front parlor where Fleur always liked to meet prior to their rendezvous.
The parlor was his least favorite room in the home, having been decorated in the most vile shade of pink that hurt one’s eyes.
The butler opened and shut the door without comment, and taking a step further into the room, Tate couldn’t help but smile at the pose Fleur had positioned herself in as she awaited his arrival.
Her ladyship was sprawled on a pink settee, one arm lazily lying behind her head while the other sat atop her stomach that was visible through the transparent silk shift she wore. Her nipples, a pink that suited her surroundings, stood erect beneath her garment, and the darker patch of curls at the apex of her thighs was visible.
Even with the knowledge that he would never have the woman in the way she expected again, he could not deny that she was beautiful and deserving of so much more than life had given her, himself included. Her father, a country gentleman had fallen on hard times, and with his downfall, so too had his children. Lady Clapham had been married off to a rich viscount without a moment’s thought. It was now left on her shoulders to support her siblings and find grand matches when their times came, and so Lady Clapham had married a man twice her age and with a rumored temper as hot as Hades.
“Tate, my darling, where have you been? The little season is almost over and we have not seen you these past months. I truly despaired that you would never return to town again. I’ve been so lonely,” she said, her gaze raking him with unsated lust.
He sat on a chair opposite her, and sensing that he wasn’t going to sit beside her and take her in his arms, Fleur sat up, pulling her dressing gown about her front. “Is something the matter?” she asked.
“There is something that I need to speak to you about and I’m afraid that you may not like what it is.” If he knew Fleur at all, and he did, very well, she was not a woman to cross and he didn’t want for them to part on bad terms. What they had was enjoyable while it lasted, but he’d never given her false hope. Had never offered more than what they had agreed to before any liaison had started.
“I’m going to be spending a great deal of time in Berkshire, at my estate. As you may be aware, there was a fire at my stables last month–”
Fleur gasped, leaning forward. “There was a fire? Was there much damage?”
“I lost two stable blocks that I’m in the process of rebuilding. All my horses have had to be stabled at Knight’s. I was extremely fortunate not to lose any of my cattle.”
The viscountess leaned back in her chair, a knowing look in her eyes. “Is not Knight Stables owned by Miss. Ava Knight? Was she not the girl who jilted you all those years ago?”
Tate didn’t want to tell Fleur the whole truth, for as soon as he did the whole of London would know and no-one here in town needed to have any participation in his life.
“She’s home from France and is doing an excellent job keeping her racing stables profitable and successful. What happened in the past between us I’d prefer to leave in the past. We are neighbors, and due to our mutual love of horseracing, we nee
d to get along.”
“Well,” she said, her tone having a disbelieving edge to it. “I’m glad you’ve been able to put the past behind you, but that does not mean that we cannot still be together when you’re in town. We get along well enough, and you know we always have fun. Do not be a bore and tell me that we can no longer go on as we have been.”
Tate was gambling on the idea that in time and with patience, he could possibly win Ava’s love back. Make her see that together they could make both their estates the best racing and breeding stables in the land. That under no circumstances would he try to clip her wings and force her to change, to suit his title. They had both longed for children, and a marriage built on a strong foundation of love. He would not give up on such hopes now that the possibility of them was perhaps an option once again.
He stood. “I’m sorry, Fleur, but I can no longer be your lover. I will, of course, always be your friend and should you need anything at all, you know that I will always offer assistance. But what we’ve had must come to an end. It would not be fair to you to keep you for myself when we’ve always been in agreement that this was only ever temporary and a fun way to pass the time during the Season.”
She studied him a moment before she stood, coming up to him and wrapping her arms about his neck. “I shall miss you, Your Grace, and all the delectable things we used to get up to. I look forward to seeing you next year in town.”
Tate untangled her arms from about his neck, but leaned down and kissed her quickly on the brow. “Good night, Lady Clapham.” He handed her the congé.
He left without another word, and reaching his carriage called for Whites. Lady Clapham had taken the news much better than he’d thought she would have. Perhaps she already had someone else in mind to keep her occupied. She was a widow and many gentlemen had taken an interest in her, which she was always amenable to.
And now they were both free to do as they pleased. And it pleased Tate very well to win Ava’s love. He’d won her heart once before, surely that meant he could do it again.
Chapter 7
Two years have passed since I saw you last. Sometimes I wonder if we shall ever meet again…
– An Excerpt from a letter from Miss. Ava Knight to the Duke of Whitstone
Tate’s carriage pulled up before his London townhouse, the lights blazing from within and the sound of music playing made his steps cautionary as he walked up to the front door. A footman in red livery, clothing that they only used when hosting a ball, made his steps falter. Of all the days he would return to London would be one of the days that his mother was hosting a party.
This would make it the third for the year. Did the woman not have anything better to do with her time? He handed his great coat to one of the servants that came upon him in the entrance hall and said hello to the few people who mingled outside the ballroom.
Not in the mood for such entertainments, he started up the stairs. Not only did he not want to socialize, but he was far from dressed for a ball. Come morning, he would discuss his mother’s excessive hosting and try and rein her in a little. Not to mention the letter she wrote to Ava being foremost in his mind made him less than willing to allow her little follies.
Halfway up the stairs a gentleman's voice yelled out to him and Tate paused, turning to see the Earl of Brandon, his good friend whom he’d met during his first year in New York.
