Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

I t had become something of a routine for Theodore to look in the mirror in the morning and find a pair of serious eyes looking back at him, from about hip height.

Once, a few years ago, he had decided to keep his dressing room door locked even after he was ready, to avoid early-morning altercations with his child.

It was a mistake. Tantrums had ensued, along with plenty of tears and protestations. It was much easier to simply allow Kitty to follow her routine. Besides, it never hurt Theodore to be reminded of his main duty and role. Fatherhood came above a dukedom, after all.

Well, in his opinion, at least. Many men would disagree, his father included.

Which is probably why I am as cold as a block of ice, and Henry is… well, Henry, he thought glumly, putting the finishing touches to his cravat.

“Which pin should I use, Kitty?” he asked aloud.

His valet, a neat, dainty man named Briggs, never seemed offended to be bypassed in this role. In fact, he almost seemed to enjoy having Kitty around.

There was a rattling sound as Kitty rifled through the jewelry box and took out a shiny sapphire pin.

“This one, Papa.”

“An excellent choice, Lady Katherine,” Briggs said soberly. “Shall I affix it for you, Your Grace?”

“Yes, do. And then step out for a moment if you would. I want a word with my daughter.”

Briggs affixed the pin neatly and efficiently, arranging the cravat around it so that the vibrant blue glimmered, half-hidden, in the mass of creamy, starched linen. He bowed and then slipped out without another word.

Sighing, Theodore gave his reflection one last, calculating look and then turned to face his daughter.

Kitty looked neat and tidy, but then she always did first thing in the morning. Generally speaking, by the time luncheon arrived, she looked as though she’d been dragged through a hedge backward, and her nursemaids looked as haggard as if they hadn’t slept in a week.

For now, though, Kitty’s pastel-pink dress was smooth and unstained, her hair plaited and greased neatly into two long pigtails. At one point in the morning, the pigtails had probably been tied with two pink ribbons, but she was currently only sporting one, on the left pigtail.

Best not to think too hard about that. It was the nursemaids’ job.

Theodore squatted down before her, tilting his head.

“What did you think of that lady you met yesterday? The one that was in my study?”

Kitty’s face brightened. “The bride? I liked her very much, Papa. She was extremely beautiful.”

“She was pretty,” Theodore agreed.

“But a bit grubby, I think.”

“Very grubby, I should say. However, I think she will clean up nicely.”

Kitty considered this. “I agree. Is she your friend, like Uncle Stephen?”

Theodore hesitated.

The answer, of course, was no . Anna Belmont was not his friend. He barely knew the woman, and if things went according to plan, he wouldn’t get to know her at all. That suited them both, it seemed.

However, that seemed a harsh thing to tell a child, and rather difficult to explain. On the other hand, he’d always believed that telling lies to a child—especially a naive one—was rather a vile thing to do.

“To tell you the truth, Kitty,” he ventured at last, “I was thinking of marrying Miss Belmont.”

Kitty’s eyes widened. “ Marrying her?”

“Mhm. She would be a duchess, which would be a fine thing for her. Being a duchess would solve a lot of problems that the lady has at the moment. Would you like it if I married her?”

There was a long silence while Kitty thought it over. Theodore sat back on his heels and waited.

Before Kitty, he’d rather assumed that children talked nineteen to the dozen as soon as they got their faculties of speech, and had expected a constant babble of chatter from his daughter as she grew.

However, while Kitty could talk a person’s ear off if she so wished, she often took a good long while to mull over a question before answering it, weighing up her thoughts more than some adults Theodore knew. It was oddly impressive. He’d learned early on to wait patiently for the answer.

“Would she be my new mother?” Kitty asked, at last, a frown creasing her features.

Theodore bit his lip. “Not quite. You already have a mother, you see. Even though she’s… she’s not alive anymore, she is still your mother, and mothers can’t be replaced. However, Miss Belmont might be like a mother. She would be your friend. Do you think you’d like that?”

Reassured that her real mother—who, of course, Kitty had never met but was fascinated to hear about—was not going to be wiped out of memory, Kitty smiled.

“Oh, yes. That sounds very nice. I think I’d like that a lot. I need a lady friend.”

