Chapter Twenty-Eight

Monty raised his hand in farewell and watched the carriages disappear as they turned a corner at the bottom of the drive.

He was due to follow them to London, but he would have to endure three days alone at Rosecombe.

Three days without her.

That morning, before dawn, he'd slipped out of Eleanor's chamber and returned to his chamber. He'd almost been caught by a kitchen maid as she shuffled along the hallway, coal scuttle in hand, to light the fire in the breakfast room. Servants should have more to fear from an encounter with their master above stairs, but he was the one who'd hidden behind a curtain, his heart racing, while the girl scurried past.

"I trust you've ended your engagement, Montague."

He winced at the disapproval in his mother's tone.

"No, Mother. Not yet. We've agreed to end it after I return to London."

"Why prolong it?" she asked. "It's time you found a proper bride."

"Proper?"

"One more suited to you."

"You mean one more suited to you, Mother," he said, unable to temper his irritation. "It's a pity you can't find a perfect little debutante and marry her yourself."

"Don't be petulant, it doesn't suit you," she said. "I had no objection to Miss Howard as an individual."

Monty snorted. "Who are you trying to fool?"

"I admit I didn't think much of her at first, but she's intelligent—at least for a young woman. Had she a title, I might have grown to like her, in time."

"You're an insufferable snob, Mother," he said. "I saw the look of horror in your eyes when I offered for her—have you never wondered why I did?"

"Ye gods!" she cried. "Does Miss Howard know you entered into a false engagement with her merely to irk me?" She shook her head. "I don't know whether she or I should be the most insulted. At first I thought Miss Howard deserved my pity for what you're doing—elevating her hopes before abandoning her. But in abandoning her, I believe you'll be doing her a great service."

"Why? Because marriage to me is a punishment?"

"For Miss Howard, perhaps," she replied. "A girl of her class most likely harbors an expectation of marrying for love. But those of our rank do not marry for love."

He glanced at her and saw sadness in her eyes—a sadness born of a loveless marriage to a faithless duke who believed that his title gave him free rein to behave as he liked, and rut whom he liked, no matter how many hearts he broke.

Monty had no wish to follow in his father's footsteps—a man who'd broken his vows and his wife's heart, leaving behind a bitter widow who, instead of directing her resentment at the man responsible for her misery, had pushed her hatred toward the man's natural child.

Olivia. How his life might have been different had his half-sister been in his life from the beginning! He could have indulged and protected her, and accompanied her to her first London Season. And no older brother would have been prouder.

"Perhaps Lady Arabella Ponsford—"

"No, Mother," he interrupted. "I've no intention of inflicting that harpy on Rosecombe, or on myself."

"But propriety demands—"

"What part of ‘no' don't you understand?" he cried. "Over the years, you've said, and done, enough for the sake of propriety—and it's made you bitter and miserable. Well, propriety be damned! When I've concluded my business with Miss Howard, I'll return to Rosecombe and take up the responsibility that I have thus far neglected."

"I'm delighted to hear that, Montague."

"I doubt it," he said, "for I refer to my responsibility to my sister."

"I told you never to mention that."

"Stop right there!" he roared. "Like it or not, I'm head of this family, of which Olivia is a member, not only by virtue of being a direct descendant of the fourth duke, but because I say so."

She stared at him, curling her hands into fists, and for a moment he thought she might strike him. Then she nodded.

"Perhaps my son has finally grown into a man," she said. "Go to London, Montague. Do your duty to Miss Howard and let her down gently. Then come home and do your duty to your title."

Before he could respond, she returned inside, tap-tapping her cane on the gravel drive.

Yes—he would do his duty to Miss Howard then part ways with her. But he would always carry a piece of her in his heart.