His mother was stunned into speechlessness. Magnus only hoped it would stay that way. Otherwise, he was fairly certain that shouting would be involved. Perhaps broken porcelain, as well.
He likely shouldn’t have decided to tell her when she was inspecting the china in the dining room. Although, at least he had sense enough to dismiss the servants before he began.
Reaching forward, he eased the dinner plate from her inattentive grasp. “I realize the news might have come as a surprise. But I want to assure you that, in seven years’ time, the estate will be far better off than it is now.”
“But what about Miss Snow? I don’t understand. Has she refused you?”
He decided to be blunt. “I did not propose to Miss Snow. I do not love her.”
“I had a dowry when I went to your father. That is how marriage works for our class. Love comes later. Or fondness, at the very least.”
A tender regard may have been there for a time between his parents. But he remembered the arguments, her constant disappointment in Father’s inability to control his impulsive tendencies and to face the consequences of his actions, along with his pleas that she would simply understand that he was doing the best he could.
“I know this was not the ultimate goal originally set before me. However, I see nothing wrong with a man laboring on his own lands. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself otherwise. It’s a rewarding occupation to repair something with one’s own hands, to expand one’s mind toward methods of innovation. I would prefer to help my tenants, rather than sit across a desk from them and tell them to figure it out or else they’ll lose their home.”
His mother stared at him as if he were a stranger that had dropped down in front of her, speaking in a foreign tongue. “But what about your brother? Your duty to this family?”
“I am seeing to the duty of my family. It will simply take longer,” he said, purposely directing the conversation away from Rowan.
All through Magnus’s life, he had willingly shouldered the responsibility, not only as the heir, but acting in his father’s stead. The roles of father and son were often turned on their heads and he had no one other than himself to rely on. For a time, his brother had commiserated with him, believing that he should have had a chance to live before he’d taken on the responsibilities of a duke. So Magnus had thought he’d had someone in his own family who understood.
But he’d been wrong. Every time—and there were many, many times—that Rowan had fallen into a scrape at school, or mischief abroad, gambling debts, drunkenness, recklessness . . . the list went on . . . Magnus would be called upon to settle matters.
Rowan had become a ne’er-do-well and rake, and everyone in the family loved him for it. No one considered for a single minute that the only reason he had the freedom to choose his own path—albeit a foolhardy one—was because of the sacrifices that Magnus made.
“And in the meantime,” his mother said, “what about your brother’s livelihood? The life he was promised?”
“What life was I promised, Mother?”
She blinked. “You are living it, of course. You are the Duke of Longhurst.”
“And I have been since I was ten years old. But Father did not die until I was four and twenty. Someone should have told me to cram a good deal of life into those first ten years,” he muttered dryly.
“I do not know what has gotten into you, Magnus. You’ve never been this unruly.”
He smiled, thinking of Verity. “Perhaps it is the influence of Miss Hartley.”
“That certainly does her no favors.” Mother harrumphed and turned to leave the room.
“I disagree. I think she brings out the best in me.” Seeing that his mother did not agree, he clasped her hand and gentled his tone, his gaze imploring. “Please make peace with my decision.”
The finely wrinkled flesh around her eyes and lips compressed tight with strain. After a moment, she drew in a deep breath and nodded, squeezing his hand in return. Then she walked away. And that would have to be enough for now.
As he left the dining room and headed toward his study, he saw his mother in the corridor stop dead in her tracks as she came face-to-face with Lord Hartley. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but she turned abruptly on her heel and stormed down the servants’ passage toward the kitchen instead.
Doubtless, the cook was about to have a surprisingly unpleasant visit.
Verity sneaked down the servants’ stairs, afraid she’d slept too long and had missed breakfast. But she was positively famished and hoped she could beg the cook for a cup of tea and a scone.
She had remained in Magnus’s bedchamber until dawn, unable to leave his side.
They’d talked for hours. Or rather, they’d kissed and caressed for hours. However, there was some talking involved. Scandalous conversations such as him asking if the water he bathed her in was too cold, then offering to warm her with his mouth.