Theodore bit back a smile. Sometimes, his seven-year-old daughter sounded exactly like a tired, middle-aged widow. “I think I need a lady friend too, Kitty. And it will be nice to have a lady in the house.”

Kitty frowned again. “But we have ladies in the house. There’s Martha, and Cook, and Mrs. Haunt, and Violet, who does the fires every morning, and?—”

“It’s a little different from that,” Theodore interrupted, leaning forward to press a kiss to his daughter’s head. “Now, Papa must go out, so let’s get you back to the nursemaids, eh? I bet Martha is looking for you everywhere.”

This forestalled any further questions, and Kitty bounced down from the stool on which she sat, smiling happily.

Theodore breathed a sigh of relief. He was not ready to explain to her why the maids who cared for her were different from Miss Belmont. They weren’t, of course, not when you got down to it, but Miss Belmont, as the Duchess, would have the authority to take care of Kitty and shape her mind as she grew. The nursemaids couldn’t be expected to do that, and they generally found themselves at a loss when Kitty misbehaved.

That reminded him—he would have to talk to Miss Belmont about discipline. Kitty couldn’t be allowed to grow up wild, of course, but neither would she be treated badly.

He’d seen what was done to ladies in this world. Everything that could make them interesting was steadily knocked out of them as they were forced into Society’s mold for Young Ladies. The Season regularly churned out meek young misses with their spark resolutely snuffed out, bland and boring and entirely hollow.

He would not allow that to happen to his daughter. No, no, no.

The head nursemaid, Martha, was waiting outside in the hall like she always was. She took Kitty’s hand, but then she hesitated, half turned away.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Your Grace, I was wondering… are the rumors true?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me, please.”

She flushed. “I heard that you were getting married. Again.”

Theodore wished they would not mention the ‘ again ’ part when they talked about his marriage. He was tempted to tell her to mind her own business and that she would see in time, but there was something about Martha’s anxious face—coupled, of course, with her years of hard work and faithful service—that made him feel that she deserved a proper answer.

He sighed. “Yes, I am planning to marry again. Soon, actually.”

Martha drew in a breath. “I… I see.”

“You don’t seem happy.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Your Grace. Of course, I wish you happiness, but… well, a new mistress means that everything will change for us, you know.” She paused, glancing down at Kitty.

The end of her sentence went unspoken, but Theodore heard it anyway.

And for her.

He reached out, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. “Everything will be well, Martha. This is still my household, and while I believe that my new Duchess will be an opportune addition to our lives, I have no intention of letting her be a tyrant.”

Martha relaxed, just a little. “Of course, Your Grace. Forgive me, it’s not my place, only that Mrs. Haunt was saying it this morning.”

His eyebrow rose again. “Goodness. It must be widespread gossip indeed if even my housekeeper is saying it.”

Flushing red, Martha bobbed a curtsey and hurried down the hall, with Kitty skipping along beside her.

Theodore watched them go. Something sparked in his gut, and if he didn’t know better, he would have said that it was anxiety.

Thank goodness he knew better.

St. Maur Manor was every bit as dilapidated as Theodore had heard. His carriage was a shining delight of lacquer and wax in comparison, standing slightly askew on the unraked, weed-frilled gravel. He climbed out nimbly, staring at rows and rows of shuttered windows.

The door bounced open, and a pair of girls stood there. Twins, by the look of them, wearing dresses several years out of fashion and neatly darned in several places. The sleeves only came midway down their arms, the cuffs turned back at least twice. One girl nibbled nervously on her thumbnail, and the other crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“Good morning,” Theodore said, striding across the gravel and up the stairs, stepping past the girls and into the foyer without waiting to be asked. “You two must be my sisters-in-law-to-be.”

The girl with her arms folded tossed her hair back over her shoulders. It was unbound, unusual for a girl of her age, but that was not his concern.

“And you’re the man who wants to marry my sister.”

“Indeed, I am. The Duke of Langdon, at your service.”

He made a good leg, leaving the girls glancing at each other, disconcerted. They bobbed twin curtseys a second too late.

“I’m Daphne,” the bold girl announced, “and this is Emily.”

