Page 3 of The Duke's Concealed Vow
Chapter One
Spring, 1816, London
Rowan stared at the elegant white envelope in his hand. The rich purple calligraphy which addressed him matched the script that composed the invitation within the brilliant white envelope. The wax seal, which he had broken to read the contents of the note, was a shade lighter than the ink, and he stroked it idly with his thumb as he stared.
It was hardly the first invitation he had received in the eight years since his father’s untimely passing and his inheritance of the dukedom. However, it was one which filled him with apprehension. It was, in fact, one of a kind. For there was something about Lady Serena that only he knew. He was connected to her in a way that none would suspect. None, except for her own father.
According to the invitation, Lady Serena Yardley, the only daughter of the earl of Lindmere, had come of age and was making her debut into society. In his time as duke, he had sent back many event invitations with the RSVP line reading that he would not be attending. However, balls such as those debuting young ladies carried an unspoken expectation of the attendance of the higher-ranking society members. They also meant the certainty of unmarried young women desperately vying for the attention of all the wifeless gentlemen who would make suitable marriage matches for them.
Rowan shuddered, despite the warm spring breeze blowing in through his study window. He glanced up as movement caught his eye, noticing the hunter green drapes blowing softly against the matching daybed beneath the open panes. Theweather was lovely, with a clear blue sky and the foliage a brilliant green in the springtime sunlight. But the beauty did nothing for Rowan as his eyes traveled around the room, lingering on each of the figurines and trinkets that remained that had once belonged to his father.
Father, he thought, clenching his jaw. The late duke had died before Rowan could reconcile with him after their argument about marriage, and Rowan had never forgiven himself for it. It seemed that the dowager duchess hadn’t quite forgiven him, either, as she had grown more distant each year since the passing of her husband. They had once been quite close. But after the duke died, she began closing herself off to Rowan emotionally, avoiding him except at meals and taking frequent trips to Bath to stay with various friends. Rowan supposed he couldn’t blame her. After all, the late duke wouldn’t have been on the lake that day if it weren’t for their terrible fight.
He tossed the invitation to the side, rubbing his temple as his anxiety returned. Not only did he feel anxious, but there was a hint of something more beneath the raw nerves and sadness about his father that he couldn’t quite identify. Suddenly, the study, which had become his own sanctuary from the cold halls of the townhouse and his mother’s colder demeanor, seemed to be getting smaller around him, and his heart wouldn’t stop racing.
Desperate for fresh air, Rowan leapt from his desk and hurried outside, straight for his mother’s beloved rose garden. The garden had long since been a cherished place for reprieve for Rowan, and even more so since his father had died. The tall bushes filled with various shades of red, pink, yellow, white, and crimson flowers including old garden and tea roses muffled the chaotic sounds of the city, and they soothed the turmoil in Rowan’s heart.
The calming effect of the garden did not last long, however.A bush blooming with vibrant yellow roses brought back with force a memory from eight years prior. He stopped in his tracks, drawing in a sharp breath, feeling paralyzed as his mind retreated back to the memory. Back to the week following his father’s death, and to the gardens at Dalenwood Manor.
After his father’s funeral, he had thrown himself wholly into handling the loose ends left behind by the duke’s sudden death. He thought it would take his mind off the loss of his father, and off the guilt he felt at his last words to his father. However, his mother had found him in his father’s billiards room with silent tears streaming down his cheeks and a lost, wounded expression on his face. The dowager had turned herself so that she was directly facing him, her own eyes brimming with tears.
“Rowan, this is not how a duke should behave,” she said. “You must pull yourself together and carry on. Our reputation and your father’s legacy depend on it.”
Rowan had blinked, wiping furiously at his tears with his gloved hands. He shook his head, looking at his mother as though she were mad.
“Surely, even a duke is allowed to grieve,” he said. “I loved Father dearly, just as you did. I admired and respected him, and his loss came as a terrible shock to me, just as it did to you. I do not mourn in public, or in any way that interferes with my duties. But I feel Father’s loss more deeply than you know, and all I ask is time to cope with that grief.”
He had expected his mother to embrace him and at least acknowledge his pain and right to mourn. But her expression had hardened, and she had put her hands on her hips.
“If you loved and respected your father as much as you claim, you would not have spoken to him as you did before he died,” she said. Her tone was cold and unforgiving, and her eyes bore into him with accusation. “If not for that argument, he never would have been so foolish as to take the boat onto thewater with an impending storm.”
Rowan had shaken his head in painful disbelief. He had told his mother of the argument between him and his father the day after he died. Never would he have suspected that she would throw such a confession in his face in such a cruel way. Until that moment, he had not blamed himself for anything but being unnecessarily combative and harsh with the late duke. But right then, the weight of guilt for a murder crashed down on him, rendering him both speechless and motionless. All he could do was stare at his mother as she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
Overwhelmed with despair and loneliness as he realized that he would receive no comfort, he fled the billiard room, flying through the halls with no destination in mind. He eventually found himself stumbling through the Dalenwood Manor gardens, and he stopped, bending over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
Once air made its way into his body with more ease, he wandered aimlessly through the gardens, barely taking notice of the lilies, tulips, gardenias, violets and of course, roses that surrounded him. He walked until he found the statue of an angel in the middle of the gardens. He stopped, gazing up at it as if it might suddenly offer the peace he desperately sought.
To his surprise, it did. As he breathed in the fragrance from the circle of white rose bushes that surrounded the statue, and as he studied the angel’s stone face, he was granted the briefest sensation of tranquility and stillness in his frantic, grieving mind. The memory had been as vague as the conversation itself had been, even eight years later. But for a moment, he could allow himself to step outside the heartaches he had suffered since the argument with his father and enjoy the tranquility of nature.
He knew the moment wouldn’t last. The instant hereentered the manor, he would be encumbered by the heaviness of his father’s passing. But he was acutely reminded of the transformative power of a single moment. He would never be able to go back and change the words he said to his father or undo the disrespect that had led to his father storming away from him that tragic day. But now, he would be much more careful about his decisions and actions. And he would certainly never let himself get too close to someone whom he could hurt with thoughtlessness or irrationality. Or who could hurt him by succumbing to death.
“Your Grace?” Lawrence asked, seeming to appear out of nowhere.
Rowan jumped, whirling around to face the man who seemed to float rather than walk.
“Heavens, Lawrence,” Rowan said, exhaling sharply. “You gave me a terrible fright.”
The butler winced sheepishly and bowed.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said. “But it is time for you to prepare for the dinner engagement this evening.”
Rowan shook his head to rid his mind of the horrible thoughts swirling within it. Once his brain recalled to what engagement the butler was referring, he smiled softly. There was very little that brought Rowan any amount of happiness since his father died. But dining with his sister, Louisa Ashford, who had married the marquess of Westenbury, always granted him a little light inside the dark quagmire that was his mind. Harry himself would be joining Louisa this time, as well, having just returned from a business trip a couple days prior.
“Thank you, Lawrence,” he said. “I shall begin readying myself now.”
***
“Mother, we have something we would like to announce,”Louisa said just as the second course of their meal, Louisa’s favorite dish of turtle soup and toasted rolls with garlic garnished butter, was being served. “We were going to wait until the end of the meal, but I’m simply too excited.”
