Page 65 of To Woo and to Wed
His relationship with his father had always been a complex one: There was less of the tension that characterized the duke’s dealings with James, particularly in recent years, but instead the weight of expectation, the knowledge that his father had devoted his life to his title, and that he expected West to do the same. Everything about this seemed encapsulated in that portrait above the mantel: the fact that he was in his father’s arms, rather than his mother’s; the fact, too, that his father did not hold him close, affectionately, but rather stiffly displayed him for the viewer’s eye.
I have done my duty,he seemed to be saying.
And West knew that—in his father’s eyes—he was failing to do his. Never mind the years of his childhood he’d spent following his father around his various estates, the hours upon hours he’d spent in his father’s study, learning how to perform the role he’d been born to. Never mind that he’d excelled at school—first at Eton, then Oxford. Even his attempts at youthful high spirits and dalliance had been tame compared to those of his friends, the knowledge always lingering at the back of his mind that he was to be a duke someday, that other men would look up to him.
And then there had been the matter of choosing a wife.
He turned.
“Which discussion was this?” his father asked, his tone a master class in studied disinterest. “I have many conversations with manypeople over the course of a day, you know—I can’t say that every single one lingers in my mind.”
This was a lie. His father had an unusually good memory.
“I thought this one might have been a bit more memorable,” West said pleasantly. “You seemed to be…threateningme. If I did not marry.” He shook his head, as if amused by his own foolishness. “I am sure I must have misunderstood, however. I cannot think that you would do such a thing to your son and heir.” A pause, and then, his voice harder, he added, “Particularly not one whose happiness you have already destroyed once in the past.”
His father’s eyes locked upon him. “Is that what this is about, then?” he asked quietly. “Is this some sort of revenge?”
West inhaled slowly; he’d always been adept at keeping his temper where his father was concerned, even when it sorely tried his patience to do so. “Is my planning to marry the woman I’ve loved for the past seven yearsrevenge, Father? No.” He shook his head. “Though it is certainly very illustrative, in terms of your character, that you would think so.”
The duke rose to his feet now, evidently deciding that this was not a conversation he wished to conduct at a disadvantage. “You are perfectly well aware that when I speculated as to the future of Rosemere,” he said, “Lady Fitzwilliam was not the bride I had in mind for you.”
“Andyouare perfectly well aware,” West shot back, “that I am an adult with a mind of my own, capable of making my own decisions—and unwilling to allow you to arrange the details of my life to your liking.”
“There is nothing stopping me from carrying out that threat,” his father warned. “You have no claim to Rosemere.”Yet. “The property is in my name and unentailed, and I am certain I could find a willingbuyer—indeed, it will likely be easier to do so, now that you’ve devoted so much time and care to its upkeep.”
“This is true,” West agreed thoughtfully, and some small part of him rejoiced at the quick raising of his father’s brows, a small tell—one that he ordinarily would have been careful to hide. West must truly have him rattled. “But it’s equally true that there is nothing stopping me from marrying Lady Fitzwilliam—tomorrow, if I wished to.”
“Called the banns, have you?” his father asked skeptically.
“Belfry was able to obtain a special license when he married Lady Emily, you know—evidently the Archbishop of Canterbury is an old family friend.” West picked up a vase from the mantel, examined the maker’s mark painted on its underside, and carefully set it down again. “It is useful to have connections, I find.”
His father took several slow, measured steps toward him. “Do not attempt to bluff with me, West,” he said softly. “Not when you’ve so much more to lose than I do.”
In that moment, West felt nothing so much as an overwhelming sadness for his father—because he actually thought this was true. He thought that West had everything to lose, but seemed incapable of realizing that West had far, far more to gain.
Rosemere was important to him—it had once belonged to his mother, and he had spent years as its caretaker. The work had made him feel close to her, to a woman he barely remembered. And he cared for his tenants, had worked hard to ensure that they were treated fairly and protected. The thought of giving it up caused a sharp pain deep within him. But when compared to Sophie—
“I’ll see about sending you the account books for Rosemere,” he said, reaching out to shake his father’s hand. “So that whoever the new owner is can see that it is well cared for.”
“West.” The duke sounded almost… uncertain. West was not sure that he’d ever heard his father sound this way. “She can’t possibly be worth this.”
West met his father’s gaze directly. “The fact that you still think that, after all this time, proves to me that we’ve nothing further to discuss.” He paused, then added, “I suppose you have received Lady Wexham’s invitation to our betrothal ball?”
His father’s voice was curt. “Indeed.”
“I expect to see you there, then,” West said, and turned without waiting for a reply. He could not prevent himself from slowing his steps a bit, hoping in vain that his father would call after him—but he did not allow himself to come to a stop, and he walked out the door with his head held high.
Sophie was leaving her solicitor’s office after a meeting with him a couple of days later when she found West awaiting her outside, standing beside his phaeton.
She raised an eyebrow at him as she approached. “I do not recall that we had an engagement.”
West extended a hand, which she took. “It’s a fine day, and I thought I might persuade you to go on a drive with me in the park.”
She looked around with exaggerated curiosity, seeking the carriage she’d arrived in.
West cleared his throat. “I might have taken the liberty of sending your driver home, after promising that I’d see you there safely.”
“I shall be having a word with him,” Sophie said, allowing him to help her climb up into the phaeton. “If he permits any ruffian off thestreet to announce himself my escort and relieve him of his duties, I think he needs a scolding.”