Emily smiled nervously at him, taking her thumbnail out of her mouth. Theodore glanced over their worse-for-wear gowns and bit back a sigh. He couldn’t let them attend his wedding looking like that. So, there were another two gowns he would have to order and pay for. The modiste he used was good and willing to come out and make measurements, as well as work quickly. Expensive, naturally—all the best things were—and she sensed that Theodore did not want to be bothered with too much trouble. He hated having to go out of his way to order anything at all.

“Shall you show me to the drawing room, or shall I look for it?” he asked after a moment’s silence.

The girls had the grace to flush.

“It’s the maid’s day off,” Daphne volunteered, earning a sharp look from her sister.

“Of course,” Theodore responded as if he heard such things every day.

Of course, a house like this would need a great many servants to run it, and he had it on good authority that the Belmont family could only afford a handful if that.

“I’ll bring up tea, you take him to Mama and Anna,” Emily whispered to her sister and then took off at a run down the hallway, her footsteps echoing off the walls.

Nobody had offered to take Theodore’s hat and gloves, so he removed them himself, setting them on a lopsided chair by the door. He turned back to Daphne, who was watching him with narrowed eyes.

“The dress arrived this morning,” she said abruptly. “The one you commissioned for Anna.”

“I’m glad. Are any alterations needed?”

She shook her head slowly, her eyes still fixed on him. “Why did you buy her a dress?”

“Why, I believe that is our concern, don’t you?” He flashed her a quick, wolfish smile. “Lead on, Miss Daphne.”

She took the hint at last, turning on her heel without another word and hurrying down the hallway. To his surprise, he was led upstairs. Upstairs drawing rooms hadn’t been fashionable for a long time, but he supposed the rooms would be smaller and easier to manage. The air was thick with dust—he could see it in the corners of the stairs, clogging up the windowsills and gathering into little balls every few feet. Still, he kept his expression impassive.

Daphne led him down a hallway of bedrooms, doors all shut, and stopped in front of a half-open door, elbowing it open without bothering to introduce him first.

Inside, Anna Belmont sat on a low sofa with a middle-aged woman who must be her mother. The dress, the one Theodore had ordered, sat between them, all lace and tulle and silk, pearls and beads clicking together whenever the women moved.

They leaped to their feet, red-faced, when he came in.

“Daphne, why did you not tell us His Grace was here!” the woman—the Dowager Viscountess St. Maur, he assumed—blurted out. “Your Grace, I am so sorry for the lack of formality.”

“Think nothing of it,” he answered steadily, tearing his gaze away from the dress. “I merely came to iron out some points in my arrangement with Miss Belmont, and to check that the dress was suitable.”

The Dowager Viscountess’s cheeks burned. “This gown must have cost a great deal of money, Your Grace. I am not sure we can accept…”

“It did cost a great deal of money, but fortunately, I have a great deal of money,” he answered coolly.

Miss Belmont was watching him in silence, her hands folded in front of her. Her expression was blank, and that intrigued him.

Generally, Theodore considered himself good at reading faces. People were never so good at hiding their feelings as they fancied themselves to be, and certainly, Miss Belmont had been an open book the last time he met her. Now, though, there was something shuttered in her eyes.

“I wonder if I might speak to my betrothed alone if you please?” he asked, flashing a quick smile at the Dowager Viscountess.

She bit her lip, looking uncertain. “Well, I…”

“I shall be fine, Mama,” Miss Belmont spoke up, her voice even. “We’ll only need a few minutes.”

The Dowager Viscountess let out a long sigh. “Very well, but only as long as it takes me to go downstairs and help Emily with the tea. Daphne, come.”

The woman sailed out of the room, flanked by her daughter, and the door swung shut behind them.

Silence descended, thick and cloying. He didn’t immediately speak—it was more interesting to see what Miss Belmont would do.

She cleared her throat and spoke first. “I can’t accept the dress, Your Grace. It’s most kind, but you must take it back. I already have a wedding dress. It’s been thoroughly washed, and the mending is mostly done, and?—”

“Please, I insist. The expense is nothing, and I really cannot allow you to wear that old thing.”

