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R
iding in a closed carriage with a lady on the bench opposite him was a novel experience. Of course, he wasn’t alone, for Abigail was with him. She would remain behind while he returned to Beckwith Trace. Lady Lettice’s brilliant cloak made his sister’s black mourning attire seem dull in comparison.
Courtland frowned. “Abigail, did you at least bring one gown that’s not rigged out with black ribbon or lace? It’s not fair to you to not take part in this festive occasion. And we’re not in London besides. Perhaps it’s all right to relax the rules just this once.”
She turned her head and caught his gaze. “I did. It’s the green gown Papa ordered from France just before he died. It’s a summer fashion to be sure, but if I wear a black shawl with it, the dress will do.”
“I hope it provides magic for you this holiday season,” he said in a low voice. “I hate the fact you feel you’re wasting your time in the country. Perhaps I should let you return to London.”
“Will you?” Her whole expression brightened.
“Only if you promise you won’t cause scandal, and that you won’t entertain or accept invitations.”
Abigail huffed and crossed her arms at her chest. “I’m a woman grown, Courtland. Don’t treat me like a child.”
“Then don’t act like one.” Why couldn’t Abigail understand she was his responsibility now and the sole remaining member of his family? “Once Twelfth Night is over, you can go to London, but the second I hear a rumor about you, I’m recalling you back.”
“At least it’s something.” She turned her face to the window, effectively ignoring him.
Courtland tamped on a sigh of his own. He caught Lady Lettice’s gaze across the narrow aisle. “Thank you for extending the courtesy of an invitation for my sister.”
“Of course. There’s plenty to keep oneself occupied at the castle.” She sat crosswise on the bench with her ankle propped on a pillow brought from his manor. “Mama has done an amazing job of scheduling a multitude of activities everyone enjoys.”
“Oh? It’s interesting a duchess would concern herself with such things.” He didn’t know the ducal family well aside from falling into scrapes aplenty with Letty’s brothers during his childhood and as a youth. To say nothing of the long tramps over the acreage and through the forested areas he’d taken with the lady herself.
“Mama takes her wedding anniversary seriously each year. She and Papa always celebrate to the hilt. Their philosophy is one never knows how much time one has, and that love should be an occasion to cherish each day.”
“Quite a romantic notion.”
“Oh, yes. Theirs is a union to aspire to.” Her voice broke on the last word, and before she set her concentration the window, he’d caught a trace of tears in her eyes. “The ball she’s planned on Boxing Day will surpass anything she’s thrown yet this Christmastide. Even Lucy will be allowed to stay up past her bedtime—just a jot—so she can see the women in their fine gowns.”
“I’m certain she’ll adore that.” In his mind’s eye, he saw Lady Lettice standing at the edge of a ballroom, her belly swollen with child while she held the hand of her daughter. Which was impossible, for he had no idea what Lucy looked like as well as the fact the lady currently wasn’t attached. He shook his head to clear the image before it could take root. “There is something about ballgowns and gentlemen in expertly fitted tailcoats that sends a girl’s imagination soaring.” He nudged Abigail’s elbow. “Isn’t that right?”
She snorted but didn’t look his way. “I was much like that as a child, but now I’ll settle for the man. I have no need of being romanced.”
“That’s too bad,” Lady Lettice said with concern etched upon her brow. “Romance is something every woman deserves, not just in the initial courtship stages but throughout a marriage. The second romance disappears, then life becomes a drudgery, and a union should never be that.”
“Perhaps.” But his sister didn’t offer further commentary.
Courtland met the lady’s gaze. “You must have been quite close to your husband.” A tiny stab of jealousy cut through his chest, which wasn’t well done of him.
“I was. Even after four years, it’s difficult to acclimate to his loss. Some days are better than others.” The smile she gave him wobbled at the edges. “Good heavens, we’ve fallen in maudlin territory, and with Ivy Castle coming into view.” She pointed at the window. “Look how elegant and mysterious the rooftops are with the blanket of new snow. No doubt my brothers will wish for sledding and taking out the sleigh or even snowball fighting.”
“I remember that from our childhood,” he said as he savored the first look at the castle in the daylight hours.
“Yes, well, my brothers act like children most times, so it’s to be expected.” A bout of quiet laughter escaped. “It’s easier for them now, I think, what with Lucy and John in the midst. It gives them an excuse.”
He frowned. “Who is John?” Was that a current suitor?
“He’s the son of Stephen’s fiancée. Two years older than Lucy. So far they’ve gotten on well.”
