What the Duke Wants

Chapter Seven




“Charles, are you ready yet? I do think you take longer to depart than a green debutante. If I hadn’t been suspicious that you fancied this governess of yours, I’d be convinced now.” Lady Southridge spoke dryly as she waited in the library and Charles gave his footmen final instructions.

“Just because you arrive early doesn’t give you the right to cast judgment,” he ground out.

All morning his nerves had been frayed, his mind overworked with the anticipation and anxiety of seeing Carlotta again. His lack in ability to control his emotions was testing his patience and the last thing he needed was the dry sarcasm of Lady Southridge.


“I’m not an advocate of drinking spirits before noon, but I do think that perhaps you should have a glass of brandy, your eyes look positively wild.”

“If I need brandy it’s because I’ll be in a carriage for the next two days with you,” Charles muttered, but nevertheless poured himself a glass of brandy. Sipping it, he felt its warming trail to his stomach profoundly comforting. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and forced his mind to focus.

“See? I knew it would help.”

“Remind me again why you are coming?” Charles asked as he turned to face Lady Southridge.

“I was invited.”

“I don’t remember that part of our conversation.” Charles raised an eyebrow. “I rather thought you invited me to my own estate. But that can’t be accurate,” he replied wryly.

“I distinctly remember my presence being necessary.” She sniffed delicately.

“Which is far different than an invitation.”

“Do you want me to explain, again, why I want to spend time with your wards? Because I’m surely able to list the reasons both you and Graham should have married by now producing Lord knows how many heirs given both your reputations,” she challenged.

“I do believe I hear Murray. He must be coming to tell us the carriage is ready.” Charles cleared his throat, his cravat seeming oddly tight. Lady Southridge’s threat had hit its mark. The last thing he wanted to do was find himself in the middle of one of her matchmaking schemes.

Hearing about his ability to procreate was quite low on the list as well. Especially when approaching the topic with one viewed as a parent figure. Scratch that. It was definitely at the top of the list of things he never wanted to discuss, ever, with Lady Southridge.

Ever, ever.

However, he wouldn’t mind discussing the topic with Carlotta.

He swallowed as he ducked into the hall. Murray wasn’t anywhere to be found, but he hadn’t expected to see him. He’d only mentioned him in desperation to change the subject of conversation.

He only hoped Lady Southridge didn’t bring up the topic once they were in the carriage. He’d have no escape but to fling himself from the moving carriage.

But if she began speaking about his ability to produce offspring, he would be sorely tempted.

Charles walked a few steps down the hall, his mind wandering. It would take them almost two days to get to Greenford Waters. It was one of his favorite estates and its large landholding was the reason he sent the girls to that location. He had spent most of his boyhood in that home, and it carried fond memories for him still. It had been too long since he’d returned and he found himself anticipating their departure even more.

Of course, that Carlotta was in residence was an added siren call that couldn’t be denied. He’d have to watch himself, closely. Not only did he not want to repeat the same mistakes he made earlier, but he’d have a witness: Lady Southridge.

The woman had a memory like an elephant.

Good Lord, this was going to be a nightmare.

“Your grace? The carriage is ready.” Murray approached him from behind, bowing slightly.

“Very well. Please attend Lady Southridge. I’ll meet her at the carriage.”

Murray nodded and left, his back straight and tall as he walked to the library to alert Lady Southridge.

Charles strode to the circular drive where the carriage waited, pulled by his prized Blood Bays. The horses waited patiently, shaking their heads and chewing the bit.

Once seated in the well-sprung carriage, he closed his eyes.

“You’re not fooling me. I know you’re not asleep already. You aren’t that old.” Lady Southridge commented as she settled on the plush bench.

“Not sleeping, praying.”

“For?”

“Deliverance.”

She snorted.

“I do believe that was a snort. How unladylike,” Charles commented, opening his eyes and regarding her.

“When one speaks something so absurd, sometimes the only polite thing to do is snort. Any words I would have said would have been far less lady like.” She shot back, a grin teasing her lips.

“Very well.”

She leaned forward, as if about to disclose a great secret. “And for the record. I’ve been praying for deliverance as well… God keeps telling me to wait. At this point, I’m sure I’ll be near death. But I have hope for you still.”

“My heart beats with joy at your faith in me.”

“Someone has to hold on to hope for your blackened soul,” she quipped.

“How far is it to Bath, again?” Charles sighed heavily, glancing heavenward.

“As if you don’t have the miles counted already. Less than two days, darling. If I were you, I’d worry less about enjoying my pleasant company and more about important matters.”

“Such as?” Charles felt his eyebrow raise, his tone dubious.

“Such as whom you shall marry this season.” She beamed and leaned back, her eyes bright with hope.

Bloody blooming damning hell.

“Swearing in your mind is just as much of a sin as speaking it out loud Charles,” Lady Southridge chided. “Besides, do you really think I’m going to let you and Graham get away with your bachelor status for much longer? Both of you have a responsibility to produce an heir. I’ve reminded you both often enough that there is not a possible way you’ve forgotten, so I must simply assume that you need help.” She leaned back, her expression full of assurance and… pity.

When one thought of hell, certainly fire, brimstone, and torture sprang to mind. The torture was indeed correct, but Charles was sure that hell looked a lot like his carriage and the devil looked like Lady Southridge.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s the only possible conclusion.” She shrugged delicately.

“I fail to see your logic,” Charles whispered hoarsely. He was still recovering from the idea that Lady Southridge thought he needed… help. Good Lord.