She drew in a breath. “I don’t need your charity, Your Grace . I can manage by myself, let me assure you, and anyway, I wasn’t asking. I was telling you. I won’t accept this dress, and if you think?—”

Abruptly, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and hauling her close. Close enough to feel her surprised stutter of breath. The girl’s mouth dropped open, stunned into silence.

Surprise was a very pretty emotion on her face, he noticed. Her chest heaved, and he smelled the distinct scent of roses emanating from her. Rose water, no doubt, the scent all ladies seemed to adore at the moment. Something prickled in his chest, sending heat to his gut, and he realized just how inappropriate his actions were.

He released her wrist, and she shrank back as if burned.

“I will not have my bride marry me in a gown intended for another man,” he informed her tartly. “I’m sure you can understand my point of view on this matter.”

She colored, lifting a hand to her wrist, where he’d touched her. He knew full well he hadn’t left bruises or even a mark, but her fingertips lingered on her skin nevertheless.

“Well, then, perhaps we can order another dress, and I?—”

“You clearly cannot afford it, and there’s no time. I’m afraid, my dear, this is final. By the way, your sisters will need new dresses. I assume they don’t have anything suitable? And before you say a word, no, the dresses they intended to wear for your wedding to my brother will not be suitable”

She bit her lip. Infuriatingly, she would not meet his eyes. The first time he met her, Miss Belmont had met his gaze blink for blink, never once dipping her chin. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened since then, but it was as if shutters had been closed, like the ones blocking most of the windows in the house, and he could no longer see through them.

It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself.

“My sisters don’t need dresses any more than I do. I don’t need gifts,” she said, cutting into his thoughts. “I only want my family to be taken care of.”

“It is not about gifts . I am not wooing you, Miss Belmont. Have you forgotten our arrangement already?”

“How could I? You were so very explicit.”

Aha. There it was, a trace of the spark he’d seen before. She hadn’t invited him to sit, and now Theodore was glad he hadn’t seated himself without being asked because it allowed him to close the distance between them in two paces until he was almost nose-to-nose with the woman.

Her eyes almost crossed, trying to keep him in focus. His fingers itched to touch her chin—he knew from experience her skin was soft and smooth and warm to the touch—but he kept his hands firmly by his sides.

“I do not intend to make you mine in a dress made for another man,” he said, his voice low but steady.

This close, he could hear her swallow. She did not step back and even tilted her chin up so that she could meet his eyes more steadily. The familiar stab of desire coiled deep in Theodore’s gut, and he felt blood begin to rush to places it should probably leave alone for now.

“I am not yours ,” she responded, her voice almost a hiss. “Make no mistake about that.”

“Aren’t you? I’ll stick to my end of the bargain if you stick to yours, my dear.”

“I am not your dear .”

Unbidden, his gaze dropped to her lips, pink and perfectly shaped, forming themselves around the word dear . There was something so thrilling about that, and he could almost feel the warm smoothness of her lower lip beneath the pad of his thumb.

Her breath was coming a little hard, and she did not blink and did not back away. It would be the easiest thing in the world to reach out and touch her now. Just a touch, just the trailing of a fingertip over the side of her neck, to feel her pulse…

And then there were footsteps and voices approaching from the hallway, and Miss Belmont jerked backward so suddenly that Theodore was almost left unbalanced.

He cleared his throat, fervently wishing the insistent desire away, and turned to face the door.

The Dowager Viscountess came in first, her eyes darting warily around the room. Daphne and Emily came behind her, one bearing a tray of tea and the other carrying a plate of cakes.

“Miss Daphne, Miss Emily, you’ll also be receiving new gowns for the wedding,” he said brusquely, not looking at Miss Belmont. “The modiste will come over later today to take your measurements. Lady St. Maur, you might as well have a new dress.”

The Dowager Viscountess flushed. “Your Grace, I really cannot?—”

He held up a hand. “I insist. The modiste will have her instructions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be off.”

The poor Dowager Viscountess blinked, glancing down at the tray. “But… but the tea.”

“No, thank you,” he answered, suddenly keen to get out of the house and away from Miss Belmont’s intense, unblinking stare. “Good day to you all. I suppose I’ll see you at the wedding.”