Just a Marriage of Convenience with the Duke by Hazel Linwood
Chapter 11
Bridget and Christina stood close together inside the doorway to a small shop, waiting for a hackney to pass before darting across the square to where Agatha was surely waiting already. Their monthly outings to the museum were something of a tradition among the ladies, one that was not to be forgotten simply because of foul weather.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as they clutched their oilcloth parasols tightly, the ends dripping with rain. Their feet were soaked through, but they paid them no mind. Not even a heavy summer storm could dampen their spirits when they chanced to go out together.
“Come inside, quickly!” Agatha called out as she held the door open for them. Bridget and Christina darted in and handed their parasols to an attendant. “Good heavens, I’ve never seen such a rain as this, at least not in the city.”
“It’ll do us good to wash some of the soot away from the western end,” Christina remarked as she brushed some water from her sleeve, “but I don’t relish the thought of the mud that will settle around the school door. The children will have to swim to class, I fear!”
The trio laughed and chatted happily as they made their way through the first galleries, browsing some of the newest additions and exhibited pieces before winding their way through the halls to where their familiar favorites were on display.
“Well, this one’s new then,” Christina said, leaning in to inspect one she hadn’t seen before. “I wonder that it’s not in the front with the new exhibit.”
Bridget read the name beside the enormous pastoral painting and startled slightly. Agatha came up beside her and read it, too.
“Well, well, someone’s fiancé has made a generous gift to the museum,” Agatha said softly. “The Duke of Lockhart has given this piece? Did you know of it?”
“No, how could I?” Bridget replied. “We only just…”
She stopped. She knew her closest friends were aware of the suddenness of her betrothal, the almost forced nature of the “adoring” courtship she was to display for the benefit of the gossip mongers. Still, it felt odd to admit to her dear friends that she and the duke had little chance to speak to one another, to get to know one another better.
“Look here,” Christina whispered excitedly, holding out the leaflet that had been given to her at the door. “It is a new piece, added from the family’s own private collection.”
“I wonder what could cause the duke to suddenly part with one of his family’s works of art?” Agatha asked in a knowing voice.
Bridget only shrugged. “I could not tell you.”
“Hmm, I wonder. Christina, dear, does it say the piece is displayed on loan, or was it given? And is it permanent or on exhibit?” Agatha asked, her knowing smile and piercing look turned on Bridget.
Christina flipped the long, rectangular page over in her hand and read both sides. “It does not say, only that it has been acquired by the museum.”
“It was sold to the museum, in fact,” a man’s voice said behind them.
The three ladies jumped slightly before turning to see who had spoken. Bridget could not help herself, but she smiled happily at the unexpected sight of the Duke of Lockhart.
“Your Grace, I am surprised yet pleased to see you here,” Bridget said as the three of them curtseyed.
“Oh?” Patrick asked, sounding amused. “You thought I wouldn’t be the sort of person who frequents an art museum, perhaps?”
“I meant no disrespect, but rather only meant due to the uncooperative weather,” Bridget answered, laughing at his attempt at being insulted. She looked back at the painting for a moment and added, “But I see you are more than one who frequents museums. You are also something of a collector and dealer?”
Patrick blushed a faint pink, an unexpected facet that caused Bridget to find him somewhat adorable. “Actually, the museum has been in contact with my family quite a few times over the years, wishing to purchase this painting. It was a gift to my grandfather from the artist, but it’s been simply hanging in some long-forgotten hallway. It matters very little to us in terms of sentimental value, so I finally accepted their offer.”
“That is very kind of you,” Agatha said brightly. “Now we may all enjoy it instead of having to wait to be invited to a ball at your house. Oh, that’s right, we’ve not been invited.”
Patrick looked embarrassed again, and Bridget nudged Agatha sharply with her elbow.
“And I see that must be remedied too… very soon, I assure you,” Patrick replied. “You have my word.”
“Pay her no mind, Your Grace. Lady Agatha simply enjoys kicking hornets’ nests,” Bridget said, shooting her friend a playful look.
“On the contrary, she is right. It has been far too long since my family played the welcoming hosts. We shall have to correct that at once.” Patrick lowered his voice and said, “It would be the ideal time to my betrothal.”
Bridget smiled shyly and looked down for a moment. Christina put her hand through the crook of Agatha’s elbow and said, “I believe I’ve overlooked one of the pieces I’d hoped to see today. Help me find it.”
“You know where every single painting in this entire museum is. Find it yourself,” Agatha said, still staring knowingly at the duke.
“But I require your assistance, Lady Agatha,” Christina said firmly, giving her friend’s arm a humorous tug.
Patrick and Bridget laughed as the ladies wandered off, intent on giving them some measure of supervised privacy. They strolled slowly behind Christina and Agatha, intent on filling the awkward silence by looking at various pieces.
“I am somewhat distressed at running into you today,” Patrick began, causing Bridget’s heart to sink a little. He realized how his remark had sounded and quickly added, “Only because I would have worn my nicer coat, that is.”
“Oh, never fear. I put no stock in the quality of a man’s coat as a measure of his worth,” Bridget assured him.
As they talked about the pieces in the museum and commented on the weather outside, Bridget began to feel a strange sort of comfortable familiarity with Patrick. At the same time, she felt keenly aware of her words, her carriage, the volume and tenor of her remarks. It was unnerving how she felt completely at ease yet still awkward in speaking to him.
Is it because I care for what he thinks of me?Bridget wondered as he spoke about a summer he’d spent in Bath, pointing to a painting of the same setting.
She looked ahead of her and noted Agatha looking back, nodding with approval. Bridget returned her smile, grateful for her friends’ willingness to walk ahead of them during their planned outing.
