Chapter Two

 

Laurence Redbrook, Duke of Ludlow, studied the invitation in his hand. Lord Rayment had invited him to a party that was to take place in just a week’s time, and although Laurence found the gesture kind, he would not go. One week was not enough time to make a place in his busy schedule, for one reason. However, that was more an excuse than a true reason. What kept him from accepting this invitation, and others like it, was the fact that the ton took it upon themselves to stare and whisper behind fans and hands whenever he entered a room. Or rather, when he stumbled into a room.

He had grown accustomed to his limp, but those of the peerage felt sorry for him. Either that or they gave him looks of disgust. And who could blame them? He was but half a man, destined with the curse of lameness for the remainder of his life.

Not only was it a curse, but it was also a reminder of how he had failed.

Reaching across his desk, he grabbed the glass of brandy and gulped it, the fiery liquid burning his throat. It was not that he wished to drink, but as he rarely left his home, he often found himself doing what dukes were wont to do: to drink and at times engage in a game of cards with his butler, Weber. However, more important matters had come to light, one of which was to find a wife in order to produce an heir.

He laughed at the notion before taking another drink, a sip this time, of his brandy. No woman, especially one of the ton, would wish to be seen with the likes of him. Duke or not, his limp would bring ridicule to a lady, and no woman should be forced to bear such shame. It was his burden alone to carry, the secret of the cause of his limp belonging only to him.

That did not mean he did not dream of having a woman at his side. She would be a woman of beauty and intelligence, one who could see past his shortcomings and see that he was a decent man underneath. Someone with whom such a woman might enjoy laughter and conversation.

He sighed as he placed the now empty glass on the table. No such woman could be found, and he had to resign himself to that fate. Yes, there were plenty of eligible women who would jump at the chance at marrying a duke; however, marrying a young lady who saw only what she would gain from him financially was not appealing at all. Furthermore, spending the remainder of his years listening to the droll conversations of those women held even less appeal.

He glanced down at the invitation once more. A part of him dared him to accept and make a rare appearance. It would be good for his business to meet other men in a casual setting; men with whom he could converse and perhaps with whom he could arrange meetings.

The truth of the matter was he knew himself all too well. In the end he would be left in shambles. It was the reason he no longer accepted invitations to gatherings.

There was always a woman who piqued his interest, but the same thing occurred whenever he approached her. Any conversation halted and, oftentimes, the woman to whom he wished to speak would pretend interest in anything except him. As if he were of no more importance than the servants serving the drinks.

Once they realized he was a duke, however, they would applaud his every word with false smiles and cloying words, for a duke had title and wealth, something any young woman coveted. Yet, when he walked away, the whispers would follow. And he knew what they were whispering, even if he could not hear the words. They had to be speaking of the duke who was not a full man. The duke who was lacking. The cripple who was not worthy of the love of a woman.

The door opened, and Weber entered. The butler had seemed to age much in the last few years. His once dark hair was now gray, and he had lines around his eyes that were much less pronounced than they had been in the past. Suddenly, it occurred to Laurence that he, too, was growing old, and one day he would be like Weber. Alone. The thought brought terror to his heart for a moment before passing as Weber approached with a silver tray that held a letter.

“Your Grace,” Weber said with a bow to his head as he extended the tray to Laurence. “This arrived a moment ago. The messenger said the matter was urgent.”

“Thank you.” Laurence took the letter, broke the seal, and read it silently to himself.

 

My Lord Duke,

 

Although it has been some time since we last met, I am afraid I must appeal to your goodwill concerning the matter of which we last spoke. Your presence is needed at Scarlett Hall, and although I do not hazard to impress a time on you, I do ask—no, I beg—that you come quickly.

 

Sincerely,

Eleanor Lambert

 

Laurence read over the short letter once more. About what matter could Lady Lambert possibly wish to speak to him? It had been a year since the passing of Mr. Barnet, and he had not seen Lady Lambert since. He had no recollection of any previous conversation beyond those typical at a wake. He had been present at the funeral of both the woman’s husband as well as her son-in-law, which had taken place within a year of one another. Had he said something out of the ordinary at the latter?

Yet, no. He could not recall anything specific beyond the usual words of condolences and the offer of aid if either she or her daughter were in need of it. Perhaps that was the reason for the letter; she was in need of his aid. As it was, he had not spoken those words lightly; he never did.

“Your Grace?” Weber, who had not yet left the room, asked. “Is everything all right?”

“I am uncertain,” Laurence said as he rose from the chair. “Tell the messenger that I will go to Scarlett Hall at once. Have my carriage ready immediately.”

