Devoted to the Duke, page 9
The physician nodded. “I can understand your reasoning. The country air would be far better for him. If you’d like, I can speak to your servants on the best way to transport him. Where is your family’s estate?”
“We live in Kent. From London, it’s just over fifty miles to Statham Manor. Canterbury is the nearest city, though the local village is only two miles from the manor.” She paused. “I want to take him home as soon as possible. Mama will need to be buried.”
Crane nodded. “I extend my deepest sympathy to you, Lady Catherine. If you’ll excuse me, I will speak to your servants and then compose a letter for you to share with your local doctor, informing him of the particulars of Lord Statham’s case.”
“Thank you,” she said graciously. “Tilly, send Jervis to me. I must speak to him at once.”
“Yes, my lady.” The maid left with the doctor.
Only then did Leah speak. “I’m glad we’re going home, Catherine.”
“I am, too. Would you be a love and get me a chair?”
Leah eased off the bed and dragged one over. She helped Catherine into it and then brought another one over. Lifting her sister’s leg, she placed it in the chair.
“That’s ever so much better. Thank you, Leah.”
“I’ve seen Mama. She looks different.” Her mouth began trembling.
Catherine took her hand. “It’s not really Mama anymore. Mama’s soul has gone to heaven. What’s left behind is not her.”
A knock sounded at the door and Catherine called, “Come.”
Jervis entered. The butler had been with the Crawford family since her father had been a small boy. Catherine looked upon him with great fondness.
“We are taking Mama and Papa home, Jervis. Mama is to be buried there and Papa will want to be close to her.”
“The earl has never particularly cared for London, my lady. I think it’s best.”
She told him she wished to leave London in the morning. She asked him to handle all of the details regarding the closing of the house and told him she doubted they would return. He was to let the town servants go, with references and a month’s pay, and see the furniture was draped and the house firmly secured.
“I’ll pen a note to my uncle now. He should be informed of what’s occurred.”
She rose, dreading the long walk back to her room.
“Might I carry you, Lady Catherine?” Jervis asked. “Of course, it wouldn’t quite be like in the olden days,” he said with a smile.
She returned the smile, remembering how he toted her around piggyback when she was a child.
“I would appreciate the help, Jervis. Leah, bring my crutches, please. Strong, if you would stay with Papa?”
“Certainly, my lady.”
“Let me, Jervis,” Strong said to the older man. The valet stepped forward and scooped Catherine up, Jervis leading the way.
Once she was settled in her room, Jervis promised to make all the necessary arrangements. She told Leah to inform her governess of their departure and sent Strong back to sit with her father.
Her note to her uncle was brief, asking him to come at once and revealing it was urgent. She would explain everything to him when he arrived. Giving the letter to Tilly, she told her to have a footman deliver it to Uncle Edward in person.
“If he’s not at home, he’ll be at his club. Make sure the footman understands my uncle is to return with him.”
“I will.”
After Tilly left, Catherine’s thoughts finally turned to Jeremy St. Clair and the visit that should have occurred yesterday afternoon. She assumed when they arrived that Jervis informed the St. Clairs of the accident that killed her mother and injured both her and her father. Unfortunately, there would be no rescheduling of their teatime. The Season was over for Catherine. Life as she’d known it would never be the same. She would return to Kent and care for her father, while the Marquess of Sather would be free to pursue other friendships.
And find a wife.
For just a moment, Catherine let herself think of what it had been like to be dancing in his strong arms. There would be no dancing in her future. Even if her leg healed, she would not be returning to London to look for a husband. Papa would need her constant care, as would Leah. Her dreams of forming an attachment with the marquess would dissipate. By this time next year, Jeremy St. Clair wouldn’t even remember their one night together.
While Catherine would never forget it—for it would be all she would ever have of him.
*
An hour later, Uncle Edward and Cousin Martin arrived. Catherine didn’t think it would do for her to receive them in her room so she’d had Tilly ask for Jervis and Strong to help her downstairs. Strong, built as solidly as his name, easily carried her as Jervis brought the crutches.
When they reached the bottom floor, she asked that she be allowed to spend a few moments with her mother. Strong brought her to her mother’s sitting room, where the countess had been laid out. She thanked the valet and took the crutches from Jervis. Both servants promised they’d be waiting outside the door when she finished.
After they left, she eased toward her mother, who was resting in a pine box, her hands folded over her heart. She was dressed in a soft lilac gown, one of her favorites. The pungent odor of the freshly-cut wood filled her nostrils. Catherine would never smell the scent again without thinking of death and the deep ache in her heart. As she stared at the woman who’d given birth to her, she understood what Leah had referred to. It was her mama lying there—but it wasn’t. The sparkle that was an inherent part of the Countess of Statham had departed. Only an empty shell remained.
Still, Catherine placed both crutches against the table and leaned over so she could place a hand atop her mother’s. The other stroked the dead woman’s hair.
“Oh, Mama, I am going to miss you so very much. I think of all the things that we would have talked about over the years to come and it saddens me to know those are conversations we’ll never have. I give you my solemn oath that I will care for Papa the best I can. Know when we lay you to rest, that one day he will be by your side in death as he was in life.”
