Page 35 of Manufacturing a Duchess

“She is down in Lady Wentworth’s morning room, milord. They are having a dish of tea, I believe. I shall escort the Duke of Selkirk there directly.”

Alec rose, gave a bow to Lord Wentworth, who had risen at the same time and returned the bow, and followed the butler out of the library and down the stairs. Almost over, Alec. Almost over. But now comes the hard part. Miss Hardcastle and her blue eyes. He both dreaded this and hoped for some sort of absolution. But exactly what that would be, he was not certain.

* * *

Alec was ushered into the morning room, where he found Lady Wentworth and Aurora sipping their tea. Milady sat quietly in front of the unlit fireplace, ostensibly working on a piece of embroidery as it lay in her lap. It was clear she was to serve as general in this next battle by quite obviously keeping a sharp eye so that events continued smoothly. Interestingly, there was no sign of the divine and distracting Millicent.

He bowed to her ladyship, then to Aurora. A dip of Lady Wentworth’s head indicated he was to take a seat on the settee next to her charge. There was a faint rattle of cup and saucer. He thought he detected a slight choking noise as Aurora set her tea down on the small table next to her.

“A dish of tea, Your Grace?” enquired the chaperone.

“No, thank you, Lady Wentworth,” he responded.

That worthy set down her cup and took up her embroidery frame, ostentatiously ignoring the pair on the settee. An uncomfortable silence fell.

It was to be an afternoon of awkward silences, it appeared. Once again, reluctantly taking the lead, Alec cleared his throat. “Miss Hardcastle, this afternoon, I have had a most candid conversation with Lord Wentworth concerning my particular interest in pursuing an attachment to, um, you. As he stands as proxy to your father at the present moment, it was only proper I approach him first.”

At this point, Alec reached out a gloved hand and picked up Aurora’s cold and limp one.

“You would do me the greatest of honors, Miss Hardcastle, if you would consent to be my wife. I have an ancient family estate in Scotland and an old and well-respected title. I have a daughter, whom you know, and of whom you—erm—appear quite fond. In point of fact, she thinks of you as her special friend. I am a rough, military man—not many airs and graces, I am afraid. I would deal honorably with you in all things and would,” here he swallowed, “most decidedly cherish you ‘til death us do part, should you accept my suit.”

* * *

Aurora had wondered what it would be like to receive a proposal, from not only an eligible man but one who, if she was being honest with herself, made her heart race from the first moment she had seen him.

And she felt—nothing. Time seemed suspended. It was as if she were watching the entire scene from afar, as though it was happening to someone else.

There had been moments when they had seemed to connect, when there had been a hint of warmth and of something else that she was not ready to acknowledge. Even moments of something close to friendship. The ever-present awareness that this proposal was driven by his need for money and her possession of a fortune while his eye and his heart were clearly captured by someone else was a lump in her throat and a rock at the bottom of her stomach. But she had been sent out into the Marriage Mart to select a suitable mate. The Duke of Selkirk was most decidedly that. In addition, in comparison to every other man she had encountered, well, they had faded to insignificance beside him. If Aurora was being honest, she could see no one else but him. Mayhap I am the fool Missie called me. She longed for this to be over. She wished more than anything else to be home.

The elaborately ornate clock on the mantlepiece seemed to be ticking louder and louder as the moments crawled on. Lady Wentworth looked up from her embroidery and loudly cleared her throat. Somehow, Aurora found her voice. With a firmness she did not quite recognize in herself, she responded, “Sir, I am most appreciative of your offer. It is an incredibly generous one. I am, I can— At this time, I can only provisionally accept. There are two necessary conditions, which I hope you might understand. The first is that I would like you to meet and consult with my father directly, so that he, himself, fully approves. The second is that I wish to ensure Marjorie has learned of our possible,” she stumbled over the word, “union. And acquiesces.”

The Duke’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he smiled. A sharp exhalation from Lady Wentworth, however, made it clear she found this to be outside of her expectations as to how things should proceed.

“That sounds eminently sensible, Miss Hardcastle. I can vacate my rooms to accompany you and your party up north to meet with Mr. Hardcastle at your earliest convenience. Furthermore, I will discuss our possible union with Marjorie before she goes to sleep tonight. As I said, I know she considers you a great friend, so I do not see any obstacles from that direction. Nevertheless, yes, I will consult her.”

“Excellent, sir.” Aurora nervously started to pleat the front of her gown with her fingers again, realized she was doing so, and attempted to smooth out its folds instead.

The Duke of Selkirk stood, brought his heels together in a sharp salute, then took her hand again and brought it to his lips for the slightest of kisses. “I shall send a note to Lord Wentworth tomorrow morning so we can finalize the date and time of our departure. I shall also let you know of my conversation with Marjorie.”

Aurora would have stood as well, but she feared her knees might buckle, so she responded to him by briefly ducking her head. When she raised it again, she looked him in the eye, dreading the forthcoming scolding from her ladyship on her handling of the situation while desperately hoping for a warm look from him. She had done her duty, had attempted to do it on her own terms, but was desperate for an ally, in spite of it all.

“I thank you for your consideration, sir.”

She received the confirmation she sought. The Duke of the warm and teasing eyes was suddenly very present in front of her, and she almost sagged in relief.

* * *

Alec’s gratitude at Miss Hardcastle’s calm, her clear bright eyes which did not hold him in contempt (At least, not at the moment), revealed itself in the smile of relief and thankfulness he gave her. He realized he had been dreading this encounter, even though he had insisted on it, but the fact she had remained the forthright woman he could now admit she had always been with him made him almost abashed. He needed to acknowledge who she was and stop creating simulacra of what his fears punished him with. She was the Miss Hardcastle of his experience, he acknowledged. She was to be his Miss Hardcastle. It was decided: she was going to be his wife. Well, almost certainly.

He said nothing further but turned to the room’s chaperone. “Lady Wentworth,” he stated, making a courtesy to her. Barely waiting for her acknowledgement, Alec propelled himself out of the room, striding across the marble front hall. Again, the butler attended the door and let him out with a bow. Before he knew it, Alec was in the fresh air. While he waited for his horse to be brought round to him, he realized he had made it over the finish line. He had done it. Or almost. The die was cast. His future was underway. It had all been terribly calm and civilized. He was aware of a tremendous feeling of relief, though he felt a certain amount of roiling underneath. He considered grabbing a whisky at his club but, no, he had promised. He needed to find his daughter and break the news.

Twenty-Eight

Missie’s ears strained to hear the sounds of the Duke of Selkirk’s departure through her half-open door. When they finally reached her, she stood up and closed the door softly, turning its lock. She had managed to purloin the key from the master keyring in her mother’s dressing room—she doubted it had been missed—and left it in the lock.

The desire to slam the door shut had been fierce, but she was able to restrain herself.

She walked back to her dressing table. Sitting down on the stool in front of it, she stared at her face in the glass. That face looked wan and drawn, the eyes puffy and red from the tears she had not been able to stop. She supposed he had proposed: he had been a long while with her father, had proceeded afterward down to the morning room where her mother and Aurora had been waiting. She herself had been dismissed from the room long before—dismissed! From her own mother’s company! All to accommodate Aurora!