Afterward, she told him about the sock puppets while she explored Lord Turgid in greater depth. Magnus didn’t mind her untutored kisses. In fact, he seemed to lose the power of speech the instant she suckled on his flesh, her tongue tasting salt and heat as he lost every last ounce of control, his back arching, his hands in her hair, and her name ripped from his lips.
Thoroughly spent, he had fallen asleep, his breaths shallow and even.
Knowing that she couldn’t be found in his room, she’d left him with a kiss against his temple and her hand pressed to his heart. And in his ear, she whispered, “I love you.”
He must have heard her, because a hum murmured on his lips as they’d curved in a smile.
Just thinking about all of it made Verity blush anew. She was certain that she must be glowing from within like a beacon, revealing her nighttime activities. So, the last thing she wanted to do was to run into his—
“Miss Hartley!” the dowager said with affront when they nearly collided at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh. Pardon me, Your Grace. I was just on my way to . . . see if . . .”
At the instant scowl on her future mother-in-law’s countenance, Verity’s words trailed off and her appetite dissipated. That dark look made her want to run in the opposite direction. But that was probably something that a future duchess wouldn’t do.
“My son has told me of his plans,” Geraldine Warring said, matter-of-factly. “You may have managed to beguile him, my dear. But do not think for one minute that his affection for you will last.”
Verity squared her shoulders and stood her ground, needing to start off their relationship on equal footing. “I do not mean any disrespect, ma’am, but you are wrong. Your son and I are alike in mind and spirit. We share similar interests and are both of a sensible nature. Neither one of us has been beguiled. We see each other for who we are.”
“There is no sense in his proposing to you. None at all. He is a duke. You are a penniless spinster. He is a man from a good, noble family. You are—”
“I will stop you there before you say something you will regret in the future,” Verity interrupted. “The fact of the matter is, your son and I never intended to fall in love. But we have, nonetheless. And I have every faith that, one day, you will come to accept our union. Because I know the woman who raised him to be the man he is today did so with great love in her own heart and a desire for her son’s happiness.”
A scoff was her reply. “If you think that love is what matters most to my son then you are mistaken. He watched his own father shirk his duty and fritter away a fortune on whatever pleased him, leaving him to bear the brunt of all the consequences. He resented his father for that. And, no matter how much he professes to wanting you, he will come to resent you as well.”
His mother was wrong, Verity knew it. He’d proven himself countless times that when he made a decision, he honored it. And last night, he had decided that whatever tensions might have been between their families did not matter as long as they loved each other.
Or, at least, she thought he loved her.
He’d never said the words. Then again, his actions spoke for him. So, of course, he loved her. Didn’t he?
“He won’t. That isn’t the man he is,” she declared, hiking her chin. “The past no longer matters to him. It is the future he cares about.”
A look of pity crossed the older woman’s countenance. “You don’t know my son as well as you think you do. In the years to come, he will forget why he made this choice, and rue the day he did.”
Verity wanted to argue the point, but Geraldine Warring walked away, the air turning cold in her wake.
“You’re wrong,” she said to the empty corridor, her throat tight as she chafed her hands along her arms to warm them.
Magnus wouldn’t resent her. She knew he wouldn’t. He’d made a plan, after all. Everything was settled. There would be financial strains, of course, but whatever they had to face, they would face it together. Side by side. She would never turn her back on him. And he would never turn his back on her, or leave her alone and—she swallowed—forgotten.
Magnus lifted a hand to greet the baron as he approached. “Good morning, sir. I was hoping you might have a minute for a matter I would like to discuss.”
Hartley looked steadily at him for a beat, his expression inscrutable. Then he nodded. “There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you as well.”
Well, that sounded ominous and did nothing to tamp down an unprecedented rise of nerves. But Magnus led the way, regardless.
