“I…” Andrew felt that there must be some artful deflection of speech, some clever piece of rhetoric that could have defended him against the simplicity of his grandmother’s insight. But no deflection came to him. He did not have the energy to argue against that which he knew in his heart to be true.
“For what it is worth,” Grandmamma Horatia continued, her voice careful and deliberate, “I advised your late father against the betrothal between Rebecca and Charles, knowing that your heart belonged to her and hers to you.”
Despite the misery of his situation, Andrew’s pulse leapt at his grandmother’s words. Rebecca’s heart belonged to him? He scarcely dared believe it, yet his grandmother had seen through his facade so completely that he dared hope, just at the back of his mind, that she had read Rebecca’s feelings with equal accuracy.
“Your father insisted on proceeding with the betrothal,” Grandmamma Horatia insisted, her fragile voice turning gravelly with disdain. “He was concerned only with uniting the fortunes of the Leinster estate with those of the Earldom of Sheffield, and did not care to see those fortunes split between his sons.”
Andrew found himself wincing at her words. He had always been the more dutiful, attentive son to their father, and even more so in the last months of his life when the Duke had grown frail unbeknownst to the rest of society.
Perhaps he should not have been surprised that his father had rated the fortunes of their family above the happiness of his second son, but he had to own that he was hurt by it.
“Perhaps I have no cause for such optimism,” Grandmamma Horatia continued, using her cane to assist her as she rose slowly to her feet. Andrew hurried over to offer her his arm, and she placed her wrinkled hands on his. “But, my dear, I rather believe that it will come right in the end.”
Her eyes filled with sadness. “I do not mean to suggest that there will not be suffering, for in cases like these it rarely happens that all parties are left happy in the outcome. But I believe, nonetheless, that all will come right for you and Rebecca.”
Andrew smiled at his grandmother, more because he could see the concern written on her face than having any reason to smile. If only I could believe it myself.
Chapter 9
Rebecca dressed for dinner in an ill humor that was not alleviated by Caroline’s kindly attempts to compliment her hair and dress. She could sense her friend’s growing frustration as her efforts were deflected, and she suspected that if she had been a less discreet sort of person Caroline might have briskly informed her that she needed to get herself together.
Rebecca recounted to her friend the incident of Charles handling her in brutish fashion and refusing to let go, though she did not go into any detail about Andrew’s intervention, nor did she mention their conversation on the lawn afterward.
Caroline had taken the story of Charles’ behavior with dismay, which left Rebecca feeling reassured that, despite the poor behavior of her future husband, she could at least count on having her friend on her side.
“Was it not perhaps a misinterpretation on your part to believe that he intended to intimidate you?” Caroline asked. “The Duke has always seemed such a mannerly sort of young man.”
“It is a façade,” Rebecca replied, not caring that she appeared a little blunt. “If you knew him better, you would not be so charitable in your interpretation.”
“Perhaps it is mere passion that made him behave as he did,” Caroline replied. There was a stubbornness in her voice that Rebecca recognized as her friend’s determination to see the best in others. It was one of her qualities that she most admired in general, but at this moment it was not what she needed.
“Perhaps,” she conceded, not because she believed it but because she could see that Caroline was not to be moved on this matter.
“Perhaps when we are married,” she added, swallowing back her horror at the words, “You will be able to live with us, and then at least I will have my dear companion with me to stave off the trials of marriage.”
“Perhaps,” Caroline agreed. But Rebecca could tell from the flatness of her friend’s voice that she did not truly expect anything to come of the hopes that they both voiced.
Nor, in truth, did Rebecca herself. She had depended on Caroline for wisdom and advice throughout her adult life, and at that moment, the intimacy of a dear friend seemed like the only saving grace for the bleak prospect of her marriage.
But Charles had always been dismissive and unfriendly towards Caroline. His every attention to Rebecca throughout last year’s London season had been accompanied by a snub or coldness directed at Caroline. Perhaps it was to be expected, given their respective social classes.
But Rebecca had never seen the world in those terms. As far as she was concerned Caroline was a dear, irreplaceable friend, and the fact that Charles was unable to correctly discern her worth was, in Rebecca’s view, an indictment of his own character.
The two women went down to dinner much subdued, which was scarcely helped by Charles’ ostentatious mode of greeting Rebecca. He seated her at the foot of the table, in the spot that she would soon occupy permanently as his wife, and continued to showily address her as ‘my dear’.
“And where is Andrew?” he asked, apparently as a rhetorical question.
“He was a little late in dressing,” Grandmamma Horatia replied serenely. “Rest assured that he will be joining us soon, Charles dear.”
