Duke of Honor, page 19
The duke rubbed his fingers along his jaw. “It took time for his body to heal. Of course, I welcomed him back to my staff and never considered sending him behind enemy lines again. In time, he seemed to become himself again, as brilliant and purposeful as ever. I suppose in his heart, though, he feels he let down not only me—but his king and country. That’s ridiculous, of course. Marbury is a man of honor. A man of valor and integrity.”
Tears streamed down her face. “I misjudged him badly.”
“Do you love him?” the duke asked.
She nodded. “I do.”
“Does he love you?”
Hadley shrugged. “I don’t see how he could. The things I said to him were so hurtful. So hateful. We parted on the worst of terms.”
“When did you last see him?”
“August.”
“He is coming to London for the upcoming Season,” Wellington revealed. “We still correspond. He wrote to me of needing to take a wife. Are you unattached, my lady?”
“I am,” she told Wellington, a sliver of hope beginning to bloom within her.
“I am not one to meddle—and my own marriage is not to be used by anyone as an example—but my advice to you is seek him out. Ask for his forgiveness. If you truly love him, you should fight for him. He is still in the grips of his enemies’ hands. End their hold upon him. He deserves a bit of happiness.”
Boldly, Hadley reached out and took the duke’s hands and kissed them, her tears flowing freely now. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will do so.” She released his hands. “Forgive me for being too familiar.”
He smiled. “It will take strength and every bit of courage you possess to break through the barrier Hardwick has erected around him.”
Hadley stood. “I am a most determined woman, Your Grace. I would rather risk all and fail miserably.”
Wellington rose. “You would have made an excellent soldier, Lady Hadley. I must go now but I wish you much luck.”
The duke left, his hands held behind his back, his posture straight and true. It was only when he was too far away to hear her call out that she realized something.
Hadley had never told him her name.
Chapter Twenty
Sebastian went to the breakfast room, a place he had avoided in the years after his mother’s death. He had arrived in London late the evening before, with Bardham and Radmore in tow. He figured Mrs. Sewell could manage the running of Hardwell Hall on her own and much preferred the trusted butler to be with him in London. It had proved to be a smart move on his part when Mrs. Waters, the housekeeper, had greeted them last night and informed Sebastian that the previous butler had grown ill with some lung disease and had left two weeks ago for his sister’s home in Essex, presumably to die there under her care.
He entered the light, sunny room that was free of the former duke’s presence. That had been the reason Sebastian had refused to come down in the mornings. When Hardwick learned that Cook sent a tray up to him, the duke had put a stop to the practice. Sebastian had decided to skip the meal, choosing to go hungry rather than suffer Hardwick’s presence.
The footman seated him. Another brought him the strong coffee he enjoyed, while a third placed a heaping plate in front of him. Digging in with gusto, he savored the meal as he turned the pages of the newspaper.
Until a sobriquet caught his eye.
Sources reveal that the Duke of Honor, otherwise known as His Grace the Duke of Hardwick, will soon arrive in London with an eye to peruse the Marriage Mart. Honor’s closest friends from university—the Dukes of Renown, Charm, Disrepute, and Arrogance—have all done the unheard of thing and made love matches. Will Honor follow suit and lose his heart to a young woman making her come-out? Anxious mamas are eager to pounce upon His Grace and hope that he bestows his attention upon their eligible daughters.
Disgust filled him. He hated the idiotic nickname. Honor. He didn’t deserve any respect or fame for his war service. Countless other soldiers and officers had proven themselves more worthy than he. The fact that the ton already knew of his decision to take a bride bothered him, as did the thought of dozens of mamas foisting their girls upon him, all in search of a title.
When all he wanted was Hadley.
He cursed inside his head. He had striven to avoid thinking of her but had been reminded almost daily of her as he had toured his various holdings. She had been in constant contact over several years with both estate managers and housekeepers and her hand was evident in all he saw. Thinking of her now shouldn’t hurt so much yet Sebastian felt as raw and bleeding as he had the night she had walked away from him last August.
Radmore entered the room carrying a silver tray piled high with correspondence.
“The morning post, Your Grace. Mrs. Waters says she has placed previous correspondence upon your desk.”
“What is all of this?” he demanded, still upset by the newspaper item and the fact he couldn’t seem to get Hadley out of his mind.
“Why, I assume they are invitations, Your Grace,” the butler told him. “The Season does start next week.”
He doubted he knew even a tenth of the people who had issued all these invitations yet due to his rank in Polite Society, he would be invited to almost every event held. The beginnings of a headache throbbed at his temples at the thought of responding to the slew of invitations and then actually having to attend the events.
“Very well, Radmore,” he said, resignation in his voice. “Place them with the others.”
Sebastian finished his breakfast, the newspaper pushed aside. He dreaded searching for a wife yet he owed it to the dukedom to do so and provide an heir. If he didn’t, a distant cousin whom he had gone to school with would succeed him as Hardwick. The cousin had been a bully and a boor and was undeserving of being a Cooper, much less becoming a duke.
Radmore appeared at his elbow again, this time a lone page visible on the silver tray.
