“Do go on. I want to see where you are going with this,” Barrington said, his head cocked to one side as he regarded the younger man curiously.
“It is quite apparent to me that you feel like you must do me some good deed. A kind turn as it were. But I have no idea why. It occurs to me that there is some debt you are trying to repay, and I would know what it is,” James said, sitting forward and meeting the man’s eyes frankly and with keen interest.
“And you do not feel that I am perhaps doing this because you have shown an interest in my daughter?” Barrington said, with a slight upward quirking to his lips.
James leapt to his feet. “I would call you out at dawn for even suggesting such a thing. To imply that I must be bribed to spend time with Helen…Lady Barrington is not only cruel, it is disgusting.”
Barrington watched him without moving. “Though you came here initially under the impetus of that brooch.”
“That infernal rose has been the bane of my existence. I returned the brooch ages ago, but still, I took Lady Barrington to the concert. And called upon her.”
“Because she wrote you,” Barrington pointed out.
“Blast you, Barrington, do you truly know every little thing that goes on under this roof? Her letter had little to do with my intent other than to bring me a certain irritation. Taking her to the theatre was entirely my own idea. Though why I am defending my actions to you, I know not.” James threw his hands up in despair. “Then I must concede defeat. My motives will ever be in question.”
“And what are those motives?” Barrington asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“To marry the girl, if she’ll have me!” James exploded then stumbled back a step when he realized what he’d just done. Every vestige of blood drained from his face as he sank down into his chair again and buried his head in his hands. “I apologize. Such is not the way to ask for a lady’s hand in marriage.”
Barrington stared at him a full second before exploding into laughter. “It has taken you long enough to come around to it. I thought we would be here all day at it. Come, let us go in to eat. Normally, I’d suggest going around to my club for a bird and a bottle, but the weather is decidedly against such an enterprise. I suspect we would do better to join the ladies in their luncheon.”
“Luncheon!” James stared at the man. He was having trouble keeping up. A moment ago, they were talking ships, and now he’d just about managed to ask for Helena’s hand in marriage, and they were suddenly talking about luncheon as though gentlemen of good standing ever took the midday meal with the ladies.
“Unless you wish to starve, I would suggest it. I learned shipboard the value of keeping one’s strength up before a fight, whether it be against the elements or your own crew. I suspect you might be in for one if you intend to court my daughter in earnest. She is rather caught up in the nonsense regarding that brooch.”
There were a lot of things unanswered actually. “So, I might ask her to marry me?” James asked, going with the more important matter first.
Barrington pondered this briefly. “I would suggest finishing out your courtship as agreed upon in the terms set out in the original contract you made with her if you expect her to listen to you at all.”
“But I gave back the brooch!” James burst out in exasperation.
“Did you?” was all the reply he got, for Barrington was already halfway to the door.
“You did not answer me about the ship either. What debt could you possibly owe me?” James shouted, holding his ground, still standing at the desk covered in its plethora of papers, blueprints half tumbled to the floor.
“And that might be a question better asked your mother,” Barrington said and disappeared out the door into the hallway beyond.
James stared after the man, sure that the old fool had gone completely crazy. “My mother?” he murmured, the words making no sense upon his tongue. “My mother has been gone for years.”
Chapter 30
Helena had long since given up the idea of having a luncheon with her aunt. Phoebe usually enjoyed morning callers without her and so ate with them if at all. To understand that the Duke of Durham would be in attendance at this meal seemed outrageous and strange. Men did not take part in luncheon — it was strictly a ladies’ meal.
She glanced out the windows as she passed them, noting the way the snow blew against the panes. Undoubtedly, they were trapped here for the afternoon. Her father usually ate something at his club, she knew.
Shivering somewhat, Helena hastened her steps to the dining room, wishing that Tess had been the one to assist her in making herself ready. The flowered dress she wore felt out of place, being far too summery for such a dismal day. The fabric was thin, and her limbs nearly frozen by the time she found her seat at the table.
Thankfully the fire was high in the room, taking the edge off the chill. Helena slid into her seat, noting that Phoebe was already there. The gentlemen were not.
She wanted to ask if they were in fact coming, but the number of place settings suggested they were.
Phoebe smiled as she sat, so Helena felt she was at least doing something right in arriving early. Her timing was impeccable, in fact, for a moment later the door opened to admit her father followed by the Duke of Durham.
Helena’s face flamed, and she ducked her head to stare at the table in front of her as he sat, unsure what to say, outside of a murmured greeting as he took his place.
He was too close. She could almost feel the warmth radiating from him. How do I do this? I must tell him somehow, he is not to come here again, that I will not hold him to this agreement. He can even keep the brooch. I said as much in that letter. That letter! How I wish Aunt Phoebe had not burned it!