“Ah.” Such a family dynamic. It was slightly intimidating. “Will your brothers take exception to me bringing you home hurt?”
She snorted. “Let us hope they’re occupied with other things so we can slip inside without fanfare.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t set my mind at ease.” In fact, knots of anxiety twisted in his gut. Bringing home a damaged duke’s daughter to a collection of quite possibly overprotective brothers—to say nothing of the duke—was much like facing a den full of hungry lions.
In short order, the carriage went up the long drive and drew to a halt in front of the imposing double doors of the castle. Thank goodness there were no stairs, but the edifice was large enough to steal his breath. Indeed, there were turrets on both ends, and the interior layout must be massive and a confusing warren of corridors.
Once the driver swung open the door and put down the steps, Courtland bounded out. First, he assisted his sister down, and then as Lady Lettice stood awkwardly on one foot and maneuvered herself to the doorway, he leaned in, scooped her into his arms much as he’d done when bringing her into Beckwith Trace, and brought her out of the vehicle.
“Again, thank you,” she murmured as they trailed after Abigail. “You’ve made the trip a thousand times better than it could have been.”
“That’s good to hear.” He rather liked the weight of her in his arms and the gratitude shining in her chocolate-hued eyes. The subtle scent of lavender teased his nose. “I’m glad to render assistance.”
Then there was no more opportunity for conversation. One of the massive doors opened and a man he assumed was the butler stood aside for their party to pass into an impressive entry hall.
“Lady Lettice, what has happened to you?” the man in old-fashioned livery asked in solicitous tones.
“Nothing a few days of rest can’t fix.” A barely audible groan issued from her throat as the sound of talking and the echo of footsteps rang in the hall. “Luck isn’t with us, I’m afraid. Prepare to meet my brothers.”
Then three men poured into the opposite end of the hall as the butler closed the door.
“There you are, Letty! Where the devil have you been?” The first man who came forward narrowed his eyes on Courtland. From what he remembered of introductions last night, this was the Earl of Hollingsworth—Lady Lettice’s older brother. “Who the deuce are you?”
Courtland refused to let them cow him. He cleared his throat. “Do watch your language around my sister, if you please, Lord Hollingsworth.”
A second man, who was the first’s twin, came abreast of the earl. “What have you done to our sister?”
“Ah, and you must be Viscount Tilbury, the lady’s second oldest brother.” Really, it was a miracle he remembered the titles, for his meeting with the duchess last night had been fleeting. Slight pressure of Lady Lettice’s fingers on his shoulder gave him a hint of her approval.
“You have the advantage of us,” the viscount said with a warning growl in his voice. “Perhaps you should explain.”
“The lady turned her ankle on a visit to Beckwith Trace an hour or so ago. I brought her inside to assess the damage and am just now bringing her home.” He shifted his burden in his arms. “Perhaps we could go somewhere more private so the lady can be made comfortable, and I can introduce my sister?” Abigail, to her credit, had said not a word. Did these men intimidate her too?
“Why were you there at all, Letty?” the earl asked as he led the way through long corridors. Her youngest brother, Lord Bonham, brought up the rear of the procession.
“I wished to welcome Lord Henshaw to the area. His father died a few months ago. It felt right. I also extended an invitation to the house party to Miss Beckwith, so behave yourself.”
Courtland tamped on the urge to grin. Obviously, she’d had much experience in managing her siblings. “In the event you wondered, nothing untoward occurred.”
“We’ll be the judge of that,” the viscount said with a glance over his shoulder. When his gaze fell on the butler, he said, “Have tea brought into the drawing room, and then find my father.”
“At once, my lord.”
A buzz of foreboding went down Courtland’s spine. Of course they would involve the duke, yet there was nothing to dread, for scandal hadn’t happened. Still, his chest was tight as he entered a large, airy drawing room, warmed pleasantly by a fire. Two women occupied the room, along with the duchess, all of whom sprang to their feet at the sight of Lady Lettice in his arms.
Dear God, I’m in for it now.
Everyone began talking at once. The Ivy men demanded answers while the women asked after the lady’s health once she’d been set down onto a low sofa.
“Please, enough!” The authority of a headmistress, and one who was adept at speaking to large groups, rang in Lady Lettice’s voice. “Boys, I turned my ankle walking up the baron’s drive. That’s all.” She met each one’s gaze in turn. “Lord Henshaw was kind enough to bring me inside, give me tea, and then take me home. Why are you acting like Neanderthals?”
