The Reluctant Marquess: The Duke's Daughters - Prequel Page 2

  “The doctor said that there is hope of recovery but that it would be prudent to fetch you at once, in case his condition worsened,” Rodger finished, his eyes narrowing. “Now, do you think you would be willing to return home now? I know it must be a trial to have to drag yourself away from London and all it presents, but I believe an ill father must trump all of London’s delights.”

  His breath was gone from his chest, and no matter how much Hugh tried to speak, he found he could not. His dark green eyes were fixed on his brother, his mind scrambling to make sense of what had been said. If his father was truly ill, then this could mean that Hugh’s life was about to change for the worse. He might have to take on the responsibilities of the title sooner than he had anticipated and Hugh could not think of anything worse. On top of that, he did have a grudging respect for his father, something which had never left him despite his frustrations with how hard the man had been on him.

  “Well?” Rodger asked, impatiently. “Are you to come with me or not? I am in no mood to wait about for you, Hugh, so give me your answer at once. I intend to leave for home within the hour.”

  There was no guile in his words, no hint that he was telling Hugh an untruth in order to get him to return home.

  “I – I must wash,” Hugh stammered, weakness flooding his bones as the butler came back into the room with hot coffee for them both and a few slices of freshly buttered toast. “And I need to pack.”

  Rodger let out a long, frustrated sigh but Hugh chose to ignore it, looking up at the butler and instructing him to pack a bag for Hugh’s immediate departure.

  The butler, looking as unfazed as ever, simply nodded. “Do you require the carriage, my lord?”

  “We will be taking my carriage back,” Rodger interrupted, pinning Hugh with a look. “Besides, I am sure my brother will wish to return to London just as soon as he can.”

  Hugh, still feeling somewhat wooden, shook his head. “No, I will not need the carriage, Matthews. I thank you.”

  “Very good, my lord. The bath will be ready for you in a few minutes time.”

  “Thank you,” Hugh replied, automatically, his eyes back on his brother as the butler excused himself. “Wilson, what is wrong with father? I pray to God you are not telling me a lie.”

  Rodger sat forward and added a splash of cream to his coffee, leaving Hugh’s untouched. “I would never speak of such things without being truthful in my words,” he replied firmly. “I would have thought you would have known that much about my character by now, Hugh.”

  “It is not your character I am questioning but father’s,” Hugh replied, with a slight lift of his brow. “He has tried a great many things to get me to come home and sent me at least one letter every week…. although I did not receive anything from him last week.” Trailing off, Hugh realized that the absence of a letter now corroborated with Rodger’s news meant that there could be very little doubt as to his father’s current health.

  “Father has only ever wanted the best for you, Seaworth,” Rodger replied, quietly. “I am surprised that you still think so little of him. He is the Duke of Westbrook and knows all too well what standards of behavior are expected from someone with such a high title. Something you, apparently, have chosen not to take on.” Rodger’s jaw set, his eyes filled with shards of frustration and anger as he regarded Hugh carefully.

  “My behavior and my choices are none of your business, Wilson,” Hugh grated, his eyes narrowed as his anger began to flare. “I have had more than enough from father and I certainly do not need more of the same from you.”

  Rodger’s lips thinned. “Then do me one favor and tell me something, Seaworth. If father is to pass away, are you truly ready to take on the Dukedom? Do you think you can so easily shed the behaviors and vices that cling to your character, and somehow, turn into a respectable, honest, trustworthy gentleman? The kind of gentleman our father has been for so long?”

  Something like shame began to curl through Hugh’s veins, making his blood cool and eyes grow heavy with guilt. He could not find the words to answer his brother, aware that he was less than he ought to have been.