“Neither you nor Graham seem to have the slightest inclination—”

“Ah-ha! You said inclination! That implies that we are choosing to, rather than doing so out of necessity! You’re logic is faulty.”

“You know it’s rude to interrupt. I’ll pretend you did not. As I was saying…” She pierced him with a steely glare. “While no one in London with ears can argue that you’ve had your fair share of… experience with women—”

“How delicately put.” Charles grinned.

“When one is dealing with the decidedly indelicate, there is no other way to do it,” she replied. “Are you finished interrupting? While we have two days, I’m not fond of continuing one topic of conversation the entire length of the trip.”

“Forgive me, continue.” Charles gestured to her, holding out his hand and nodding.

“Thank you. Now, as I was saying, while you certainly don’t lack in the experience department, you do lack in the longevity department.”

“I can—”

“I don’t want to know.” She gave him a withering glare.

Charles chuckled. He was about to say that he had never once been told he lacked in the longevity department. Not once.

“I’m speaking of the length of your liaisons. They are abysmally short and not with the type of women that someone of your status should consider as a wife.” She nodded.

Charles felt the humor drain from him. He wondered what she’d think of the idea of him falling for a governess. However, she seemed to suspect it. Again, he was confused.


Blasted bloody woman.

Maybe she was jesting… perhaps she thought he was not sincerely at risk at falling for her. And if she were to learn the truth…

First, she’d think he was joking. Then she’d stare at him as if he had lost his mind. Which, he would have to wonder himself. After she got past the shock, she’d enter into a lengthy lecture on why it was completely insupportable.

He took a deep breath. He couldn’t win. He was not to consort with the type of ladies that were readily available, nor could he be tempted to marry the one woman who seemed to manage that impossibility.

Hell.

“Charles? I do say, you’ve gotten quiet. Don’t hurt yourself with all that thinking,” Lady Southridge mocked.

Charles pulled his attention back to her. There was a slight smile in her eyes that negated the sarcasm in her voice.

“And what, pray tell, are you planning to do about all of this?” Charles asked. Better to get her plotting out in the open.

“This season, I’ll compile a list of suitable women. Now, before you object—”

Charles had just opened his mouth,

“I will be very selective. You won’t have to worry about a silly chit that thinks batting her eyelashes will land her a duke. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But I know of a few ladies who would be fantastic matches for someone of your status and who can carry on intelligent conversation.”

“Miracles do happen.” Charles sighed.

“Indeed,” Lady Southridge commented wryly.

****

The carriage ride was miserable, everlasting and Charles had seriously considered throwing his person from comfortable coach just to make the torture end. However, once he considered that his torture might just be beginning, should he end his life —after all, hell wasn’t known for its luxury and peace and that’s surely where he’d find himself— he considered throwing Lady Southridge from the carriage. She was light enough, but with his luck, she wouldn’t die. Nope. She’d live, her legs and arms might not work but her mind, voice certainly would, and that would be far worse than any eternal carriage ride with her.

Funny how a person could love someone, yet still wish she would disappear.

Greenford Waters began to come into view and Charles exhaled the largest sigh he’d ever heard, from himself or anyone else for that matter.

“I haven’t been that bad.” Lady Southridge sniffed.

“Of course not,” Charles responded, feeling much more charitable since the end was in sight.

“Well, I might have meddled some…” She waved a gloved hand as if it were a trivial matter.

“Some?” Charles felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop. Some was a gross and pathetic understatement.

“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.

Of course, a few months later he realized why she had appeared so weak. As he sat through her funeral service he wondered why he hadn’t asked her about her health when he had the chance. But he was thinking of his father, of himself, not of her. And pneumonia claimed her with silent precision.

“Your grace?”

Charles startled slightly, glancing to his butler but not seeing him for a moment as his memories faded from the room and reality caught up with him once more.

“What is it, Tibbs?” he asked, his voice sounding overly weary to his own ears.

“You asked to be informed when the young wards and their governess arrived from their walk. They have just come in, your grace. And as you requested, they are not aware of your presence.” Tibbs nodded obediently.

“Very good. See that I am the one to speak to them first, not, Lady Southridge.”

“As you say, your grace.” Tibbs bowed and turned to leave.

“Wait. On second thought, would you please bring Miss Lot—er, Carlotta to me, I wish to speak with her in private before the introductions begin.

Tibbs nodded then left.

Charles paced the study. A thousand thoughts filled his head, tempered by a few precious memories that set his blood to roaring. It was madness, to feel as he felt, after only such a short time. But it was there nonetheless. Perhaps it was just a passing fancy, he justified. There really was no reason for him to form such a strong attachment to the young governess in such short order. Perhaps all his emotional turmoil was for not. Could it be that in the amount of time passed, his attraction had cooled and he’d now not be as affected? He could only hope.

The sound of light footsteps reached his ears a moment before a knock came at the door.

“Come,” Charles called, his eyes already searching for her face.

Tibbs entered followed by the source of Charles’ sleepless nights; Carlotta, siren from his waking dreams.

It was too much to ask to be unaffected. It was too much to ask to even be as affected by her beauty as he was in the past.

No. All it took was one glance, one sweeping gaze from the soft golden curls on the top of her head to the slight peek of her slipped foot from her frock for him to lose all train of thought.

He hadn’t even made eye contact yet.

Damn.

No, for everything he had hoped that time would dull the attraction, he had been deathly wrong.

For if anything, it had increased tenfold and as her clear green eyes searched his, it was all Charles could do to simply keep the fire ignited within him at bay.