Page 64 of The Duelist for the Ton
I wish to enjoy the time we have left before you are no longer in my life.
As her brother’s voice echoed in her mind, a cold hand slid across her heart. What if his words were not a reference to the possibility of her marriage…
…but a death knell?
Chapter Fourteen
There wasn’t ahouse in England to match the beauty of Rosecombe Park. Not because of the size of the grounds, though they were extensive, but the air of understated elegance and lack of artifice. The road inclined upward toward the main building, which dominated the landscape, stretching from left to right, the red-bricked façade three stories high. What must be at least a hundred windows stared out across the land, all-seeing and ever watching.
It ought to have shrouded the surrounding countryside in an aura of oppression—and, perhaps, like most grand houses, it was most likely designed and constructed with that objective in mind. But this particular building, though grander than any other structure for several miles, instead carried a nurturing air, like a benevolent parent standing guard over the world, harboring pride over everything in its vicinity, ready to nurture and inspire.
Not all grand houses carried such a welcoming air.
But then, not all grand houses had a mistress like the Duchess of Whitcombe, who, like the house that had been her home for two years, stood silently, serenely, in understated attire, waiting to greet her guests.
The carriage drew to a halt beside the main building, and a liveried footman approached and opened the door, placing a block on the ground. He bowed, then stepped back.
“Thank you, Charles,” the duchess said, approaching the carriage. “Colonel Reid, I’m so glad you’re come. I was beginning to fear you’d decided to remain in London.”
Stephen climbed out of the carriage and bowed. “Forgive me, Duchess, for I was delayed on the road.”
“And…your sister?” She peered into the carriage.
“Angela’s still in Town.”
“She’s well, I trust?”
He nodded. “Perfectly so, I thank you. But I decided that she should remain in London.”
“What a pity. I was looking forward to seeing her again.”
“I fear she’s not quite ready for Society. She…she acted a little inappropriately at Vauxhall Gardens.”
“And you took it upon yourself to punish her by leaving her behind? I think…” She paused then shook her head. “Forgive me, I spoke out of turn and do not have my husband here to temper my frankness.”
“I find much to admire in your frankness, Duchess,” he said, smiling. “You say that which others yearn to say, but lack the courage.”
She let out a laugh. “That’s exactly what Portia said to me this morning when I told Foxton that he was acting as if he were her father, not her brother.”
“Is Lady Portia here?” he said, aware of the tightness in his voice.
“Let me take you to her,” came the reply. “She was most distracted earlier, and I feared for her success in the archery competition. Then, as soon as we heard the carriage, she confided in me that—” She broke off and shook her head. “I’m doing it again, colonel. My poor husband despairs that I will never become presentable in Society. I never say the right thing.”
“That rather depends on one’s definition of theright thing,” Stephen said, fighting the urge to ask her to continue. What hadLady Portia confided to the duchess about? “I prefer honesty over propriety.”
“A quality common among your profession, I think. Soldiering requires a degree of honesty that most gentleman lack.” She turned to the footman. “Charles, would you see to the colonel’s belongings and show him to his room? We’ll delay the archery until he joins us.”
“Don’t wait on my account,” Stephen said.
Her lips curved in a smile. “Colonel, my guests—at leastoneguest—would never forgive me if we started without you, unless you wish to join my husband and the rest of the gentlemen? Charles can escort you to the shooting party. My husband has set aside a shotgun for you, a Westley Richards, which, he says, is one of the finest.”
At that moment, a crack echoed through the air, and Stephen flinched, fighting the image of the battlefield that rose in his mind.
Then a soft hand touched his arm.
“Or perhaps you might prefer to come to the aid of Earl Hardwick. He’s the only gentleman partaking in the archery, and I’m sure he’d appreciate a little male company.”
The garden came into view, a vast stretch of green, dotted with trees and shrubs, in a seemingly random formation, yet it gave an air of harmony. Birdsong filled the air, together with the rush of the wind through the trees. Then Stephen caught the sound of voices, punctuated by laughter.
