Just a Marriage of Convenience with the Duke by Hazel Linwood
Chapter 8
The trio departed the school and returned to Patrick’s barouche before he could speak again. As they began to pull away, Bridget asked once again, “Are you feeling all right?”
Patrick nodded slowly. He looked around at his surroundings, the dark black walls of the buildings rising on either side of him, the sloshing mud beneath the wheels undoubtedly filled with all manner of filth. It did not make sense, any of it. First to know that Lady Bridget spent her days here and was willing to marry a virtual stranger in order to preserve this school, but it was more than that. It was knowing that within the filthy walls of the derelict factory, serious learning was taking place.
“I must say, Lady Bridget, that was not at all what I expected,” he finally confessed, still in awe. “I am not too proud to admit that when you first spoke of your school, I thought it to be nothing more than a darling little endeavor that made you feel like you were helping in some way. I had no idea that it housed some of the most important education this city has to offer!”
“Your Grace is being far too generous with his praise,” Bridget protested, but she smiled proudly at his remark.
“I would venture a guess that half the noblemen’s children in this city couldn’t tell you the name of the Emperor of France, let alone question someone about Bonaparte’s plans for revolutionizing the trade routes,” Patrick protested breathlessly. “I have never felt so stupid in my entire life as when those girls were questioning me about my very own industry!”
Bridget and Harriet laughed at the duke’s unexpected statement, then recovered themselves.
“Not at all, Your Grace. You were simply taken by surprise. I fear that many of the people I beg for donations have similar notions about the work of that school,” Harriet answered for them both.
“Those pupils should be attending university!” Patrick stated vehemently. “We must do more for their educations!”
“For now, Your Grace, I must argue that their educations are sufficient. It is their school that is in peril,” Bridget reminded him.
“No longer,” he answered, shaking his head. “Not only have I seen the proof of the work that is done there, but I also applaud it. The school will not close, and it will be fully funded. I will speak to your father at once about purchasing the property so that it can remain open.”
Patrick saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye, then realized that Bridget had suddenly grabbed her sister’s hand in a moment of overwhelming emotion. He looked at her face and saw the great relief she felt, mixed with something else… could it be gratitude? joy?
“You do not know how much this means to me, Your Grace,” Bridget replied tearfully. Even her usually stoic sister appeared on the verge of weeping with happiness.
“It is I who should thank you for opening my eyes today,” he told her. “I had my own notions of not only what constituted sound learning, but also who should receive it. I am now under the impression that a great many people who have been denied schooling for so long are not only capable and deserving, but they are probably a mite bit brighter than the rest of us.”
As they traveled back to more familiar parts of London, Patrick could not put the school out of his mind—nor Lady Bridget’s part in it, either. What a truly incredible young lady to bring such a place to fruition! And what remarkable students to work so diligently at their studies and absorb every morsel of knowledge that was offered to them, despite having not so much as a chair to sit on or a meal to fill their bellies.
As they talked, Patrick could not help but steal glances at Bridget. She was unlike any young lady he’d ever had the great fortune to dance with. She was certainly as lovely as anyone else he’d met, but her passion and care for these children gave her a radiance that could not be attributed to anything else.
They arrived at the home of the Earl of Repington and the butler emerged, assisting the sisters in exiting the barouche. Patrick stepped down as well and walked with them to the door.
“Lady Bridget,” Patrick began, removing his hat and turning it in his hands nervously, “might I have the pleasure of calling tomorrow?”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” she answered with a happy smile. “Would dinner be all right?”
“That would be wonderful,” he replied excitedly, then he bowed and returned to his waiting vehicle.
All the way home, he could think of nothing else but the way her blue eyes shone when she smiled, wondering if he could be so fortunate as to be experiencing love at last.
* * *
“So, if I understand this correctly, you spent the morning riding about the poorest parts of London, inspecting a foundling home?” Edward asked over the rim of his wineglass.
“No, not a foundling home. It was a school for impoverished children,” Patrick replied, swirling his untouched wine in its glass, politely waving off the liveried man with the decanter who offered him more.
“What need have pauper children for a school? They should be working as apprentices, learning a trade. That way, they could become useful and not be so poor when they are older,” Edward said dismissively, looking around at the crowd at White’s as though someone might speak up to agree with him.
