Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Louis Montague, the Duke of Warwick, hovered uncertainly in the doorway. He wasn't sure at all if he should have intruded in this manner. Mr Arnold had asked him to stay in the study so that he and his wife could talk to their daughter about his proposal prior to him seeing her. But he had grown restless, and the temptation of seeing her again had become too much, in the end.

He wasn't disappointed. She was still one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on. Her thick, chestnut coloured hair hung in a long plait over one shoulder. She was dressed simply, in a pale primrose yellow day gown, suitable for home. Her complexion was luminous, flawless, so pale that it resembled porcelain. And she turned shocked blue eyes on him, now.

He saw those eyes widen in sudden recognition. So, she did remember him. They had only met once, many years ago, and then only briefly. But the image of her had stayed with him ever since, almost burnt upon his retinas.

Suddenly, he was back there, in that ballroom. A grand ball at a country estate, miles from here. He had not even been sure that he was going to attend it until the last minute. But he had been eternally grateful that he had decided to travel to that house. The memory of her had been one of the few things that had got him through the last, troubled years.

***

Louis had not been flush with wealth in that year. His father had only died six months prior, leaving the duchy of Warwick in vast debt. While the title was old and revered, he knew that things were dire. If he could not turn it around, very soon, then he would be forced to sell off his ancestral estate, piece by piece.

The thought of it almost killed him.

On that November night, that year, he had been staying at a friend's house, in Wiltshire, feeling about as low as he had ever felt in his life. It had been Gatwick's idea, to attend the ball, springing it on him at the last minute. He had resisted, for a long time, knowing that he wasn't in the mood for dancing and socialising. But his friend had insisted, and eventually, he had relented.

The house they had gone to had been crowded, heaving with the local community, all done up in their finest. He had sighed, heavily. He knew what these provincial balls were like. Soon, he would be swamped by people, all eager to fawn over him, as soon as they realised that a duke was in their midst.

That was when the idea suddenly occurred to him to introduce himself as someone else entirely.

In a flash, he had informed Gatwick. It would be a lark to pretend to be a commoner. No one in this district knew who he truly was, and he would probably never see any of them again, anyway. He wasn't in the mood to be the centre of attention. Gatwick had smiled, playing along. They had come up with a nom de plume – Mr Vincent Cassidy, from Hampshire – and so the game had begun.

They had woven through the crowd towards the ballroom. And that was when he had seen her.

She was standing slightly away from the crowd, staring at the dance floor, with an abstracted expression on her face. He could still recall in minute detail what she had been wearing. A lavender silk gown, with a high bodice. Her chestnut hair was curled over one shoulder, scattered with tiny white flowers. At that moment, she had turned around, staring straight at him.

His heart had dropped to the ground.

Her face. It was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones, and full, rosy red lips. But it was her eyes, which arrested him the most. They were large, cornflower blue, with long, curling dark lashes. Those eyes seemed to reach into his very most soul.

He hadn't waited a second longer. His legs had taken him towards her before his mind even registered it.

She watched him as he walked across the floor towards her. She didn't blink, and she didn't smile. She simply gazed at him curiously.

He was right in front of her, bowing slightly. "I am sorry for the intrusion," he said in a low voice. "I do realise that I should wait for a formal introduction. But the sight of you has compelled me to dispense with the usual formalities."

She kept gazing at him, her head tilted to one side as if she could not quite make out who or what he was.

"My name is Mr Vincent Cassidy," he said slowly, voicing the lie for the first time. "From Hampshire. And you are?"

She blinked those long, curling lashes. "Miss Henrietta Arnold, sir. I reside in this district. My family home is only miles away from here."

"Miss Arnold," he said, bowing again, his heart thumping uncomfortably in his chest. "Might I have the pleasure of this dance?"

She hesitated, gazing at him steadily. For one heart-stopping moment, he thought that she might refuse him. But then, she inclined her head slightly. He held out his arm, and after another moment's hesitation, she took it.

