The Portrait of a Scarred Duke by Patricia Haverton

Chapter 6

Seth clasped his hands behind his back, as he watched the coachman carefully place the boxed portrait into the waiting carriage. He waited until the carriage disappeared from sight, taking the portrait with it. Then, he turned away and returned inside. Seth ran a hand through his hair, raking melting snowflakes from the dark strands.

Is Miss Thorebourne doing the same right now?

Was she standing in her own home now, trying to shake the dampness from her own hair? She’d looked so lovely when she’d arrived, her cheeks reddened from the cold and her eyes determined.

“Shall I inform you when they return?” asked Matthew, the elderly butler.

“That would be lovely. Thank you,” Seth replied.

Then, he turned from the entryway and went to the stairs. As he climbed them, his thoughts lingered on Miss Thorebourne. He hoped her father’s health would return soon. She was a good daughter, so devoted.

Seth felt a pang of guilt. He should’ve been like that, determined to remain at his father’s side when he was ill. With painful clarity, he remembered the letters he’d received, letters his mother had sent him about his father’s illness. Seth had assumed his father would recover, and by the time it was apparent that his father wouldn’t, it was far too late.

He joined his mother in the drawing room. She sat before the window with her lady’s maid, a young woman named Jane. Seth sank into a chair near his mother’s arm. “I apologize for keeping you waiting, Mother,” Seth said.

“Was something amiss?” his mother asked.

Seth quickly explained what had happened, and once he had, his mother’s lips pursed together in a thin line. “How utterly dreadful. I do hope he recovers swiftly.”

Seth nodded. “I believe he’s in good hands. His daughter will take good care of him.”

His mother frowned. “His daughter?”

“Yes,” Seth replied. “Have you not met her?”

“No,” she said. “When did you meet her?”

Did Seth detect a hint of suspicion in his mother’s voice, or was it only his imagination? In truth, there was no reason for him to suspect suspicion. He and Miss Thorebourne hadn’t done anything untoward, and yet Seth still felt a cold, persistent fear that someone might learn that he thought about Miss Thorebourne more often than he should.

It’s only because I spent so long at sea without any women in sight. Of course I’d be taken in by a beautiful woman.

A beautiful, unconventional woman, too.

“I happened upon her,” Seth said, realizing that he hadn’t yet answered. “She came to set up her father’s workspace in the parlor, and I saw her. And she’s the one who came to take the portrait home with her.”

His mother hummed. “I don’t recall Henry ever mentioning having a niece.”

“Do you frequently discuss his family?” Seth asked.

If his memory was correct, Seth’s father and Henry were very close, nearly confidants. Seth had never given much thought to his mother’s interactions with Henry, though. The Dowager Duchess had rarely been involved in the daily affairs of the dukedom. Instead, she’d devoted her time to social causes and charitable work.

Seth smiled. As a child, his mother always seemed to be championing someone, but the gentle memory of his mother’s fire was tempered by how she was now. Father’s death had really wounded her so badly.

“I rarely discuss anything with the man,” his mother said, “but I knew he had a brother. I only meant that—given the young woman lives nearby—I would imagine he’d have mentioned her at some point. In polite conversation, if nothing else.”

“Their family isn’t close, from what I can gather,” Seth said. “There was some dispute or such between Henry and Richard Thorebourne.”

“Perhaps a woman,” his mother said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Do you assume that a woman is the only reason for which two men might vow to dislike one another?” Seth asked, sure that his mother had some witticism prepared for him.

“I speak from experience,” she replied, winking. “And history. Jane was just reading about Helen of Troy.”

The lady’s maid straightened her back and nodded. “I can continue, if you like?”

“It depends on what my dearest mother would prefer,” Seth replied. “I’m content to either listen or make conversation, whichever would suit her desires.”

His mother tossed her head back, gazing at him with mock imperiousness. “I think I’d like a conversation, but if you aren’t sufficiently entertaining, we’ll have to read instead.”

“Fair enough,” Seth replied.

“You’re a good son,” his mother said.