“I had quite forgotten about something,” Patrick said suddenly, jarring Bridget from her thoughts. “I suppose it is the expectation that our families will meet. Would your family like to dine with us on Thursday?”
“I’m sure we would all enjoy that, Your Grace, thank you,” Bridget said, already envisioning Harriet alternating between jealous scowling and gawking in awe at the duke’s house.
Patrick frowned. “I don’t know if this is expected or not either, but—if it’s all the same to you—would you call me Patrick?”
Bridget stopped and looked up at him. She searched his face as though looking for the cause of his hesitant tone. “I would be delighted to, Patrick,” she said slowly. “And please, simply call me Bridget.”
“I am all too happy to… Bridget,” Patrick said, looking suddenly shy. He met Bridget’s eye and said, “My parents were always so strict in adhering to protocol when I was a boy, referring to one another formally by their titles, even when at home or when no one was within earshot. I often remembered thinking, ‘It’s as though they don’t like each other at all.’ I did not know then that I was right about that.”
Bridget looked sad for a moment, a pang of sympathy pricking her eyes with the threat of tears. “I understand. My own parents were so loving that I always strove to have a marriage such as theirs. Though they were not closely acquainted when they were betrothed, by the time they married and for the rest of their lives afterward, they held a deep love for each other.”
“I know that is more than I can ask of you,” Patrick said, laughing lightly at his own remark. “But I would at least hope we are cordial, and we are glad to see one another over the breakfast table each day.”
“I think I should be glad to start each day at breakfast with you,” Bridget answered timidly before the boldness of her answer caused her to duck her head.
“That does my heart more good than you may know,” Patrick answered before leading them from the gallery to catch up to Bridget’s friends.
* * *
By the time Bridget left the museum, her mind was overrun with a tempest of emotions. Could this actually be possible? A marriage of convenience that had in such a short time become a love match, the truest and purest sort of happiness awaiting both of them?
It was all her friends could speak of as they rode home in Agatha’s carriage, the young lady having insisted on taking them due to the weather. Christina and Agatha could hardly contain their excitement, though Bridget did her best to remain placid.
“I still refuse to believe that His Grace just happened to be paying a visit to the museum today of all days,” Agatha said with a sly look in Bridget’s direction. “There must have been some strong premonition that he chose the same day as you to go… unless the pair of you arranged some sort of clandestine meeting?”
“I assure you we did not,” Bridget replied, struggling to keep her composure. “It was simply our mutual love of art that brought our fates together today.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. There is nothing about the duke that gives the air of being a devotee,” Agatha argued, pretending to be indignant at the suggestion.
“I did learn the truth of his visit today, though,” Bridget said, ignoring their knowing smiles. She became serious at once. “He mentioned selling a painting which the museum curator had longed for all this time.”
“Yes, I remember,” Christina said, nodding.
“But the reason he finally decided to sell it after all this time?” Bridget asked, pausing to let their minds adhere to the suspense. “The funds are for the school!”
“What?” Christina shouted, clutching her chest. “Are you serious? Please do not make such a jest, I cannot bear it if it should prove to be false!”
“Did the duke chance to mention how much the painting was worth?” Agatha asked, but Bridget shook her head.
“No, and I certainly did not think to ask as it would be impolite,” she answered. “But don’t mistake my meaning for chastising you, I desperately wanted to know it myself! If only to permit us to know how much of a gift there was for our school. I am afraid to even dream of a sum and what it could buy for the children.”
The three of them stared blankly, each envisioning the desperate needs of the students, their families, and the school itself. Any amount would be welcome, but to know that the duke had done something so selfless was almost beyond comprehension.
“Bridget, I must say it plainly—you have found the rare gem of man in that duke,” Agatha stated. Beside her, Christina nodded in fervent agreement. “He is… well, everything you could ask for in a man.”
“At the risk of sounding proud or haughty, Aggie, I must agree with you. I could not even think of it at first, so intent was I on simply doing whatever it took to save the school and ease my father’s burden of two unmarried daughters,” Bridget explained. “But now I find myself thinking of him often, pondering what it will be like to be his wife, and reconciling that my head knows he is practically a stranger, but my heart feels as though I’ve been searching for him all my life.”
Christina teared up with happiness for her best friend, while Agatha grinned. “And to think that you met the love of your life at my ball!” she said, teasing.
The three ladies laughed and talked for the remainder of the ride, and Bridget waved heartily until the carriage was out of sight once she was deposited at home. The skies were still gloomy overhead, but her step was light, a serene sense of joy coming over her as she walked inside.
“There you are, daughter,” Lord Repington said stiffly as she entered.
“Father,” Bridget acknowledged, “I did not expect to see you home at this hour.” She untied her bonnet strings and handed her wet parasol to Mr. Blake with a nod of thanks, then looked at her father’s ashen face. “Father, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Something has happened, my dear girl,” he began, but his voice faltered, and his words were left hanging in the space between them.
“Oh God,” Bridget whispered. “Harriet?”
“What’s that? Oh no, Harriet is fine. She’s upstairs, in fact,” the earl said absently, as though struggling to retrieve the words from somewhere in his mind that he couldn’t quite grasp.
“Then tell me quickly, what is it?” Bridget asked, coming forward and taking her father’s hand. It was unusually cold.
A flicker of movement behind him drew Bridget’s eye. She looked over her father’s shoulder to see the Earl of Haskins step out of the drawing room, an unnerving look of triumph on his face. He held a folded page in his hands, running his fingertips along the crease.
Bridget looked puzzled, turning back to her father for some sort of explanation. Her blood ran cold when he would not look at her.
“Lady Bridget, how nice to see you,” Lord Haskins began. “I did not think we would have any time to chat between now and… our wedding day.”