The Duke of Durham was the very picture of good manners and fine breeding. He truly was a beautiful thing to behold, in his looks and bearing to be sure. But his beauty went deeper than that, in the kind smile he bestowed upon the girl serving the meal when she stumbled and nearly dropped the platter of sandwiches she carried.
He was just as kind to her, turning to ask her how she fared, his eyes filled with a sweet concern that only went to prove how fine his soul was.
“I am well, thank you, Your Grace,” she said in response, looking with dismay at the soup her father had ordered ‘to warm them up’ for her fingers were especially bad today with the sores making them stiff. Soup would be very difficult to manage under such circumstances.
Phoebe made a sort of strangled coughing sound from the Duke’s other side, and Helena flushed. She suspected her silence was being seen as rude, though it seemed so very difficult to wrap her tongue around the words. “I wish to thank you for the outing last night. It was highly…educational.”
At that, her father exploded into laughter. “Especially for the thief, I should say. From what I understand, he was begging the constable to lock him away by the time he got there.”
Helena flushed. Why must he bring up the matter as though it were little more than a terrible joke?
“I thought you very brave,” the Duke replied, proving again, how kind a nature he possessed to make such a statement.
This was the problem with him. The Duke was entirely too considerate. And to keep him here was cruel and even unkind. She must, at some point in this visit, express to him everything she had written in the letter before this went any further.
Her father spoke into the silence that followed that statement. “I am well-pleased that our young friend here will be staying the night. I would much appreciate it if both you ladies took it upon yourselves to make him feel at his most welcome this evening, as I am sure this storm has inconvenienced him greatly.”
It was a gentle chiding, and Helena flushed, fumbling with her spoon desperately only to have it clatter into the bowl as it slipped through her fingers. Soup splashed in every direction, staining the linen tablecloth and her gloves both with a fine spatter of chestnut soup.
Helena stared aghast at the mess. Why, oh, wh
y must I always be so clumsy?
“Allow me.” James offered her his own napkin to blot at the stains upon her fingertips. The touch was too intimate as their hands brushed, and she glanced at him, startled, taking the cloth with her breath somehow becoming so trapped within her chest that she could not remember how to expel it again.
“Helena perhaps it would be best if you went upstairs to change…” Phoebe said, glancing over in dismay, even as the servants moved forward as one to whisk away the bowl and to place a fresh setting before her.
“Nonsense. Let the girl have her meal. She looks as though a strong wind would blow her away,” her father said, bending to his own soup as though the world had not just come crashing to an end at the two places down from his left.
“I…” Helena disliked these moments, where she became caught between father and aunt. Go or stay? She twisted the napkin in her hand, suddenly unsure.
“I would like very much for you to stay. It is only a little soup,” James said from beside her.
She stared at him, wondering when he had become ‘James’ in her mind, and not the Duke or Durham. Oh, was her heart already so imperiled?
“I…I am most sorry, Father,” she said finally, rising quickly from the table before she could change her mind. “If you would all excuse me.”
She curtseyed prettily, noting that her aunt seemed well satisfied with her response, which meant she had to be doing something right. Her father didn’t understand the niceties of high society perhaps. But then he had spent many long years at sea. He could perhaps be forgiven. But James…no, the Duke of Durham would know, and it was his opinion that mattered.
It should not matter. She was going to set this entire affair straight as quickly as she could.
But not now.
Helena drew herself up, and with a somewhat strained smile, she somehow managed to find the ability to move her feet toward the door, and from there into the hall, and up the stairs to her room.
To her credit, she didn’t cry until she got there. Nor did she allow herself the luxury of the tears for very long. It was with grim determination that she stripped the soiled gloves from her hands and went again to her desk where she pulled out a sheet of foolscap and began to write.
Much as she hadn’t realized it at the time, Tess had given her an idea. While it seemed ridiculous to send a letter to someone within her own house, a note would not be amiss, especially one asking him to speak with her privately before dinner.
Helena frowned. She would need Bridget to act as chaperone for it would not be proper to be caught alone with the James. The Duke, she told herself firmly.
With firm resolve, she dipped her pen into the inkwell and began.
My Lord Duke,
Please do me the honor of a moment of your time. I will expect you in the sitting room a half hour before dinner. I feel there is a matter that we must resolve between us regarding our relationship so long as we remain under the same roof.’
Chapter 31
Miss Barlowe was nothing if not persistent. “Your Grace, have some dessert. We grow the strawberries ourselves in our own conservatory. Lady Barrington loves them so.”
