Page 52 of Tempting Harriet
The duchess remained silent until Saturday afternoon,when she came into the library, where her grandson hadbeen sitting all day, and sat down on the chair opposite his.
“She is gone into the country, then?” she said.
“With the countess,” he said. “It is better for her than an elopement. Life would have been difficult for her. Even atoken engagement will not be easy.”
“I did not mean Lady Phyllis,” his grandmother said.
His hand played with a paperweight on the desk before him. “She has gone into Kent,” he said. “Freddie Sullivan’swife is her friend.”
“And you intend to go after her?” she asked. “You intend to marry her, Tenby?”
“What makes you think I would consider such a thing?” he asked.
“She is an unusually beautiful woman,” she said, “And charming and modest with it. I have seen the way you lookat her, Tenby. And the way she looks at you too, thoughshe is far more well bred about it than you.”
“Six years ago,” he said, “I would have asked her to marry me. But I was called to Grandpapa’s deathbed instead.”
“It is an infatuation of long standing, then,” she said.
“Aloveof long standing,” he said softly, glancing up at her. She looked at her sternest and most straight-backed.
“I learned very young,” she said, “that there are things in life very much more important than love, Tenby. Love, likeself, must always be placed last. I learned early not to lookfor happiness in life and to despise those who make it alife’s aim. I have asked myself yesterday and today whatmy life has accomplished, what to me is the most preciousproduct of my life. I have thought of my parents, of early—friends, of your grandfather, of your father, of you. Maybeit is because you are last on the list, the one still present inmy old age. Who knows? But I have been led to the conclusion that nothing and nobody in my life has meant more tome than you.”
“Grandmama,” he said, distressed, and waited for the burden of his duty to be rested squarely on his shouldersonce more.
“It is because I love you, boy,” she said, looking sterner than ever. “I have never thought about it because love isunimportant. But when I thought about it yesterday andtoday, I realized that it is true and that it hurts my heart alittle. Love does hurt. I remember that from a long timeago. I want to die, Tenby, knowing that you are happy,knowing that love has been set high among the priorities ofyour life. I would like to see your heir before I die. But it ismore important to see you happy.”
She looked at him as if she had just delivered the sourest lecture of her life. She had looked just this way when hehad been caught at the age of twelve romping with a groupof village boys. First her lecture on what he owed his position and then his grandfather’s cane.
“Grandmama,” he said again, his hand closing about the paperweight.
“If she will make you happy,” she said. “If Lady Wingham will make you happy, Tenby, then I will gladly become the dowager duchess in order that she may have my title. And I will love the girl. I believe she is lovable. And Iwill expect her to be delivered of a boy sometime nextspring. The sooner the better. You will not have me withyou forever. And your mother needs a grandchild.”
“Grandmama,” he said, “she may not have me.”
She got to her feet and stood very erect before him. “As the Duke of Tenby,” she said, “it is your duty to secure yourline. If Lady Wingham is the duchess you want, you willsee to it that she has you. Without nonsense and withoutdelay.”
Her sudden and unexpected consent in some ways made his decision more difficult. Through a combination of strictness and an affection they seemed not to have been aware of,his grandparents had ruled his life since he was eleven yearsold. It was true that he had lived a life of some independencesince his majority and had tasted all the pleasures that youngmanhood had to offer. But his grandparents would not frownat that. A man of his rank and fortune was expected to sowwild oats. It was part of growing up. In important matters, hehad always been obedient to his training.
Now, in these few days, he felt that he had finally reached full manhood. By a stroke of sheer good fortune,he had been freed from the sort of life he had been preparedfor and would have hated and would perhaps have passedon to his own children. He had been given the gift of freedom, the gift of a second chance. He did not want to rebelfor the sake of rebelling. But he wanted to take charge ofhis own life, make his own decision about his future, be aworthy Duke of Tenby in his own way.
It complicated matters somehow to know that his grandmother had given her blessing to the course he leaned toward. If he was going to go after Harriet to try to persuade her to have him despite his shabby treatment of herthroughout their acquaintance, he wanted it to be becausethat was what he had decided he wanted to do. On the otherhand, of course, it would be good to know that he wouldnot be hurting his grandmother.
Ultimately, of course, he knew that he really had no choice. The alternative to not going after Harriet was misery pure and simple. And it would be no temporary thing.He had loved her for six years. He still loved her. He wouldalways love her. In the end he stopped torturing himselfwith indecision when the decision had surely been madebefore he had started. Surely as soon as he had read Phyllis’s letter he had known that he would offer himself toHarriet if she would have him.
He drove his curricle to Ebury Court on Monday, more nervous than he had felt in his life.
There were people outside the house, he could see as he drove up the driveway. A man and two children, he saw as he drew nearer. It would be Freddie and his sons. This would make things a little easier. He would not have tomake a formal entry into the house alone. He grinned at hisfriend as he jumped down from the curricle and handed theribbons to a groom who had come running up from the stables. Freddie was strolling toward him in his shirtsleeves,his hair windblown. It still seemed strange to see Freddie,of all people, domesticated.
They shook hands heartily.
“Archie,” Frederick said, laughing. “Looking as usual as if you had just stepped off Bond Street. You have decidedto call on old friends at last, have you? It’s about time, Ihear congratulations are in order.”
“Yes.” The duke grinned again. He felt a strong urge to prolong this conversation. “I have just been freed from anirksome betrothal. You behold a free man again, Freddie,my boy.”
His friend laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Double congratulations,” he said. “This is more than afleeting visit, then, Arch? Good. Clara will be delighted tosee you. And you can help me with the cricket lessons.”
The duke looked toward the two children, one with a cricket bat, the other bowling. At the same moment the ballshattered the wickets as the batter ineffectually sawed at theair with the bat, Freddie’s older boy cheered with triumphand threw himself backward onto the grass. The batter burstinto tears.
