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“You may not.” Lord Windon replied curtly.
Lord Rochester raised one grey brow and waited. Lord Windon remained silent, with eyes that contained darkness. “I feel not a little amount of guilt at what she called my offhand manner and the indignity I had inflicted on my sister.”
“I see, Your Grace,” he returned, but Lord Windon was lost in his own thought.
“I fear I am remiss in my actions. Many a time I told her it was the way of things, hoping to exonerate my actions. But I fear I have earned her complete disdain.” The tone was rueful but with an undertone of bitterness
Lord Rochester regarded Lord Windon and came to a quick decision. “Your Grace, might I invite you to my estates? I shall be honored if you would attend a small house party when we are retired to the countryside.”
“I am afraid, sir that it would be too much an inconvenience to visit, noting the state of your health and...” but Lord Rochester would not hear a word more of his excuses.
“Nonsense, my good man. It is only the London air filled with muck that ails me. In but a moment in the clear country air I am ready to ride a horse into the ground.” He pressed, embellishing in his haste.
“If you insist then.” He was hard pressed and could not do the grave dishonor of rejecting his invitation out of hand.
“Indeed, I do. And I have another request to make if you, kind sir, would be willing to indulge me.” No time like the present and Lord Rochester was much too aware of the fragility of time.
“But of course.” Now Lord Rochester smiled, a sly show of pleasure that put Lord Windon on his guard much too late.
“I am full of years and despite the best of care will not tarry long in this world.” By then Lord Windon had a clear gist of what was coming. But did the man have to lay it on so thick? The guilt was hot pellets sliding down his throat. He tugged his cravat sharply to afford himself more air, but the guilt filled him and he had no idea why.
“My lord, if I may....” Once again Lord Rochester cut him off mid-word.
“I find I cannot rest if I do not find a suitable husband for my daughter.” The man was direct! His sincere gaze provoked even more guilt in him. He could not but be prodded to offer his help. Now he was honor-bound.
“My lord...” he paused. Lord Rochester looked at him with a look that said he knew he was already victorious. “I shall of course offer my services to aid you in any way possible.”
“I am beholden to you.” Lord Rochester returned with much more enthusiasm, clearly triumphant. "I am sure you have met my Amelia. She is comely and well behaved.” Lord Windon, who was of the same opinion, simply grunted. “And is entirely of a sweet disposition if matters of inheritance are not broached." A twitch of his lips was the only answer to that statement.
“She is indeed a paragon.”
“She will make, I believe, an excellent wife.” That was where all the well worded conversation was leading.
“There is no doubt.” He murmured agreement again.
“Then I only ask that you spend time in her presence and allow what would happen to do so.” From the way Lord Rochester smiled, he was not thinking nature was going to bring them together by accident. He was surely going to bamboozle them with everything his wits could muster until a union was inevitable.
The idea both worried and soothed Windon for the same reason.
“My lord...” Once again he was cut off. Lord Rochester was bold, earnest and clearly worried about his daughter. Dissuasion from a reluctant duke was not going to deter him.
“You will come then? Excellent! Please inform me of your time of arrival. We have closed the ancestral estate, that damp pile of rock is too drafty for my temperament. You will find us in a delightful country estate outside of Brighton called Mossford. I’m sure you will find it most comfortable. It came as my wife’s dower lands, and now is to go to Amelia. She is my only child, you know? She inherits everything that is not entailed, but she must have a guardian or a husband to hold it.”
The last bit was shabbily done. Lord Windon thought so and his gaze was suddenly censured. “My own holdings are quite extensive, my lord, and I find I must make a tour of them before I can honor your invitation.” He was strangely incensed that Lord Rochester thought to sweeten the deal by revealing the vulgar details of her dowry. He was outraged that it was a consideration, when only her form and excellent wit was lure enough.
The salvo was intended to wound Lord Rochester and remind him of the fact that it was rather crass to discuss fortunes, even if he was only doing so in presenting his daughter. The man took it with a smile which puzzled his companion no end.
“But of course.” Lord Rochester agreed affably, with a bright smile that let Lord Windon know he had been played. The words had been meant to measure if his amiable demeanor depended on the fortune of the lady in question. Windon had, Lord Rochester mused to himself, acted in the right and proper manner. “I shall not dare to take your time much longer.” With a short nod he turned, walking with enough spryness to dispel all hint
s of ill health.
Lord Windon was left to his own thoughts, at first annoyance at the subtle entrapment filled him, another was concerning the easy manner in which the earlier part of the evening was spent. It filled him with a tangible nostalgia.
Lord Windon spent the rest of the evening fighting equal amounts of chagrin and guilt. He had not given his behavior towards his older sister much thought, he had simply done what was considered right. For someone of first acquaintance to point his errors out without hints of being coy, bringing him to his knees with a few words.
Cecelia had been happy enough to have own home. She had gladly married a widower and after she had given birth was reported to be quite content. But how would he know of the truth if he had not asked it her? Flights of fancy aside, her husband, a stout, portly figure with a benign smile was far from the image of a wicked husband, but one was never in the know. The night slipped away from him as he contemplated his imagined wrongs. His sister had not reached out to him, obviously because she knew the way of things and would not challenge them. The thought would not enter her mind in the least. So, it fell to him to remedy the slights, even if she did not perceive them to be so.
He resolved to send a personal missive in the morning, begging for correspondence from her on her life and her children. He was an uncle, but he scarcely played his role. Her young would be hard-pressed to pick him apart from a stranger in the streets of London. Making the resolution soothed him. He made a mental note to send a letter posthaste.