  “I, for one, shall pray earnestly that our father does not pass away,” Rodger murmured, as the silence stretched between them. “I do not think you are anywhere near ready – or even willing – to fill his shoes, Seaworth. Your disdain for his example and your lack of respect for him even as our father, never mind a Duke, is more than apparent.” He threw back the rest of his coffee and got to his feet, clearly unwilling to be in Hugh’s company any longer. “I shall be in the drawing room, waiting on you,” he finished, walking to the door. “At your leisure, of course, dear brother.” The mockery dripped from Rodger’s lips as he closed the door behind him, leaving Hugh stained with scorn and derision.

  Scorn and derision that he was beginning to think he might deserve.

  Closing his eyes, Hugh leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, pushing his fingers into his hair. He had become so used to hearing his father’s distress over how Hugh chose to live his life that it had grown cold to him, the words passing straight through him without leaving a single mark. Now, however, he was forced to consider his brother’s words, realizing that he might very soon become the new Duke of Westbrook, and seeing that he was, truly, completely inadequate for such a task. He had always assumed his father had plenty of good years left in him and had therefore chosen to live just as he pleased.

  Now the cold, hard truth that he might soon be fatherless hit him like a punch to the gut. It poured ice into his veins, freezing his arrogant heart and forcing him to reconsider his behavior.

  “Enough,” he groaned, pushing himself up to standing and letting the blanket fall away. No doubt, on the long carriage ride home, he would hear nothing but a rebuke from his brother, and given that his head was already pounding, Hugh was not quite sure how he would endure it. Striding into the adjoining, empty bedchamber – the one he used for his bathing, Hugh stripped off his clothes and climbed into the tub. The water was still steaming, pushing at his cold skin until it grew warm.

  Leaning back, Hugh let out a long breath and closed his eyes. There would be no masquerade ball for him this evening. Instead, he would be returning home, to an ill father with only a frustrated, angry younger brother for company.

  His future now appeared to be very, very dull.

  Chapter Three

  “So, what have you been doing with yourself these days?”

  This was now the third day they had been traveling in the carriage and Hugh was growing tired of his brother’s stubborn silence, broken only by a few curt words here and there.

  “Come now, Rodger,” he said, using his brother’s Christian name in an attempt to cajole him into speaking. “Can we not pretend that all is well between us, even for a short time? I am more than aware that you are not pleased with my choices in life but no amount of you haranguing me about them will change the past, nor the future, should I choose to return to London and my pleasures there.” Seeing his brother stiffen, Hugh shrugged his shoulders. “Not that I am saying I have any intention of doing so at present you understand, but whether I do or not remains firmly my choice. And I can assure you, dear brother, that you continuing to go on in the same vein will do nothing to prevent me from going back should I wish it.”

  Rodger sniffed disdainfully but kept his lips firmly shut.

  Heaving a sigh, Hugh shook his head. “You are being much too foolish Wilson.”

  “It is not foolish to watch one’s tongue,” came the quick reply.

  “Are you not going to tell me what it is you have been doing these last years then?” Hugh pressed, quietly. “I truly am interested.”

  Rodger’s expression was icy. “You are only interested because we are stuck together in this confined carriage Seaworth. Were you truly concerned then you might have written some time these last few years or even dragged yourself away from your ‘pleasures’ as you call them, in order to come in search of me
. But, of course, I expected nothing less than for you to remain entirely absent, entirely silent. You have always been wrapped up in nothing but yourself.”

  Surprised to feel just how much the rebuke stung, Hugh rested his head against the squabs and allowed himself to consider his brother’s words without allowing his anger and upset to spike through him. He was a selfish creature he supposed, given just how much he enjoyed doing things that made him happy, but he had never considered that to be a bad thing. After all, that was what most members of the beau monde did. Life was for themselves, whether that meant gambling, cards, brandy or the occasional wench to warm their beds. Responsibilities and the like came later in life if at all. Hugh knew plenty of gentlemen who left the running of their estates to their stewards, caring very little for it at all. That was, of course, mostly when they had already had their heir and the spare produced, when the lands were profitable and when there was very little to do but enjoy themselves. Surely it was a good thing that Hugh had no intention of being that kind of Duke! So, what would it matter if he lived that way before he took on the title? Was it not every gentleman’s right to enjoy a few of life’s great pleasures for a time?

