Chapter 3

Chapter Three

" I must see His Grace," Veronica insisted. "I am the sister of the Earl of Grantham. He must see me. Please. It an urgent matter."

Veronica tugged her cape around herself even tighter. Her carriage awaited, wreathed in darkness. She had paid the driver very well out of funds that were quickly dwindling to take her to Turner Hall at such an hour, and unchaperoned, and she would not let her attempts be in vain.

"I am afraid, Lady Veronica, that the answer remains the same." The butler, a balding man with an apologetic smile but firm tone, looked down upon her from inside a darkened hallway. "His Grace is quite busy."

"Please," Veronica begged. "Please, I must speak with him. I shall not leave until he speaks with me. I do not think His Grace would wish to be the subject of gossip so soon upon returning, now, would he?"

She knew she spoke out of turn, but she was rather desperate. The evening's darkness hid shadows, and anybody who might watch her was surely invisible to her.

The butler paused before sighing.

"Wait here one moment," he said and then walked back into the townhouse.

While he was absent, Veronica discreetly took in the simple furnishing of the house—of what she could see. The exterior was a rounded front, alabaster white with small balconies adorning the round walls. Inside the main hall was open and pale with minimal decoration, but it was luxurious nonetheless, with a polished banister on the stairs that led to another wing of the house.

Moments later, Veronica's interest was cut short. She had begun to lean in, peering at the grand hallway above to where pale white drapes covered windows in such a way that let light in but not too much. In the daytime, this hall would be swathed in warm sunlight.

The butler cleared his throat, and she stood up straight.

"His Grace will see you now," he announced. "Come this way. Do not touch anything."

"I would not!" Veronica assured him, slightly offended.

The butler closed the door behind her, offering to take her cloak. Veronica relinquished it, feeling more vulnerable without her arms covered by the silk fabric, but it was improper otherwise.

Her satin slippers were silent on the oak flooring beneath her as she was taken through the main hall, and down another corridor beyond.

The doors were heavy wood, some adorned at the top of the doorway with gilded art or signs to indicate the room. Very few paintings lined the main hallway until the butler turned them onto another hall where several paintings were hung up. One man looked like the Duke did but was older. The butler caught her eye.

"There are not many paintings," she noted.

The butler did not answer, only nodded at the one she had spotted. "The late Viscount Kemble, His Grace's father."

Viscount ? Veronica thought. But he is a Duke.

She could smell a story, but it was not hers to find out, not yet. First, she needed to discover her brother's whereabouts.

Knocking on the door, the butler walked in, leaving Veronica just out of sight.

"Lady Veronica Hartley is here, Your Grace."

There was a low response that Veronica couldn't catch before the butler walked back out to her and gestured for her to enter. Once she did, he moved behind her, awaiting his dismissal.

"You can leave, Pennington." The Duke's voice was a deep rasp, commanding without ever shouting. The butler inclined his head and left, closing the door behind him.

And it was like all the air had swept from the room, and Veronica could only look upon the man sat behind the impressive writing desk.

He lounged casually, assuredly, but he did not look unkempt in the stance. His eyes were on hers, silently assessing her as she did him.

The Duke of Westley was handsome, and Veronica was quite surprised. She had seen him in passing at other parties since her debut but never so close up and never so intimately.

Black hair was coiffed back from his forehead, more as if he had run fingers through it rather than styled it so. It curled around his ears and brushed his neck, not unruly but not the uptight, severe haircut other gentlemen maintained. The length was thick and beautiful, and Veronica had the strangest notion to run her hands through it, too.

Her eyes traveled down his pale face to the strong mouth that pulled in amusement the longer she looked at him. Brown eyes, the color of her own but deeper and darker, somehow, watched her. Dark lashes framed them, blinking slowly, clearly impatient.

Veronica lifted her chin and took a step forward, but he held up a finger.

"I did not say to come closer, Lady Veronica," he told her.

And Heavens , that voice…

It rumbled through her very being, and she swallowed.

