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“Of course.” Tabitha embraced her friend.
She truly was happy for Fiona. They had been friends for years, and Fiona was the kindest friend a person could have and deserved every happiness.
“I wasn’t sure how you would feel,” Fiona said.
“Why?”
“Well, because of the issues you’ve had with your mother and the constant battle concerning your marital state.”
“Dear Fiona, that has nothing to do with your engagement. I’m so glad you found someone who loves you. Just because I have no intentions of marrying or falling in love doesn’t mean I don’t wish it for others.”
Her friend smiled. “Thank you.”
“Now, have you set a date yet?”
The friends chatted about the wedding. Fiona asked Tabitha to be her maid of honor, which she accepted. They made plans to go shopping for dresses in the coming week. After a while, Fiona’s mother joined them, and they shared a pleasant afternoon together.
By the end of the visit, Tabitha felt more like her old self. Over the next week, she and Aunt Caroline made calls to several acquaintances, attended the theater, and a dinner party. By the night of the musical recital, Tabitha felt better about her decision to return to London.
The event was being held by the Countess of Longworth to introduce a new composer who was all the rage on the continent. Tabitha wore a gown of green tulle with a white petticoat of silk, trimmed with golden flowers and leaves on the skirt and a short train. The neckline was low, just brushing the top of her bosom with similar gold leaf embroidery. The color of the gown brought out the specks of green in her eyes and complimented her complexion. Her hair was styled elegantly with intricate braids that came together on the back of her head, leaving room for a few golden flowers artfully placed among the coiffure. The ensemble was finished with silk slippers and white gloves.
Tabitha studied herself in the mirror, pleased with her appearance. Not that she was looking to attract anyone’s attention. Or was she? Since returning to London, Tabitha had kept an eye out for a certain alluring lord, whom, she had heard, was now a duke. She’d also heard some unflattering rumors about the man, and Tabitha wanted to know if they were true or not. If she met Lord Claridge now, would he be the same man she’d met two years ago, or was he really the cold, calculating scoundrel the gossip mongers described?
It couldn’t be true. She refused to believe the tales. Not after all he had done for her on that fateful night. But people changed. Life continued on, and with it, new obstacles arose which tested a person’s strength of character. Had Lord Claridge triumphed, or had he fallen into the den of treachery which was rumored to be his current circumstance?
CHAPTER7
Andrew Holcombe sat at his desk studying the pile of papers in front of him, trying to make heads or tails of the accounting of the estate. His estate, now that his brother was dead.
The last six months had been a whirlwind. First, he’d received a letter from his brother, William, out of the blue, asking Andrew to see him. Then, he had barely arrived when William died. The will had been read, and now, Andrew was the Duke of Holcombe, with all the rights and responsibilities to go with it—and all the headaches. He let out a long sigh and threw the papers aside in frustration. The estate manager was either the biggest buffoon in the world or the keenest embezzler. He would have his accountant, John Locke, look at the reports. Hopefully, Locke could make better sense of the figures.
Andrew leaned back in the chair. It was still a shock how his brother had taken ill so quickly and passed away. Luckily, Andrew had been in town when he’d received the letter. Though they hadn’t spoken in almost five years, all the strife between the brothers had slipped away when Andrew arrived home. William had once been a vibrant, strong, intelligent man, in control of every aspect of his life. Considering the current state of the estate’s accounts, the months leading up to Williams’ death must have been difficult.
Upon arriving at the estate in Essex, Andrew had spoken with his brother privately, without the prying eyes and ears of the duchess, Miranda who was a manipulative, conniving creature who thought only of herself. When the solicitor had read William’s will, which included Miranda’s settlement as his widow, she’d flown into a fit of rage. The duchess had been with child when William had taken a turn for the worse, but shortly after his death, she’d lost the baby. Since the couple had failed to produce an heir, the estate and title passed to Andrew, who had his suspicions about the child Miranda had been carrying given William’s poor health. It seemed unlikely he would have been able to perform his husbandly duties.
For unknown reasons, William had changed his will only one month before his death and rescinded the allowance Miranda would have received in her widowhood. With no heir begotten, she only received her original dowry payment back and nothing more. Miranda accused Andrew of having a hand in the revised will, but he pointed out that William had made the change prior to his arrival. Miranda wouldn’t listen to reason and left the estate in a fury.
Then, three months ago, Andrew got wind of a rumor accusing him of having a hand in William’s death. Someone was spreading tales about him, saying that he was the greedy younger brother who wanted the power and prestige that came with the dukedom. It was preposterous. Andrew had never wanted the title. He’d always counted himself lucky not to have the headaches that William had dealt with in running the vast estate.
Andrew had a hunch as to the source of these lies, but he couldn’t very well point out his sister-in-law as the true greedy villain in the tale, could he? So Andrew carried on in silent disapproval.
Now everywhere he went, Andrew was met with stares and whispers. Everyone wanted to know if the rumors were true, but he refused to acknowledge them. Eventually, the talk would die down. Wouldn’t it? That’s what Andrew had hoped, but after all these months, he still got the occasional glare, although it hadn’t hindered him in his business ventures where money did the talking.
For now, Andrew needed to dress for the evening. He’d promised to escort his grandmother to a musical soirée tonight. He detested going to these gatherings. Even with the rumors swirling around him, the ladies ogled him like he was a piece of meat. Evidently, the whispers of him being a possible murderer weren’t enough to detract from the fact that he was an unmarried duke. Nor the gossip floating about that he had a mistress and spent all his waking hours either at gambling halls or houses of ill-repute.
Andrew couldn’t go anywhere without some mama talking endlessly about the attributes of her daughter, or worse, being cornered by one of the babbling maidens themselves. If Andrew had his way, he would wait indefinitely to wed. Unfortunately, his grandmother had other ideas. If it was up to the dowager duchess, he would be wed tomorrow.
When he wasn’t working, Andrew tried to make time for the gaming halls, but it had been difficult, and it had been an eternity since he’d partaken in any carnal pleasures. Would his cock even remember what to do if he got the chance to be with a woman right now?
Since getting the title, his days and nights had been filled with societal obligations, which included parties and soirées like the one he was being dragged to tonight. Andrew had invited his grandmother to stay with him as he adjusted to his new role. But she had also taken it upon herself to constantly remind him that he needed to marry.
Sighing again and slowly getting up from his chair, Andrew was nearly at the door when it opened and his grandmother appeared on the other side.
“Oh, Andrew, my dear, I was just coming to see if you were ready for the evening.” The dowager Duchess of Holcombe was a petite lady with graying hair and a beaming smile. She had been the shining light in Andrew’s world as he grew up in his brother’s shadow, and he loved the lady dearly for it. After Andrew’s mother had died when he was ten, his grandmother had been his one source of affection since his father had never said a kind word about his second son. Lady Holcombe had lived with William and Miranda until William’s death, but didn’t hide the fact that she disliked Miranda.
“Yes, Gran, I was just this moment going upstairs to dress.”
Lord knew he didn’t want to go to some damned boring recital, but he had made a promise. Now he would spend another wasted evening listening to music which was sure to put him to sleep and later have even more boring conversations with the other guests.