Lord Hollingsworth scoffed. “You’re our sister, and always will be. We’re looking out for you.” He had the same dark brown hair color as the lady and the same angular features in the face.
“Well, I’m quite well except for my ankle, so please stop making a fuss.” Lady Lettice narrowed her eyes on the younger twin. “And don’t you dare accuse the baron of unbecoming conduct.” She glanced at the duchess and waved a hand to indicate Abigail. “Mama, this is Miss Beckwith, the baron’s sister. She’s consented to join the house party.”
“How lovely!” The duchess glanced at the woman with dark hair. “Lynette, will you show our guest to an available room?” Then she looked at Abigail, who did an awkward curtsy. “I’m sure one of the footmen has had your luggage brought in. I’ll be up to see how you’re getting on in a minute, dear.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured as she followed Lynette out of the drawing room.
Lord Tilbury cleared his throat. “Yes, well, thank you for escorting her back, Lord Henshaw. We can take care of her from here.”
“Don’t be rude, Stephen,” the duchess said. She closed the distance between her and Courtland. “I’m glad you were there to look after my daughter.” Her smile immediately disarmed him. “Snow can be tricky at times.” Gray streaked her hair and though wrinkles marched over her face, none of those signs of aging detracted from her pretty looks. Lady Lettice took strongly after her mother.
“It can be indeed, Your Grace.” He offered her a tight grin. “If you have no more need of me, I’ll—”
“Actually, I have a few questions, Lord Henshaw.” All eyes turned to the newly arrived Duke of Whittington. His imposing form and strong voice immediately filled the room.
“Oh, Papa, please don’t you posture also,” the lady said with exasperation in her tone. “It’s bad enough from them.” She glared at her brothers, who stood clustered around her sofa. “The least we could do is ask the baron to dinner. As a thank you.”
Courtland attempted to head off what could be a familial row. “That’s nice of you, Lady Lettice, but I don’t feel much like socializing just now.”
The smile she bestowed up him while the blonde-haired woman kneeled beside the sofa to examine the lady’s ankle had the power to knock a crack in the shell around his heart. “I understand. Christmastide is difficult once you’ve lost someone you loved. It will always be so.”
“Yes, exactly. My father held a special affinity for the holiday, and now that he’s no longer with us...” Well, drat. Emotion welled in his chest, seeking an outlet. He fought against it in an effort to get himself in hand in front of her family. “Well, it will be a much different scenario this year.”
“I miss your father too.” For the space of a few heartbeats, the duke looked between him and his daughter. “Yes, I think having Lord Henshaw to dinner will fit the situation just fine.” He glanced at his wife. “Don’t you think, my dear?”
“Perhaps you’re right.” The questions in the duchess’ eyes mirrored Courtland’s own. “Once you’re finished talking with Lettice, Whittington and I would have your attention for a few minutes, to see how you’re getting on in mourning.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“I know you all mean well, but please, I’m quite fine.” She sought out the blonde woman’s gaze. “Isn’t that so, Nora?”
The woman nodded. “It’s a sprain. I’ll go upstairs and retrieve my medical supplies and then return to wrap your ankle with strips of cotton.”
“Thank you.” Lady Lettice encompassed the rest of the company in her gaze. “Could you please give Lord Henshaw and I a bit of privacy?” When the butler came in with a tea tray, she sighed. “All of you, please. I’d like to thank the baron and I don’t need a handful of looming companions.”
“Fine.” Lord Tilbury frowned. “We’re leaving the door open. Griffin and I will be down the corridor so don’t try anything sneaky, Lord Henshaw.” He leveled a glare on Courtland.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Lord, give me patience,” the lady said beneath her breath.
After a few minutes, the drawing room cleared of people, but they didn’t go far, for the low buzz of conversation in the corridor beyond drifted back to Courtland’s ears. “I can understand their need for protection. You are the only female in the family aside from your mother.”
“Perhaps, but the time is limited on that.” When she couldn’t reach the teapot from her position, he took up the task of pouring the amber liquid into a cup for her. “It is annoying. I’m a woman grown, and a widow besides.”
“And one with a wildly independent streak they probably don’t understand.” He bit back a laugh when she narrowed her gaze on him. “I meant no disrespect. It was a compliment.” Once he’d poured a measure of tea into his own cup, he drifted to a chair near her location and sat. “My father said the same thing about my sister.”
Lady Lettice nodded. “And now she’s your responsibility.”