“That’s rather crass of you to say, don’t you think?” Patrick argued. “You did not see this place, nor hear these children. Their diction is every bit as eloquent as yours or mine—when you have not been drinking, that is.”
“Who cares how they speak if the only words they will ever utter are, ‘Spare a crust of bread, good sir?’ There’s little use in educating people who will never put that learning to any sort of prosperity,” Edward argued, flicking a speck of dust from the leg of his trousers.
“That’s a rather grim view of things, don’t you agree?”
“No, I don’t,” Edward said without a measure of concern. “The poor have their function in society. They are laborers, the ones who follow the orders of their betters and accomplish the tasks that great thinkers in the upper classes contrive. What would it matter if a brilliant man designs a bridge or envisions a tunnel if there are no uneducated swine to do the back-breaking work?”
“Have you always been like this?” Patrick shot back. “An elitist with an overdone sense of his own importance? Or worse, have I always been like this?”
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, you have,” Edward said, laughing. “It’s who we are. We were born to privilege, which means we will be those great thinkers, those brilliant men who do important things. It is the poor who exist to carry out the physical labor of what we think up.”
Patrick shook his head. “I cannot agree. You did not see their faces, nor hear their discussions. The questions I was asked today showed me how truly ignorant I am of my own industry. Any one of those students could run my businesses in my stead and I would likely be even more successful because of it. The poor are not useless or uneducable, they are merely denied opportunity.”
Edward took a long drink, but he was watching Patrick as he did so, as though scrutinizing his friend closely.
“It’s this young lady, isn’t it?” he demanded.
“What of her?” Patrick asked defensively, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“She has beguiled you in some way, causing you to question your very place in society,” Edward explained, raising an eyebrow. “You dance with her but one time at one ball, and the next moment you’re engaged to be married. You go on precisely one outing, and suddenly you’re ready to relinquish your fortune and live in a cave somewhere.”
Patrick rolled his eyes at his friend’s attempt at humor. “Could you be serious for a moment? Funding a school is hardly giving up my worldly wealth.”
“No. But asking each of your friends to follow suit is a bit unusual,” Edward pointed out. “How long do you think you’ll keep your friends should you begin asking for such favors? But my point remains the same—this woman has changed you.”
“And that’s so wrong? A bad thing that she has opened my eyes to the plight of people living in our very own city who have nothing to eat, nothing to wear, yet still strive to better themselves?” Patrick demanded, forgetting to keep his voice down.
Several tables of men scattered around them at the club looked over, their disapproval evident on their scowling faces. Patrick nodded politely to everyone, then lowered his voice.
“And yes, now that you mention Lady Bridget, I find that I am rather fond of her. Is that so wrong for a man to feel affection for his future wife?”
“Not wrong, but perhaps unexpected. I don’t know that any of our acquaintances developed such feelings for their wives, and certainly not have come to believe they should open schools for the inferiors.”
“They are not inferior!” Patrick shot back angrily. He remembered himself and lowered his tone. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to talk to you about this, you clearly have no notion of romantic feelings for anyone. I was hoping to receive your congratulations that I am utterly happy with this match. It appears no one else I know is, so I had at least hoped I could count on you.”
“You know you have my approval, Lockhart,” Edward said, his tone somewhat kinder. “You even have my heartiest congratulations. There, are you happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Patrick answered bitterly. He stood to go. “We will have another conversation about this, I assure you. I am counting on all of my friends to put forth their support for educating the masses.”
“And I am counting on you to marry this unusual woman and return to normal once your bachelor days are behind you and you’ve regained your mind,” Edward teased, toasting Patrick with his raised glass.
Patrick shook his head, but he did not say anything else that could widen this sudden rift between them. He simply nodded his head, then left the room.
From a table nearby, another man stood to leave at the same time. His back to the young men, he could not help but hear the entire conversation. His smile grew as he envisioned the value in what he had overheard. Standing up to leave as well, Lord Haskins strode out, a plan already taking hold in his mind.
* * *
“I hope you had a lovely day of galivanting around the most unsavory parts of the city,” the duchess said as she sipped her tea.
Patrick couldn’t help but smile, knowing that this conversation would be awaiting him at afternoon tea. He nodded thoughtfully and held his cup precisely as his mother did.
“It was a wonderful afternoon, yes. Thank you for inquiring,” he replied dully, as though answering some mundane question about the possibility of rain.
