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He had not. He’d chosen to drown beneath the waves.
A sigh heaved its way up from his chest. Perhaps it was time. Time to face the truth of his new life. William was gone. And no matter how much he might wish otherwise, he was now the duke. He could do exactly as he pleased, as long as it did not violate William’s stipulations. That still rankled a bit, though he knew his brother hadn’t done it out of spite. William was just...William. Responsible. Reliable. He had done it in order to ensure the preservation of what he’d built.
What he and Harriett had built, he corrected himself. He stared out of the window and imagined the two of them with their heads bent over papers, poring over diagrams, talking softly about their shared dream, building their castle in the clouds. Together.
She’d loved him. That much he knew beyond a doubt. And now he understood firsthand why William had admired her so. He wished he didn’t.
Would she ever consider marrying again? It would be a shame if she did not. She might be a bit on the plain side, but she wasn’t at all bad looking. She had a pleasing face and a nice enough form—from what he could tell with all the layers of petticoats and aprons and such. And there was a hell of a lot to be said for her sense of loyalty. He hoped her dedication to William wouldn’t prevent her from accepting an offer from a decent man.
A decent man. Was there a man decent enough to marry Harriett Dunhaven? No one he knew would be as good a husband to her as William would have been. Certainly no gentleman of his own acquaintance would grasp—much less respect—her achievements.
He twisted away from the window. Blast it all, why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
Guilt, his conscience at once supplied. He owed her something for the way she’d suffered at his hands. For the way she’d shouldered what should have been his responsibility. For all that she was capable and seemed to enjoy it, it wasn’t right that she spent all her time toiling away at the place—and he knew she did. William would have married her and given her a home and children to occupy her and fulfill her womanly purpose. Once she’d started having babies, she would have left the Hospital to him to manage, as was right and proper.
Yes. Her marriage would be one way to achieve his ends. It would get her out of the Hospital—and away from him—as well as help her get over William. He just had to find someone she could get along with. William would have wanted him to help her. In fact, just before his death, his brother had asked him to look after her on his behalf—a request he’d blatantly disregarded.
He hadn’t come to their engagement party. In fact, he hadn’t come to any family gathering in years. He’d gone to his father’s funeral only because his brother had implored him to do so. Given his actions that day, he hadn’t stayed to visit, and he hadn’t shown his face again until it had become clear his brother’s illness was more than a passing cold.
His first encounter with Harriett was on the way into William’s sickroom. He remembered it vividly. They spoke not a word to each other in passing, but their eyes had met. The next time he’d seen her was at the funeral.
Could he actually manage to find Harriett a husband, when for the past ten years Society had clucked their tongues and shaken their heads at the mere mention of his name? He’d eschewed London’s upper crust for so very long now that the only thing they knew of him was what was printed in the London rags.
His had been a particularly unsavory life, especially since William’s death. A life filled with fun friends of less-than-sterling repute, beautiful actresses and singers, and the occasional, shocking appearance on stage with Lun. His was a life no man could fail to envy, but it was also a life no “decent” person could fail to disapprove of.
Even so, he had to remember things were different now. Now he was a duke—a wealthy unmarried duke—and no one would dare behave toward him with anything less than proper deference no matter how much they disapproved of his lifestyle. He’d learned the power of his title the moment he’d appeared at Twickenham’s. Every mother present with a daughter of marriageable age had practically broken her neck trying to be the first to introduce the fruit of her loins.
A slow smile formed on his mouth. Oh, yes. He would find a husband for Harriett. And once she was safely married off, he would hire a real assistant administrator to help him run the Hospital. Then he could go back to living as he pleased—without guilt.
Nine
Harriett waited until she was sure Manchester had gone before slinking into the foyer. His office door was open, but all was dark and silent within. Pee
king around the corner, she glanced up at William’s portrait, barely visible in the gloom. Guilt flooded her, and she closed the door on the sight, unable to bear the scrutiny of his smiling eyes after what had just happened.
Going into her own, small office, she sat at her desk.
Cat was right. William was gone, and she needed a husband. Very badly, obviously, considering the way she’d reacted back there. Much as she hated to admit it, she’d wanted Manchester to kiss her. How can I desire a man I despise? It didn’t make any sense.
William had been kind, respectful, a gentleman, and she’d loved him with all her heart. But the warmth and affection she’d felt for him was nothing like what she’d just experienced: pure, physical desire. It had been chaotic, unreasoning, undeniable. The very memory of it made her heart pound, her skin flash with heat. Why hadn’t she felt this way with William, who had certainly been more deserving of such a reaction?
Her head ached, a condition she was fast coming to associate with the current Lord Manchester. It was too confusing to think about anymore. There were things to be done, matters that needed her attention. The workers had not yet shown up to begin building the new kitchen hearth.
It had become increasingly difficult to keep up with the demand for hot food of late, and adding a second hearth—already a necessity—would be a critical factor in the Hospital’s expansion this winter. Her heart had been glad when Manchester had declined to explore the kitchens further. She could well imagine his reaction to the gaping hole in the east wall. It had been covered with oilcloth, of course, but still.
“My lady?”
Harriett nearly jumped out of her skin. “Nurse Hayes,” she gasped, gripping the arms of her chair. “Heavens, but you gave me a fright!”
“My apologies, my lady, but the workers have arrived and the foreman is asking to see you.”
Happy to have something to do besides sit and think about her uncomfortable predicament, Harriett rose and straightened her skirts. “You may tell him I shall be there directly.”
“Very good, my lady.”
Tonight. Tonight she would begin the hunt for a husband. The Penworth masque ball would be an excellent place to start.
~ * ~
