The Portrait of a Scarred Duke by Patricia Haverton

Chapter 8

Even as Seth, the Duke of Worthwood, mounted his stallion and rode away from the studio and Miss Elinor Thorebourne, he felt the inexplicable pull to return. He’d already created several different excuses for visiting her again—he’d forgotten to say something crucial or thought he might’ve left something behind.

You need to return home. Returning is a terrible idea.

He really was horribly suited to be a gentleman. Seth tried to decide if that was a recent development, brought about only by his years of sailing or if he’d always been a less than proper lord. He couldn’t quite remember. Maybe it was after the sailing, for he’d never had the desire to visit a woman under such improper circumstances. Yes, surely, it was his time at sea that had turned him into a rake.

Not quite a rake.

But he now understood the temptation to be one. He would never do anything untoward with Miss Thorebourne, of course, but he yearned to be near her. He wanted to hear her talk about art, so he could watch her face become bright with pleasure.

“Welcome back, Your Grace!” Frederick greeted him.

Even as Seth surrendered his horse, he thought about retrieving the stallion and leaving once again for the art studio. Miss Thorebourne was so talented and so beautiful, and he’d seen the distress in her eyes when she spoke of her ailing father. Seth felt a sharp, chivalric urge to make everything right for her. She deserved a perfect world.

A world where people would appreciate her art, a world where being a woman didn’t mean that her art would never be taken as seriously as a man’s. Seth knew he couldn’t singlehandedly create that world, but he felt the urge to try. He was a Duke, wasn’t he? There was no good reason to have a title if one didn’t use it to improve the world.

You’ve known her for scarcely a month, and now, you want to champion female artists because she’s talented and pretty.

When Seth entered, he gratefully gave his coat to the waiting servant. “Her Grace wishes to see you. She instructed that we inform her of your return.”

Seth nodded. “Did she say why?”

“No, Your Grace.”

Seth wondered if she’d be asking about the portrait. He supposed that was a subject they needed to talk about, especially if his mother still wanted it completed before he attended the Season. Seth grimaced and wondered if the delay of the portrait could somehow cause delays in everything.

“I’ll go see her at once,” Seth replied. “Do you know where she is at the moment?”

“The ballroom, last I saw.”

The ballroom. Why would she be there? If she hadn’t already decided they were going to London in the spring, Seth might’ve assumed she’d hoped to surprise him with a ball. Fortunately, there wouldn’t be enough time for that.

He crossed the floor and headed towards the west wing, where he seldom went. Still, he remembered the way and emerged in the ballroom. It was just as he remembered it, a vast stretch of white marble and columns tipped in gold. In the middle of the room, his mother danced with her lady’s maid. Seth leaned against a column, watching them twirl for a moment.

Once, my father would’ve spun her like that.

Seth smiled. A lump rose in his throat. He remembered this room filled with crowds and laughter. He remembered his mother laughing uproariously with her head thrown back and her eyes wide. He remembered his father’s fond smiles and fleeting glances. Although he spent most balls with other gentlemen, his eyes had always strayed to Seth’s mother.

“Join me!” his mother exclaimed, waving for him.

Her lady’s maid stepped politely aside. Seth cleared his throat and bowed. “May I have this dance, dear Mother?”

Her eyes were rimmed with red, and Seth wondered if his mother had been crying. Some days were easier than others, and this had been one of the hard days. “Yes,” she said.

Seth held his mother gently, and they danced without music. Her skirts fell and twirled against his legs, and he couldn’t help but think the white fabric made her resemble a ghost. His mother was like some poor creature, who was present with the living and yet longed for another world, for the world where her husband was.

“I love you, Mother,” Seth said, trying to express just how overwhelming everything was.

His mother smiled. “I love you, too. I’m so glad you’re home.”

He heard the unspoken please beneath those gentle words. Please, don’t leave. Please, stay and be the Duke of Worthwood. I need you.

Seth knew he could never abandon her. He loved his mother too dearly for that. He would be the Duke of Worthwood, even if it meant never returning to the sea and always longing for it. His mother needed him. She needed to know that he would never leave.

“Are we practicing for the Season?” Seth asked.

He was trying to show that he was assenting, that he was agreeing. It only mattered if he found a bride. If she didn’t love him, Seth would find a way to make the marriage work anyway. He’d do the best he could.

His mother’s smile was sad. “I think you are,” she said. “I don’t imagine I’ll ever dance at a ball again.”

“Not even with me?”

She considered him thoughtfully, as they moved through the familiar steps. “Perhaps with my son. You’re right.”