“You know quite well that is not her meaning, Patrick,” Lady Claire said, looking somewhat disappointed in him.
“Oh, I must have mistaken her sentiment for something other than derision then,” he added, casting a glance at his mother’s narrowed eyes and pinched mouth. “But yes, I did actually have a wonderful outing. Lady Bridget was a delight, and her sister was amusing at times.”
“I’m referring to your foray into the swill that is Bethnal Green,” the duchess explained angrily. “What in the heavens were you even doing down there?”
“More importantly, Mother, how do you know I was down there?” Patrick asked, an amused air about him since he already knew the answer.
“I was informed by a close friend,” she answered.
“So, that is to say, that you keep company with other people who also frequent such a slum?” he clarified, feigning skepticism. “Then it should not disturb you in the least that I was there as well. For that matter, what if I were to come home to report that I had seen your friend there. What would you have to say to such alarming news?”
“Do not be ridiculous,” his mother snapped. “Why were you there?”
“I was inspecting a building that I intend to purchase, if you must know,” Patrick said, withholding what he knew to be rather important information about the building’s purpose.
“And you thought it prudent to bring this fiancée of yours to such an abysmal place, thus giving bystanders the impression that she was at ease in such surroundings?”
“Grandmother, did you have enough to eat? I don’t want my scone or clotted cream, if you would like to have them,” Patrick said, changing the subject.
Lady Claire pursed her lips to keep from smiling at her grandson. “I believe your mother would like to finish this conversation, Patrick.”
“And I believe I’ve grown quite weary of this conversation, Grandmother,” he replied, ignoring his mother’s growing rage. “I have made my thoughts on any interference—no matter how well-intentioned it may be—very clear. I intend to marry Lady Bridget in due course, and I see no need to continue having discussions about it.”
The duchess looked away angrily but was silent. Lady Claire took up the mantel instead in an attempt to make the duke see reason.
“When my son was of age to marry, your mother was the very last person I would have chosen for him,” Lady Claire began, causing Patrick to stare at her in surprise. “Oh, there’s no cause for alarm, your mother was well aware of that fact.”
Patrick looked to his mother, who only arched an eyebrow knowingly at him.
“It was my husband who saw the benefit to the match, and he was not wrong,” Lady Claire continued. “If I’d had my way, your father would have married some flighty thing who could be easily manipulated into maintaining her place in the family and producing heirs. Your grandfather, on the other hand, knew from his own experience that a wife who can guide your social standing and increase your respectability among the ton is of far more worth.”
“So, what you’re saying, Grandmother, is that mothers are often very wrong about their son’s choice of brides, and I should therefore ignore Mother’s concerns?” Patrick asked brightly.
“That is far from the truth, Patrick, as I’m sure you are aware. Your mother wants what is best for you. She has urged a marriage due to rumors that have been started about you—”
“Rumors that I’ve been told she may have started in order to force my hand into marriage,” Patrick pointed out.
“—and now has extreme reservations about you marrying a girl whose father has run out their fortunes. Can you offer no plausible explanation for your decision? Is there some… untoward reason… why you’ve suddenly chosen a bride and intend to marry very soon?” his grandmother asked.
“I am very surprised at you, Grandmother,” Patrick said, though he sounded more disappointed than angry. “That is the sort of question I would have expected from my mother, not from you.”
“Do you not think it’s the sort of question the entire ton will be asking, if they are not already speculating about it already? Wondering if this girl has trapped you into marriage—and whether or not you are actually the guilty party in her escapades?”
Patrick did not respond, unable to formulate a polite response to such an insulting question. He let his gaze fall towards the street outside, watching the people passing by the front windows rather than think about what his own family was saying about him.
If there is a rumor about Lady Bridget, I can rest assured that it was begun by my mother, he thought angrily. She is determined to cause everyone around her to be her equal in misery.
“I remembered that I have some urgent business to attend to,” Patrick finally said, his voice empty of emotion. “If you will excuse me…”
He stood up and left the drawing room, his stomach roiling with fury. How dare they conspire against him, against Lady Bridget? But they were not going to dissuade him from his course. If anything, he was even more determined to marry this wonderful young lady after discovering that she was not “ideal” enough for his mother’s liking. No matter what, Patrick would marry Bridget at the closest opportunity.