The dance was a quadrille. They barely touched, as they moved through the familiar steps of the dance, but he felt like they were in some kind of bubble, where everyone else melted away, and only the two of them existed. He could not keep his eyes off her the whole time. Other things about her were coming into sharp focus, now: the tilt of her chin, her long neck, her hands with delicate, slender fingers, as they rested upon his arm.

The dance ended, as it always did, and they clapped politely. He only took his eyes away from her for a second, as Gatwick descended upon him, dragging an acquaintance over to meet him. In the time it took to be introduced to the gentleman, she slipped away. When he turned back to speak to her, she was gone.

His heart had plummeted with sour disappointment. And even though he searched for her throughout the rest of the evening, everywhere, he could not find her. She must have left almost immediately after their dance. It was the only explanation for why he could not see her anywhere.

He had tried to forget her, for the moment, at least. For starters, with the duchy in such a woeful state, he was in no position to seriously court any lady for marriage. Nor did he have the time, while he investigated various investments, and other schemes, that would build back his wealth, without having to resort to selling off pieces of the estate. That was what he told himself, at least. When he had done so, he would find Miss Henrietta Arnold and pursue her relentlessly.

He did not doubt that she was the woman who would become his duchess. It was ridiculous, ludicrous, to have this certainty, on so short an acquaintance. He had barely spoken to her, after all. And yet, his certainty and feelings for her grew, rather than dissipated, as time passed by. He had heard of love at first sight but never believed it before. Now, he knew that it was true.

He put his head down and worked hard to get the duchy in a good position. He had a clear goal, now. Once he had built his wealth, he could woo her and put in an offer for her hand. But one investment that was promised to be a sure-fire winner, in wool manufacturing, turned sour. He was still a long way from being able to offer for her.

And then, on the grapevine, he heard that she had become engaged.

It was an awful day. His despair was absolute. How could he have not seen that this might happen? He had been waiting to woo her until he was financially solvent again, but he had waited too long. Now, she was promised to another. He had missed his chance.

That night, he had attended a grand function, while in London. The champagne had flowed freely, and in his melancholy, he had overindulged, just a bit. Suddenly, he spotted a lady through the crowd. For a moment, he had thought it was her. It was only when he got closer that he realised it wasn't. The lady resembled her, in colouring and build, but she did not have the same luminous beauty.

But he was in his cups, and melancholy, thinking he had lost her forever. He was lonely. And the lady did look like her, quite a bit. Her name was Miss Rachel Carter. He shouldn't have done it, but he did.

It took only one night for his life to change forever.

In the gardens of the estate, he took her, hard and fast, against a wall. Rachel was as eager as he was, and a passionate woman, biting and scratching. She most certainly wasn't a maiden. In fact, he was sure she had done this quite a few times before.

The next day, with a painful headache, he had regretted his lack of self-control. But he had been in extremis, after all. Everyone made mistakes. Best to just chalk it up to experience, and try to forget about it, entirely.

Except he couldn't forget about it. Because three weeks later, when he was back at Warwick Manor, in Hampshire, she had suddenly shown up on his doorstep, tearfully claiming that she was with child.

She could have been lying, of course. But what was a gentleman to do? She claimed that she was carrying his child. He set her up in a small house, close to the estate. He was in no position to marry her yet, but he could modestly support her in secrecy, for the duration of her confinement. He knew that he was as trapped as a mouse in a cage.

The dream was well and truly dead. Henrietta Arnold, the woman he had so inexplicably fallen in love with at first sight, was taken, promised to another. And now, the woman he had made love to because of her resemblance to Henrietta, was carrying his child. He was honour bound to marry her when he was able to do so.

Rachel, however, was not happy with the arrangement. She felt as if she was being shunted off, hidden away. She did not believe him when he told her he would marry her one day, but that she must be patient.

She bitterly told him that he was a cad, who had taken his pleasure, and now she was being forced to give birth to his bastard. She tearfully claimed that she had been an innocent maiden when he had taken her and that she had been powerless to resist his onslaught, even though she had wanted to.