“No…thank you, ’Tis very kind, but I never could abide them myself.” He stifled a sigh as he stared at his dessert, an apple tart graced with a single small strawberry as a garnish and wondered how a meal so simple as a ladies’ luncheon had become so utterly complicated.
But then, he had always thought of the meal as light, but the Duke had somehow arranged for this to become a meal more in keeping with what he would have gotten at his club, right down to the chicken.
“Splendid idea this. It is a rare treat to enjoy a pretty face alongside a hearty midday meal!” the Duke said, throwing down a chicken bone and sitting back with a loud belch that caused Miss Barlowe not only flinch but turn a shade paler. “We shall have to do this again!”
Miss Barlow’s smile came off a little desperate as she looked at James. “It would be a welcome distraction, for as long as you are here, Your Grace.”
James was coming to realize that Miss Barlowe had had to endure more than the upbringing of a sickly child. The Duke was not the most polite or even well-mannered man. “Tell me how you came to be here. I expect you were rather a young woman to be raising a child that was not your own,” he said by way of offering a distraction.
Miss Barlowe positively preened under the attention. James thought of Lucy and how she had created a place for herself within his household, despite the fact that she was never truly servant or family. He wondered at the life Miss Barlowe had carved out for herself here. As Helena’s representative, she indeed was a part of fine society, but had she ever fit in anywhere?
I wonder that Lucy might be happier in her own way. I would do well to be kind to Miss Barlowe, for surely her life has been trying.
“You are indeed kind to notice,” Phoebe said, seeming thankful for the change in conversation. She lay her spoon down and delicately touching her napkin to her lips before continuing. “My sister was many years my senior, though I loved her dearly. We were very close. And my parents positively doted on her. When Father died, she took it unbearably hard. It was good that the marriage was already arranged by then, so she never had to know the privations that the rest of our family endured.”
“I am sure it must have been very difficult for you,” James said with a gentle smile.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I did not have to endure it long. It seemed no time at all before my sister was with child and needed me here. Although I was still very young, it pleased me to serve where I could. When we…we lost her, I was heartbroken. What could I do but to honor her memory by devoting my life to her child, to make sure she had everything she so deserved in life.”
“For which we are all eternally grateful,” the Duke rumbled and took a deep drink from the wine he had ordered to go with the meal. He had had several such cups already and had mellowed considerably in the course of the meal. “You are a Godsend, Miss Barlowe, an absolute Godsend.”
“I have ever striven to become an integral part of this household, and serve where I may,” Miss Barlowe replied softly. “Helena has always been a delightful child, though her affliction has been most challenging. I fear she will ever need me throughout her life, though I mind not, she is such a charming girl. I have never minded being mistress of this household. I do my best on the family’s behalf.”
“Is Lady Barrington then too sick to take her rightful place within the manor?” James asked in some surprise, for she had seemed rather hale, and even hearty as she had fought the cutpurse in the street only last night.
“She is very delicate of nature. As you saw today, the effects of the excitement from yesterday have been severe. Though I bid you to worry not about her, as I will see that she is quite well enough to stand dinner at table.”
James turned his head to see what Barrington had to say on all of this, but the man was leaning half out of his chair, head tilted back his mouth open. As he watched, there came a might inhale of breath that ended in a rumbling snore. The Duke’s glass lay overturned next to his place, the last dregs of wine decorating that tablecloth already well-stained.
Miss Barlowe followed his gaze, and though she tried hard to school her features, there was a certain tightening around eyes and mouth that bespoke of a particular frustration that he was not meant to see. “As you can see, this household comes with its own unique challenges. If you will excuse me.” With that, she rose and lay her napkin on the table.
She reminded him so much of Lucy at that moment, with her brave dignity, that James felt compelled to say, “I do not know if anyone ever thinks to tell you such things, but I want you to know that your efforts here do not go unnoticed.”
“You are indeed kind, Your Grace,” she said softly, her eyes brightening as she curtseyed and took her leave.
A servant came in a moment later, a young man James remembered having met in the hallway when he’d come in, t
he young man being on duty to tend the door though few visitors would be expected on such a day as this. “I was bid to give this note to the Duke.” He glanced uneasily toward the slumbering figure at the end of the table.
“I will see that he gets it,” James murmured, suddenly unsure how one proceeded in this situation.
The servant gave the paper into his hands with relief. James settled back in his chair and pondered the situation. He honestly had no idea quite what to do. To fetch a servant and have them take His Grace upstairs would be possibly demeaning, and certainly not a way to curry favor with the man whose daughter he would still wed despite everything he had heard.
In fact, he was more determined than ever to bring her to his home. If she proved to need assistance, then perhaps they could install Miss Barlowe as her companion there as well, if the arrangement had worked out so well here.
The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 18