Just a Marriage of Convenience with the Duke by Hazel Linwood
Chapter 16
Mr. Collins knocked on the door to the duke’s chambers and waited for a beckoning from within. There was none. The butler waited for a solid, slow count of ten before lifting his fist to knock again. He hesitated though, having been taught from his very first year in service as a lowly footman that decorum and protocol were never to be trifled with.
Still, there was much at stake. The duchess was downstairs fuming, pacing the room in a way that she only did when something was gravely wrong; at all other times, she would have felt the untamed gesture to be beneath her. As for the duke’s grandmother, she usually had the fortitude of someone far younger, however she had taken to her bed after learning of the duke’s misfortune the evening before.
Mr. Collins knocked again, knowing that he’d been sent on a serious mission to rouse the duke and request his presence downstairs. It did not behoove him to ignore the duchess’ orders, just as it was not proper for him to go against the rightful duke. However, the butler felt that only one of the two parties would be reasonable in their displeasure with him.
“Your Grace?” the butler called out softly after receiving no reply.
Mr. Collins looked up and down the hallway helplessly. It was a rare occurrence that he did not know the proper thing to do, but this was one of those times. Did he dare open a door that had been closed to everyone by the duke himself? There was little doubt as to the answer to that one.
But the duchess had ordered him to retrieve His Grace and bring her to him at once. And that was what he felt compelled to do.
Mr. Collins took a deep breath to steel his nerves, then turned the handle that latched the door. He leaned forward, keeping his feet on the other side of the door as if he could convince himself that made this more appropriate. He squinted his eyes mostly closed lest he see the duke in a delicate way, and then called out quietly.
“Your Grace?” Mr. Collins asked. “Are you awake, Your Grace?”
An otherworldly moan told the butler that the duke was, in fact, abed within his room. Mr. Collins straightened up and stepped through the door.
“Your Grace, there is an urgent matter that your mother wishes to discuss with you,” the butler said, keeping his tone soft on the off chance that the duke was afflicted with a sickness brought on by heavy drink the night before.
“I have no wish to see my mother right now,” the duke answered, his face mostly buried in the bedclothes.
“Yes, Your Grace. I will gladly inform her,” Mr. Collins said, but he did not move to leave. “However, she will only send me back to retrieve you again. Might I suggest informing me of a time when she can expect you?”
“Certainly, Collins. How many hours are there in six months? I’d wager about four thousand hours or so, give or take? You may inform her that I shall see her in approximately four thousand hours,” the duke said, though he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“I shall endeavor to do so,” Mr. Collins replied, already relieved. “Shall I ask Mrs. Phillips to prepare some sort of morning-after remedy?”
“You think I’ve been drunk, Collins?” the duke asked, bleary-eyed.
“I do not presume to think such things, Your Grace,” Mr. Collins said, though he saw nothing that would prevent him from believing it.
“I have not, for what it’s worth, though I do believe I might be in less foul of a mood had I gotten completely blistering drunk yesterday evening,” the duke confessed. “But no, please inform Mrs. Phillips that a usual breakfast will suffice. And would you inform my mother that I will be down as soon as… as soon as I feel like it?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Certainly,” Mr. Collins said, bowing. “And please accept my sincerest apologies for intruding in your chambers.”
“I accept, Collins, but only because I know firsthand how insistent my mother can be. I’m sure you were given no choice in the matter.”
“Quite so, Your Grace. I shall leave you to your rest and will deliver your messages,” the butler said, bowing again before leaving the room.
In the hall with the door shut firmly behind him, Mr. Collins slunk against the wall, relieved that this dreadful task was behind him. At least now he could honestly inform the duchess that he had done her bidding and had managed to do so with a limited amount of untoward intrusion upon the duke.
Downstairs, Mr. Collins continued with his unpleasant errands.
“Your Grace,” he began, entering the drawing-room to speak to the duchess, “His Grace, the Duke of Lockhart, will be down in due course.”
The duchess stopped pacing and whirled about to face the butler. “I am aware that he will be down in due course, Collins. What I want to know is why he’s not here presently. I did not ask for him to come down when he feels so compelled.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler replied humbly. “I can go and inform him once more—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Patrick interrupted from the doorway.
“Good heavens, what are you doing downstairs in your nightclothes?” the duchess demanded, pressing a hand to her chest.
Mr. Collins looked to make a quick exit, but the duke stood between him and the drawing room door. He had no wish to be present for whatever issue was at hand, and certainly no desire to bear witness to an argument between his employers.
After all, he had not been in service for over forty years by intruding where he was not supposed to be.
“Collins, have you had leave to request that breakfast of Mrs. Phillips yet?” the duke mercifully inquired.
“No, Your Grace. I will do so at once,” the butler answered gratefully, bowing quickly and all but running from the room.