Once they were situated in his study, he broached the first topic weighing on his mind. “I want to apologize for my belief that you were behind the entire scheme. I should have been able to see the truth for myself,” he said. “But I was so sure you were to blame.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, lad. Grief does that to us. If we do not let it out, the pain can poison us. As the bard said, ‘Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak/ Whispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.’”
Magnus swallowed down a rise of guilt at that particular quote from Macbeth. Instead of mourning his father, he had sought revenge. But perhaps it was time to bury the past, once and for all.
He nodded thoughtfully, grateful that Hartley was a generous and forgiving sort.
Then again, if Hartley knew that he’d spent a glorious night bedding his unmarried daughter, he might not have been so magnanimous.
In that instant, Magnus felt the need to shift from one foot to the other, to shrug his shoulders. But all he gave in to was the need to swallow.
Then again, if Hartley knew that he’d spent a glorious night bedding his unmarried daughter, he might not have been so magnanimous.
With a glance down to the desk between them, and the bed of open ledgers that had witnessed far more than calculations, Magnus surreptitiously tucked them away into the drawers.
“I’ve been thinking about last night,” Hartley said as he sat.
Suddenly nervous, Magnus nearly fell into his own chair. “Last . . . night?”
“I’m sure you’ve been thinking about that other man, hidden in the shadows, too. After all, he saved your life.”
“Yes, of course,” Magnus replied, relieved.
Again, it entered his mind that he likely should have been more concerned about the fact that he’d narrowly escaped death. And yet, all he’d been able to think about was how close he’d been to losing Verity.
Although, prior to Verity entering his study last night, he had jotted down a few notes. He pulled them out now and scanned the few facts. “I believe he was the man who sent me the address of the building. Though I do not know about his business relationship with Mr. Eugene, the man apparently goes by the moniker of Mr. Dashing.” Since he’d relayed the information about Miss Snow’s friend last night, he saw no need to bring her involvement into the conversation. “Strangely enough, the name sounds familiar but I cannot think of the reason.”
“Not strange at all, lad. It sounds familiar because you and Hawk were forever at war with Mr. Dashing. Don’t you remember?”
At war with Mr. Dashing? And then it hit him.
All at once, he knew the real identity of the mysterious figure.
“Do you suppose . . . ?” Hartley mused, his brow puckered over the bridge of his nose.
Magnus looked at the scrap of paper. “I do, indeed. But that’s a matter for later.” He put the note in the drawer and closed it, realizing belatedly that he was stalling out of nervousness. Bloody hell, his palms were even sweating. “The reason I wanted to speak with you is regarding your daughter.”
Hartley waited, refusing to fill in the gaps by saying something jovial and typical to his nature. Instead, he stared patiently with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair.
Magnus cleared his throat and straightened, tugging on the hem of his waistcoat.
“After careful consideration, I . . .” He trailed off, displeased with the start of that sentence. “You see, I’ve come to know your daughter over the course of these weeks and, well, it has occurred to me that we share a good deal of interests, in addition to common traits. She is the eldest female in her family, as you know, and I am mine. I mean, I’m the eldest male in my family.”
He was running out of breath. Perspiration collected on his brow. Was it hot in here?
Hartley didn’t seem affected at all. He barely twitched an eyebrow.
Magnus realized in that moment that he’d never sat across from someone and asked for something he wanted just for himself. Not for his family. Not for his lineage or estate. Just for him.
It was surprisingly difficult. He felt rather exposed, as if he were revealing the inner contents of his heart. It lay there, splayed open for study as if he were on a table in a surgery.
“Where was I?” he asked, mouth dry. “Ah, yes. I’m the eldest. And as the eldest I inherited a dukedom. But you know that already. More to the point, however, I should like to request . . . I mean, it would be my honor if you would . . . Oh, hang it all. I want to marry her. And I should like your blessing.”
Hartley waited another beat—two, three—his face as impassive as a Sphinx. Then, suddenly he roared with laughter.