Rebecca found herself frowning at Andrew’s lateness. Granted, it was only a minor breach of etiquette, but one of Andrew’s most marked traits was his scrupulous adherence to convention when it came to manners. He had inherited high esteem for courtly behavior from his father.
Charles seemed to catch her in the frown from the other end of the table, and she wiped it away swiftly, concerned that it might be open to some interpretation over which she would have no control.
“Allow me to apologise on my brother’s behalf, my dear,” he said. “I am sure that he has not intended his lateness as a slight to present company.”
I had not interpreted it as such, Rebecca thought mutinously as she forced herself to direct a polite smile back to Charles. If anything, I am confident that it is intended as a slight against you.
These thoughts were interrupted, however, by Andrew’s entrance.
His footfall was far heavier than his usual light, graceful step. He was dressed for dinner, but there was something in his manner that looked a little undone, even a little wild. Rebecca studied him as carefully as she dared, realizing that his hair looked very much as though he had been frantically running his hands through it.
"Good evening, all," he said. He stopped short and bowed deeply. “Lady Rebecca." He turned and bowed no less deep to Caroline. “Miss Swanson.”
“Good evening, Lord Andrew,” Rebecca’s father said, seeming to believe that there had been some oversight and Andrew simply had not seen him. Andrew turned and barely inclined his head. “Lord Sheffield,” he said brusquely.
“A good evening to you too, brother,” Charles interjected, with an excess of false cheeriness. Andrew did not even acknowledge his brother except with a jerky nod. Instead, he walked over to his grandmother and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, seating himself beside her despite the fact that there was no place laid.
The Earl of Sheffield glanced uncertainly at Andrew as if taken aback by his conduct but seemed to judge it best to distract the party from Andrew’s odd behavior by bringing up the subject that was sure to create the most consternation.
“The banns are to be read Sunday next,” he observed.
“Indeed,” Charles replied, beaming.
“Indeed,” Rebecca echoed in a far more subdued tone.
“Indeed!” Andrew interjected, the word bursting from between gritted teeth. “What a happy occasion for us all to anticipate.”
Rebecca glanced at Andrew, unsure of what the intention was behind his strange manner. Does he believe that behaving so will be of any help in this ma
tter?
Charles pinkened a little.
“You say this with a skeptical air, brother,” he said, sputtering a little as he dabbed at his lips with his napkin, presumably to hide the angry twist that had appeared at his lips. “I would have hoped that after the sad death of our father you would have been more welcoming of any occasion that brought joy to this household.”
“I would have hoped that you would have waited to hold your joyful occasions until after our father was more than a few weeks buried,” Andrew snapped back.
All pretence of civility had dissipated. The Earl was staring into space, mechanically chewing upon a mouthful of beef. Caroline was gazing into her lap as if something of great interest was taking place there.
Rebecca, however, could not look away. She observed the two brothers as though she were a spectator at a tennis match, conscious of the two bright spots that were growing on her cheeks.
On the one hand, she agreed wholeheartedly with Andrew. And I must own that I take some perverse pleasure in seeing Charles so discomfited.
On the other hand, she could see no beneficial outcome from this behavior, which she knew would serve only to make Charles angry, and more than likely give him cause to find some obscure reason to send his brother away to London on business.
She looked at Andrew beseechingly. Please do not quarrel with him and get yourself sent away, she silently did her best to transmit to him. You have no notion of how much I need you to be here at this time.
Charles had taken a large gulp of claret and was surveying his brother with an affected indulgence that clearly masked a more profound anger.
“Surely you cannot condemn me, brother,” he said, “for enacting our father’s wishes in a prompt fashion? He wanted nothing more than to see our two families joined in matrimony, and I see this swift action as a fine way to honor his memory.”
“How touching,” Andrew responded, setting about the cutting of his beef with great vigor. He did not look up from his plate as he spoke. “What a pity that your concern for our father’s wishes did not extend to cutting short your hunting trip in order to do your duty by him on his deathbed.”
There was a clattering sound as Charles’ fork fell to his plate, and he stood up abruptly, taking no care to prevent his chair from scraping at the floor in a loud and disturbing manner. “If you have some quarrel with me, sir,” he barked at his brother, “I beg that you would articulate it plainly.”
Andrew paid him no mind, continuing to eat with a mutinous expression on his countenance. Grandmamma Horatia, meanwhile, rose to her feet in her customarily slow, stately fashion.
“I beg that you will forgive my grandsons’ hastiness,” she said, directing her words towards the Earl and the two young ladies. “I hope that you know this is not their customary behavior. They are both much grieved by the passing of my late son-in-law, and it has caused them to forget themselves.”
As she spoke, she turned a stern eye first on Andrew and then on Charles.
