Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

T he Duke of Wyld felt like a school boy as the carriage rambled down to the Hartfield house half an hour later. Never in his life had he felt so nervous, not even when it had dawned on him that he was now the Duke and had hundreds of new responsibility.

And so when the vehicle drew to a stop, he sat in the luxurious interior of the carriage and took deep breaths. Then he climbed down and crossed briskly to the front door of the house. Before he could even raise his hand to knock, the door was pulled open by the Stony faced butler.

Victor could swear there was a look of disapproval on the man's carefully blank face.

"Your Grace, please come on in."

He followed the man to the drawing room and took a seat at the edge of the settee. The butler offered him a bow and disappeared to go and inform the women about their guest.

"Your Grace," Lord Hartfield said from the doorway.

"Lord Hartfield," Victor climbed to his feet trying to keep his strained smile in place.

The older man sketched a bow, "I am glad I caught you today, Your Grace. Some of the men and I were discussing investing in a vineyard in France and we wanted to pick your brain about it."

Victor blinked at him in surprise, "I believe you should speak to Greenwood about that. I am afraid I know nothing about vineyards. I am unbelievably dense in anything outside of casual agriculture, livestock, and beer."

"Beer?" Lord Hartfield's eyebrows went up, "I heard tale about your brewery, but I thought it was just a rumor. Do you really work in it?"

He let out a laughter, suddenly at ease at the familiar topic of conversation, "I am more hands on than is conventional."

The older man's mustache twitched with a smile. "What is convention if not a set of stiff, silly rules? Tell me though, how do you find the time to manage so many vast businesses all the way from London?"

"Competent staff," he confessed. "But I think that I will settle fully in the country after I get married."

The man let out a booming laughter, "It is a good thing then that she cherishes the country. Give her a horse and enough land to traipse around and she will be content like a woman who has been given a box full of diamonds."

"She is different," the Duke said. "Special. Perfect."

Lord Hartfield stared at him in surprise for a long moment, long enough to give Victor pause and then he smiled. "Every day, I find myself glad that my Lavinia will be under your protection. She is my daughter in every way that counts and all I have ever wanted for her is the best."

The sound of approaching footsteps made the two men raise their heads and they watched the women come down the stairs. Victor couldn't look away from the vision that was Lavinia in an egg shell day dress. And then his gaze caught on her puffy eyes and he froze.

"Are you quite alright, dear?" Lord Hartfield asked.

"I-uh-"

"She did not get enough sleep last night," it was her aunt that piped up with a stiff smile. "She will be alright after a little, much due rest."

"You all take care," the older man grabbed his hat, waved it at them and then left the house.

"Miss Proctor," he began but she shifted her eyes away quickly and walked past him into the drawing room. He watched her walk fully into the room and settle into the farthest corner of the chair, shoulders drooping with defeat.

As soon as he joined her on the seat, she spoke, "did you not get my note?"

"I got your note."

"Then why are you here?" There was accusation in her voice and then her eyes widened. "Is it about- er- our activities from earlier? If you are bothered about any future consequences-"

He tried to control his temper, but he wasn't sure he was doing all that good of a job, "Consequences? Is that what our child will be? A consequence."

Her eyes narrowed, "what would you have me call it then?"

Victor took a deep breath, "I do not want us to end the engagement. We will go ahead with the marriage."

She gaped at him, green eyes searching his for something, "Did you not see where I explained my reasons?"

"Explained?" he burst out. "Those three lines do not constitute much of an explanation to me. And by the way I do not see how you being in love with me changes things."

He knew those words were a mistake even before they fully left him mouth but bloody hell, he was no good at this. In his entire life he had never had to bare himself in this way. Saying it to his mother was one thing but actually saying it to Lavinia's face was another. What he felt for her was huge and indescribable and all-consuming and those four letters felt too inadequate.

There should have been a whole new language created exclusively for the purpose of explaining what was in his heart.

"Do you want to be bothered with my silly feelings for the rest of your life?" she scoffed.

"Your feelings are not silly," he inched closer, "and honestly, I will not mind you being- feeling for me. On the contrary, I will welcome your feelings and-"

"Please stop!" she hissed, tears filling her eyes. "it is better you told me to go straight to hell with my feelings than trying to patronize me. I do not need you to tolerate or in your own words, merely welcome my feelings. I would much rather disappear to the edge of the world and live out my days there than be indulged by a man I loved."

I love you.

The words stayed stuck in his throat.

"Our child," he began.

"If you are here only for the sake of our child then I will assure you that he or she will be fine. It will not know any other life except-" she choked on her next breath and turned away to compose herself. When she faced him again, she wore a placid smile. "Anyway, it does not signify because there is no way to know that there will even be a child. I do hope there is not."

He froze and then leaned forward and asked urgently, "do you suddenly hate me that much?"

Lavinia's eyes filled with more tears, and he decided that for the rest of his life, he never wanted to see her cry, worst of all because of something he had done.

"Lavinia," he reached for her, and she flinched away.

"Please leave, Your Grace."

"Not until I tell you what I came here to."

