‘I had no idea you were in such dire straits, old boy,’ the duke said thoughtfully.
Percy’s smile turned sad. ‘It is rather difficult to convince a girl’s father that I will make a decent husband when I have no idea what I’m worth. Since Louisa hasn’t made a match either, Grandfather will undoubtedly expect her to remain in Wiltshire to care for him in his dotage.’ He grimaced. ‘Until the old fellow dies, we are both at sixes and sevens.’
When the duke did not immediately reply, Louisa risked a look in his direction. He seemed annoyed, though she was not sure why.
‘You should have told me of this earlier, Percy,’ he continued. ‘I am your oldest friend, after all.’
Louisa was tempted to say that, as such, he could have noticed the situation for himself. But she was glad he hadn’t.
‘It is damned embarrassing,’ Percy muttered, echoing her thoughts. ‘I should be able to manage my own affairs and my sister’s as well.’
‘But there is an expression about a burden shared, is there not?’ the duke said quietly, as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of his townhouse. ‘It is a bit late to do anything tonight.But we will discuss the matter further in the morning.’ After thanking them both for the ride, the duke took his leave and she was left to ride home in silence with Percy.
Thomas Carew, Duke of Bonham, paused on the threshold to look back at the retreating carriage and frowned. He had known that Percy Skeffington was dependent on the goodwill of his grandfather, Lord Skeffington, but not to this extent. He’d assumed his friend had not found the right girl for him yet, not that he’d been blocked from a union by lack of funds or fears for the future.
And he had not thought of Louisa, at all. The knowledge stuck in his throat as if he’d swallowed a rock. She had been just as much a part of his life as Percy had. Why hadn’t he noticed her distress?
Perhaps it was because she never complained. But she shouldn’t have needed to. He should have paid greater attention.
He went into the house and handed his hat and gloves to the butler. Then, he went up the stairs to his bedroom and rang for his valet, who had already laid out his nightshirt and robe. The man appeared a moment later with a tray holding a hot toddy, which he set aside to help him take off his coat.
Had there ever been a time when he had not lived in such luxury? He wanted for nothing. It had been so for as long as he could remember. Even before his father had died and he’d come into the title, he’d always been the pampered heir of a duke.
The first time he’d visited Percy’s home, his parents had been alive and all had seemed well. The house had been large and modern with many servants and a well-set table. He had assumed their family was nearly as rich as his and their futures were assured.
But a man with debts could hide them for some time if he so wished. A father certainly wouldn’t tell his children if he had any choice in the matter. Once the Skeffington orphans had gone to live with their grandfather there had been no further invitations. Thomas had simply assumed the old man did not like children and had invited Percy to spend holidays at Bonham Court instead.
It seemed Percy had been putting on a brave front for years, waiting for his grandfather to die so he might gain the title and whatever money he had a right to. The plan was unjust but not unworkable. The old man could not live for ever. If the inheritance was substantial, a rich man could marry just as easily at thirty-five or forty as he might at eight and twenty. If not? It was wise of Percy not to start a family he could not support.
But what was to become of Louisa? Women were judged by their youth and beauty, commodities that were as fleeting as a spring morning. If thetonalready thought her a failure in the marriage mart, they would call her a spinster in a year and a crone in ten.
It was none of his business, really. He was not family. Not exactly, anyway. He had known her brother since their Eton days, even before his own parents had died. And, though he’d seldom received mail from his own mother while she lived, he had lived vicariously through the letters Percy had received and viewed Louisa as his own little sister.
He had seen her briefly on his visit to Percy’s home, but she’d been ill and confined to her room. He had not really had a chance to speak with her properly until her first Season, over ten years after that. He’d been eager for the acquaintance and had hoped that his friendship with her might be as deep as the one he enjoyed with her brother.
In some ways, it was. She had always been a willing ear when he’d spoken with her. She entertained graciously, when she played hostess to Percy’s friends, always in the background of gatherings and seemingly never without a smile. She had been a regular feature of his life for the last three years.
He frowned. In that amount of time, he should have known her far better than he did. He’d got into the bad habit of considering her a pleasant addition to the time spent with his best friend. But she was so much more than that. She was a girl as lovely as any of the ones he’d danced with at Almack’s. Even if he did not want to court her, he should have been treating her as a person, not an afterthought.
She must think him terribly rude. He could remember speakingtoher on many occasions. But he realised now that he’d seldom spokenwithher. She rarely contributed to their conversations, so he’d learned very little about her life or her interests outside of what Percy had told him. It had not even occurred to him, until Percy had pointed it out, that three Seasons was indeed a long time for a lady to go without receiving an offer.
A true friend might have asked her feelings on the matter. He might have tried to help. The stone of guilt shifted inside him, pressing against his heart.
In his defence, his participation in the matchings and marryings of the Season was lackadaisical at best. He had not yet found the woman worth sacrificing his freedom for. But the papers were full of engagements and weddings to girls not nearly as bright or pretty as Percy’s sister. Why had no one chosen her?
Had she ever mentioned having a preference for any gentleman? He did not think so. But neither could he remember any man remarking on her many good qualities. Or her bad ones, for that matter. In fact, no one seemed to have noticed her at all.
She had gone to all the same parties he had. She had been at Almack’s each Wednesday, regular as clockwork. He had made sure to dance with her if he’d noticed her sitting out. But only once per evening. He hadn’t wanted to give anyone the wrong impression about his intentions, which were totally innocent. He’d especially not wanted Percy to think he was leading Louisa astray or toying with her affections.
Louisa had a tender heart and it should be handled with care. But if he truly cared, he could have done more. He had wanted her as a sister. But surely, even a pretend brother should have noticed how alone she was.
Tonight, she had spoken as if she might never see him again. But that also meant thathewould never seeher.He had never considered a world without Louisa in it. But tonight, he’d become keenly aware of this potential change in his life and he did not think he liked it at all.
She would be left at home with her grandfather when Percy came to London next year. Dinners would not be the same without her. Wiltshire was miles away from his own property. He could think of no reason to casually drop by for a short visit to ease this sense of loss. Louisa would think him mad if he suddenly expressed a desire to see her, after doing nothing to foster a deeper connection in all the time they’d spent together.
But it was selfish to focus on his own feelings. Louisa was the one who would suffer most by this banishment. Being forced to play nursemaid to a bitter, old man was no life for a beautiful, young woman like her. She would wither in the country, like a flower without the sun.
Something should be done.