“Yes. It’s both flattering and daunting.” For long moments they sat sipping their tea while a spirited conversation continued in the corridor beyond. “Papa was the most jovial man I knew most of the time. He had no trouble showing the gayer emotions in life. It was the deeper things he struggled with, as I now do too.”
“I’d like to tell you that grief is easier as time goes on, but it isn’t. You merely learn to make room for it and live with it.”
“So I’m beginning to see.”
Her smile brought a modicum of comfort. “I’m sorry all the same.”
“Thank you. I admired the hell out of my father, wished to model my life after his, for he was everything I thought a gentleman should be, but he was never quite the same after Mama died trying to bear my brother years ago.”
“That’s because he loved her so much,” she said quietly while peering into her teacup.
“Yes.” The word was forced from a tight throat. “I never thought life would go this way so soon, or that Abigail and I would be more or less adrift alone.”
“It doesn’t matter how long we have the people we love in our lives; it will always seem too short.” She raised her gaze to his. Tears sparkled in those dark depths. “It’s all right to feel sad or lonely. The people who care about you will never begrudge you that.”
“There’s not many people left to care, quite frankly. The Beckwiths aren’t a very hardy people. They’ve all perished relatively young, and we weren’t a large group to begin with.” That wasn’t a very rousing endorsement if he’d wanted to impress her.
“If those are the cards dealt to you, it’s your responsibility to play the hand to the best of your ability.” She shrugged. “What was the best advice your father ever gave you?”
What an interesting question, and one he welcomed. “He told me not to worry over the future, because what was meant for me would come whether I was ready for it or not.” Courtland allowed a wry grin. “I suppose that’s never been truer than now. He also said that a man grows into his courage and position in life, for he’ll find his direction by instinct.”
“Your father was a wise man. It’s a shame I don’t remember him well from my youth.”
“I’m much like him, keeping close to home and preferring books to the company of people.” For long moments, Courtland rested his gaze on the lady. She was quite pretty in an understated way, and when she tilted her chin at that stubborn angle she had, his heart beat a little quicker. He wouldn’t mind kissing her merely to see what it felt like, for her lips were ever so tempting.
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Did she refer to his admission or his unspoken thoughts about kissing? Not knowing, he shook his head. “At times, I feel badly because I never married like he wanted in recent years. I’d promised my mother when she died, I’d settle down, but life didn’t take me down that path.”
“Why not? You’re attractive enough and quite charming when you wish.” A teasing gleam appeared in her eyes. “Are you shy around female company?”
He shrugged as heat crept up the back of his neck from her compliment. “Not overly so. I never found a lady I got on well with, a woman who utterly captivated me. I refuse to marry for less than love, for what is the point of that? I want a marriage that’s more than friendship.”
“Marriage definitely needs love. It’s hard work and perhaps it’s not for everyone.” One of her dark eyebrows rose in challenge. “Have you given up the task?”
“Not entirely. There is still that dream, though it grows dim with every birthday.”
“I hope you are fortunate. You’ve grown into a fine man.” She leaned over and briefly touched his hand.
Warm tingles shot up his arm. “I appreciate that.”
“It’s true. I was pleasantly surprised when we renewed our acquaintance earlier.” Her low-pitched voice held a faint come-hither quality that had him leaning toward her as she strained her head.
When their eyes locked, heated embarrassment and cold fear twisted through his chest, leaving him in a morass of confusion. With a pounding heart, Courtland pulled back, putting much needed space between them. “I appreciate that,” he managed to choke out before taking a great gulp of tea.
She heaved a sigh. “Lord Henshaw, if you’d like someone to talk with, please don’t hesitate to send over word.” Emotions he couldn’t read clouded her eyes. “I... I might enjoy telling someone who’ll understand about Henry. And... I’d like for you to meet Lucy.”
Now that was a boon indeed. Tendrils of hope bloomed from the kernel deep in his heart. “I will. Thank you.” Then the blonde woman, Nora, returned to the drawing room with a medical bag in hand, trailed by Lady Lettice’s brothers. Their time alone had drawn to a close. “I suppose I’ll need to suffer through conversation until dinner,” he told her in a whisper.
“It’ll be good for you to know my brothers better. After all, we were friends in childhood. There’s no reason we can’t be now.”
He didn’t answer, for confusion had settled upon his shoulders. Was renewing a friendship with the lady what he wanted? She’d given a small remnant of life back to his grieving heart. It remained to be seen what would happen next.