The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) by Devlin, Barbara (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📕

“Wait, please.” Arabella jumped to her feet. “I apologize, my lord, and I meant no offense, but you must admit the scheme is rather startling in its uniqueness, because never have I heard of such an enterprise undertaken by your sex.”

“Of course, it is unheard of, and I know of no one who would embark on such insanity, present lunatic company excepted.” Lord Greyson shrugged. “Society already believes we are adrift in a jolly boat sans an oar. Mark my words, they will call us the Mad Matchmakers of Waterloo.”

“Surely, you jest.” Just like that, Arabella gained four less than graceful but nonetheless chivalrous co-conspirators. “But, if all else fails, the name has a nice ring to it.”

Chapter Five

Garbed for dinner, Anthony descended the grand staircase. In the foyer, he turned right and strolled into the drawing room, where his mother lingered. “Where is Father?”

“He dines out, tonight.” The firm set of her jaw betrayed her air of serenity, belying the fact that she knew her husband spent the evening with his mistress. His father’s propensity to keep a courtesan always confused Anthony, because he considered his mother a beautiful woman. Indeed, she was the envy of many society ladies, yet she spent much of her time alone. Even at Ainsworth’s dinner, she kept to herself. “Would you care for a glass of sherry?”

“No, thank you, Mama.” Sitting on the sofa, he adjusted the sleeve pinned to his lapel. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course, my dear.” Ever the lady, she glided to a chair and perched as if posing for a portrait, as was her way, and he admired her delicate features. “What troubles you? I gather it has something to do with your impending nuptials?”

“Am I that obvious?” When she nodded, he chuckled. “Mama, my objection to the union has naught to do with Lady Arabella, because she is a very fine woman. Rather, it is my physical fitness that is at issue.”

“And you struggle with memories of the war.” It should not have surprised him that she saw through his semblance of calm. With perfect posture, she clasped her hands in her lap. “How often I think of John and his carefree nature. I suspect, had he survived, he would have come home and resumed his life, inasmuch as he left it. Yet, owing to his brash behavior, his demise did not so much shock as it saddened me. In some respects, I expected the regrettable news. But you, well, you were always a different sort. Whereas John was a boisterous, temperamental child, you were quiet and thoughtful, and I never doubted you would return to England.”

“Do you believe I should marry Lady Arabella?” Yes, he still had reservations, despite his friends’ encouragement. “Can I make her happy?”

“That you raise the question provides the answer.” Hers was not the response he anticipated, and he scooted to the edge of his seat. “While I loved your brother, God rest him, I can admit, in all honesty, that John would not have made a devoted spouse. But you? You will care for her, as proven by your concerns for her welfare even now. You honor your commitments, and it is my hope you will also find love, although there are no guarantees, which you well know.”

“Love?” His gut roiled at the suggestion. “I know naught of that emotion beyond the filial sort, Mama.”

“But you will respect the vows, because such constancy of character is embedded in your disposition.” Inclining her head, she smiled. “And love exists within you, whether or not you appreciate it, and it knows you. Yet, your steadfast heart is but one of the many reasons I love you, and you will make Lady Arabella a most loyal mate.”

To his chagrin, he realized, too late, that he hurt his mother, because he forced her to confront all that she never enjoyed. Indeed, he promised he would never treat Arabella with the indifference to which his father subjected Mama, and he would never take a mistress.

“Why did you stay with him?” Anthony reflected on the past, on the years she spent nurturing her sons, only to be ignored for her efforts. “Why are you still here?”

“Because, like you, I keep my word. And where would I go?” Mama stood and strolled to the hearth, where she stared at the flames. Tall and slender, with a touch of grey in the hair about her temples, she personified elegance. “While I was but five and ten when I wed His Grace, my mother explained to me, in detail, what my new position involved and my part to play, and I obeyed. And there have been compensations, you and your brother. For good or ill, I am Her Grace, the Duchess of Swanborough, and I shall take the rank to my grave, because I earned it a thousand times over the years. In regard to your father’s predilection for less than gracious company with the manners of a feral cat, I never had any illusions of fidelity when it came to His Grace, and he took no pains to disappoint me.”

“Still, you must have wanted something more, Mama.” As he studied the intricate print on the Aubusson carpet, he imaged a fanciful girl, full of hope, only to have her dreams dashed, and inside he wept for his mother. “What if I suffer the same fate or worse? What if I fail Lady Arabella in the same fashion, because I am hollow, Mama? I am an empty shell, and I would rather sever my other arm than cause Lady Arabella anguish, given she is but an innocent victim of Father’s ambition.”

“Only if you allow him to define your union.” She turned and faced him, and never had he seen such determination in her expression. “But there is another way, my son, if you would consider it.”

“And that is—what, Mama?” Curious,