Page 17 of The Duke's Rebellious Love
It was not overly complimentary how quickly Miss Blackman picked up her pace.
On reaching the belvedere, Woolwich made the necessary introductions, and recognition danced over Miss Blackman when she was introduced to Lady Lamont. His mother’s goddaughter was the heiress who Trawler had almost married before wedding Lady Viola instead. Lady Lamont was a slight little thing, very solemn and with large, dark eyes who could not be much more than eighteen. Miss Blackman gave Lady Lamont a warm smile when their names were exchanged.
His mother was looking well. The dowager was a tall, able-looking woman whose stern looks had been handed down to him. From her, Woolwich had inherited that high forehead, aristocratic nose, and cut-glass cheekbones. She was all elegance, and her clothes looked freshly bought. She must have been in Town for several days, and yet he had not heard from her, not one word.
“What are you doing in Town, mother? I did not know you had ventured up. I would have made you welcome at my townhouse.”
“I’m escorting Lady Lamont here, enjoying her first proper Season,” the dowager said. “I thought it best to go to my dowager residence and not disturb your bachelor abode.”
She had not bothered to inform him that his son was in Town. His mother was going against their agreement. Beau would not be forced to endure thetonbefore he was ready. And that point would only be when Woolwich deemed the child so—until the boy was at least eighteen. Despite the desire, the overwhelming hunger to look at his son, Woolwich stared at the bridge of his mother’s nose instead. He was angry at the disregard of the arrangement they had come to.
The group was an awkward one. He had not seen poor Lady Lamont since her almost wedding to his friend Trawler, and the thin girl did not seem overly comfortable in high society. Next to her, close to bouncing on her feet, was Miss Blackman, who had been introduced to everyone, smiled at all, and then promptly started talking to his son.
Much to his surprise, Beau was sheepishly smiling back at her and lifting to show Miss Blackman the handsome blue boat that Woolwich had brought him for Christmas. In the brief moments when his son was distracted, Woolwich swept worried eyes over the boy, noting whether he had eaten enough, whether he was well or sick, down to how clean he appeared and the length of his hair. Concern, worry, love, as well as a desire to wrap his jacket around the child, washed over him, but when Beau glanced over towards him, Woolwich hastily looked away. Hiding such unruly emotions beneath an urbane nod in his general direction.
Flouting convention entirely, Miss Blackman bent down and examined the boat in great detail and then declared to Beau, “Shall we see if the boat floats? Perhaps we could even race them against the others in the water? I do believe it to be seaworthy.” She looked expectantly up, clearly seeking out volunteers at her suggestion.
“There is no sea here,” Beau said.
“No, true, but there is a lake,” Miss Blackman said. She pointed down towards the large stretch of water.
Close by, there was a cluster of other children playing on a jetty that stretched out into the waves. From the belvedere in which they stood, Woolwich could make out the Earl of Langley playing with his sons. He was laughing at the children’s high jinks, and nestled in the waves was a similar little boat to the one in Beau’s arms. It would be an ideal situation for Beau to join in with children roughly the same age as him. But that would defy all the rules protecting Beau that Woolwich had put in place after Annabelle’s death. He might desire to play as Langley was with his offspring, to ruffle the children’s hair and laugh at their wild suggestions, but he was too bitter, too consumed with resentment to allow such negativity near his innocent child. Likewise, he was too scared to let Beau go on his own. The irony was that as a reformed rake, Langley would hardly have been cast as a doting parent a decade ago. A bitterness kindled in Woolwich’s chest for how society was, to his mind it was a cancer he would not allow to consume his only child.
Woolwich looked at Miss Blackman. There was a similarly hopeful expression on her face as Beau wore. She, too, was awaiting a reply from him. With a purity which his cynicism might burn away all too quickly. How had he not seen that before? How had he not seen that she deserved someone as pious and dull as thatdon, who would keep her isolated from the dangers of the world. Shame for his actions bubbled up in him, yet another person who he might pollute merely by being close to them.
Turning from the expectant face of his son, and the bright look of Miss Blackman, Woolwich turned back to his mother. “Is the dowager residence suitable for the three of you? If there are changes or alterations required, I must be informed, and the bill sent to me. I seem to remember you telling me it needed remodelling.”
There was a movement behind him, and he could hear Lady Lamont start to engage Miss Blackman in conversation. The former’s voice wavered as she spoke, her light tone drowned out by the dowager’s comments on her London home. There were several improvements she deemed necessary. Unable to properly listen to his mother’s requirements, Woolwich started to eavesdrop on the conversation between Lady Lamont and Miss Blackman.
“I am supposed to watch the boy,” Lady Lamont said.
“He seems a dear child. I have a great many nephews, and I do not believe one of them is as well-behaved as him.” To this comment, Miss Blackman did not add in, ‘so unlike his father in temperament’, although Woolwich had no doubt she was tempted to. He was being the most ill-mannered brute, and if Miss Blackman chose to tell his mother on his behaviour, he would hardly have been able to blame her.
“My father says the more time I spend with children, the more maternal I shall become,” Lady Lamont said. “And thus, I will then be happier to wed. When he arranges a suitable match for me.”
“The notions of parents are often inexplicable to their children,” Miss Blackman said.
This statement had been made at the same volume as the others, but sadly, it was during a pause of the dowager’s who turned surprised eyes on Miss Blackman. For a moment, silence reigned, and the dowager laughed and smiled in good humour at Miss Blackman.
“I believe you are related to Lady Hurstbourne.” It was less of a question and more of a statement as the dowager raked her eyes back over Miss Blackman. Woolwich saw his mother’s eyes flick from Miss Blackman’s one loose curl to the small stain on his jacket’s cloth, but she made no comment. To those unfamiliar with his mother, they often found her as severe as Woolwich tried to be. It would take someone who knew the dowager better than Miss Blackman could to see the genuine interest in his mother’s shrewd eyes.
“I am, madam. She is my older sister,” Miss Blackman said.
“Do you say such things to her young son?” Woolwich asked.
“Constantly,” Miss Blackman replied. “Robbie—that is, Lord Lynde is far younger than Lord Woolwich here, but he already has a great many opinions.”
“All inherited from his Aunt,” Woolwich said without thinking.
His mother turned her wide eyes on him for such rudeness, but Miss Blackman did not seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, she laughed. “I am sure I ferment far too many rebellions in the child. Between myself, and his other Aunt, Mrs. Trawler, the boy will never have a dull moment.”
Immediately, all present looked towards Lady Lamont, who blushed scarlet at being viewed so. When Lady Lamont raised her head, she looked directly at Miss Blackman. “Please do tell your Mrs. Trawler that there is no ill will on my part towards her or her husband. I wish them both very happy.”
Before either he or his mother could interject, Miss Blackman reached out and clasped Lady Lamont’s hand in hers. “You are a good deal better than I. And probably Mrs. Trawler as well. For I would roundly curse the pair of them, were I you.”
Much to Woolwich’s surprise, he saw Lady Lamont actually smile, a true one that reached her eyes. There she was again, bloody Miss Blackman having such kindness in her that she could be generous to a woman who she had no loyalty to or reason to be sweet. Woolwich had known Lady Lamont since she was no older than Beau, and she had been bullied and bossed about by her father. She needed someone kind like Clara—
“My God, the child!” His mother’s shriek cut into Woolwich’s wandering thoughts.