“Ah, lad. It was so fun to torture you. For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to loosen your cravat. Your face was turning a shade of purple I’d never seen.” He stood and came around to the side of the desk, clapping Magnus on the shoulder as he stood as well. “Of course, you have my blessing. You have always been family.”
The weight of the world seemed to pour out of Magnus’s next breath as they shook hands. “Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll be good to her.”
“I know you will. And I don’t want you to worry about that business with Truman and the apprenticeship. I understand, and it’s all forgiven.”
Verity suddenly appeared in the doorway, her lovely face furrowed with confusion. “What business with Truman and the apprenticeship?”
Magnus felt the weight of regret drop in his stomach like an anvil in a lake. Knowing her as he did now, and how much she loved her brother, he never would have hurt her for all the world. But there was no turning away from the truth.
He drew in a breath and went to her, cupping her shoulders, his thumbs making soothing circles. “I made certain that he was dismissed, and that he would have no further options along that vein.”
She shrank back, stepping out of his reach, the betrayal in her eyes cutting him to the quick. “You were responsible?”
“I’m not proud of it. Especially now that I know the truth. It was wrong of me.”
“Well, as long as you know that it is wrong now, then that changes everything, doesn’t it?” She threw up her hands. “The last seven years of my brother’s life don’t matter. Seven years of him sailing on a merchant ship and barely coming home to visit. Seven years of him waiting to start his life.”
“Verity,” her father said, his tone consoling. “There’s nothing to be done about it now. It’s all in the past.”
She stared at him as if he had also betrayed her. “You knew about this?”
Hartley nodded. “I thought Truman told you.”
“No. He didn’t.” Her gaze hardened as it slid to Magnus. “But he once wrote to me, warning me to never trust a man who pretended to be a friend. Now I understand the reason. I feel like such a fool. I thought I knew you.”
“You do know me,” he said, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hartley exit the room to give them privacy. “And the most important thing is how we feel for each other.”
“The worst of it is the hypocrisy of it all,” she continued, ignoring him as she paced the study where just last night they were locked in an embrace. “From the beginning, you spoke to me about honor and honesty. And your words were so deeply ingrained, sincere in a way that made me believe that you were living for a greater purpose. As much as you vexed me, I admired you,” she said, her voice threaded with accusation. “I saw you struggle with your hatred of my family and found nobility in your willingness to go along with my lie. I had been prepared for mockery, but instead I found a kinship with you. And when you left, I felt an absence I’d never known. I felt empty. Not only from missing you, but from something that was missing in myself that I had found with you.” She shook her head. “You had challenged me to be more honest and honorable. You made me want to face matters bravely. You made me want to be better.”
He swallowed, a sense of foreboding thick in his throat as he saw the brittle coldness enter those violet eyes that had been more like velvet mere hours ago.
“But all along, you were lying to me,” she continued. “Every moment we spent together has been a lie, a lie of omission. All that time, you were harboring a secret. A vindictiveness in your nature. Something cold and callous.”
When he saw the tears collect along the lower rims of her eyes, he felt a sharp lance of pain strike his heart. He reached out again. “Verity.”
She took a step back, keeping her hands closed into fists at her sides. “You stole my brother’s dream, his life and his sense of purpose.”
“At the time, my father had just died and I thought that Hawk had been part of the scheme. I thought he was working with your father. You were all guilty in my mind,” he admitted and saw her flinch. “But that was before.”
“And you can justify turning your back on him as if he didn’t matter? Tell me, was it so easy to forget the man who had been your friend for so many years and leave him to suffer alone?”
He could see how this might play on her greatest fears and he wanted to reassure her. Reaching out, he took her hand, but she refused to unfurl her fingers.
“Verity, I would never leave you,” he said softly, the pulse at her wrist fluttering like that of a skittish bird. “That was different. I am different.”
“If you were in my place, would you accept someone’s word on faith alone when all the evidence pointed to the contrary? Or would you require proof?” She slipped free. Then, stopping at the door, she said, “I cannot marry you. I release you from any responsibility.”