The gossip sheets were quite right. He did indeed have a torrent of icicles around him.

She dared to take another step and was rewarded with a look of curiosity from the Duke.

His head tilted, as if he questioned that she truly dared to disobey him, and he was curiously amused, hiding the true insult beneath.

She had never properly been introduced to the Duke of Westley before, and now, she was glad, for he took up presence in every corner of the room.

Dressed in a black suit jacket that covered a well-fitted waistcoat beneath that was so dark blue it was almost black as well, the Duke cut an imposing figure.

He was intimidating, and yet, Veronica could not help another step forward, allured.

And he watched her just as intently, the room filling with their silence.

"I believe that is quite enough proximity, Lady Veronica," he told her.

He pulled out a pocket watch, glanced at it, and those dangerous eyes cut back to hers. "You have five minutes of my time."

He waved his hand, lifting a thick brow, a gesture for her to begin.

Veronica flailed at a loss for words. Her tongue had caught in her mouth, and confusion muddled her brain.

"I do not understand what you mean, Your Grace."

"You are wasting your precious minutes with inane questions," he told her, his voice flat. "Do you wish to waste both of our times, My Lady? What is it you want ?"

"I—"

She cut herself off, frowning.

He was putting her so on the spot! What a foul, rude man, who did not deserve all the handsome charm his face otherwise suggested. But the intimidating air that rolled off him like shadows should have warned her otherwise.

Without thinking, she took another step, now only a few paces from his desk. Frustration laced through her as she clenched her hands behind her back.

"Stop moving closer," he warned her, "and get to the point, Lady Veronica."

Anger flared in Veronica's chest. This man was her last hope? This rude, impatient man who clearly thought himself above her time.

Pointedly, he looked at his pocket watch. "I believe you have four minutes now."

She spluttered, frustration rising in her. But she breathed deeply, letting her eyes close only for a moment before she opened them.

I need his help , she thought. I cannot let him get to me so.

Calmly, she began to speak.

"Your Grace, I believe you are business partners with my brother, Robert Hartley, the Earl of Grantham. As you may remember, a year ago, my brother disappeared and has not been heard from since. His absence, while puzzling and distressing?—"

She tried to ignore the heavy sigh and the fierce gaze the Duke did not relent with.

Her voice carried her words calmly, still. "While distressing, it has put my mother, Lady Grantham, and I, through some financial difficultly. Losing both my father and brother, in quite different ways, has put a strain on the two of us."

She had barely stopped talking when the Duke raised a brow. "And why is that my concern?"

"Well, Your Grace…" Veronica winced. "Robert went to the West Indies due to your business affairs, did he not?"

She was only met with a huff of insulting laughter. "Your brother made his own choice to go there. It was not necessary. He was impatient. And how he has disappeared was of his own choice as well. Are you quite certain you did not lose your father and brother in the same manner?"

Veronica seethed. "I do not like what you imply?—"

"Whether your brother returns is not my concern, Lady Veronica. Have a pleasant journey back to your residence."

He made to pick up a pen on his desk, but Veronica would not give up. She stumbled through the shock of how little the Duke truly seemed to care for her brother. But… but why go into business together if he did not care for the whereabouts or circumstances of that business or partner?

Still, she had not traveled the journey across the square, only to be pushed back now.

"Your Grace, with the utmost respect?—"

"I do not see a great deal of that," the Duke interrupted. "You have only two minutes left. Use them wisely to leave my home."

"You have permitted me five minutes to speak," she reminded him. "So that is how I shall use them, Your Grace."

Her voice did not tremble or betray her shock or nerves. She was speaking rashly out of turn, but her desperation took over instead.

"I understand you see this as none of your concern, but I deeply request your help, Your Grace."

The Duke lowered his pen, and Veronica dared to hope as his eyes lifted back to her. "No."

"No?" she whispered.

"No," he confirmed.