“Scott,” he said, coming down the stairs and pulling him into an embrace. The man was one of his closest friends, and he’d missed him when he’d left to return home to England. Scott had traveled to England as well, but had gone on to Europe to see the sights. “How have you been, my friend?”
“Very well. Very well, indeed,” Scott said, grinning. “I remembered the dowager duchess was holding a ball tonight to bid farewell to the little season and thought to catch up with you while you were in town.”
“May I say congratulations? I will admit to being quite surprised when receiving your letter that you were engaged, but I’m happy for you. Is your betrothed with you? I would love to meet her,” Tate said, glancing about to see if any one young lady was waiting to be called over for an introduction.
“Yes, you are right. I’m engaged. We’re to marry next June. Her family will be traveling over from Italy as they wish to prepare and plan the wedding with Rosa. Of course, I'm all for allowing Rosa to have whatever she wants.”
Tate smiled. “I'm happy for you, my friend. You will make a wonderful husband and I am sure Rosa will make you a wonderful wife if she’s the one you’ve chosen. I count the days until I can meet her.”
“They’re on their way now from Rome and will arrive by Christmas. I will be sure to introduce you. She is simply perfect.”
Tate clasped him on the shoulder, happy for his friend. “You’re a good man. You deserve this bliss.”
“Thank you,” Scott said, turning toward the ballroom. “Shall we have a glass of champagne to celebrate?”
Tate could not refuse and so started toward the ballroom doors. In no way was he dressed for the occasion, but being the Duke of Whitstone did give him some leave to wear whatever he damn well pleased.
He caught sight of his mother across the other side of the ballroom, her eyes widening in shock. Tate wasn’t sure if it was because he was here, or because of what he was wearing, possibly both.
Scott took two glasses of champagne from a passing footman and handed one to Tate. They made the congratulatory toast and took a sip before looking about.
“When are you returning to Berkshire. I heard from Duncannon that you’ve had some troubles at the Hall.”
Tate nodded. The mention of home brought up the memory of Ava and how much he missed seeing her, even for a day. He had become accustomed to being near her again, and now that he was in town, he itched to rid himself of the city and get back to the country. How he had put up with living here for the past two years, never leaving for the country, was beyond him.
“I have some business to attend to here, but no more than a week, and I’ll return to Berkshire. As for the trouble, yes, I’ve had some of late.”
The Earl gave him his full attention and Tate debated whether to tell Scott all he was thinking. They had never held anything back from each other before and Tate could not do so now. He needed to discuss Ava with someone or he’d go mad. “Do you remember a lady I once spoke to you about, and the reason why I was in America in the first place?”
Scott nodded. “Of course. Miss. Knight, was it not?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Tate said, warmth seeping through his veins at the mention of her name aloud.
“She lives in France I understand, but her father owned one of the best racehorse stables in England.”
“Yes, you remember correctly, but alas, she’s not in France. She’s back in Berkshire.”
His friend studied him a moment before he raised his brow, his mouth twitching in amusement. “She’s returned? How very interesting.” He paused. “And does this have anything to do with why you’re now living in Berkshire instead of London?”
“Not entirely,” Tate said, not wanting to look like too much of a lovesick puppy, but then he’d never been able to lie to Scott. “I will disappoint you in telling you our reunion was not my finest hour, but then as you may have heard my stable block was burned down, which I will go into later with you, but on that night, Ava saved my prized stallion and me to an extent.”
“And so you’ve formed a truce.”
Tate shrugged. “I have had to move my horses over to her estate, and over the last month, since the fire, we’ve come to know that she never jilted me five years ago. In fact, both our parents played us for fools and removed us from the other’s life. It is also another reason why I’m in town. I want to confront my mother about her involvement in such an underhanded scheme.”
Scott whistled, his eyes wide. “The dowager never approved of Miss. Knight. Did you know?”
“Mother never said such a thing to me directly, the
letter, which I’ve read is in her hand. Her distaste for Miss. Knight as my wife was clear in every word. I did not think her capable of such treachery, but I was wrong. It was no wonder Ava never reached out to me over the years. The letter was very cold and offensive.”
Tate shook his head, hating that they’d been ripped apart all because someone else thought it best for them. “We had dinner the other evening and during the conversation, I could not stand not knowing the truth as to what happened. Why she sent me the note crying off our understanding. It was then that she asked about my letter in turn. Both of which neither of us had written. We had both been played and by the people we were supposed to trust most.” Tate looked across the room and watched his mother a moment with her friends, laughing and lording it over others simply because she was a duchess. A cold, hard lump formed in his gut and he turned back to Scott, not wanting to look a moment longer.
“I’ve returned to town in part to confront my mother about her despicable actions. I had meant to do it tonight, but returning home I found she’s hosting this ball, so our conversation will have to wait until the morning.”
“What other business brings you here?” his friend asked.
Tate adjusted his cravat and cleared his throat. “Well, other than some business in town regarding my other estates, and my issue with my mother of course, the other reason I was back in town was because of a delicate subject.”
Scott raised his brow. “Really, care to elaborate?” His friend finished his champagne and summoned more from a footman nearby.
Tate ground his teeth, not liking the fact he’d succumbed like so many men of his sphere and taken a lover. Lady Clapham had not been his mistress, she was free to do whatever she like and with whomever she choose, the fact he could call on her when it pleased him, did make her seem like a mistress, although he did not want to use that term.