Can’t Buy Me a Duke by Bianca Blythe
CHAPTER TWELVE
Harrison ignored thefaint disappointment when he did not see Lucy and her sister at the Serpentine the following day. No doubt, they could not perpetually sneak from their townhouse, maid in tow.
Harrison focused on rowing.
“Who’s that person?” Sir Augustus asked.
Harrison’s heart quickened, and he jerked his head to the side. Was it Lucy?
Instead, a man was pacing the edge of the Serpentine.
“Don’t tell me one of the princes complained about our presence,” Sir Augustus groaned.
The other rowers murmured mournfully behind.
“Isn’t that person one of your mother’s footmen?” Benedict asked.
Harrison wrinkled his brow. “You’re correct.”
“I think he’s waiting for you.”
Harrison scrunched his lips together. The duchess had never sent someone to speak with him before, but now it was clear that was precisely what she’d done.
The footman rushed toward Harrison, letter in hand. “I have a message for you.”
Harrison took the letter reluctantly.
“And—er—I am supposed to verbally inform you that you are to visit your mother at once.” The footman’s face reddened, obviously uncomfortable with the task.
Harrison didn’t blame the footman for being embarrassed: he was awfully mortified as well.
His friends chuckled behind him.
“I’ll—er—just read the letter,” he told the footman. Harrison unfolded the letter and scanned the words written in the duchess’s clear, perfectly formed script.
Dear Harrison:
I demand to see you at once for tea.
He crumpled the missive. “I’ll be there.”
The footman shot him a relieved smile, evidently dreading the potential for the duchess’s disappointment were he to fail to bring Harrison.
“Don’t you always visit your mother’s townhouse?” one of his friends asked.
“She wanted me to join her for tea,” Harrison said, forcing a bland smile on his face.
His friends appeared unconvinced, but Harrison held his head high as he left Hyde Park.
Finally, he arrived in Grosvenor Square. He ignored the temptation to simply call upon Lucy.
The butler led Harrison into the drawing room. It remained decorated as it had in the last century, filled with pale pink damask wallpaper, gilt furniture, and cloud-filled paintings of wealthy people picnicking, the latter images similar to those that had inspired peasants on the other side of the English Channel to destroy their country.
The duchess was seated in an armchair. Despite the care with which the armchair had doubtless been created, her back remained straight. Relaxing was not something she allowed herself to do, even when sitting.
“Mother.” Harrison bowed.
The duchess inclined her head. “Welcome.”
“I hear we are having tea,” Harrison said.
“We have much to discuss.”
Harrison’s heart tumbled.
“You’ve been spending much time with that Banks woman, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have.” Harrison jutted out his chin.
“According to Matchmaking for Wallflowers you are as much as betrothed with Miss Lucy Banks. I thought it was a rumor, created by her indecorous parents, but after last night, I’m not certain.”
“You shouldn’t refer to her parents like that.”
The duchess’s gaze narrowed, though it did not lessen the intensity of her icy eyes. “I don’t know what you’re doing with her.”
“I’m having a good time. You must remember that.”
“Of course,” she said, her face rigid.
Harrison’s heart hurt.
She would have been happier if his father had treated her better. He knew that. She had loved his father, and he’d betrayed her. Was it any wonder she was suspicious now? Was it any wonder she was cold and frosty and guarded?
It wasn’t.
Harrison mustn’t complain, not to an older woman who had suffered for years. He’d gained so much from her.
“You must be careful, my child. Obviously, you haven’t forgotten.”
“Of course, I haven’t.” He stiffened. Some things were impossible to forget.
“After all, Miss Banks’s best friend was Princess Aria, and she had a disastrous wedding . . .”
“I remember,” Harrison said.
“The point is,” the duchess continued, “that it’s quite likely they will be very careful with the banns.”
“Yes,” he said.
“And you know what would happen?”
“I do.”.
She nodded, evidently appeased. “The benefits are immense. You must never forget.”
“I haven’t.”
“Now that that’s all settled,” she said brightly, “let’s have tea.”
The last thing Harrison wanted was tea. He suspected it would come with scones and various afternoon delights he had absolutely no desire to eat. His throat felt dry. Still, it was difficult to go against her. It always had been.
She waved her hand in a regal manner, and a footman wearing his customary white wig and breeches, as if he’d wandered in from the court of King George III, hastened to them.
“Please,” the duchess said in a regal manner, “inform the housekeeper that we would like our tea now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The footman swept into a deep bow.
The duchess murmured approvingly, perhaps pleased at the right angle he formed. Shortly after, the housekeeper bustled in carrying a platter. The silver tea service gleamed on top.
“Where would you like to have it, Your Grace?” the housekeeper asked.
“By the window, my dear. It is good to see out sometimes.” She glanced at Harrison. “Particularly when one cannot depend on the quality of the conversation.”
The housekeeper shot Harrison a sympathetic look, and he forced his face to remain solemn. He didn’t want the housekeeper’s sympathy. He didn’t want anyone’s sympathy.
The housekeeper and footman moved a small round table to the bay window that overlooked Grosvenor Square. They carried the duchess’s favorite teal upholstered armchairs, which were adorned with long strips of gold, to the table. The gilded furniture matched the gilded candelabras that perched on various sideboards, as well as the piano. The whole place sparkled and shone. No wonder the duchess never desired to leave this house and all its pleasures.
“Perhaps we can talk about something else,” he said.
“Then your mind is not utterly occupied with thoughts of that redheaded girl?” the duchess asked.
“My mind is filled with many things,” he said lightly.
“The estate, perhaps?”
“Ah, yes.”
The duchess nodded approvingly. “You always excelled at handling that.”
He nodded and formed a smile with his lips, but for some reason, the movement seemed stranger than before, as if it were physically difficult.
“Isn’t my son so wonderful for visiting me?” the duchess cooed to the housekeeper.
The housekeeper nodded rapidly. “Oh, yes, Your Grace. He’s a fine young man. You must be very proud.”
“I am.” The duchess stared at him. “He does nothing to disappoint me.”
“How nice,” the housekeeper said.
“He knows at my age and with my heart that such a thing could be disastrous.”
The housekeeper’s eyebrows shot up in a startled manner as she continued to place the tea service on the table.
“He is a sweet boy,” the duchess continued. “He always has been.”
Harrison gave a tight smile. Pretending was becoming more and more difficult.