The butler bowed and then hurried from the room as Laurence tidied his desk. Many years before, Lady Lambert had consoled Laurence after the loss of his parents. Her words of kindness and wisdom had always remained with him, and he hoped that, somehow, he could return the favor. It appeared that time had come.

Weber was waiting at the door with his coat and hat. Outside, the sun shone, the birds sang, and the grounds on which he resided were meticulous. Although everything appeared perfect on the surface, it was all an illusion, for he felt as if it were all crumbling down around him.

He had no time to worry about such things, however, for the carriage trumbled around the corner of the house and came to a stop before him. As he rode away, Laurence knew that, although he would not attend parties, he would leave the house to honor a promise. And whatever Lady Lambert asked of him, he would comply.

***

The carriage came to a stop before the front doors of Scarlett Hall, and Laurence found himself filled with curiosity as he alighted from the vehicle. The house was renowned for its grand architecture with its dark gray bricks and large windows peeking through ivy that covered its facade. Built several generations earlier, Scarlett Hall was easily double that of Camellia Estates, the large home Laurence had inherited upon his father’s death. Yet, even if his home was considered stately, it lacked the large fountain that was encircled by the drive and the grand torrents of the corner towers of the house. The gardens had always been immaculate with carefully trimmed hedges and a variety of flowerbeds that rivaled those of the Royal Palace.

A movement to his right made him turn his head, and his eyes fell upon Mrs. Isabel Barnet as she emerged from a gate flanked by large hedges.

Mrs. Barnet was beautiful, far more so than that about which poets could write. Golden curls framed her face and blue eyes expressed the strength she carried. The woman had endured much in her one and twenty years, and although he had only seen her a few times over the years, he had always admired her for that strength.

His smile faded as the woman slowed her steps, seeming surprised to see him. Had she expected someone else? He felt foolish that he had believed for a moment that her steady gait had been for him, and he sighed as he looked down at the ground. Well, he had business to conduct; time could not be wasted on what he could not have.

When he looked up again, the woman was leaning against a large tree, and she seemed to be studying him. It was on rare occasions when anyone gazed at him openly without a grimace upon his or her face.

Well, he was not here to speak with Mrs. Barnet, even if he wished it were the case. Lady Lambert would be awaiting his arrival inside. Therefore, he made his way up the steps, and although making such a trek could oftentimes be a burden, today it caused him no pain.

The door opened before he was able to knock, the butler giving him a deep bow.

“Your Grace. It is an honor to see you again. Please, come in.”

Laurence gave the man a smile. “And it is good to see you again, Forbes.” He looked around the foyer. Above him hung a massive chandelier, and a wide oak staircase with crimson carpeting led up to a landing that branched out in either direction to another set of stairs that led to the next floor. “I received a message from Lady Lambert to call.”

Forbes swallowed visibly. “She is in the sitting room, Your Grace. If you will follow me.”

Something was definitely amiss. It was not like the man to show any indication of concern. Politeness, yes. Gladness, indeed. Concern? Not unless what was causing such apprehension was of the gravest importance.

“Thank you,” Laurence said. He followed Forbes past the staircase and down a short hallway with various paintings of former Barons Lambert hanging from the walls, a vase placed between each, although they stood empty of any flowers.

A few doors down, they stopped, and Forbes knocked before opening the door. “Lady Lambert,” he said with a diffident bow, “His Grace the Duke of Ludlow.”

Laurence stepped into the room decorated with furniture covered in gold fabric and the walls displaying large tapestries of garden settings. Lady Lambert stood beside the window in a yellow dress, and when she turned, Laurence felt a pang in his heart. The woman he had known always wore a smile, but today she bore a look of sadness, and he worried something terrible had happened.

“Your Grace,” she said with a deep curtsy. “I appreciate you responding so quickly on such short notice. I apologize for the urgency.”

“I was happy to come. It is good to see you.”

“Please, have a seat. Would you like a brandy? Wine? Tea?”

He took the chair she offered. “No, thank you.”

She sat on the sofa across from him and wrung her fingers in her lap. “I am unsure where to begin. I have come to a place where I must ask a very big favor of you.”

“Are you and your children in good health?” he asked, uneasiness filling him.

“Oh, yes, we are all well.” She glanced toward the large window that looked out to the gardens. “We are well enough.”

Laurence sighed with relief. “Then how is it I can aid you?” When she did not answer right away, he added, “Lady Lambert, when I was a child, you consoled me in my hour of grief. You are a friend, and there is nothing you can ask of me that can change that. Nor will anything you request offend me. Therefore, speak freely.”

“I appreciate you saying so,” she said, and she relaxed somewhat. “When Charles died, everything changed. Responsibilities that I had never known were now mine. I say this not in complaint but rather in order to make you understand the position in which I find myself at the moment. One day, Nathanial will inherit Scarlett Hall and all of the business holdings once owned by his father. However, that day is far off, for the boy is but thirteen years of age.”