“Your Grace, a message from the Duke of Wellington. The messenger is waiting for a reply.”
He smiled despite his sour mood. He had struck up a correspondence after the war with Wellington during the time Sebastian was stationed on Elba Island. It had continued once he returned to England. He enjoyed hearing from his former commander, missing the almost daily contact he’d had with the man during the war days.
Opening it, he saw where the duke requested that Sebastian accompany him to Tattersall’s this afternoon at one o’clock to gain his opinion on a set of horses he was considering for purchase. If agreeable, his carriage would call for Sebastian.
He looked to Radmore. “Tell the messenger I am eager to see His Grace and will be ready at the appointed time.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” the butler said and left the breakfast room.
Sebastian ventured to his study. A mountain of previous posts awaited him. He seated himself behind the desk and opened each one, composing terse replies of acceptance to every invitation. When finished, he pushed them aside. He realized that he needed a secretary to handle matters such as this and keep a calendar for him.
A knock sounded and he bid the person to enter. Radmore and Bardham both appeared and he hoped no trouble was to be had from the look upon their faces.
The butler began. “Your Grace, Mrs. Waters recommends that we hire at least one more parlor maid and another scullery maid, especially since you will be entertaining.”
He had only thought about going to events—not holding any himself. Yet he supposed he would need to give at least a few dinner parties. Possibly even a ball to announce his betrothal.
“I will leave that to you, Radmore. Hire two or twenty. It doesn’t matter to me. What does is the fact that I need a secretary in London. You may interview for any openings you deem necessary but I would like to personally see any applicants for that position.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I will begin the search immediately.” Radmore left and Bardham took a step forward.
“We need you to change your waistcoat and coat, Your Grace. You also need a cravat with a more intricate knot tied.”
“Whatever for?” he asked irritably.
“For your meeting with the Duke of Wellington. That’s what for,” Bardham snapped.
“You realize I am a duke,” Sebastian said, a warning edged in his tone.
“I most certainly do and as your valet, I cannot have you meet Wellington looking like that. You know how concerned with his attire the duke is. You don’t want him judging you in a poor light because of your clothing.”
“What on earth is wrong with what I am wearing?”
“It’s not fancy enough,” Bardham insisted. “In fact, you need to see your London tailor as soon as possible. As it is, you only have two sets of evening clothes.”
“What of it?”
“It won’t be enough once the Season begins. You will also need a variety of—”
“All right,” Sebastian interrupted. “You have made your point. I don’t need to go in person, however. You do that for me, Bardham. They have my measurements from several months ago and can use those. Tell them to prepare for me whatever I will need for the upcoming Season.”
“I will leave as soon as you are properly attired, Your Grace. Come along. The duke’s carriage will be here shortly.”
Sebastian saw nothing wrong with what he wore but he did recall what a clotheshorse Wellington was. Even at the height of the war, the slim commander had eschewed being seen in a uniform and preferred wearing the stylish garb of a civilian. He followed his valet upstairs and allowed Bardham to select a more elegant waistcoat and coat and sat patiently while the valet created an elaborate knot with his cravat.
Bardham stepped back and admired his work. “I know you don’t like being fussed over but I will say that you look splendid, Your Grace. You will rival Wellington himself. I am off now to your tailor. Enjoy looking over the horseflesh at Tattersall’s.”
As Sebastian returned downstairs, he thought he also might make a purchase today for himself. He had been using the ducal carriage over the last few months as he went from estate to estate that he owned. Now that he would be settled in London for several months, he would need to get some exercise. Riding was his preferred choice and so he would look for a mount today.
In the foyer, Radmore met him. “His Grace’s carriage has arrived.”
“Thank you,” he told the butler and went outside.
A footman greeted him and then said, “His Grace was detained on urgent business and will be unable to accompany you today, Your Grace. He asked that if you wish to go to Tattersall’s that we take you and then bring you back to his residence.”
Knowing how much in demand Wellington was, Sebastian understood. “Very well. I have business of my own at Tattersall’s and I had better go today than wait for when they are open again next week.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
The carriage traveled from Mayfair to near Hyde Park Corner, where he was met by none other than Richard Tattersall, the eldest of Edmund Tattersall’s three sons, and the one who had taken over the business a few years ago upon his father’s death.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” Tattersall said, looking about.
“If you are looking for Wellington, he was delayed,” Sebastian told the owner. “However, I am in need of a horse myself.”
Smiling, Tattersall said, “Tell me your requirements, Your Grace, and I am sure I can match them with several choices of horseflesh.”
An hour later, Sebastian had bought a black beauty of seventeen hands, with sleek lines and a feisty temperament.
“I hope you are pleased with your decision, Your Grace,” Tattersall said. “I will see the horse delivered to your townhouse immediately.”
“Thank you. I must leave now to visit with the Duke of Wellington but look for us both next week. Perhaps you can talk me into new carriage horses, Mr. Tattersall.”
The man beamed. “I look forward to doing so, Your Grace.”
