Chapter 16

16

WILLIAM

" I t looks perfect." William handed the menu to Mrs. Finch with more impatience than intended.

The housekeeper took the menu with some hesitation, her gaze flitting to Edmund for a moment. "Even Friday's dinner, Your Grace?"

"Yes." To be perfectly frank, he had no idea what was being served Friday evening. He had glanced over the menu as a matter of course, but his impatience and the overwhelm of everything that had been brought before him from the moment he had opened his eyes that morning were simply becoming too much.

"Very good, Your Grace," said Mrs. Finch uncertainly, and she left the room.

William stood, and his gaze shifted to the clock on the mantel. It might well be too late to catch Clara, but he would try despite that. Heaven knew he needed the calm his walks with her brought. Beginning tomorrow, there would be precious little tranquility in his life. "I am off on my ride now."

Edmund hurried to his feet. "A moment, Your Grace. I meant to tell you, but Mrs. Finch arrived, and it slipped my mind."

William strove not to betray his annoyance. "What is it?"

"Mr. Underwood wrote this morning. He expressed regret that he will be unable to join us at Rushlake. Apparently, he was injured yesterday—tripped over a rug and wounded his ankle. He is laid up in bed now."

"I am sorry to hear that," William said.

"Indeed. His letter made it clear he is anguished over not being able to come. Of course, it is terribly inconvenient, but I think it would go a long way for you to visit him—pay your respects, you know."

"What? Today?" William asked, incredulous.

"There doesn't seem to be any other opportunity for it, does there?" Edmund said apologetically.

William said nothing for a moment. The last thing he wanted was to ride to Underwood House and make conversation with someone he hardly knew. "Surely he needs rest more than my respects."

"I might have thought the same thing except that he himself hinted that he would not be opposed—to put it lightly—to a visit from you."

"Underwood House is fifteen miles from here, Edmund."

He grimaced. "I know. It is not at all what you had planned for your day, Your Grace. I quite understand. But if you will be out riding, you may as well make Underwood your destination. He is known for being capricious, and he may well take offense if you do not accept his thinly veiled invitation. And you need his goodwill, for he has the ears of a number of the peers we did not invite to Rushlake."

William laid his knuckles on the desk and let his head fall back, shutting his eyes. So much for a quiet afternoon of relaxation before the chaos arrived. "Very well. "

Edmund grimaced sympathetically. "All this work and inconvenience will pay high dividends later, Your Grace."

"It had better," William muttered. Once the guests arrived, there was no knowing when he would see Clara. Some days, she felt like the one remaining tether to his sanity, the only person with whom he could let down his walls and simply be .

"Will you take Comet?" Edmund asked.

"Do not look so tight-lipped. She has made a great deal of progress."

"Enough progress that there is no fear she will throw you?"

"I am not so easy to throw," William said with a smile as he left the room. What he had said was true. Comet had made progress. She no longer balked at Clara's cart. But she had balked at the one in the stables yesterday. William was confident she could manage the ride to Underwood House with a bit of care, though.

And so she did. Whenever a cart or carriage approached, he guided her off the road and spoke the soothing words he had heard Clara use until the danger had passed.

When he was shown to the parlor at Underwood House, Mr. Underwood was laid up on a chaise longue, wearing a dressing gown and sipping leisurely from a glass of brandy. He was a middle-aged MP with significant wealth and well-established influence amongst the House of Commons. William's brother Frederick would have given his right arm to sit in Underwood's parlor and talk politics with him.

William was less enthused, though he tried not to show it as he greeted the man.

In any case, Underwood did not look to be overly put out by his injury.

"Your Grace!" He set down his glass in a hurry, then made a half-hearted attempt at getting up. "Bah! I would rise to greet you properly, but I'm afraid I cannot. "

"Do not, on any account, stir from that place, sir," William replied. "I am here to see a friend, not to stand on ceremony."

Underwood smiled broadly. "Always so magnanimous, Your Grace. Please have a seat, Your Grace."

William suppressed a sigh as he took the velvet-upholstered chair nearby. It was as though the man was trying to say Your Grace as many times as possible.

He was kind, however, and though William itched to leave after fifteen minutes, Underwood insisted he had come all this way and could not possibly leave so soon—and certainly not without partaking of a glass or two of brandy and some of his cook's famous syllabubs.

Reminding himself of Edmund's words, William accepted graciously on the outside and with extreme reluctance on the inside. For nearly three interminable hours, they spoke of nothing but politics and peers, which was precisely the type of conversation William imagined he would be subjected to for the next fortnight.

"I shall be very, very sorry to miss everything at Rushlake, Your Grace," Underwood said, pouring yet another glass of brandy William had no desire for.

"You will certainly be missed," he replied politely.

"I flatter myself I will. However, I have felt so upset at my clumsy injury, knowing how lonely I shall be here, that I sent an invitation of my own."

"Wise of you. You haven't stolen away one of my guests, have you?"

He barked with laughter. "I would never dream of that, Your Grace! It is such short notice too, but I have every hope Drayton will accept. He is very fond of my wine cellar, you know."

William tried to keep his smile alive at the mention of the man responsible for Silas's plight, but he found it difficult and raised his glass to his lips to mask his emotion. He could not afford the luxury of showing his true opinion of Drayton to Underwood. Being the Duke of Rockwood meant sacrificing whatever stood in the way of the good of the dukedom—and of Silas's freedom.

"I wish you both an enjoyable time." He set down his glass and heaved a great sigh he hoped sounded resigned. "Well, I had better be off, or there is no telling what chaos I will find at Rushlake when I return. Thank you for allowing me to intrude on you so rudely."

"Nonsense. It has been my pleasure. I wish you and your guests a very pleasant fortnight, Your Grace."

When William settled into the saddle of Comet, it was with an exhaustion he had rarely felt so keenly or deeply. Perhaps it was the anxiety of knowing how scrutinized he would soon be, but the dukedom, his responsibilities, his brother's troubles—they all lay on his shoulders. He felt like Atlas trying to hold up the sky.

Just for a moment, he wished to set the mantle of his title aside and simply exist as he was. He did not want to worry that what he said or did or felt was unbecoming of the Duke of Rockwood.

When he approached the drive to Rushlake, he pulled up on the reins and stared at the house. His memory of the first time he arrived and the moment he stepped inside its walls, was vivid: the excitement over the realization that it all belonged to him.

But that excitement had quickly given way to overwhelm and loneliness. The house had seemed as though it would swallow him, it was so enormous. With time, he had become more accustomed to the magnitude of the estate and the solitude of his position.

Tomorrow, that would all change. Rushlake would be chock-full of people, among them the woman Edmund hoped he would marry. The woman Silas too hoped he would marry.

William let his head fall back as he stared up at the clouds, the warm light of sunset casting a halo around their soft edges. He should return to the house and tell Edmund about his time with Underwood. He should prepare himself for the coming guests.

But he couldn't bring himself to. If this was his last chance for serenity for the next two weeks, he had to take it.