Page 11 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
Meeting Mick Trewlove.“The fireworks, I should think.”
“I’ve heard they’re quite the thing.”
“You should take the duchess to see them.”
A sadness washed over his features. The duchess seldom left the residence, never attended balls or soirees. Aslyn suspected they might have never left the country estate if it were not for the fact a lady of her position should have Seasons, even if her path to the altar was set. She needed to begin establishing her place in Society so she could be a proper wife and see to her duties. “I shall speak with her about it,” he said quietly.
Yet Aslyn knew as well as he did the discussion wouldn’t bear fruit. She wondered if Kip would be as patient with her idiosyncrasies as the duke was with his wife’s. She knew the couple loved each other deeply. It wasn’t unusual to find them sitting in the garden in the evenings holding hands. Aslyn suspected there was nothing for which the duchess could ask that the duke would not give her.
“What are your plans for the day?” he asked.
“A few morning calls. I have a fitting at the dressmaker’s at half two. I’m hoping my gown will be finished in time for the Collinsworth ball next week.”
“The duchess and I shall pass on that one, I think. Collinsworth has become a bit intolerable since he gained his heir.” Always he made an excuse for their never going out, as if after all this time justifications were still needed.
“Aren’t all men intolerable once they gain their firstborn son?” she asked teasingly.
“We men do have an odd sense regarding what should count as an accomplishment.”
Sometimes she wondered why the duke and duchess hadn’t acquired a spare or any other children, but it was the sort of subject about which a lady of quality did not make inquiries. Kip, only twenty-eight, had come relatively early in their marriage, the duchess young enough to bear more children. Perhaps she’d suffered some sort of injury during the birthing—another subject forbidden to discuss. When it came to the body and all its mysteries, it seemed she would be relegated to uncovering the truths herself, through personal experiences rather than knowledge shared by someone who possessed all the answers.
“Is Kip joining us for dinner this evening?” the duke asked.
“Yes, I believe so.” He leased a town house not too far away. Three years ago, at the age of twenty-five, he’d announced he was old enough to have his own residence, that a young man sowing his oats shouldn’t reside under his parents’ roof. Another bit of unfairness that sometimes irked. Although she dearly loved the duke and duchess, she did occasionally find it an inconvenience not to have her own place, but then young ladies of her station didn’t move out of their parents’ or guardians’ residence until they were wed and could move into their husband’s. She wondered if Miss Trewlove lived with her parents or if, as a commoner, she was free to live wherever she wished. Certainly her brother appeared to have the means to give her anything her heart desired.
Aslyn considered asking the duke if he’d ever heard of Mick Trewlove, but that might lead to a conversation more awkward than discussing bedding and birthing. Besides, she’d be breaking her promise to Kip to keep last night’s encounter between them. With a sigh, having eaten very little, she shoved aside her plate. “Well, I suppose I should see about getting dressed for my outing.”
The duke’s brow furrowed. “You’ve hardly touched your breakfast.”
Because her stomach knotted anytime she thought of Mick Trewlove.
“Are you unwell?” he asked.
Offering him a soft smile, she shook her head. “Just not very hungry this morning. I’ll make up for it this evening.”
“See that you do. I don’t want you wasting away.”
She laughed lightly. “If it hasn’t happened by now, it’s not going to happen.” She’d always been far too slender, no matter how much she ate. The duchess, as well as a few other ladies who had known her mother, had long ago informed her that she’d taken after her mother in height and build. While she found comfort and a bit of melancholy joy in knowing she resembled her mother, she did sometimes fear she didn’t give a man enough to hold on to—that perhaps Kip’s lack of overtures stemmed from not being physically drawn to her, no matter how much he loved her.
“I’ll see you at dinner.” Shoving back her chair, she stood.
“Two footmen, two maids.”
Sighing, she forced herself to smile. “Always.” They were so overprotective. She supposed she couldn’t blame them. They’d become responsible for her when her parents had died in a railway accident. Frightened, confused and grieving, she’d had it confirmed that life was precarious, never to be taken for granted. The duchess had reinforced that lesson with her constant worries.
Two hours later, she found herself being escorted into a solicitor’s office, a detour on her way to the dressmaker’s that she had decided at the last minute before leaving the residence was necessary.
“Lady Aslyn.”
“Mr. Beckwith,” she said with a soft smile as the gentleman rose from his leather chair behind his desk. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone with kinder eyes. After her father’s passing, he’d handled the earl’s business affairs, seen his estate settled and read his will. Although only seven at the time, she still remembered the gentleness with which he’d promised her that everything would turn out well in the end. He’d given her a rag doll and told her to squeeze it tight whenever grief overtook her. All these years later, she still had moments when she hugged the frayed doll.
“Please, have a seat,” he said. “Shall I send for tea?”
“No, thank you. I shan’t be here long.”
He waited until she was settled in the plush chair before taking his seat and clasping his hands on the oak desk. “How might I be of service?”
“I was wondering if you know a gentleman who goes by the name of Mick Trewlove.”
