by Deborah Hale
Lord Northam’s warm, caring tone seemed to pierce the winter gloom like a ray of May sunshine.
Leah turned away from the window and affected a cheerful air for his sake. How many long, isolated winters had he endured caring for his son? “Do not worry, Your Grace. I promise you, I am not ill. If I had a chill or a cough, I would make sure to keep away from Kit and not risk him catching it.”
“I know.” The duke regarded her with quiet trust. “But I did not inquire only for my son’s sake. You may not be seriously ill, but you do not seem to be quite yourself of late. I hope you would confide in me if something were troubling you. I should very much like to assist you if it were within my power.”
His solicitude made Leah smile. This time there was nothing feigned about her expression. “Unless you possess an uncanny ability to influence the climate, I fear there is little you or anyone can do. Winter always has a depressing effect upon my spirits when I am obliged to remain indoors so much. It reminds me of my years at school, which felt like one endless cold, damp, hungry winter.”
What a blessed relief it was to be able to speak freely of her time at the Pendergast School. None of her previous employers had ever asked about her past or given any sign they cared. The sincere sympathy in the duke’s gaze seemed to reach out and wrap around her.
“There is no excuse for you to be cold or hungry under my roof.” Lord Northam held out his arm to her. “Dinner is waiting and we can move our places to the end of the table nearest the fire. I will have it stirred up to a good warm blaze.”
“Those things will certainly help,” Leah grasped the duke’s strong arm and felt her spirits beginning to lift, “though no more than the warmth and nourishment of your company. Your kindness never fails to lighten the winter gloom.”
“You make it sound like a sacrifice on my part.” Lord Northam cast her a sidelong smile as they headed off to the dining room. “I assure you nothing could be further from the truth. All the years I did little but care for my son, I did not realize how much I missed adult conversation on subjects other than estate business.”
His remark reminded Leah of what her friend Grace had said about the duke being lonely. She was pleased to hear her company had helped to ease his isolation, though she wondered whether any other companion might have done just as well.
“Your wife...” The words burst out before she could stop them. “I suppose you miss her very much, still?”
She recalled one other time they had talked of his wife and how reluctant he had seemed to discuss the subject. What made her raise it now? Grace had told her how long and how deeply Lord Steadwell mourned his late wife before finally opening his heart to love again. Did the Duke of Northam expect to remain alone for the rest of his life, devoting all his attention and affection to his son?
For his sake, Leah hoped not. And yet the thought of him remarrying did not sit well with her either.
Lord Northam considered her question. Rather than changing the subject as she feared he might, the duke gave her an answer. “I suppose I do. I hardly know. By now I have been widowed longer than I was married. My time with Celia feels like a distant dream.”
As she pondered his unexpected reply, the duke posed Leah a question she’d anticipated even less. “Speaking of marriage, Miss Shaw, have you ever been tempted to settle down? You told me once that you had never been asked, though recently you mentioned a suitor who got a pitcher of cold water over his head.”
What made him ask such a question? Leah wondered. It flustered her, though she was not quite certain why. How could she refuse to answer after the duke had been so forthcoming in his reply to her?
“I would not dignify that rogue with the title of suitor, Your Grace. I doubt his intentions were honorable. If they had been, I would not have thrown cold water on him but neither would I have encouraged his attentions. I have remained single less because I lacked willing suitors than because I have never had an inclination to wed.” Somehow her declaration did not sound as adamant as it might once have done.
They had reached the dining room by this time, for which Leah was grateful. Now their conversation could return to more impersonal topics.
But after the duke had Mr. Gibson shift their places nearer the fire and they took their seats, Lord Northam made no effort to change the subject. “Why have you not wished to marry, may I ask? Have you not met a gentleman who meets your expectations of a husband? Or do you find something objectionable about the institution itself?”
Leah tried to suppress her impatience, reminding herself it was she who had first raised the subject of marriage. “I cannot say I have ever entertained any particular expectations of a husband, Your Grace.”
What qualities would she look for if she were to change her mind about marriage? This was the first time Leah had ever considered the matter. Humor would be a great asset, obviously, as well as kindness and strength of character. Any man who married her would need to be patient and understanding. A voice from deep in her mind warned her not to go any further with such an inventory.
“Then it is the idea of marriage you find repellent?” The duke did not appear to have much appetite for his soup. He kept glancing down into the bowl whenever Leah tried to meet his eye, stirring its contents with a furtive air. “On what grounds, may I ask?”
Had they not talked about this enough for one evening?
Leah tried to stifle her impatience. “From the time I was very young, my grandmother warned me that marriage meant the end of a woman’s freedom. The tender trap she called it. She said she had once longed to travel abroad but instead she was persuaded to marry my grandfather. By the time she was widowed and her children grown, she had lost her sight. She hoped I would be able to see and do all the things she felt she had missed.”
Leah chided herself for going on at such length. She stilled her tongue and put it to work consuming her soup.