They twirled around the ballroom, and it was almost magical how well Seth remembered every step of the dance. He hadn’t danced much when sailing, but it seemed that some part of him had remained gentlemanly. He’d still known something about this.

“You must like my future bride,” Seth said. “You must tell me if you do not.”

A future bride might be a friend to his mother, and his mother desperately needed companionship. Maybe they ought to spend more time in their London residence, anyway. Worthwood seemed lonely in a way that it never had before.

Well, it seemed lonely when he wasn’t with Miss Thorebourne, but he knew that he couldn’t mention her. It wasn’t proper for a Duke to enjoy the company of a female artist and an unmarried one at that. With a cold rush of dread, Seth considered the possibility that Miss Thorebourne might have a betrothed or a suitor. Being a beautiful woman, surely, there were many village boys eager to wed her.

“I shall like whichever lady you decide suits you best,” his mother replied.

Seth smiled. “And I shall like whichever one makes you the happiest, Mother,” he said gently. “I want us all to be happy, so you must tell me if you dislike the lady I choose. I’ll not have my poor mother saddled with a daughter whom she detests.”

“You’re as kind as your father.”

“I think some of my kindness surely came from my mother,” Seth replied.

His mother halted, and shakily, she raised a hand and touched the scars on his cheek. Her face softened. “My dear one,” she murmured. “I’m—I’m sorry that I didn’t try harder to keep you home.”

“Don’t be,” Seth said. “It’s difficult to control a young man, and I was a difficult one. I’d have left no matter how hard you pleaded for me to stay. If I’ve my father’s kindness, I surely have your fire, Mother.”

“The most troublesome aspect of my character,” she said, “and I’ve given it to you.”

“I accepted it happily.”

His mother dropped her hand and linked her arm with her lady’s maid. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for the day,” his mother said.

Seth nodded, trying to decide if his mother meant only physical exertion and if she might feel inclined to discuss a certain portrait. “I agree,” he said. “I went riding into the village today.”

He would decide based upon her response.

Recognition flashed in his mother’s eyes. “Yes, to see Richard Thorebourne, wasn’t it?”

Seth nodded. “I didn’t see him. It seems he’s quite ill, and his daughter is working in the studio. And tending to him, of course.”

“She hasn’t touched our painting, has she?” his mother asked.

Seth shook his head. “No, and because of that, she did tell me it might be delayed. I know you wanted this before Spring.”

His mother pressed her lips into a thin line. “I’d rather speak to Richard Thorebourne myself. Not today, mind you. But I’d like to see his condition for myself.”

Seth felt a strange spark of indignation, and he couldn’t entirely figure out why. It wasn’t that strange for his mother to want to speak with the artist she’d commissioned—it was because she wasn’t willing to simply take Miss Thorebourne at her word.

“I see no reason to doubt what Miss Thorebourne says,” Seth replied.

“I don’t,” his mother said, “but I would still like to see the man himself. All business is best conducted that way. There’s no need to have everything communicated through his daughter.”

His mother’s voice changed, becoming sterner. For a brief moment, Seth glimpsed a younger version of his mother, the woman who’d been so determined and forward, the young Duchess who had a will of iron.

“I suppose you’re right,” Seth admitted.

He’d have still been content with Miss Thorebourne, of course, but he was willing to concede his mother made a good argument.

“I am right,” she said. “I’m right more often than people give me credit for.”

“I don’t doubt it. The fairer sex’s accomplishments are seldom given the acknowledgement they truly deserve.”

Like Miss Thorebourne’s. Seth’s mind went to her painting of the nymph, and he fought to keep his expression composed. If his mother noticed his admiration for Miss Thorebourne’s art or his thoughts wandering, she’d ask why, and there really wasn’t a gracious way to explain.

“I do think it’s too late for a visit today,” his mother mused, drawing Seth back into the conversation. “By the time I was dressed and the carriage prepared, it would be nightfall.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps?” Seth offered. “I am sure that I could make time to accompany you.”

His mother smiled. “If the snow remains away. It’ll be just like when you were a boy. Do you remember when your father and I used to ride into the village with you?”

“I’d never forget that.”

The three of them left the ballroom, Seth pausing at the threshold to glance over his shoulder. Everything on the estate still felt like his father. It was as if his presence was so powerful that not even death could remove it, and Seth wasn’t sure if he wanted that or not.

He hoped Richard’s illness was one which could be cured with time, rest, and a physician’s efforts. Seth wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone, and although he knew that it was really the way of the world for children to outlive their parents, he dearly hoped Miss Thorebourne had years and years left to spend with her father.