She meant it as a compliment, but Seth felt the words like a knife to his heart. He hadn’t been a good son, and he still wasn’t. Every day, every hour, he longed for the sea and freedom. Even knowing that inheriting the dukedom and taking his title were inevitable didn’t help. No matter how often he tried to reason with his desires, to shape them into something more proper, they remained defiant and irrational.

“And I am very pleased that you’re sitting for this portrait and that you’ve agreed to have a Season for me.”

Seth narrowed his eyes. “You say that as if you’re about to push me further.”

“I thought we might talk about some marriageable ladies who are very excited to meet you,” his mother confirmed.

“And are those very excited ladies aware of this?” he asked, gesturing towards his face.

His mother sighed. “No,” she said, “because it would be inappropriate to speak of such things. Besides, there are many things more important than one’s beauty.”

“Like my title and my fortune,” Seth replied. “Doubtlessly, those would both weigh considerably on someone’s decision to wed me.”

“You say that as though women are to be blamed for looking after their futures,” his mother said. “It is not as though there are many professions available to ladies.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant.”

“I know it isn’t, but I still feel that is something you need to keep in mind,” his mother replied. “There are worse reasons to marry someone other than for wealth and a title.”

That didn’t mean he was content to have a wife who saw him only as a means to survive and not as someone who she also wanted to be with.

“How long did it take you to fall in love with my father?” Seth asked, hoping to turn the conversation away from his own potential prospects.

He pretended not to notice the sly glance the lady’s maid gave him. Clearly, Seth wasn’t quite a master of subtlety. His mother didn’t seem to notice the sudden shift, though. Instead, her face adopted a dreamy expression. “It took a year or so,” she replied. “Mind you, I didn’t begin by hating your father. I thought he was a handsome man, and he seemed kind. Responsible. We agreed to marry because it was convenient for the both of us.”

His mother had gotten a title and a fortune, and his father had gotten the heir he needed for the dukedom. It sounded terribly unromantic, and for some reason even he didn’t quite understand, Seth was still a terribly romantic man at heart.

“We grew closer after marriage,” his mother continued. “My lord and I discovered that we both enjoyed the theater, and we went very often together. I suppose that’s where it really began. Love is like that, sometimes. It starts with just a seed and grows into something beautiful.”

“And was it…” Seth trailed off. “Was it worth it, after everything?”

His mother looked oddly at him, like she didn’t quite understand his question. He’d worded it poorly, too. He was a little afraid to ask precisely what he wanted to, though. He didn’t want to hurt her.

“Considering how much his death hurt, is that what you mean?” she asked.

Her lady’s maid leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on the Duchess’ hand.

“Something like that,” Seth replied.

“Of course it was,” his mother replied. “The pain is terrible. I won’t deny that. It feels as though there’s a piece of me which is lost forever. I don’t know if I’ll ever be wholly happy again.”

Even though he’d wanted an answer, Seth’s breath caught in his throat. His heart seemed caught in a vice. “Oh, my poor mother…” he murmured.

“It was worth it,” she continued. “You’ll never hear me say it wasn’t.”

It was a frightening admission. This was what love meant. Seth forced a smile. For a moment, he’d dared consider that maybe a marriage of convenience was better than one born out of love. He couldn’t quite make himself believe that, though.

“You’ll learn to love your wife, too,” his mother said.

But could she learn to love him? The wounds which had caused his scars didn’t hurt anymore, but sometimes, they still felt terribly present, like when he was thinking about love.

“We’ll see,” Seth replied.

He also knew enough of the ton to realize that many couples never learned to love one another. It really seemed to be luck whether or not a marriage of convenience would produce any good results.

* * *

Miss Thorebourne had promised that he would receive a letter about her father’s health in a few days, but after four days passed, Seth had begun to wonder if such a letter would arrive. Then, he pondered the significance of the letter’s delay.

What if Elinor’s father was terribly ill? Seth frowned and tapped his fingers restlessly against his father’s desk. The study was quiet, save for the flames popping in the fireplace and the wind beating against the windows. He felt restless. Reckless, even.

