Page 20 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
With a sigh, he shoved back his chair and stood. “I shall handle the matter as I see fit. This afternoon, I shall meet with Collinsworth.”
“You have a duty—”
“I am well aware of my responsibilities.” Heading out of the room, he made his way to his office, one of the smaller libraries in the residence. Books adorned the shelves, windows looked out on the gardens. At fifteen, sitting behind the desk with the full weight of his rank bearing down on him, he’d been terrified of making a mistake. Now he took his place in the leather chair with the full confidence of a man who was comfortable in his position.
His butler had laid out the letters from each day’s post with a note before each stack identifying the day of their arrival. The two letters from Thursday were from his estate managers. Friday’s stack was a bit higher. Taking the top letter, he tore the envelope and took out the parchment.
Dear Duke,
Your kindness to your bride, putting her happiness above your own pride, will long be remembered. You touched the hearts of ladies everywhere.
Yours sincerely,
The Countess of Yawn
The next was no better.
Dear Duke,
I fear all ladies will now feign illness at the church to test our devotion at the altar. You did us other chaps no favors.
We pray you will delay your next wedding date until after the regatta.
Not as sincerely as you might like,
The Duke of Castleberry
The next three letters ran in a similar vein. The ladies commended him, the lords wished he’d made his bride get on with things. He was on the verge of tossing the whole lot of unopened letters in the rubbish bin when he realized the next one gave no indication on the envelope where it was from. The wax that held the envelope closed was merely a blob, no distinguishing seal. With care he opened it, and read the letter.
Dear Thorne:
I hope you will accept my sincerest apology for having left you at the altar, but I did not see that I had a choice. Upon my birth, your father and mine signed a contract sealing our fate without any consideration for what we might want. I thought I could be a good daughter and carry through on my father’s promises and wishes, but being a good daughter has never been my strong suit.
I regret now that I did not speak with you but as my brother assured me nothing I said would change the outcome, I feared our marriage would be off to an awkward start if you knew I had misgivings. I was taught to see to my duty, but as I stood in the vestry, I could not bring myself to condemn us both to a life of unhappiness.
If you are honest with yourself, I suspect you will find you were quite relieved by my failure to show. While you never treated me unkindly, I cannot help but feel that the only thing to bind us was a piece of property, and you deserve more. For whatever embarrassment I might have brought you, I am sincerely sorry, and I hope eventually you will find it within your heart to forgive me, although I suspect I shall never forgive myself for my cowardice. There are a good many things for which I cannot forgive myself, and in the end, they would have made me an exceedingly bad wife indeed.
I wish you only the very best. If you have any kind feelings for me at all, know I am well, safe, and sheltered.
With my warmest regards,
Lavinia
“Good God, old boy! What the devil happened to you?” Collinsworth exclaimed, getting up from behind his desk as Thorne limped into the earl’s library in late afternoon.
He knew he looked a fright, with a bruise about his eye, a scrape on his chin, his left arm in a sling to keep the pressure off his shoulder, and an old walking stick—with thorny vines carved in the wood and a golden lion’s head at the tip—that had once been used by his grandfather providing support for his healing leg. The cane Gillie had given him had been serviceable, but hardly dapper.
“I got into a bit of bother a few nights back in Whitechapel, looking for your sister.”
“And had no luck finding her, I’d wager.” Collinsworth wandered over to the sideboard and poured whisky into two glasses. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Thorne lowered himself into a rather plush chair near the window, welcoming the warmth of sunlight. Setting his walking stick aside, he took the glass the earl offered him and savored the flavor.
“I don’t suppose she’s returned.” Based on her letter, he thought it unlikely, but there was always hope.
“No, although to be honest, I expected her back by now. I thought perhaps it was simply a lark or she’d gotten cold feet.”
Collinsworth took a nearby chair, cupped his glass in both hands, and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “I didn’t know precisely how to explain things on the day you were to marry and I don’t know what to say now. She’d asked for a few minutes in the necessary room. I couldn’t very well deny her the opportunity to relieve herself. I didn’t expect her to sneak out the window. I don’t even know how she managed it. I’ve searched for her myself and have hired two men to find her.”