She bent and kissed the cold, lifeless cheek and then slid the crutches under her arms again and slowly made her way to the door. Strong lifted her again and carried her to the parlor so she could receive her uncle. Catherine had already given instructions for Jervis to send word to Statham Manor so they would know what to expect. When they saw the coaches coming up the lane, they were to send for Doctor Patterson, the family physician. She wanted him to supervise the servants as they moved the earl into the manor and then she would let the physician read the letter from Doctor Crane regarding Papa’s care.
The butler entered the room. “The Honorable Edward Crawford and Mr. Martin Crawford, my lady.”
“Send them in, Jervis.”
Immediately, her uncle pushed his way into the room. Martin strolled in after his father, looking bored as usual.
“My dear, how are you? You look dreadful. Whatever has happened? We saw the mourning wreath.” He knelt and took her hands in his.
In that moment, Catherine glimpsed behind the curtain of her uncle’s eyes. He’d always been obsequious to his older brother and extremely attentive and polite to the rest of the family. What she saw for a brief instant was a hunger that needed satisfying and she realized Edward Crawford hoped that it was his brother who had passed.
Because he would become the new Earl of Statham.
“We were in a carriage accident last night, Uncle. Very close to home. Mama did not survive the impact. It is her death we are mourning.”
Uncle Edward released her hands and rose. “I am very sorry to hear that. It looks as if your leg is broken.” He paused. “How does my brother fare?”
“He is alive,” she confirmed and saw the shadow of disappointment that crossed her uncle’s face.
“Well, that is good news, indeed,” he proclaimed, his smile wide—and to her eyes, insincere. “I would hate for anything serious to have happened to keep him from his duties, either here in London or at Statham Manor. Managing an estate and a family’s investments takes quite a bit of stamina.” He paused. “Of course, I would be willing to step in and lend a hand for as long as needed to help my beloved brother.”
Catherine wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell these two men about her father’s condition. Something told her not to reveal everything at this time.
“Can we see Uncle?” Martin asked, stepping toward her. “Father is right, you know. Both of us are willing to do whatever is necessary, Cousin Catherine. If Uncle’s injuries are severe, we would be happy to handle all of his affairs until such time when he is able to do so himself.”’
Martin’s words, coupled with both men’s eagerness to get their hands on the family fortune, chilled her. Based upon her suspicions and their forwardness, Catherine decided not to reveal the extent of her father’s injuries.
“Papa is sleeping at the moment,” she said. “Not only is he quite bruised from the coach having turned upside down, but he broke his wrist, which has caused him some pain. Doctor Crane came last night and stopped by again this morning. He gave Papa something for the pain less than an hour ago and told me Papa would sleep most of the day.”
She smiled sweetly. “Other than that minor inconvenience, he was quite well and perfectly capable of continuing to manage everything. It was kind of you both to offer your help, though. Papa will appreciate hearing that.”
Both men appeared disgruntled by her words.
“We both are out of sorts,” Catherine added. “My leg will be in this cast for a good six weeks or more.” She paused, letting that sink in before adding, “We are leaving for Statham Manor in the morning. As you can guess, Papa has had enough of London and only wishes to go home.”
Uncle Edward nodded sagely. “Of course. I completely understand.” He turned to his son. “Martin, we must let Catherine get her rest. Do let us know if there’s anything I can do for you, my dear.”
“I wish you a speedy recovery, Cousin Catherine,” Martin said perfunctorily.
Both men bid her goodbye and quit the room. It was only after they left that she realized neither had offered condolences regarding her mother’s death, much less made mention of attending the Countess of Statham’s funeral. As far as Catherine was concerned, she hoped to never see either of them again.
Chapter Eleven
London—June, 1806
Jeremy waited for Luke and Rachel to finish eating. He didn’t want either of them to hear his conversation with Cor. Already, it was hard to put a smile on his face and act as if nothing were wrong.
When everything was.
Luke had been stoic during their father’s funeral, only later admitting to Jeremy the same feelings Rachel had confided. His brother had rarely seen, much less spoken to, his father. Jeremy suspected the lack of parental attention might have had something to do with Luke’s occasionally outrageous behavior. He’d told the boy in no uncertain terms he would never treat him the way their father had. At the same time, he wanted Luke’s word that he would not only do his best regarding his studies but behave at all times as a gentleman should. In the three weeks since the funeral, his brother hadn’t given anyone a bit of trouble. It helped that Jeremy included Luke on the daily morning rides he took with Rachel and that he recommended books for Luke to read, which they discussed in-depth in the evenings.
Finally, the two children finished their meal. Rachel’s governess had a botany lesson planned and was taking Rachel to Hyde Park. Luke had volunteered to go along since he had a keen interest in science. Jeremy told them he would see them late that afternoon, as he had business to attend to.
“You’re always doing business,” Rachel noted. “I’m glad I’ll never be a duke.”
“You’ll have your own business to run one day,” Cor said. “When you wed, you will manage a great household.”
The girl sniffed haughtily. “I may never marry, Cor. You know I don’t like being bossed around. The vows say you must obey a husband. I’m not quite sure if I would agree to that.”