He made it to the foyer outside the drawing room before remembering himself. Mr. Collins straightened up at once at the sight of a housemaid coming down the stairs, then tugged importantly at the hem of his coat before nodding to the younger woman. He continued on to the kitchen—a place of sanctuary in an increasingly turbulent household, a place where he was respected and even admired—to request His Grace’s breakfast.
* * *
Patrick strode into the drawing room the rest of the way and fell back onto a sofa, propping his slippered feet on the low table before him. He leaned back and crossed his palms behind his head, much to his mother’s chagrin.
“I’ve been informed that you wished to speak with me, Mother. Tell me, why have you summoned me?” Patrick began, a wry smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
“This is a serious matter, and I would have thought you would treat it as such,” the duchess replied, storming over, and plucking a sheet of paper from the table before thrusting it into Patrick’s hands.
“Oh, how wonderful. A treatise from some anonymous rabble-rouser first thing in the morning,” he replied as he turned the gossip sheet around to look it over. “What’s it to be this time? Have I bedded half the young ladies in the ton, or sprouted a pair of horns? Which is it?”
“It is not a laughing matter, if that’s what you take it for,” the duchess snapped, pressing her hands together in front of her and staring down at the duke.
“Well, I’m certainly not laughing. I’m simply not in the mood for it,” Patrick answered, thinking back to the ball at which he had watched the woman he loved doting on another man.
“What are we to do, Patrick?” the duchess asked in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. She sat down on the sofa across from him and looked pensive, like a woman experiencing such confusion for the first time in her long life.
“What is there to do, Mother?” Patrick asked, truly not wishing to antagonize her. “Lady Bridget has obviously rejected our contract in favor of another man. To call him out—as I’d first thought, and as this gossip writer seems to think I should do—would only keep the ton focused on our problems. The sooner Lady Bridget marries that scoundrel and the pair of them are away from me, the sooner our lives can get back to normal.”
“And is that what you?” his mother asked, ducking her head to try to meet his remorseful gaze.
“Of course not. But what I wanted is no longer a consideration, not that it ever was to begin with,” he answered, struggling to keep from sounding as though he blamed his mother for his heartache.
“You know, I am suffering now too,” she said, looking down at her hands in her lap. “I am well aware that I pushed you into seeking a wife, and that I went on to give you unthinkable grief when you did so. Therefore, I took it upon myself to actually meet this creature and I found her to be sensible, charming, generous, and overall, a lovely person.”
“Thank you, Mother, for so succinctly reminding me of everything I’ve just lost,” Patrick interjected, his sarcasm causing the duchess to wince.
“As I was saying, I permitted my heart to envision utter happiness for you… and a house filled with delightful grandchildren for me,” she added with a soft laugh that Patrick couldn’t remember ever hearing before. “If I am now hurting over this awful turn of events, then I can only imagine what you are feeling. And I wish for you to know how very sorry I am for my part in all of it.”
Patrick was stunned. He finally looked over at his mother and truly saw the woman who’d tried her best to raise a duke, even though too often he’d wanted nothing more than to be her little boy. She seemed older now, or at least older than he’d always envisioned her to be.
“I know that you’ve always done what you thought was right,” he conceded kindly, “and that you never acted maliciously. But that does not answer the question—what do I do now?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that,” his mother answered softly, her voice gentler than he could ever remember it. “Only know this much—whatever your decision, I will hold my tongue for once and support you.”
Patrick smiled at that, a wry sort of laugh escaping his throat. “No matter what?”
“Within reason,” the duchess clarified, taking up his jest. “Now, as your mother and not the Duchess of Lockhart, I do not mind giving you my advice. No wait, advice is much too strong of a word. This is merely a suggestion of something that might be beneficial.”
“I am ready to listen and willing to proceed,” Patrick said firmly.
“I think you should simply put this behind you and move on in finding a new wife,” she said stoically, perhaps pretending that she did not see the look of astonishment on her son’s face.
“You cannot be serious, Mother,” Patrick stated, his shock causing further words to fail him.
“I am quite serious. You will come away from this awful experience as a better man, one who has been tested and forged by fire. Now, you may be a bit more hesitant about giving away your heart so readily, and far more likely to think about a woman’s qualities before deciding to pledge your life to her.”
“That sounds an awful lot like you are chastising me. I don’t think I like it.”
“Patrick, I assure you I am not chastising you, nor am I delighting in saying I told you so,” his mother promised. “I am very seriously recommending that you seek out another young lady who can make you happy. Only this time, be more cautious with your heart… do not throw it so freely at the first eligible young lady.”
“I understand, Mother,” Patrick admitted wearily. “And as much as the thought of doing so nauseates me, I believe you may be right.”