“Such high spirits may be common among young men, but I will not tolerate them in the presence of ladies,” she continued firmly, knocking her cane on the floor in a stately sound to emphasise her words. “May I ask my dear guests to retire with me to the drawing room?”
She turned her radiantly warm smile on Rebecca.
“It is a rare treat for us to have a songbird in our midst,” she said. “I hope that you will be gracious enough to entertain an old lady with a few pretty airs.”
Rebecca looked gratefully at Grandmamma Horatia. At least there is one ally in this household whom I can count upon. This was interrupted, however, by Charles, who seemed to be unable to resist his gloating.
“It will be a rare treat no longer, Grandmamma,” he said. “I have no doubt that Lady Rebecca will provide us with many hours of musical entertainment when she is my wife.”
Rebecca’s fragile sense of consolation collapsed immediately, and Grandmamma Horatia’s kindliness vanished. The face that she turned upon Charles was quite severe in contrast to that which she had directed towards Rebecca only moments before.
“Indeed, Charles,” she said, her tone as courtly as ever but devoid of its usual warmth. “I am sure that is exactly the kind of observation that Lady Rebecca needs to hear at this moment when her future husband and his brother have given such unfavorable accounts of themselves.”
She held out a lace-gloved hand to Rebecca.
“Come, my dear. Perhaps you can assist me in the walk to the drawing room.”
Chapter 10
Neither Andrew nor Charles finished their dinner. As soon as their guests had departed the room, Grandmamma Horatia concealing the underlying tension beneath a layer of gracious chatter, they rose from the table as one.
Neither of them needed to clarify where they were going. They stood in chilly silence until the sounds of their guests had died down at the end of the hallway, and then immediately left the room and walked briskly, in single file, to their father’s library.
It was the site of all of their altercations. Their father had not been the sort of man who raised his sons to nurse quiet resentments, and from a young age whenever they had disagreed he had always ordered them to ‘thrash it out’ in the library.
At some point in their adolescence, the Godwin brothers had begun to enact this measure of their own accord, usually with the aid of a measure of French brandy.
Charles poured the brandy in silence from the decanter that had been filled only weeks before for his father’s use. Since the latter gentleman’s death, it had been emptied several times over in the long evenings that Charles spent alone in his study. Evenings that, he reasoned, would soon be made far easier and more pleasant by the presence of a pretty and vivacious wife.
Despite appearances, the Godwin brothers had not grown up seriously at odds with one another. They had different qualities and values, to be sure, but they were brothers in every sense, and their father had always ensured that they nurtured a strong loyalty toward one another.
Since the two of them had known that Charles would one day marry Rebecca, a shadow had undoubtedly fallen between the two young men. Andrew had responded to it in a way that ran deep, yet he had not been able to articulate, least of all to his brother.
“I suppose you believe that I wish to apologise to you,” Andrew said haltingly, accepting the tumbler that his brother held out to him.
“I know better,” Charles responded, his eyebrows raised as he sank into the leather of his father’s armchair.
“I apologise for speaking to you so plainly in the presence of company,” Andrew said, to both of their surprise. But then he continued, “But I make no apology for what I said.”
Charles regarded him over the rim of his glass, swirling the amber liquid contemplatively.
“I know perfectly well that this is not easy for you,” he said.
Andrew’s heart leapt. How could he possibly know?
“I do not imagine that I should much like to hold the inferior position of second son,” Charles continued, savouring the word ‘inferior’ with as much relish as he did the brandy.
It was not a word that he often had an opportunity to use about his younger brother. There had never been any sense in denying that Andrew was a better shot, a better horseman, and a finer dancer than he. Nor did he expend any energy on denying that his younger brother was by far the handsomest of the two.
But what did rankle Charles’ spirits, and what he had never come to terms with, was the fact that Andrew was fundamentally better liked than he. Not only by ladies, although that was indeed a bitter pill to swallow, but by society at large.
Moreover, Andrew was plainly their grandmother’s favorite, and Charles had rationalized staying away from his father’s deathbed with the knowledge that Andrew would be doing a far better job of comforting the old man than he ever could have.
"Now, for once,” Charles said, “I have something that you can never share.”
Andre
w said nothing, but his dark eyes regarded his brother with a kind of frantic keenness, like a fox that has discerned a dog on its scent.
“The dukedom,” Charles clarified, enjoying the feeling of pushing the words out of his mouth and into his brother’s heart.
Andrew in his relief wanted to let out the breath that he had been holding, but he did not wish to reveal himself any further, so he settled for a small cough that allowed him to release at least some of the tension in his body.
Charles, for his part, had been discerning enough to recognize that his brother was jealous. But he had misattributed the source of the jealousy.
“You have nothing that I want, brother,” he lied.
The Obscure Duchess of Godwin Hall_A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 5