Page 11 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

Alex, unused to being dismissed, even by Gee-Gee, bristled. “I beg your pardon,” he said coolly, and closed the door again. Irritated, he stalked to his study, the one room in this house—besides his bedroom suite—that Gee-Gee had given over to him exclusively. She had decorated it without his consent, but he could not fault her for having done so. The deep green walls retained the masculine feel of the room, but the soft furnishings in shades of blue and green velvet and brocade made it a welcoming space.

He sat down at the massive desk that had been passed down from one duke to the next and let out a sigh. Uncertain of what to do now, he reached for the leather folder which he had brought from town with him, and which contained the correspondence he had yet to deal with. Tipping the contents onto his desk, he picked up a letter which he had already opened but not replied to.

Scanning the fulsome invitation, littered with hopes that they would have the pleasure of his company, Alex swallowed a growl of impatience and put it down.

He had intended to announce his betrothal before the season had ended, but he had not done so. Three young ladies vied for the position of next Duchess of Hawkney. Each of them was perfect, selected with the utmost care. Beautiful, intelligent, from flawless bloodlines, well mannered, and bred to inhabit his world from the moment they drew their first breath, any one of them would have made an ideal duchess. He had been scrupulous in showing no favour to any of them over the other, but he knew the entire world—or at least, the upper ten thousand, were holding their breath, awaiting his decision.

Yet when it had come time to make his choice…he’d snatched the excuse of Hartwell’s wedding and run for cover.

Well, he wasn’t in his dotage yet, he reasoned. There was time. But he knew how cruel fate could be, and how easily an accident could put an end to an otherwise healthy fellow. He needed to marry and set up his nursery before providence played any tricks upon the dukedom.

Feeling suddenly despondent, his gaze slid to the brandy bottle, and then to the clock. No, it was far too early.

Setting the aggravating letter to one side once more, he determined to make his excuses, but later. He sifted through the rest of the correspondence until his eye settled upon handwriting that was now familiar. Small, neat and plain, with no unnecessary swirls or curlicues, it was much like the woman who had written it.

The corner of his mouth ticked up, and he opened the letter once again, reading with amusement.

I am very much enjoying the use of the piano, and whilst I am uncertain my skills are improving, Howard has expressed his approval of my playing—though I think he is a very kind man and says so to boost my confidence.

“Howard is a soft touch, and you have wrapped him about your little finger,” Alex muttered, shaking his head.

There are many newcomers lately arrived because of the construction of the new hotel. There is much consternation among some ladies, who fear the presence of many ‘rough builders’ will have a detrimental effect upon the town. I have found them respectful, however, which I believe is due to the influence of the architect in charge of the project. He gave a meeting in the village hall a few days ago to allay the fears of the most fretful inhabitants, and I assure you that many a feminine heart fluttered madly during his speech. For Mr Gideon Bramwell, is a handsome fellow, well-spoken and with a rather intense air about him. Indeed, he is not a comfortable person to speak to, for he brings with him an aura of restless energy which is far from soothing—though I admit I am hardly the person to judge this, for most people make me uncomfortable.

Alex frowned over her description of the fellow, realising this was the man in his library. He supposed he had been handsome, he thought, somewhat irritated by the description.

“Most people make me uncomfortable,” he repeated with a snort. “Miss Halfpenny, you protest too much. You’re never out of countenance with me.”

He finished the letter and set aside with a frown. Getting to his feet, he rang the bell pull. A moment later, Howard appeared.

“Your grace?” he enquired politely.

“Is Miss Halfpenny still coming to use the pianoforte?”

Howard shook his head, his expression regretful. “No, your grace. She did not wish to intrude now that the family was back in residence.”

“Did anyone tell her she could not?” he demanded.

Howard shook his head. “Oh, no, sir. The young lady was only sensible of the kindness you had done her and did not wish to impose.”

“Kindness,” Alex said irritably. “We allowed her to use the piano; it made no odds to anybody. I believe I have heard Lady Cecilia play, but Lady Henrietta shows no interest, and with Lady Della away staying with friends, there must be plenty of opportunity for her to make use of it.”

Howard brightened at once. “Certainly, your grace. Would you like me to inform Miss Halfpenny of your wishes?”

Alex opened his mouth to agree and then closed it again. “No, thank you, Howard. I will speak to Miss Halfpenny myself.”

After all, she was a funny little thing, and he worried for her when her circumstances were so… so unreliable. Her aunt, from everything he had learned of her, was a mean-spirited muckworm who resented every penny she spent on her niece. He was glad she had her dog, at least, someone to show her affection and bring her comfort.

Suddenly unsettled by the turn his thoughts had taken, Alex banished Miss Halfpenny from his mind and returned to his correspondence.

Gideon walked away from Hatherley Hall, a tense frown marring his brow. Irritation simmered, but he could not decide where the blame ought to be laid for it.

Lady Henrietta had looked at his beautiful plans and found a flaw. A real one. It was not an imagined defect created for the express reason of vexing him, not something frivolous plucked from the mind of a society butterfly. Gideon knew he ought to be grateful to her. He was grateful. He was also profoundly out of sorts.

Though he consoled himself that he had made the mistake because he was a man and therefore had not the experience to see such difficulties through the eyes of a female, it did not help. What other errors had he made, because he could not see through her eyes?

He stopped in his tracks, glaring down at his shoes, and then turned, glancing back at the house. It was a handsome building, but his eye did not take in the elegant lines, it went unerringly to a window upon the first floor, where Lady Henrietta stood, watching him go.

An odd frisson of… of something rippled down his spine. A connection.