Chapter Nine

 

When Laurence returned home, he realized that, for the first time in a very long time, he was happy. Not only had Isabel accepted his offer of marriage, but it was also clear she shared his optimism. It had been his worry that she would accept but with reservation, and, although he was not ignorant to the fact reservations were expected, her seemingly positive attitude pleased him.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Weber said as he removed the coat Laurence wore, draped it over an arm, and took his hat from him. “All went well, I assume?”

“Not only well; it was perfect.” Laurence gave Weber a friendly slap on the back. He knew showing the man such intimacy made the poor butler uncomfortable, but Laurence had few, if any, friends, so the old butler was stuck being as close a friend as Laurence had. “Soon, we shall have a new member of our household.”

Weber smiled. “Excellent, Your Grace. Might I ask who this guest will be?”

“She will not be a guest, my good man,” Laurence said. “She will be the new mistress of the house!”

“That is good news, Your Grace. However, who is this woman?”

Laurence laughed. In his excitement, he had forgotten to mention her name! “Isabel Lambert, or rather Mrs. Barnet. We are to be wed in a fortnight.”

“Congratulations, Your Grace. Mrs. Barnet is a sterling example of a lady. I have no doubt the new duchess will fill her role well.”

“Indeed. She has a strength; unlike anyone I have ever known. These halls will no longer be empty, for her presence will fill it with happiness unlike any we have seen in a very long time!” Then a thought occurred to him. “Weber, do you believe Mother and Father would approve of her?”

The old butler smiled. “The years I spent serving your parents were some of the finest times of my life. I have no doubt they would be pleased, for they only ever wanted you to be happy.”

“Thank you,” Laurence replied. “I will retire to the drawing room. Have a bottle of red brought up.”

Weber cleared his throat. “You have a guest waiting in the drawing room.”

“A guest?” Laurence asked. “I was not expecting anyone, especially at this hour.”

“Have you forgotten me already?”

Laurence turned to find his sister Harriet approaching from the hall that led to the drawing room. Her red hair glinted with gold hairpins, as did the jewels on her neck and ears, and her emerald-green gown was of the finest silks covered in the most delicate lace with ornate patterns throughout. Clearly, her spending had not decreased since he had last seen her. He would be surprised if the woman’s husband had any money left in his coffers.

“I did not expect you for some time,” Laurence said as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “What are you doing here?”

Harriet snorted. “Do you understand the troubles I have had my whole life, Weber?” she asked of the butler. “My own brother does not welcome me into his home with open arms.” She sniffed as the man left without replying. “The old fool never spoke to me anyway.”

Laurence took a steadying breath. Old Weber knew who paid his wages. “What brings you here, Harriet?” he asked.

“I needed time away from Ambrose. You there,” she called to a passing maid, “get that mangy old butler to bring me some wine to the drawing room.” The maid bobbed a quick curtsy and scurried off to do the woman’s bidding, and Harriet threaded her arm through that of Laurence. “Come. Let us go and relax. My journey here was more than taxing.”

What Laurence wanted was time alone in order to think and enjoy his contentedness in the prospect of marriage. Nevertheless, he allowed Harriet to lead him to the drawing room. His sister was disagreeable enough without being denied such a simple request. She could stack requests as quickly as a beaver creates a dam, and the possible disaster left in her wake could be as terrible as the flooding left by the clever rodent. Furthermore, it would not be long before she became bored and returned to her husband in Malmsberry, a half-day’s carriage ride from Camellia Estates.

“You need more candles in here,” she declared as she took a seat on the sofa. “I have told you before; when one uses few candles, it gives the appearance that one is struggling with money.”

“I recall your wise counsel,” Laurence said as he went to a cart and poured himself a brandy. With Harriet visiting, the stronger the spirits the better. “There have been more pressing matters with which to deal.”

Harriet laughed just as Weber entered the room. The butler poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her with a bow.

“Thank you, Servant,” she said in her haughty tone and a dismissive wave of her hand. “That is all.”

The man gave an acknowledging nod and turned to Laurence. “Is there anything else you need, Your Grace?”

Laurence waved a hand to indicate he did not, and Weber placed the wine bottle on the table and left the room. It was not the butler who rankled him. When the man was gone, Laurence turned to his sister. “Weber has been with our family for years. If you wish to call him anything, at least call him by his name.”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “You always have treated the servants as if they had any significance. If it were not for me, you would have them wearing clothing like ours rather than the livery they should be wearing.”

Ignoring her rude remarks, Laurence walked over to stand behind one of the blue high-backed chairs. “I imagine you are wanting to visit old friends,” he said hopefully as he leaned with his forearms on the back of the chair.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Do not worry, I will keep out of your way.” Then she gave him a secretive smile that made him stifle a sigh. “You recall my friend Miss Margaret Portsmouth, do you not?”