  “Olivia is unable to join us, of course,” Rodger muttered, breaking into Hugh’s thoughts. “She is in her confinement.”

  Hugh blinked, astonished. “What?”

  Not in the least bit surprised that Hugh was in the dark as regarded their sister’s condition, Rodger let out a long sigh. “Yes, brother. Olivia is expecting her first child and is now in her confinement. She writes to father almost daily however and longs to be with him.” His gaze slid away from Hugh and out of the carriage window. “It must be very trying for her to be away from him.”

  Olivia of course had spent a great many years caring for their father when Hugh and Rodger had been away in Eton. In fact, she had taken to practically running the house in place of their mother, something which, Hugh had to admit, she had done rather well. Of course, he had never thought to ask his father how he was managing without Olivia in the house. Shifting uncomfortably, Hugh cleared his throat in an attempt to assuage the guilt rifling through him. It was strange how the news that his father was ill had brought with it a deep sense of guilt and shame. It was a feeling Hugh was constantly trying to fight, disliking it intensely.

  “How has father coped without Olivia these last years?” he asked, gruffly. “I know she ran the house very well.”

  A look of surprise covered Rodger’s face but was quickly wiped away as he shrugged. “It is a couple of years too late to ask brother dear, but father is doing – was doing – quite well. Olivia made sure that everything was in order before she left, and the housekeeper and butler are very good at ensuring he has very little to manage.” His eyes darkened for a moment, his brows furrowing as though he were considering whether or not to say something to Hugh, and seeing this look, Hugh took a deep breath and held his tongue, wondering what more there was for him to learn about his family.

  “In addition to all this, I should inform you that father has a particular friendship with a lady of high title and good breeding,” Rodger continued slowly. “It is something that neither Olivia nor I have ever commented on, nor encouraged. However, she may be present in the house at times, and you are to make her welcome Seaworth.” His brows burrowed all the further as he glared at Hugh as though he were the elder brother putting the younger into his place. “Not a harsh word, not a questioning as to whether she should be here or not, understand?”

  Filled with a mixture of astonishment and horror, Hugh nodded numbly. His father was courting again? At his age? Surely the lady could not be young enough for there to be any danger of another child being produced, but still, it was something that Hugh had never considered would happen to his father. As far as he was concerned, the Duke had only ever had one wife, one love, and had chosen to spend the rest of his life in solitude. To hear now that this was not the case unsettled Hugh somewhat although he did not know why.

  “What is her name?” he asked, crisply, trying not to give any indication that the news made him uncomfortable.

  “A Lady Armitage,” came the reply. “Widowed, of course. She lives in a small manor house a few miles away from our estate. Only arrived a few months ago, I understand.” A look of compassion crossed Rodger’s face as he thought of the lady, his grim expression softening. “She has been very good for father Seaworth. A good woman I’d say.”

  Hugh nodded, still uncomfortable with the idea of anyone replacing their mother. “So, you have been home then?”

  “I have been here and there,” Rodger replied, with a sigh. “Seaworth, you need not pretend to care now. It is much too late for that. Olivia and I have been ensuring that all is well with father, whilst you spend your life in London for as long as you can.”

  “That is entirely unfair,” Hugh stated, firmly. “I have only been in London for six weeks, with each of those weeks spent renewing acquaintances and the like. The Season has not even begun in earnest and I fully intend to enjoy it, right until the very last day.”

  “And then you will return for the little Season in the winter months,” Rodger replied grimly. “I know you all too well Seaworth. Make all the excuses you want, you are very much the man you have always been.”