She rose to her feet, chin thrust in the air, "I think you have said enough. U-unless there is something else. Is there something else, Your Grace?"

There was so much hope in her eyes that it made him feel like the worst type of bastard. "I will give you the best life you could ever dream of."

"No, you cannot," she shook her head in denial. "Not with only a part of you. You can either give me all of you or nothing at all."

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take that pert mouth and devour it and her whole. It was that thought that finally broke the gate inside of him that held all of the words he felt back. The very thought of never being able to kiss her.

"I watched love destroy my mother and us by proxy after my father passed. She was not herself for months afterwards. She drew into this shell where none of us could reach her. It was Georgie that needed her the most, but I needed her too."

Lavinia stared at him wordlessly, and he continued, "I came to associate love with that dark time. It was loss and pain and isolation. It was something that turned the most vicarious soul into a husk of a person and I swore never to let it dig its claws into me. If I kept myself from love, I would be safe from feeling what my mother felt."

"Oh Victor," she whispered, staring at him with understanding instead of pity. He appreciated her for it more than she could imagine. Her pity would have made him shut down in defense.

"I must not have done all that good of a job protecting myself because here I am, on the brink of losing you and knowing that if I do, it will hurt just as much as the loss my mother felt those years ago."

She stepped forward, "w-what are you saying?"

He took her in, the woman he loved. Every inch of her was perfect, as if she was custom made for him, "I am saying that I do not know what love is, Lavinia. But I want you close to me forever, I want to make you happy, I miss you when we are apart, and I do not want to go another moment knowing that you are not mine."

The Duke swallowed. Now that the words had begun to come out, the rest of it tumbled out, "I am saying that it feels like I have been waiting for you my entire life. I am saying that I want to grow old with you and live a full life cherishing you. I am saying that I want to go to bed every night with you in my arms and wake up like that."

"What if I snore?" she laughed through her tears.

"I do not care," he told her, "there will be no separate rooms in our future."

She rolled her eyes, "I have not even agreed to this future, or do you plan on marching me with shackles to the altar?"

He smiled, "if I must."

"You love me," she smiled. "Oh Victor, you love me."

"I love you," he said quietly and the way her eyes lit up made him feel warm on the inside. If he had known such simple words could make her so happy he would have said them a lot sooner.

"I love you too," a pause. "You are not saying this just because of the baby?"

He laughed and pulled her into his arms. "We are not even sure there is a baby. I want to have lots of children with you, Lavinia, but for now, I just want to keep you to myself."

She laughed, delighted, allowing herself to be pulled closer to him, "how selfish of you."

Lady Hartfield cleared her throat loudly at their sudden proximity but neither of them could tear their eyes away from each other long enough to pay her any attention.

"I knew you were trouble from the very first moment," he whispered to her, "I should have known I had fallen for you when I kept that stupid dog."

She gasped in mock outrage, and slapped his chest playfully, "he is not a stupid dog."

Lady Hartfield cleared her throat again, and from the corner of his eyes, the Duke saw her rise to her feet.

"How soon can we be married?" he asked.

"Say you love me again," she countered.

"I love you."

The smile that split her face was blinding, "I will never get tired of hearing those words."

"I will never get tired of saying them," he fingered one springy lock of hair escaping from her coiffeur. "You are so beautiful."

She made a face at him, but color rose up her cheeks, revealing her pleasure. "Kiss me, Your Grace."

In that moment, he could have been standing in court, or in the middle of a stampede, and he wouldn't have cared. The only thing that mattered was what this woman wanted and for the rest of his life, he swore to give her whatever she desired.

He covered her mouth with his, ignoring Lady Hartfield's drawn out scandalized gasp.

If only the Duke could have lived in that moment with Lavinia forever, unfortunately he knew that there was something else he needed to do. Someone he needed to fix things with. Two people if he were being literal.

He left the Hartfield house with a smile on his face that faded away slowly as his carriage made its way down to Patrick's town house.

"Lord Dillon is not at home," the butler told him when he opened the door, "You may find him at his club."

Damn it, Victor should have thought as much. He knew that his friend stayed far away from his house to escape his aunt and her persistent nagging for him to get leg shackled.

Jumping back into the carriage, he ordered the driver to take him to Whites, a club that the both men were members of.

Inside, he found his friend seated at a table tucked into a dark corner. There was a full, untouched bottle of whiskey on the table before him and his hair and clothes were disheveled.

"You," Patrick drawled, "if you have come to call me out for laying my filthy hands on your sister, I will have to warn you that I am an excellent shot and I will not deflect."

Victor dragged a chair forward and dropped into it. "If you kill me, you will not be able to marry Georgie. It will be in my favor regardless."

The man's jaw clenched visibly, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. If the Duke didn't know him so well, he would have been terrified.

"What do you want?"

"To make amends," Victor poured himself a drink and leaned back into his chair.

The other man snorted, "if you think that I am just going to take the olive branch and forget all about Georgie, then you do not really know me. I will also advise you not to waste your time. I am not going to let her go, Victor. Or should I say, Your Grace?"