"I—we—well, yes , I, need your help," she pleaded. "I only need your help in securing a husband, so I may ensure my mother's comfort. I am not here to ask for financial aid directly. Only your sponsorship for finding a suitable, wealthy match. I beseech you, Your Grace."

Her mother's teary eyes flashed through her mind. She could not let this be dismissed.

"Lady Veronica, your family's finances, and how you handle them, are not my responsibility nor my concern."

How can he be so cruelly removed from helping? Veronica thought, shocked. It is partly his fault that my brother went missing!

Dismissing his earlier warnings, Veronica took more steps forward, so close she could reach out and touch his desk if she wished to.

"The Earl of Grantham is your friend," she reminded him. "You do not wish for him to return home safely? To see his family taken care of? Or was he only good enough to enter business with when it was convenient for you?"

Before she could say more, the Duke stood up suddenly, his imposing presence shifting with him. His hands pressed to the surface of his desk, those eyes narrowing on her.

"Who told you I have any friends?" he growled.

Veronica paused, going still as the Duke began to circle around his desk towards her.

She felt like prey—trapped, stalked… but it was in a way that had her heart racing with an alluring fear. He was darkly beautiful; every plane of his face crafted impeccably, every movement powerful and purposeful.

And it was all trained on her.

She swallowed, backing up a step. "I—Please, Your Grace, if you would only give me five minutes more of your time?—"

"I have already spared enough on you."

"We are desperate, Your Grace," she pleaded. "It is not an easy thing to admit one's desperation, but we are. My brother and you were partners in this. Surely you can do something ."

"I could ," he agreed, "but I find myself not needing to, Lady Veronica."

He still stalked towards her, confident steps closing the distance, and Veronica kept backing away, but she was not directed towards the door. No, he had her backed against the wall in a matter of strides.

He towered over her, her height only reaching the base of his throat. The Duke was so tall, she had to tilt her head back.

He leaned in close. "What would I gain from extending my help to you?"

Veronica stilled.

This… This was not supposed to be an exchange. It was supposed to be honor-bound, a man doing his duty to his business partner's family.

She floundered, lost for words, as his eyes searched her face. He was so intense, and the jacket he wore looked so soft. Part of her wanted to reach out, to brush her hands down the dark clothing, but she curled her fingers into her palms, resisting.

"Gain, Your Grace?"

"If you are to find a husband, that requires me to be present at the ton events, does it not?" he asked, his voice pitched low. "That does not come with some sort of gain I need to seek. I detest those events, so in exchange for my presence at them, I wish for something in return."

"You… You would not simply do this out of honor?"

The Duke scoffed at her, glancing to the side as if incredulous, disbelieving she would ask such a thing.

She loosened a breath in the moment's reprieve of his intense attention.

"What would your family know of honor?" he asked quietly, returning to her. "Your brother left you behind to fend for yourselves, chasing endless pursuits of business." Her heart tightened. "And as for Lady Grantham… Well… I could put you in an awkward position, could I not, Lady Veronica? I could ask you if the rumors are true about yourself and your mother."

"The rumors?—"

"Offering favors to gentlemen?" he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Is this not why you're here? Perhaps it is not a husband you seek but instead, you wish to add me to the roster you have both begun in order to stay financially afloat." His eyes bore into hers, cruel and bored. "There is a name for those women, My Lady, and they do not often come with a title."

Veronica angled her head away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. She was certainly not doing that, but she could not deny her discovery of her mother doing that very thing out of desperation—out of force . But the way he spoke of her and her mother… It was insulting, and Veronica could not believe she had ever hoped to find help from such a monstrous man.

She met his eyes. "I do hope you return to the countryside soon, Your Grace. I have heard that isolation is good to keep from offending others. Perhaps you should return to that."

Holding her breath, she ducked around him, going around his imposing figure and hurrying away.

At the door, she turned to glare at him. "Thank you for your ever so precious five minutes, Your Grace."

She fled Turner Hall without another word, her heart aching miserably in her chest.