Lies. All lies. For as the months progressed, and Rachel's belly swelled with the child, he heard the rumours about her. Miss Rachel Carter made a habit of sleeping with noblemen, hoping to snag one. He was only one in a long line of titled gentlemen.

But still, he intended to marry her, when he could. He didn't love her, but he would do the right thing by her. That was his pledge.

His son Benjamin arrived early, howling into the world. The moment that he had held the tiny boy in his arms, he had been smitten. A fierce love had engulfed him, and he worked harder, determined that he would legitimise him. He told Rachel that he was very close to being able to marry her.

But as the months passed, and Benjamin grew into a smiling, chubby delight, she became less convinced of his desire to do the right thing by her. She harped at him, all the time when he came to visit them. When was he going to make an honest woman of her? Hadn't she borne him a fine son? She barely acknowledged the boy, promptly handing him over to the wet nurse.

He should have known what was coming. But it had hit him like a sledgehammer, on the day, when he was informed that Miss Rachel Carter had packed her belongings and disappeared into the night, leaving her four-month-old son behind.

He searched for her, desperately. How could a mother abandon her child, as she had? But the truth of it slowly made itself clear: Rachel Carter only wanted the title. She did not care a jot for her son, or him, for that matter. He had never once deluded himself that he was in love with her, or she with him, but still, he had hoped that one day they might become a family, for the sake of their son.

And so, he had cared for Benjamin, ever since. The boy was illegitimate, but he was still his son, and he loved him dearly. He would never inherit the title now, of course. But Louis fiercely protected him, bringing him up in fine style. Six months after Rachel fled, a few of his investments finally came through, and the duchy's coffers swelled once more. Now, he was one of the wealthiest men in Hampshire.

He had never forgotten Henrietta, of course. But he knew that he had lost her. He had missed his chance, and it was just something he must live with.

It was only a week ago, that word had filtered through to him, that she had been abandoned by her new husband, the day after her wedding. The rake had sold their home without her knowledge, forcing her to return to her parents' home. Benjamin had just turned two years old.

It was as if a light had suddenly come into the room. He had a chance again to claim her. A slim chance, but a chance, nonetheless. She was still legally a married woman, but they could procure a divorce for her in some way, surely?

He had acted immediately. He wasn't going to make the same mistake again. And now, he was wealthy and could afford to marry her.

He just didn't know how he was going to tell her that he had an illegitimate son, and what she would think of him when she found out.

***

She kept staring at him incredulously. And suddenly, he remembered that he had lied when he had introduced himself to her, all those years ago. The lark, to pretend to be a commoner. He had simply forgotten all about it.

Mr Arnold cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Your Grace. I am sorry that we have kept you waiting. We were just about to come to you …"

Henrietta raised her chin, staring at him. Those beautiful blue eyes were as cold as ice.

"Your Grace, is it?" she hissed. "Funny, I thought your name was Mr Vincent Cassidy. At least, that is what I recall when we met so briefly all those years ago."

He smiled weakly, his heart pounding. "It was just a joke, for the night," he said, swallowing a lump in his throat. "So that I would not attract undue attention …"

"Really?" she said, her voice curt. She turned to her father. "I have said all that I will say on the matter. And now, you must all excuse me. I find that I have a headache coming on."

"Hetty," warned her father, but it was too late. She swept out of the room, brushing past Louis without even looking at him.

There was an awkward silence in the room.

"Give her time," said Mr Arnold, turning to him. "She is very hurt, Your Grace. But I am fully convinced that we can make her see that this is the way forward for her …"

Louis's heart flipped over in his chest. He had waited so long for her. But this had not been the promising beginning that he had hoped for at all.

She was so very hurt, as her father said. It would be hard to build her trust. Especially because he had deluded her as to who he truly was.

Damn that silly game , he thought fiercely. It might just ruin everything.