Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

“ Y our Grace, your brother has arrived to see you,” the butler informed Simon that evening.

“Tobias is here?” Simon bolted out his chair. “Is he by himself?”

The butler shook his head. “No, Your Grace. A lady has accompanied him.”

“Have him seated immediately. I shall be downstairs in a moment.”

Simon felt a rush of adrenaline. He had not expected his brother to reemerge with answers this quickly. This was terrific — absolutely terrific and he had to go see for himself at once.

But Simon reminded himself that getting excited now would be too premature. If anything, he should steel himself for the inevitable frustration that always accompanied their interactions. Tobias had never been one to do things straightforwardly, and Simon had a sinking feeling that this visit was no exception.

When Simon finally entered the drawing room, he caught the pair in the midst of a heated discussion. But upon noticing his entry, they quickly shut up.

“Brother of mine,” Tobias greeted, standing up, “I am happy to have caught you at an hour where you were free to see me.”

Simon nodded, his eyes moving to the woman whom he had brought with him. “You have brought a friend?”

“Ah, yes,” Tobias nodded, his tone overly familiar as he gestured toward the woman. “Allow me to introduce Miss Martha Cumberbatch.”

Simon’s gaze flicked from Tobias to the woman and back again, his expression unreadable. He offered a brief nod of acknowledgment to the lady but otherwise remained silent, waiting for Tobias to explain the purpose of this unexpected visit.

Tobias, ever the performer, grinned as he continued, “Martha is the mother of Catherine. I’ve brought her here so that everything can be settled once and for all.”

For a moment, there was silence. The statement hung in the air, laden with implications that Simon didn’t believe for a second.

His eyes narrowed as he studied the woman more closely. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, her posture stiff, her eyes darting nervously between the two brothers.

Something does not add up.

Simon remained silent for a moment longer, his gaze locked on Tobias. Finally, he spoke, his tone measured. “Is that so?”

Tobias nodded eagerly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“Yes, yes. Catherine is Martha’s child. She was… well, you know how things are, Simon. Circumstances were such that she couldn’t keep her, but now that we’ve found a way, we can set things right.”

Simon’s lips pressed into a thin line as he turned his attention back to the woman. “Miss Cumberbatch, is this true?”

The woman blinked rapidly, her nervousness palpable. “Y-yes, Your Grace,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “Catherine is my daughter.”

Simon raised an eyebrow, his skepticism growing by the second. The woman’s demeanor was all wrong for someone who had come to reclaim her child. She seemed more afraid of Tobias than concerned about her supposed daughter. But it wasn’t just her behavior that caught Simon’s attention — it was her appearance.

Catherine had wispy blonde hair, a shade that matched neither Tobias’s nor Simon’s. But the woman before him had dark brown hair, not a hint of blonde anywhere in sight. More so, Catherine had striking emerald eyes – which his brother surely did not have so they must have come from the mother. The woman in front of him had brown eyes.

His suspicion solidified into certainty. Tobias was lying.

Simon’s eyes narrowed as he returned his gaze to his brother. “Tell me, Tobias,” he said, his voice deceptively calm, “how is it that Catherine has blonde hair when the woman you have brought is quite clearly brunette?”

Tobias froze, his smile faltering for the first time. He opened his mouth to respond but quickly shut it, realizing he had been caught.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but there was none.

The woman’s eyes widened in fear, her hands trembling as she realized the ruse had failed. She took a small step back, as if trying to distance herself from the situation.

Simon crossed his arms over his chest, his expression hardening. “Well, Tobias? I’m waiting for an explanation.”

Tobias swallowed hard, the bravado draining from his face as he struggled to come up with a plausible lie.

Finally, he sighed, the tension in his shoulders releasing in a way that spoke of defeat. “Alright, Simon, you’ve caught me. Martha isn’t Catherine’s mother. I just… I did not think that it would matter so much to you.”

Simon’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “So you thought bringing a random woman here, claiming she was the mother of the child, would somehow convince me to give you money?”