  There was nothing more to be said, and empty of excuses, Hugh sat back in his seat and chose to remain silent, wishing he had not pushed his brother to converse. There was nothing but rebuke and anger in doing that, although he had learned a few pieces of information about his sister and this newcomer, Lady Armitage. Best to remain quiet until the time came to disembark. By the time the carriage turned into the gravel driveway that led to the estate, Hugh was in the midst of a rather wonderful dream. It was a particularly painful prod from Rodger’s long, bony finger that had him jerking awake, his eyes staring at his brother for a few seconds before he realized where he was.

  “I think you’d best take a few minutes to make yourself look presentable,” Rodger muttered, rolling his eyes. “Father may be ill, but his eyes are still quite sharp.”

  If he still lives, Hugh thought to himself, as he straightened his shirt and ensured his cravat was neat. His hair was a tangled mess from where he had slept and any attempt to smooth it back down with his fingers proved useless. Letting out a sigh of frustration, Rodger dug about in his coat pocket for a comb, practically flinging it at Hugh, who caught it with a murmur of thanks.

  Brushing his hair quickly, Hugh looked out of the window to see the familiar welcome waiting for them. The butler, Jones, was standing at the bottom step of the manor house, with two footmen either side. At the top of the stone steps, the door was wide open, as though to receive him back home. Hugh swallowed hard, feeling as though he were about to willingly enter a prison that would slam its doors firmly behind him, the windows barred and air thick with agony and frustration.

  “Put your hat on,” Rodger blustered, as the carriage came to a stop. “And do hurry.”

  Hugh shook his head and picked up his hat, refusing to put it on his head. There would be no-one to see them other than the staff and he was quite sure none of them would care if he had his hat on his head. Rodger, of course every bit the gentleman, looked as crisp and as pressed as though he had just dressed for the day, getting out of the carriage and greeting the butler.

  “How is he?” Hugh asked, tumbling out behind Rodger. “Is he….?”

  The butler kept his eyes on Rodger, only flicking a single glance towards Hugh. “Your father is much improved, my lord. He is waiting for you in his private drawing room.”

  Hugh heard Rodger let out a long sigh of relief, seeing him sag for a moment before thanking the butler profusely as if it had been he who had brought strength back to the Duke’s old bones.

  “I have prepared your usual room for you, Lord Seaworth,” the butler intoned, gesturing to the footmen to take Hugh’s bags up at once. “Shall I have a bath prepared?”

  “Yes, do,” Hugh re
plied, thinking that three days of a carriage ride would require a long soak. “I will go and see my father first of course.”

  “Certainly,” the butler replied, as Hugh hurried after Rodger. “I will have refreshments sent to His Grace’s rooms for you all.”

  Hugh climbed the staircase after Rodger, his heart clamoring with him as he did so. There was no need to feel afraid, since he knew his father was, according to the butler, much improved, but there was still this sense of nagging unease that lingered in his chest. Was it that he feared his father was more ill that he had stated? Or was it that he was afraid of what his father would say to him now that he had returned home?

  “Quickly,” Rodger hissed, as he waited for Hugh at the top of the staircase. “You may not be eager to see father again, but I am.”

  Hugh frowned but said nothing, following Rodger’s long strides towards their father’s rooms, his hands clenching as Rodger knocked on the door.

  His father’s voice called out for them to enter, just as strong as it had always been.

  Taking a deep breath, Hugh set his shoulders, lifted his chin and stepped inside.

  Chapter Four

  “Hugh!”

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, Hugh let out a long breath and tried to smile. “Father, it is good to see you looking so well.” He shot a glance to his brother, and to his surprise, saw the expression of sheer relief on Rodger’s face. For a moment, Hugh had been convinced that this had been some kind of elaborate trick to have him return home, but seeing the look on Rodger’s face told him that he was quite wrong in that thought.

  “So Rodger managed to get you home,” the Duke murmured, not getting up from his seat. His skin was paler than Hugh remembered, his greying hair a little whiter. There was an obvious lack of strength in his limbs, but from what Rodger had said, for the Duke to be sitting in a chair meant there had been a significant improvement in the days Rodger had been away.