What the Duke Wants(31)
“Well, yes.”
“I seemed to have missed when you went from some to obscenely meddling. Or maybe I fell asleep and imagined you listing every deb this coming season and all their attributes, family history and shortcomings. Bloody hell, I do believe that was my worst nightmare ever.” Charles spoke with thick sarcasm.
“No need to be short with me, Charles. I gave you fair warning. You and Graham must find suitable wives. You’re not taking the job seriously, so I am offering my assistance.”
“I also missed the part where you offered rather than sentenced me.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Charles.”
“I rather thought it made me dashing and dangerous. You know, what drives all the debutantes wild with wanting to redeem me from my sinful and cynical ways.”
“You’ve deluded yourself.”
“Here I thought I was the paragon of wisdom.”
She sighed heavily. “If I didn’t feel such a responsibility to care for you and Graham—”
“I relieve you of all responsibility.”
She narrowed her eyes. “As I was saying. If I didn’t feel such a responsibility for you and Graham, I would leave you to your wicked and worthless ways, but I find I cannot. Not when I have the power to help.”
“God help me.”
“I’ll take that as a prayer.”
“You may count it as such. I don’t think I’ve ever whispered more reverent words in all my days.”
She raised an eyebrow and turned her attention to the window. Greenford Waters was a beautiful stone mansion that had been in his family since the Tudors. It was solid and firm, like his title. Or so his father use to say. Just seeing the circular drive and the forest beyond brought back a million memories of his boyhood, eliminating the tension in the air from Lady Southridge’s meddling.
“I forgot how beautiful it was here. Why don’t you visit more often?” Lady Southridge asked quietly, almost reverently.
“London has its charms as well,” he replied, but nothing felt further from the truth as he stared at the stately building, its marble steps, and perfectly manicured boxwoods.
“I doubt that.”
“You’d be correct. I honestly don’t know why I haven’t been back for a while. Of all my estates, it’s my favorite.”
“You did grow up here.”
“True.”
“So it feels like home.”
“I suppose you’re correct.”
The carriage halted just as the large front door opened. The estate’s aged butler, Tibbs, stepped out followed by a flurry of footmen. The carriage door was opened and Tibbs helped Lady Southridge alight from the coach, her skirts swishing as she carefully stepped out. Charles exited next, inhaling deeply the salty sweet air. As the various footmen began unloading their belongings, Charles wondered if Carlotta and the girls had noticed his arrival.
Last week he had sent a missive to the housekeeper and Tibbs alerting them of his arrival, but had given explicit instructions that the governess and wards were not to be notified of his plans to visit. At the time, it seemed the wise thing to do; now he wondered. Certainly if Miss Lottie knew he were coming, she’d take the girls out for the day, or at least that’s what he had worried. Now he thought that perhaps, that wouldn’t have been a bad idea. It would have given him a chance to prepare himself.
He felt stronger, more able to resist the charms of the beautiful governess, but he didn’t necessarily trust himself. His self-control had been quite lacking before. Of course, he reasoned, that she had caught him off guard, in perhaps, a moment of weakness. But no longer.
Or so he hoped.
He nodded to Tibbs, who bowed at his entrance, and then headed directly to his study. Once there he poured himself a fortifying glass of brandy —the fortification was both necessary from the carriage ride with Lady Southridge and the upcoming reunion with the wards and Miss Lottie!
He studied the room that held the most memories of his father. Rich mahogany woods boasted power and elegance as well as strength. Crimson cushions and sapphire colored tapestries gave the distinct impression of wealth and royalty. His father had prided himself in his heritage, the thick blood of nobility that had flowed through his veins, which continued to flow through Charles.
His father was like most dukes, he assumed. Present yet still absent. His childhood memories included his nannies, tutors and various kind servants, but few memories harbored images of his parents. Yet, he knew that if he had a strong need for them, they would have been there. Sadly, or maybe mercifully, he never had such an occurrence in his childhood that required such a response from them. But one thing he did remember about his father was his strength. That was why when he’d passed, over fifteen years ago, it had been quite shocking.
As a child, he never considered that his parents were mortal. That belief carried on into his young adulthood and somehow was still believed even as he passed his majority. A hunting accident. No glory, simply an accident stole the final heartbeats from his father’s chest. His mother had been in London while his father hunted in Sussex that fateful day and upon hearing of her husband’s demise, had taken it upon herself to alert their son.
Never had his mother appeared more fragile, less sure of herself. Always the perfect lady, she looked anything but when she arrived at Charles’ London Town home.