Tobias winced at the coldness in Simon’s voice. “I thought… I thought if I could just make it seem like I was taking responsibility…”

“Responsibility?” Simon’s voice was sharp, cutting through Tobias’s weak excuse. “You think this is what responsibility looks like? Dragging an innocent woman into your schemes? Lying to my face? Is that how you plan to conduct yourself for the rest of your life?”

Simon noticed the woman growing uncomfortable as their argument escalated. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to rid himself of the frustration boiling within him.

“Miss Cumberbatch, you may leave. You have nothing to do with this, and I apologize for involving you in this farce.”

The woman looked relieved beyond measure. She nodded quickly, curtsying awkwardly before practically fleeing from the room. The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving the two brothers alone.

When Simon turned back to Tobias, the disappointment in his eyes was clear. “Tobias,” he said quietly, “did you even try to find the mother?”

Tobias looked away, unable to meet his brother’s gaze. “I thought this would work. I just… I panicked. I didn’t want to lose my allowance. I didn’t want to lose everything.”

“And this is how you thought to fix it?” Simon’s tone was incredulous. “By lying? By deceiving me? Do you think that’s what a man does, Tobias?”

Tobias finally looked up, meeting Simon’s gaze with a mixture of guilt and defiance. “I’m not like you, Simon,” he said quietly. “I don’t have it all together like you do. I’m not perfect.”

If only Tobias knew. Simon was far from perfect.

“You may leave now. And do not even think of returning unless you have the right person,” Simon warned. “If I catch you trying to deceive me again, I shall make sure that you never see a penny from me for as long as I live.”

Tobias’s shoulders slumped, the fight going out of him as he realized there was no talking his way out of this. “I… I shall try.”

Simon called in his butler to escort his brother out, his nostrils flaring with anger as he began to walk up to his study.

Coincidentally, Harriet was coming out of the nursery at the same time. She seemed to sense his frustration, as she started to follow right behind him.

“Something happened?”

“No,” Simon replied, wanting to avoid a conversation about his rake brother.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “One of the maids told me that you had a visitor, and that it was a family member. You should have invited me, at least.”

Simon pressed his lips together. “There was no need for you to be there.”

“But I am your wife,” she reminded him softly.

He was reminded of the conversation that he had overheard yesterday, and felt guilt springing up inside him. But right now — given how he annoyed already was — adding guilt to it would likely tip him over the edge.

It was best to push those feelings away.

“How was the meeting with the nursemaid?”

Harriet took a step back. “It was… well, it went better than I expected.”

“Is she up to your expectations?” he questioned.

“She’s exceeded them, in fact.”

“I see.”

A small silence settled over them, and Simon found himself wanting to reach out and touch her. His hand twitched slightly, but he controlled himself.

Simon wanted to ask her about what she had been telling the nursemaid earlier, but stopped himself. “Tonight, we have to attend the ball. Make sure that you are ready on time.”

With that, he exited into his study, finally having a peaceful moment on his own.

“This one, Your Grace,” Eliza said, lifting a deep burgundy gown with delicate lace trim. “It would suit you perfectly, and the color is rich without being too bold. Perfect for a duchess making her grand appearance.”

A dull nervousness unfolded inside of Harriet. She was in preparation for the ball later this evening, tucked away behind the thin curtains of her dressing room with her most trusted maid, Eliza.

Around her lay an array of gowns, ribbons, and jewelry. The room had significant traffic, as her maids kept popping in and out to see if the duchess required anything.

Eliza bustled around her, holding up different fabrics to Harriet’s frame.

Harriet bit her lip, considering. “Do you think it’s too dark, Eliza? I don’t want to seem… severe.”

Eliza smiled reassuringly, setting the gown down to adjust the bodice. “Not at all, Your Grace. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. The burgundy will make your skin glow and bring out the depth of your eyes. It’s a color of confidence, but with the lace, it’s also soft and elegant. You’ll be the perfect combination of both.”