Luke laughed as he stood and placed his napkin on his chair. “I feel the same, Rachel. Marriage is overrated, in my opinion. Besides, Jeremy’s the heir. He’s the one who needs to marry.”
“But you are now Earl of Mayfield,” Jeremy pointed out. “You’ll need a son to succeed you one day as the new earl.”
What he left out was Luke’s inheritance—Fairhaven. If Jeremy couldn’t conquer the mountain of debt soon, he would be forced to sell Fairhaven. Though the property belonged to Luke, he was only fifteen. Because of his age, Jeremy managed and made all decisions regarding their late father’s holdings, which had now transferred to his second son. It was one of the many things he desperately needed to talk over with Cor.
The children excused themselves, leaving him with her.
“What’s on your mind, Grandson?” Cor asked.
Jeremy blew out a long breath. “Too many things,” he said honestly. “After multiple meetings with Father’s solicitor and banker—coupled with Matthew’s astute advice—I’ve listed four properties. Two have already sold and a third buyer is deep into talks. It may come down to selling Fairhaven, though.”
Displeasure flitted across her face. “Is that necessary?”
“It may be. Unless I wed rather quickly. Even then, it may take selling Fairhaven and then buying it back. Or purchasing another property for Luke once we’re solvent again.” He paused. “Have you met with the Patronesses?”
The Patronesses ruled Almack’s with an iron fist, granting vouchers to the assembly rooms to a select few, based upon their family name and connections. Because of that, the Patronesses knew everything about everyone in society. Cor was good friends with two of these women and he’d tasked her with learning which young ladies bore the largest dowries.
“I met with both Lady Jersey and Countess Lieven.” She removed a folded sheet from under her plate and passed it across to him. “This list contains the names of eligible ladies who hold both a large dowry and haven’t accepted any offers yet. Lady Jersey told me you’d need to act quickly if you wish to claim anyone on this list. The Season will be over soon and she believes all of the names will commit to a gentleman by then.”
Jeremy skimmed the list of six women. He recognized all of the names but one and could attach a face to two of the ones present.
“Be glad tonight is Wednesday, the only night Almack’s is open,” Cor said. “I obtained a voucher for you. The countess told me every girl on the list will be present tonight. If you’re going to find a wife, it must be tonight, Jeremy.”
“Do you think I’ll be judged harshly because I should be in mourning for the next six months?” he asked.
“I, of course, will go to no events until next Season,” Cor said. “It’s different for a man. Especially a duke. Because of the level of society you’ve attained with your new title, you may write your own rules, Grandson.”
He stared at the wall for a moment. The thought of dancing with anyone other than Catherine sickened him. Since his return to London after burying his father, he hadn’t been to his club, much less any ball or the theatre, thanks to being swamped with information about his father’s estate and the crushing debts he owed. Still, he owed it to the family to pull them from the quagmire Stephen St. Clair had sunk them into.
That meant going to Almack’s tonight—and finding a suitable bride.
“Do you have any advice on what I should look for in a wife? Other than her extravagant dowry.”
Cor thought a moment. “The younger, the better. That way, she’ll easily be swept off her feet. You can be quite charming when you choose, Jeremy, and you’ll need every bit of your charm present if you’re to convince a young lady that you’ve fallen instantly in love with her after a single dance.”
He frowned. “I have to say that—that I’m in love?”
“Not in so many words,” she demurred. “Merely remark you are quite taken with her. How she’s from a good family and that you’re looking for the perfect woman to become your duchess. Tell her you’re eager to start a family. All girls think about having babies with handsome men. Especially if they are dukes.”
A family was the last thing he wanted. Thinking of putting his wife through childbirth turned his stomach.
“Remember, once you’ve made your selection, you must wrap it up quickly. Seek out her father. Make an appointment with him for tomorrow morning. Remain mysterious but know he should have every indication that, since you’ve danced with his daughter and you’re the new Duke of Everton, you’re looking for a bride.” Cor paused. “If anyone has any worries, assure them that I will be present to guide the new duchess in her tasks. As I said, younger is better because she will be more easily trained.”
Resigned to his fate, Jeremy said, “I will return from Almack’s tonight with a name from this list, Cor. You may count on it.”
*
Jeremy arrived at Almack’s and presented his voucher, feeling foolish dressed in the knee-breeches the Patronesses required instead of his usual trousers. Someone called his name. Turning, he saw Neville headed toward him.
“Fancy seeing you here,” his friend said and then he grew contrite. “Terribly sorry to hear about your father.”
He shrugged. “Father wasn’t in good health.” He left it at that, knowing Neville and all of the ton had figured out that though Stephen St. Clair may have died from apoplexy, in truth, he drank himself to death.
“I’m a bit surprised to see you out and about so quickly,” Neville continued, “unless you’re here for what I think you are—to browse the Marriage Mart for a bride.”
“I am,” he confirmed. “Cor thinks taking a wife will help me settle into my new responsibilities. She also tells me she isn’t getting any younger and wants a hand in training the next Duchess of Everton.”
“Cor is a wise woman. She will make you proud in shaping the new duchess,” Neville agreed. “Do you have anyone in mind?”