The carriage took him back to Mayfair and he was met by the butler, who told him Wellington should arrive within the half-hour. Taking Sebastian to the library, the servant asked if he cared for a whiskey. Sebastian waved away the notion. He had only partaken in the rare glass of wine and avoided strong spirits totally since he had left Blackstone Manor. He didn’t trust himself to keep from drowning his sorrows and so refrained from hard liquor.
He walked the room, perusing the shelves and then settling down with an atlas he discovered. He traced the various campaigns he had been involved with on the Continent, wondering what those places had become now that peace reigned. Perhaps one day, he might visit them again and blot out the terrible memories of war.
“Colonel Cooper!”
Turning, Sebastian saw the Duke of Wellington sail into the room, a broad smile on his handsome face. As Bardham predicted, the duke cut a fine figure in what Sebastian assumed was the latest in fashion. He now was glad his valet had insisted he change clothes.
He set aside the atlas and rose, thrusting out his hand, which Wellington ignored. The duke drew him into a bear hug instead. Pulling away, his host beamed at him.
“I am sorry. You are Hardwick now. I must adjust my thinking,” Wellington apologized.
Sebastian laughed. “You may call me anything you wish, Your Grace. It is very good to see you in the flesh after all this time.”
“Indeed. Shall we have a seat? Do you need anything?”
“No, thank you,” he said, taking the same chair he had been sitting in as Wellington sat to his right. “Your staff has been most kind.”
“I am sorry I was unable to accompany you to Tattersall’s.”
“It was not a problem, Your Grace. I wound up making a purchase of my own.” Sebastian described his new mount and added, “Mr. Tattersall expects both of us next week when they open again.”
“Then we better go. I wouldn’t want to disappoint the man.” Wellington sighed. “I am not supposed to disappoint anyone these days.”
He thought the remark odd. “How so?”
The duke shook his head. “They think I should enter politics again.”
Sebastian recalled how after Bonaparte was defeated and sent to Elba, the newly-named duke had been appointed Ambassador to France. Following that assignment, Wellington had taken Lord Castlereagh’s place as first plenipotentiary to the Congress of Vienna, only leaving the position to take command of the Waterloo Campaign when Bonaparte escaped and marched toward Paris again.
“Is politics something you are interested in, Your Grace?”
The duke shrugged. “Now that peace has come to both Europe and North America, I have to find something to do with my time. I suppose a career in the military is as good as anything to prepare myself for the world of politics within England. Enough about me, Hardwick. How did you find your properties during your travels?”
He had written to Wellington of his plan to visit all the country estates that now belonged to him.
“It went rather well. All are being run by competent, efficient stewards. The crop yields are good. Livestock is being emphasized on a few of the estates over farming.”
“I met Lady Hadley, you know,” Wellington said abruptly.
Sebastian felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. He struggled a moment to regain his composure and finally said, “Is that so?”
Wellington nodded in understanding. “You mentioned her in our correspondence. How she had seen to the running of your father’s estates while you were away. You seemed to greatly admire her.”
“She is a very capable woman,” he managed to get out.
Sympathy shone in the duke’s eyes. “I see you have feelings for her. Strong ones by the look on your face which you are so desperately trying to hide.”
He said nothing.
“She was under the false impression that you had deliberately given our enemies information they sought. She believed you to be a traitor of the worst sort and not the true patriot that you are.”
Sebastian felt his face heat with embarrassment. He hadn’t known exactly what he had said to Hadley when in his cups. Then he realized it was not only his scars which had disgusted her. It was the fact he had revealed how weak he had been when confronted by the enemy. He must have spoken of the one thing he had vowed never to tell another soul once he returned to England, the darkest time when he hadn’t lived up to be the man he wanted to be. She must truly have despised him—yet she had kept silent in that regard.
“You say you need a wife, Hardwick. Lady Hadley would make for an excellent duchess. Swallow whatever false pride you have and go to her. Make known the truth,” Wellington told him. “Your truth.”
“I don’t think she would believe me,” he said, discouragement filling him.
His former commander gazed at him with fondness. “I may have helped clear up some of the misunderstanding and I expect you to stop dwelling on your past, Sebastian. Yes, you were disappointed in yourself even though no one else was. I demand that you let go of the past and look to build a future with Lady Hadley.”
The duke looked at him fondly. “You are like a son to me, Sebastian. I would see you happy in marriage, not as I am. Kitty and I lived apart far too long, thanks to my military career. We came together to have our boys but even now, during peace, we spend most of our time apart. Yes, I have been misrepresented by the press for having countless mistresses. I will admit that I have sought out the company of women who interest me. Ones who are attractive and intellectual.
“Yet if I had it to do all over again, I would find one woman to love and be faithful to her.”
If the duke had shared the truth with Hadley, then she might not hate him after all. He rose unsteadily. “You truly think I have a chance with her, Your Grace?”
Wellington nodded, a smile playing about his lips. “I would say better than a chance.”
“Thank you for sharing this with me. I will do my best to win over Lady Hadley.”
The duke stood. “I would expect nothing less of you, my boy. Good luck to you.”