“I suppose you’re right. I do want to make a good impression.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Eliza agreed, her hands deftly working to smooth out the gown’s fabric. “And it’s not just about making an impression. This is your first appearance with the duke. It’s important that everyone sees you for who you are — a woman of grace and strength. You’ve had enough time to be in the shadows. Tonight, you’ll be the star of the evening.”

Star of the evening.

Somehow, that did not do anything to ease Harriet’s nervousness.

Eliza helped Harriet slip into her dress. It was form-fitting in a way that accentuated her already slender figure. The bodice pushed her chest up, revealing more of her cleavage than she ever had before.

Dressing up like this… it was new to Harriet. But she was going to try her hardest to look the best that she could.

“Now, let’s see about your hair…”

Harriet turned to the mirror, watching as Eliza began to arrange her hair. A question gnawed inside of her.

“Do you think… do you think he’ll notice?”

Eliza paused for a moment, meeting Harriet’s gaze in the mirror. “The duke, Your Grace?”

Harriet nodded, feeling a touch of vulnerability creeping into her voice. “Yes. He’s always so composed, so difficult to read.”

Here she was putting in all this effort. Would it even amount to anything?

Eliza’s smile softened, her tone gentle. “He’d be a fool not to, Your Grace. And I don’t believe for a moment that the duke is a fool. Men like him, they may seem aloof, but they notice far more than they let on. Tonight, when he sees you, I have no doubt that he will be impressed. How could he not be?”

Harriet looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together as she thought of Simon’s reaction.

It stirred a strange feeling inside of her. She realized that she longed for his approval.

Stop this, Harriet. What are you even thinking? The man barely thinks of you as his wife. You are getting ahead of yourself.

But still, a part of her wanted to ignore her rational mind completely. She did not care what she felt was the ‘right’ thing to do — or the smart thing to do.

She realized that she did care for his approval, as foolish as that might be. When did you turn into a foolish little girl? she found herself thinking.

Growing up, she had always considered herself different than the others girls her age. Never one to fret over a boy, much less pine away at his approval. She was certain that was something that would never change about her. So much, in fact, that even her mother Albina used to worry about her being that way.

‘What will you act like when you get a husband of your own? Will you be this way, still? William, you must talk some sense into her.’

If only her mother could see her now, perhaps she would be pleased to see what Harriet had become.

She had been transformed into one of those girls who did care about what a man thought of her.

Not just any man, of course, but the man who was her husband.

It was a remarkable change — a frightening one even, but one that could not be ignored.

Even though it was the last thing that she had expected herself to do.

Eliza resumed her work, skillfully weaving the strands of Harriet’s hair into an elegant updo, allowing a few soft curls to frame her face.

“It will go well, Your Grace. You’re doing this not just for him, but for yourself. You deserve to be seen, to be admired, and tonight, you will be.”

“Oh, I already know there will be too many people there in attendance,” Harriet felt the nervousness arise again. “Too many eyes, too much judgment.”

Eliza chuckled softly. “I predict that they’ll be envious, of course. Envious of your beauty, your grace, and your position.”

Harriet smiled at the reassurance, but did not let it get to her head. Finally, Eliza put on the last thing — a sparkling diamond necklace. She had received it as a gift from her family for her wedding, but never had the opportunity to wear it.

Until now.

“I think,” Harriet said slowly, examining herself in the mirror, “that I’m ready.”

Eliza’s smile widened, her pride evident. “You’re more than ready, Your Grace. You’re going to be the belle of the ball.”

Harriet stood, her gown rustling softly as she turned to face Eliza.

“You flatter me.”

“I only speak the truth.” Eliza dipped into a quick curtsy, her eyes shining with warmth.

With one last glance in the mirror, Harriet straightened her shoulders and took in a deep breath to calm herself.

As she walked toward the door, Eliza opened it for her, and Harriet paused, meeting her maid’s eyes with a grateful smile. “Wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it, Your Grace. But good luck all the same.”

With that, Harriet stepped out into the hallway, her heart pounding with anticipation.

Tonight was important for her. Tonight, she would show the ton just what the Duchess of Atherton was capable of, no matter how nervous she felt.