“With all due respect to your late grandmother,” the duke replied in a tone of cool disapproval, “it sounds as if she was not allowing you any more choice in the matter than she was given. Is not the ability to make decisions about our lives the most basic freedom?”
A calm whisper of reason told Leah that Lord Northam had a point. But that whisper was drowned out by bellows of outrage from her heart.
Ripping the napkin from her lap, she surged to her feet and flung the square of crisp, snowy linen onto the table. “What right have you to question my grandmother’s advice when you limit your son’s choices so severely?”
The duke hastily struggled to rise, as propriety dictated a gentleman should. Though she knew she had already said too much, Leah could not control her impulse to lash out at him. “The longer you keep Kit ignorant and immobile, the fewer choices he will have as he grows up. Is that what you want for him?”
The look in Lord Northam’s eyes gave her the bitter satisfaction of knowing she had provoked the same intense reaction in him that he had stirred in her.
Lightning seemed to flash in his gaze, not quite masking a deep shadow of pain. “I want my son to have the opportunity to grow up! I thought you understood that. I fail to see how my actions compare with poisoning the mind of an impressionable child against marriage.”
Why could she not defuse their mounting antagonism with a jest? Leah hated the volatile feelings seething within her and rather feared them. They threatened to seize command of her words and actions, leaving her powerless to choose a different way. No one had ever made her feel so helpless to control her emotions.
What gave Hayden Latimer that dangerous power? Part of her guessed the answer but she refused to admit it, for that would make it true.
“Poison my mind?” she echoed the duke’s words, her tone bristling with scorn. “Gran did nothing of the kind. If she had, at least that would have been no worse than poisoning a child’s body.”
That was not fair. She knew it as soon as the words left her mouth. The duke had trusted the wrong person, but he had not fully
grasped the danger of giving Kit laudanum. Though part of her took grim satisfaction in knowing she had struck a blow, her conscience reproached her. The staff of the Pendergast School had taught her little of true charity, but Leah thought she had learned something of it from her friends.
Pride and hurt refused to let her back down yet. But before the duke could say anything more to escalate their quarrel, Leah sensed the best thing she could do for both of them was to disengage, giving them an opportunity to recover their composure.
“If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I fear I have lost my appetite.”
Without waiting to hear whether he granted her leave to depart, Leah spun away and fled the dining room. Regrets nipped at her heels like a pack of hunting dogs as she dashed down corridors and up the stairs. When she reached her room, she slammed the door behind her to shut them out, but they were too quick.
They pounced upon her, driving her to her knees where a bewildering storm of tears overwhelmed her.
Could his first faltering overtures toward Leah Shaw have gone worse?
As her rapid footsteps retreated into the distance, Hayden collapsed back onto his chair. He was grateful for the discretion of his servants, who had melted away at the first sign of trouble. Still there was bound to be gossip below stairs in spite of Gibson’s strenuous efforts to suppress it.
Such a scene had not played out at Renforth Abbey since the days of his marriage, unless one counted his son’s tantrums. Even his sister, with whom he had been so often at odds, did not provoke him to such a show of temper. Was he misguided to consider wedding another woman whose priorities and disposition were so much at odds with his?
In poor Celia’s case, he had not realized their differences until it was too late. Their marriage, which had begun with so much hope and promise, had been strained by the disparity between their temperaments and interests. He’d wanted to believe that he and Leah Shaw had settled all their differences and come to a tolerant understanding of one another. This jarring confrontation had proven him wrong. He reproached himself for escalating hostilities. Nothing he’d said to her was untrue, but some of it had been most unkind. Though the accusations she’d hurled at him had been hurtful, that did not make them false.
A subtle movement drew his gaze toward the dining room door where he spied the butler hovering.
“Shall I fetch the next course, Your Grace?” Gibson was clearly trying hard to ignore the empty chair opposite his master’s.
Hayden shook his head. “Miss Shaw felt unwell and I must confess I have lost my appetite too. Please convey my apologies to Cook and assure her it is no reflection on her efforts.”
“Very well, Your Grace.” The butler managed to sound as if he believed every word, which Hayden highly doubted. “Is there anything else you require?”
Brandy, perhaps? Again, Hayden shook his head. He did not approve of the frequency with which many of his peers sought to drown their troubles.
“Nothing, thank you.” Possessed of a sudden need for movement, he rose from the table and strode off without giving much thought to where he was headed.
His feet bore him to the cloisters, where he had often come in the past to clear his mind. The long, enclosed walkway leading to the chapel was damp and rather chilly, which succeeded in cooling any lingering embers of anger within him. The soft, steady drip of water off the eaves was a soothing sound, though he wondered if Leah Shaw might find it dismal.
Between the isolation of Renforth Abbey in winter and his blundering efforts to sound her out about marriage, it would be a wonder if Kit’s governess did not pack her bags and leave his household at first light. In spite of their confrontation, Hayden could not bear the thought of her going... for his son’s sake.
