The Captivating Lady Charlotte (Regency Brides: A Legacy of Grace #2)(7)
“You will have to wait to find out, won’t you?”
She glanced up. He smiled, blue eyes lighting, and her heart began beating rapidly. And as they danced, and chatted, and laughed—and he did not once step on her toes—she began to wonder if perhaps this was the man who would prove husband material. Markham. Why had that name not leapt from the pages of the copy of Debrett’s Peerage Mama had forced her to memorize?
As the music swelled, she caught a glimpse of her father standing next to an indignant marquess, and felt a moment’s regret.
Her companion leaned down and murmured, “The marquess will look a little more sharply the next time he chooses to dance with such a beauty, I’ll wager.”
Though she smiled, his words drew her mind back to what she’d overheard earlier—wagers over the new child of the Duke of Hartington. The violins seemed to play a sadder strain, and in the middle of the ballroom, in the middle of her glorious debut into society, she found a prayer rising from her heart that all would be well.
CHAPTER THREE
Hartwell House
Hanover Square, London
THE SCREAM RENT THE NIGHT.
William, Duke of Hartington, pushed his head into his hands and slumped over his desk. A prayer half formed on his lips before the darkness took it away. He’d be hanged before he prayed for her. Hanged before he let his heart be touched again. Hadn’t he prayed enough?
Heat banded his chest, constricting his lungs until he grew desperate for air. He drew in a deep gulp and, for a few minutes, forced himself to concentrate on breathing: inhale, long exhale. Inhale, long exhale.
The room was unlit, the only light coming from the crackling fireplace. Red light danced behind his closed eyelids, echoing the fire threatening to consume his soul. His fingers clenched. With a great force of effort, he managed to release them, to straighten them, only to clasp his hair like a madman.
A madman. Laughter sputtered, died. How ironic. Had the board at Bethlem Royal Hospital and Asylum known the absurdity of offering a trustee position to one such as he? Mad? The heat within grew. Surely an understatement. How long would it be until he did not feel this insane rage?
Lord …
He couldn’t pray the rest, wasn’t even sure if God was real anymore. He certainly hadn’t made His presence felt the past few months.
A scratching came at the door. He lifted his head but said nothing, waiting for the door to open as it always did, regardless of whether he’d issued instructions about his wishes to be disturbed or not.
“Your Grace?”
Jensen’s voice.
“Your Grace, please come.”
His valet knew everything, yet still made this request? “Go away.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Your wife is calling for you. She needs—”
“My wife?” He almost spat the word. “She made it clear long ago she needs me for nothing.”
Not his love, not his seed. Only his name.
“If you do not, you will live to regret—”
“Do you truly dare to presume to tell me what I shall feel?” He eyed the man silhouetted in the doorway. “You have no idea what I go through!”
His valet said nothing, light from the hall lamp revealing his steady gaze.
A pang struck. Actually, Jensen did know. He was the one person William had taken into his confidence, the one person who knew the devastation caused by the discovery of the affair. The one member of his household who knew about last night’s affair of honor. Paid almost a king’s ransom to keep his lips sealed, the only man he could trust.
That maniacal laugh came again. How had he come to this, where his only friend was a paid servant?
“Your Grace?”
At the worried note in his valet’s voice he forced his whirling thoughts to slow, to focus; forced himself to take a deep breath. “Yes?”
“The doctor … the doctor thinks it won’t be long now.”
A spike of resentment shafted his heart. “Until the brat is born?”
“Until your—the duchess is no more.”
“What?” He spun in his chair to fully face his valet.
“Dr. Metcalfe says it is a hard case, that she has lost a great deal of blood. He believes it only a matter of hours.”
For once the usually expressionless features held a measure of emotion, something that looked like pity. Hardening his heart, William said roughly, “Why should I care?”
“Because, if I may say so—”
“Never stopped you before, has it?” he muttered.
“If you don’t, there may always be a measure of regret that things were left unresolved.”
Like with his parents. William’s hands clenched. He did not want that again, did he?
No. He didn’t.
He grunted, pushing to his feet to follow Jensen. The great hall’s lights made him squint and gave him pause, as the faces of his footmen smoothed from ambivalence to something approximating their usual impassivity.
No doubt they all knew, would be busy gossiping about his misfortunes, if they hadn’t been so already. Hypocritical gossips—as bad as any matron from society’s scandal-breathing ton.
He trudged up the stairs, heart hammering as another cry of desperation sliced the air.