“Did you need advice on your holdings?” Laurence asked in an attempt to understand her request to speak with him. “I have the finest accountants who can also be of service.”

She shook her head. “No, it is nothing like that.” She looked down at her hands once more. When she spoke again, she did not look up at him. “I seek your aid in saving Scarlett Hall.”

Laurence leaned back in his chair in shock. Scarlett Hall was in trouble? How could that be? From what he understood, the house, the lands, all of it had been dutifully maintained. As far as he knew, none of Lord Lambert’s holdings had fallen into ruin, or at least he had not heard any rumors of such hardships. None of this made sense.

“We, that is I, am in debt. In two months, if I do not pay a particular sum, I will lose our home.”

“This sum,” he asked with caution, “how much is it?” To ask such a question was outright rude, but he had to know if he was to help her. His coffers were hefty, but if the amount owed was too much, he worried he could be of little help.

“Seventeen thousand pounds.” Her whispered reply was choked. “Although I am not asking to borrow money from you.”

Confused, and yet intrigued, Laurence leaned forward. “What is it you ask of me then?”

She looked up at him, her eyes rimmed with tears. “That you marry my Isabel,” she replied. “To provide her with a life I cannot. And in exchange, I would ask that you ease the debt that is owed.” The woman hung her head, and Laurence could feel the shame she carried. The amount of debt was large and would take some time if he were to help her. But marriage? Despite the fact that he found her daughter quite handsome, how could he expect such a woman to be interested in him? It did not matter that many marriages were based on similar circumstances, but he did not wish to be in such a predicament.

“Lady Eleanor, to produce that much cash in a short amount of time will be difficult, but I may be able to procure it through various avenues. But, as to marrying your daughter…”

“She is a good woman,” Lady Lambert insisted.

Laurence raised a hand and the women went quiet. “All your daughters are women of integrity, and I would never speak an ill word against them. However, it is not Mrs. Barnet who is the problem, but rather it is me.” He pursed his lips. How much should he share with this woman? She was only an acquaintance, and he had no obligation to her or to her daughters. What she was asking was a great step; one he was certain he did not wish to take. “Not even two hours ago, I contemplated my life and how lonely I am.”

This made her brighten. “Isabel is lonely, as well. Not only would a marriage to her save our home, but it would also bring about happiness to you both.”

He shook his head at the woman’s words. “I have no desire to wed.” He cocked his head. “And Mrs. Barnet? What does she think of this arrangement?” Lady Lambert stood and walked to the window, confirming his suspicions. “I see,” he said, stifling a sigh. “She is a widow and far too old to offer her hand in the traditional sense. I have a feeling that if she were asked, she would not wish to marry me.”

“I believe that she would,” the baroness replied. “Her spirit has been crushed, and I know you are the man she needs to break the curse that has fallen upon her.”

“Curse?” Laurence asked in astonishment. “What curse?”

“The curse of this home,” she replied. Then she motioned him to the window.

He stood beside her and peered through the glass. There he recognized Miss Hannah and Miss Juliet speaking to one another near a large tree.

“Hannah has yet to find a suitor, and Juliet is not yet of age. Isabel has already completed the customary mourning period and is already well-acquainted with the expectations of running a household. Granted, she did not marry a titled man, but he was the younger son of an earl, so she also understands what it takes to manage servants and to host parties. Nathanial will eventually finish his schooling and therefore be able to take over the running of Scarlett Hall. Yet, until then? To lose our home, our wealth, I fear for his future as well as the future of my daughters.” She turned toward him, and he had to stop himself from taking a step back. “I know this is sudden, and I do not expect you to make a decision today. However, I would make one request before you decide.”

“Very well.”

“In two nights’ time, be our honored guest for dinner. After we have eaten, spend time with Isabel in the drawing room. If at that time you still do not wish to marry her, I shall never speak of it again.” Although her words were clipped, they reeked of her desperation.

Laurence turned his gaze back out to the garden, and he found he could not stop the smile that formed on his lips as Mrs. Barnet walked toward them up the path. Although she was some distance away, he could not help but wish to be at her side, for her smile and composure were things for which he longed in himself.

“You say she is sad,” he said. “However, I see a woman who stands with her head held high and a smile upon her face. I would say she has a strength about her.”

“She is much like this house,” Lady Lambert replied with a small smile. “By all appearances, it is magnificent; however, inside it is falling apart.”

“Then I shall come to dinner in two nights,” he said. Something inside him was drawn to the young widow with the secretive smile and the power to carry the world on her shoulders.