It was because of their differences that Leah Shaw would make an ideal mother for Kit. Her compulsion to give the child as much freedom as possible balanced his caution and protectiveness. Between those opposite stances, with a certain amount of give and take, they had so far managed to strike a compromise that benefited his son. Hayden wanted it to continue.
But how could it if he drove the lady away? A shiver ran through him that was not entirely due to the damp chill of the cloisters.
It drove him back into the house, his pace hastening with every step. As he mounted the great staircase at a run, he met Leah Shaw descending almost as fast. They came to a halt on the landing and addressed one another at the same time, each in a breathless rush.
“Miss Shaw, I must apologize...”
“Please forgive me, Your Grace!”
Their words collided in the solemn stillness as their gazes met then quickly skittered away.
They tried again.
“There is no need, truly.”
“I protest—the fault was mine.”
Again their replies clashed.
Hayden’s tightly-wound nerves unraveled in an outburst of awkward laughter. Miss Shaw sputtered with answering mirth. Hayden’s legs felt suddenly weak. In a lamentable breach of good manners, he sank onto the stairs. The lady did likewise, with no sign of offense.
Meeting her gaze again, he held it this time and raised his hand to signal his wish to speak first. With a self-conscious grin and a barely perceptible nod, she gave him leave to begin.
“I am sorry I offended you in speaking as I did of your grandmother. When a person claims they mean all due respect I fear it is often an excuse to say something thoroughly disrespectful. I am certain your grandmother advised you as she did out of regard for your happiness. I of all people should know it is possible to do or say something harmful, even with the most benevolent intentions.”
Leah Shaw hesitated a moment before replying, perhaps to be certain he had finished. “I accept your apology, sir, as I hope you will accept mine. I do not know what made me speak to you that way. I suppose I still feel compelled to defend my grandmother from anyone who would question her care of me.”
“You do not need to apologize for such feelings.” Hayden hunched forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “Least of all to me.”
“But I should have realized you were trying to defend the idea of marriage—a connection that made you happy and gave you your son. It is only natural that you should find Gran’s views on the subject disagreeable.”
It might serve his plans far better if Leah Shaw continued to believe his marriage had been idyllic. Yet Hayden could not bring himself to deceive her, even by omission. “I must admit, your grandmother’s views do trouble me, but for the opposite reason.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Hayden twined his fingers together in a tight knot then brought his chin to rest upon them. “Since Celia’s death, I have tried to deny it, but I fear my late wife might have agreed with your grandmother.”
“Oh.” Leah managed to infuse that brief word with too many different feelings for him to be able to sort them out.
Had he just destroyed any hope of ever persuading her to accept an offer of marriage from him?
The duke’s marriage had not been a happy one? That notion left Leah bewildered and saddened... yet oddly relieved, much to her chagrin. She recalled Lord Northam mentioning that his late wife’s interests had differed from his, yet he’d also said how much he enjoyed spending time with her. Her treasured friendships had taught Leah that two people did not need to be exactly alike in order to share a deep, abiding affection.
“My grandmother never wanted me to wed Celia,” the duke continued. “She thought her unsuitable to assume the mantle of Duchess of Northam and mistress of Renforth Abbey. Looking back, I realize Grandmother was right, but at the time I was too smitten to see it.”
Was he confiding in her to atone for their earlier quarrel? Leah wanted to assure him it was not necessary to dredge up painful memories in order to appease her. Yet something deeper than simple curiosity kept her hanging on his every word.
“I did not fall in love with Celia in spite of our differences, but because of them.” Lord Nor
tham stared down at the wide gallery below as if he could picture his first wife scurrying past, laughing. “That Season was my first taste of London society and everything about it seemed to bubble and glitter. Only later did I realize how quickly bubbles burst and how easily things that glitter can shatter into dangerous shards”.
“I was young,” he continued, “and for the first and only time in my life, I felt a trifle rebellious. Grandmother’s disapproval made me all the more resolved to marry Celia, as did the competition of several other suitors. I was beside myself with happiness when such an admired toast of society chose to accept my proposal.”
All those years later, the duke still sounded surprised by his late wife’s decision. Leah was not. How could any of those other suitors have compared to a man like Hayden Latimer? Not for his title and fortune or even his handsome looks, but for his many fine qualities that Leah had discovered since coming to Renforth Abbey. If Lady Celia had been the giddy butterfly she sounded, was it any wonder she’d been drawn to a man of quiet strength and prudence—one who could be relied upon to protect her from a harsh world that might take advantage of her reckless high spirits? Leah found she could sympathize all too well with the motives of the late duchess.
“We were happy at first.” A gnawing edge of wistfulness in the duke’s tone tugged at Leah’s heart. “But I was unaccustomed to the hectic pace of London Society and soon tired of it. Celia miscarried twice. Her physician said it was because of the late hours she kept, the rich food and constant overexcitement. When my grandmother fell ill, I felt obliged to return to Renforth Abbey. I thought the wholesome country atmosphere would do Celia good. It seemed to for a time.”