"You would only be proving me right if you let her go now," the Duke admitted.

Lord Dillon slanted him a sharp look, "what are you implying?"

Damn it, he did not want to have to spell it out for him too, "you say you love my sister?"

"More than life itself," he said resolutely. "And she is going to become my wife. With or without your blessings. I know she would prefer your blessings though, and that is the only reason I have not carried her off to Gretna Green and shackled her to me for life."

One of his eyebrows went up in surprise, "what is the hurry?"

Patrick shook his head, "I am afraid it is not something I can explain for someone who has not experienced it. You would not understand."

The Duke laughed, "that statement is very far from the truth, my friend. I have recently found myself in the same situation."

"Recently?" Patrick laughed too, "you lost your senses the moment you met Miss Proctor, and I do not think you have recovered them."

It was such a ridiculously apt statement and it sobered Victor. He imagined being in his friend's shoes, being told by Lord Hartfield perhaps that he could not let him love his daughter. He did not think he would have been quite as calm as the viscount.

"You have my blessing to marry Georgie."

Surprise lit up the other man's eyes, "what made you change your mind."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," he gritted his teeth, "it matters."

He thought about that awful feeling in his chest when he had read Lavinia's letter, that awful feeling when he had thought he had lost her. He could never put anybody through that.

Patrick already looked like a wreck, and it was all his fault. And God, he had made his sister cry. The same sister he had sworn to take care of and protect.

"I love Georgie," he finally said, "I want her to be happy and her happiness trumps my fears. Love should always win over fear."

With that he rose to his feet and threw back the glass of whiskey. "If you ever hurt her-"

"I will not."

"If you ever hurt her," he insisted, "there is no corner of the earth where I will not find you Patrick. I will use all the wealth and power at my disposal and rain down hell on you."

The promise hung in the air for a moment and then the viscount nodded.

As the Duke began to leave, the other man stopped him.

"Wait."

He looked over his shoulder and saw that Patrick had risen to his feet too, "thank you."

The Duke continued on his way.

"You look happy," Lady Hartfield said as soon as the Duke left the drawing room.

Lavinia turned to her aunt with a blinding smile, "he loves me."

The woman snorted, "I could have told you that for free. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you exactly that a while ago. He looks at you like you are the brightest star in his sky."

"I think I just needed to hear him say it."

"Finally, you can stop giving me sleepless nights with your sad eyes."

A memory suddenly flashed in her head and she raised her head sharply to stare at her aunt, "what is the story behind Lord Forsythe?"

The older woman pressed her mouth into a thin line, "what is this about? Is there a problem?"

She shrugged innocently. "I am simply curious. I heard rumors about him, and I think I consider him an acquaintance now, so I would like to know."

The older woman waved her hand, mouth set in a mulish line, "you should not pay any of the gossip any mind. They are just needlessly cruel. There has been a lot of tragedy surrounding the Forsythe family but none of it has been by any fault of theirs. They are just victims of unfortunate circumstances. That is all."

Of course Lavinia knew how cruel the ton could be, but she also suspected that there was something about the Marquess. She decided to forget the entire affair though. After all, she had only wanted to know for the sake of him becoming her replacement groom.

"There is something that I must do," she told her aunt and then dashed away, up the stairs to her room. She grabbed a sheet of paper and scribbled down a message to the Marquess that she needed to see him. She would have the courtesy of telling him to his face that she had been wrong about ending her engagement to the Duke.

Done writing, she handed the letter off to one of the remaining footmen with precise instructions to get back a response before he returns.

In about a half hour, the footman returned with a message from the Marquess to meet him at the park. She changed into a walking dress and boots and left the house, her maid trailing after her.

It was easy to spot the Marquess at the park. In every setting, he seemed to be set apart from the crowd, and yet their eyes were drawn to him, always staring and whispering.

As soon as he caught sight of her, he began to walk around the wide trunk of the tree he had been leaning on. She followed after him slowly, unsure.

"I wanted to save you the pleasure of being gawked at," he told her as soon as she was in front of him, "What have you decided?"

She shrugged, "that I do not care what your story is after all. It must be bad for you to become something of so much gossip, but it would not have stopped me from wanting you as my groom."

"Ah," he chuckled.

"What is so amusing, my lord?"

"You have decided to hedge your bet on your Duke at the end of the day," he pushed off from the tree, "I must commend you for taking the easier, smarter option."

"He loves me," she didn't think that reality would ever cease to be wonderful to her. He loved her. He had not just said the words to her, he had given her a full picture of exactly what she meant to him, and it bore a striking resemblance to what she felt too.

"I see."

"Thank you for indulging me, though. I believe we can be friends, my lord," and then she held out her hand.

He stared down at that hand like it was a venomous serpent for so long that she almost decided to pull her hand back, but just at that moment, his larger hand engulfed hers. There were no sparks of heat or weakness in her knees, and it made her smile.

"Your new husband will not approve of this friendship, my lady."

She raised a brow, about to protest but then his words resounded in her head. Husband. He would be her husband and then she could do nothing else but laugh in unbridled delight.