“You used to be so mischievous towards your governess,” his mother said, pulling Seth from his dour thoughts.

“I was. You would scold me for it, and my father would tell you that it’s the way of young men to vex their pretty governesses. Then, you’d be angry with him.”

His mother smiled. “Poor Elizabeth Sumner wasn’t a very pretty woman. Your father meant that in jest, you know.”

“I know.”

In truth, Seth hadn’t noticed whether or not his governess had been pretty. He’d been too young to notice much about women’s appearances. All he’d noticed was that she would get very angry with him, and as a boy, his governess’s fury had been the most entertaining thing in the world.

“I was trying to make you respectful,” his mother continued. “Poor Elizabeth had enough problems without you adding to them.”

“Indeed,” Seth said. “Should I ever have a son, I hope he gives me as much frustration as I gave you, dear Mother. It’s the least that I deserve.”

His mother’s eyes shone. “I agree.”

“What do you intend to do now, Mother?” Seth asked.

He had work that he ought to finish. It was sprawled all over his father’s desk, and he’d abandoned it to visit Miss Thorebourne. Seeing his mother so melancholy made him wonder if he ought to abandon all his work for the day and spend the remainder of it with her.

“I was thinking of needlework,” she replied, “or drawing. Jane has a fondness for sketching.”

Her lady’s maid nodded. “I’m not very skilled, though.”

No, it wouldn’t do for him to join them. If Seth did, he knew he’d think only of Miss Thorebourne and her beautiful painting. The world was unjust to not recognize such talents.

“Well,” Seth replied. “I must return to my work. I bid you adieu, Mother.”

She smiled. “Thank you for the dance.”

“Of course.”

His mother’s face was so fond that Seth felt his heart break for her. She patted her lady’s maid’s hand and turned away. Seth smiled at his mother’s retreating back and slowly climbed the stairs, returning to his office. Talking about wives and the dukedom with his mother was…

Different this time. Different in some way that he couldn’t put words to. It seemed to make everything more real, his life drawn into sharper focus before his very eyes.

I can’t fight this anymore.

Acknowledging that felt like giving up, something which he’d never imagined he’d ever do. But really, what else was there for him? What was the alternative? There were others who could manage the dukedom, manage it well even, but there was no one he could trust to comfort his mother, to really support her when she needed that the most.

Seth entered his office, pausing when he noticed a man was already present and standing before his desk. He cleared his throat, and the man started. Seth relaxed when he realized it was only Henry. “I didn’t realize you were visiting today,” Seth said.

He wondered suddenly—and with no small amount of embarrassment—if he’d had an appointment with Henry and had forgotten it.

“I wasn’t expected,” Henry replied. “I had some business elsewhere, and because I happened to be passing by the estate, I thought I’d best bring you the papers you requested.”

“You have them so quickly?” Seth asked.

Henry smiled. “It wasn’t difficult. I pride myself on keeping meticulous papers,” he replied, “and my clerk is very good.”

Seth approached his desk and peered at the stack of papers, featuring all the expenses of the dukedom. “Well, then,” he said. “You’ve my thanks.”

Henry inclined his head. “It’s always a pleasure, Your Grace.”

Seth nodded. “You have…” he trailed off.

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Your Grace?”

Seth shook his head. “I was going to say that your brother is ill. Perhaps, after you’ve finished business today, you might want to visit him.”

Miss Thorebourne might need you.

Seth felt warmth rush to his face. He shouldn’t be acting like this—like some young man who became flustered every time he remembered a fair face, and yet he was.

“Oh, I didn’t know Richard was ill,” Henry said.

The man didn’t seem concerned exactly. Rather, he responded to being told about his brother’s health with a tone of mild disinterest. It was probably the conflict between himself and his brother which caused that reaction. Seth pressed his lips together into a thin line. He’d forgotten that Richard and Henry had some conflict between themselves.

“Well,” Seth said. “It’s just something I learned from Miss Thorebourne. I thought I would pass it along.”

“From Elinor?” Henry asked, a spark of interest appearing in his eyes.

“Yes,” Seth replied. “She had mentioned that her father was ill and might be unable to complete the portrait my mother has commissioned from him.”

“How unfortunate,” Henry replied. “I do hope he recovers soon. My brother is the best artist in the dukedom, and I truly can think of no one who can equal his talents.”

“Indeed—”

Seth paused. That wasn’t entirely true. He did know someone who could equal Richard Thorebourne’s talents, but no one would give her a chance to prove that she was.