I remember sailing on days like this, when the sky was all gray and the wind was fierce enough to blow a man off his feet.

He could see those days in his mind’s eye as clearly as he had when he’d experienced them. His blood quickened in his veins, and he could feel his body tense, eager for action and adventure. There was no adventure to be found in the dukedom, so a visit to the nearby village would have to do.

Seth abandoned his desk and hurried from his study. He paused only to give a quick word to the butler about his absence. Then, he set a quick course to the stables. One of the stable boys—a young man named Frederick—bowed to him. “Good afternoon, Your Grace!”

“Good afternoon,” Seth replied. “Would you be so good as to saddle my horse? I think I fancy a ride.”

Frederick’s blue eyes darted up, taking in the bloated gray sky. Seth was quite sure Frederick thought he’d lost all good sense. “As you wish, Your Grace,” Frederick replied.

That was to be expected. As Frederick hurried to prepare the horse, Seth wondered if Miss Thorebourne would have responded with the same polite propriety.

Frederick brought the horse—a sleek gray stallion named Marcellus—around the stables. “Here you are, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Seth replied.

He mounted the horse and guided the animal to the road. It wasn’t a treacherous journey. Aside from a few lingering bits of snow and mud, the path remained clear. Seth knew the sky looked ominous, but he suspected the snow might hold off for a while longer yet. He set a leisurely pace to the nearby village.

To Miss Thorebourne. But obviously, his visit was one of courtesy. Her father had been tasked with a job, and since that job remained incomplete, it was only proper that Seth should visit and receive some news on its progress.

Who could argue with that? That’s reasonable.

It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was reasonable. Well-argued, even. He was taking initiative and completing this task himself instead of burdening one of the staff, all of whom already had work to complete, with it. Hopefully, Richard Thorebourne was just a little sicker than they’d realized, and it wasn’t anything more serious than that.

Soon, he sighted the village. It was small and clustered together, the buildings laden with bits of snow and glistening patches of ice. He remained careful, guiding Marcellus around the ice he could see. It had been years since he’d been into the village, but he’d heard Henry describe the art studio to the servant who’d delivered his portrait. That seemed like a good place to begin.

If she isn’t there, I can always ask.

There were people about, after all. Seth straightened a little and tried his best to smile benevolently. He passed a couple of women, who huddled together and whispered as he passed. Seth’s stomach lurched. Were they talking about his scars or wondering over his expensive clothes?

Maybe this wasn’t a wise choice.

People had seen his scars before. Many people. But scars didn’t matter on ships or in seaside ports. It wasn’t unusual for a sailor to have scars and injuries. The staff had seen his scars, but they were under his employ. They had to at least pretend not to notice them.

The villagers had no such inhibitions, and they seldom had visitors, much less heavily scarred ones.

Life was much easier when I was at sea.

He sighed in relief when he found the building Henry had described—right on the edge of the village, nestled beneath a giant tree and just in front of a small pond.

Seth dismounted his horse and self-consciously put a hand to his cheek as a man walked past him.

I am never going to survive the London Season if I can’t even survive walking among my own tenants.

Seth lowered his hand and clenched his jaw. It was all ridiculous. He hadn’t cared all that much about his scars until he’d returned home to Worthwood. We should he care now? It was as if his return had turned his entire world on its head, and now, he felt too much of everything.

“Why did you have to leave?” he muttered.

Seth wasn’t sure if the question was intended for himself or his father. If Seth had never left, he’d have never learned he loved the sea. He wouldn’t have felt those salt breezes against his skin or seen all those bustling ports. He wouldn’t feel as though he’d lost something, either. He wouldn’t have that persistent ache for the ocean and his fellow sailors.

There are more important matters to attend to.

Like Miss Thorebourne. Seth gathered his courage and stepped carefully over the stone path leading to the studio. He brought his horse along with him, his hooves clacking loudly against the stones.

There was a place where he could tie the horse just beneath the tree, which would shelter the animal a little if the snow came earlier than he anticipated. He tied the horse there and patted its flank. “Wish me luck, Marcellus.”

Then, gathering his courage, Seth strode to the door and knocked.