“I do,” Laurence replied. “Will you be spending time with her?”

“Of course. However, she is looking for a suitor. You should speak to her. She is much like you in that she rarely leaves her home most days. Although, guilt is not the cause of her monkish behavior.” Laurence tensed, and she smiled at him over the rim of her wine glass. “I only speak the truth, and you know it.”

He had hoped his sister would leave before he had the chance to inform her of his upcoming nuptials, but it appeared that was not to be. Therefore, with reluctance, he said, “There will be no need for me to meet her, for I am marrying in a fortnight.”

Harriet coughed and set the glass on the table. “You are what?” she asked as she dabbed at her chin with a kerchief. “Marrying? To whom? I certainly am eager to know what woman would consign herself to be imprisoned within these walls with the likes of you.”

Although anger raged inside him, Laurence tempered it. Too many years had been wasted arguing with this woman, and he had no desire to start that up again. “Isabel Barnet will be my new duchess.”

Harriet gaped at him. “Baron Lambert’s daughter?” she asked in astonishment. “Has she not already been married?”

Laurence downed the brandy and poured himself another. “She was, and her husband was an honorable man who met his death far too young.”

To his surprise, Harriet laughed. Bold the woman was with the servants, but to be so disrespectful of a deceased man who had been of the ton was more than unexpected. “You speak as if this man was a friend.” She shook her head. “I am sure his wife will find comfort in your coffers.”

“Isabel is not after my wealth!” Laurence snapped. “She is not like that.”

Harriet stood and pointed at his injured limb. “We both know that your leg is quite the cause for embarrassment for you and those around you. What other reason would she have for agreeing to marry you but to get to your money?”

What he wished to say was that the reason was for their happiness as well as to save a family home. However, he had learned long ago that any argument thrown at his sister would only be used against him in some heinous way. He had been happy not ten minutes earlier, but now, the old worries crept over him. Instinctively, his hand went to his leg as Harriet came up and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I know my words seem cruel,” she said. “And I know that you secretly hate me.”

“I do not hate you,” he murmured. And the words were true. Did he find her distasteful? Yes. Worthy of pity? Most definitely. However, he did not hate her. She was his sister after all and the only remaining member of his family left.

She ignored his protest, perhaps because it came out more as a whisper. “It is only because I care for you. I have always looked after you, especially after the death of our parents.”

The statement was silly, Laurence knew, for he had been raised by his mother’s brother. Harriet had been but ten when their parents were killed, and their great-aunt Francine had taken her in. She was raised with the best tutors money could buy, and she was for want of nothing. Aunt Francine, a widow by the age of forty, died a wealthy woman at seventy-eight and had left her entire fortune to Harriet.

However, Laurence chose not to argue with his sister if it was something he did not have to do. What good would come from it? She paid little heed to anything he said unless it affected her in some way.

“It was I,” she continued as she took the glass from his hand, “who defended your name when accusations came against you concerning the death of our parents. It cost me dearly, but I would do it again.”

What price did Harriet have to pay? he wondered. Yet, as he considered that question, he realized she had paid much. She had lost her parents. “I am not responsible,” he said, choking on the words even as he spoke them.

Harriet shook her head. “Let us speak of happier times, not of your past.” She took a drink from his glass. Was that a smile that played on her lips behind the rim? No, she was mean-spirited, but she was not cruel. “I plan to leave tomorrow to call on Margaret. However, I must admit my funds are low. Do you have a pittance to give your sister?” She pushed her bottom lip forward. “Must a sister beg her brother for a show of kindness?”

He sighed. “No.” He reached into his coat pocket and produced a handful of notes. Without waiting, Harriet took them from his hand.

“Thank you,” she said in a gay tone. “I am happy for you and Mrs. Barnet. You deserve a woman who will take care of and serve you.” Laurence was shocked that she would take time to congratulate him, even on his announcement of marriage. “I shall retire to bed now. I look forward to spending time with you and your betrothed.”

Laurence wished his sister a good night, and when she was gone, he poured himself another glass of brandy. What he hoped was that the woman would finish whatever business she had and return home immediately after. However, knowing his sister, she would remain simply to drive him mad.

A jolt of pain shot through his leg, and memories returned of how the leg had been damaged and the deaths surrounding it. He downed the entire glass of brandy in one go, hoping the fire it caused in his throat would take his mind from the pain in his leg—and in his heart. Hopefully, Isabel would see past his shortcomings and perhaps one day even Harriet would forgive him his trespasses.

However, he had learned that one cannot know the future. No, he is forced to wait until it arrives.