1815, October
The Noxforth House, built in early 18th century by the first Duke of Noxforth as a symbol of the growing wealth and power of the Villiers according to a severe Palladian architecture, stood in Piccadilly, London in stark contrast to the monotonic terraced houses of the lesser nobility. The long library of Noxforth House, much smaller in comparison to its counterpart in their country seat at Horndale, was presently occupied by two gentlemen immersed in several documents spread across the library table. The Duke of Noxforth, in his early thirties, sat in the library chair, wide enough to accommodate his frame comfortably, reading one page of the document with a slight frown of concentration. The other occupant of the room, a much younger and leaner gentleman in his early twenties, stood inspecting another page and occasionally jotting down a couple of words in a small book lying on the table. Neither of them took note of the bright sunny morning filtering through the tall windows nor the dim sounds of the city traffic. The duke finally broke the silence without looking up from the page, ‘What do you think, Fox?’
Mr Adam Fox, who had been expecting the question for the past five minutes, swiftly picked up his notebook and looked at his employer saying composedly, ‘It seems like a sound investment, your grace.’ He added after a careful pause, ‘If they can avoid instigating a strike like the Manchester one from 1808.’
‘Indeed.’ The duke raised his face to his secretary, ‘The wages are paltry. What about the children?’
Adam’s lips tightened, ‘Thirty percent of workers are children under the age of 12.’
‘I see. Have you the profit estimates?’ The duke’s voice was unperturbed, giving nothing away.
‘Yes. The installation of the steam engine and the wrought iron shaft will increase the production and the profit more than enough to cover the cost of a wage increment and the removal of the younger mass of children from the mill.’ Adam said passing the piece of paper he had been holding to the duke, ‘But Mr. Bolton-’
‘Will not like it.’ The duke finished nodding. He took the report from Adam holding it but not reading it yet. Looking up from it at his competent young secretary the duke raised one of his eyebrows, ‘Do you doubt my negotiating skills?’
It was a mark in favour of Adam that he did not flush. He calmly denied such an allegation aptly remembering the various financial and political adversaries his employer had flayed since he had been privileged to join as his secretary less than a year ago. After the death of the last duke, the old secretary had decided to retire opening this fateful position for the freshly graduated Oxford scholar Adam Fox, son of a rector. Although Adam had entered Oxford with the intention of joining the church, his father had been against it before passing away two years ago due to consumption, leaving his only child an orphan. In his final university year, an unexpected- and in many ways unwanted- event had dashed any remaining possibility of getting ordained. In a streak of rare rebellion against his great-aunts’ vehement protests, he had instead applied for a secretary position at the age of 22. Much to his chagrin, after knowing he was working for the Duke of Noxforth they had granted their delightful approval. Initially Noxforth had hesitated to appoint a fresh-faced secretary, but Adam had quickly won him over with his aptitude and attention to details. Both employer and employee, new to their respective positions, had developed a deep mutual respect, trust, and dependency.
Sardonically thanking his secretary for his unfailing confidence Noxforth took a few minutes to read estimations in the report. Afterwards his eyes focused on thin air for a while, a look that Adam could ascribe to the duke trying to come to a decision. After a few minutes of meditation, he blinked, and Adam knew the decision had been made.
‘When does the Michaelmas term begin at Cambridge?’
Perfectly following the reason behind such a question Adam answered, ‘October 11, Your Grace.’
‘Then I leave for Lancashire tomorrow. Postpone all my appointments until I am back and arrange for my travel.’
‘Yes, your grace.’ Adam managed to ask without displaying the petulance he was feeling, ‘Will you be going alone, your grace?’
Noxforth’s eyes twinkled at him, ‘Surely you can survive without me for ten days, Fox?’
Adam could survive indeed but he had been bound in London for over two years since his father’s death. He itched to travel, even if it was to Lancashire; he itched to run away from the guarding eyes of the two old vultures who smothered him with unrequited love and attention.
With a pained expression he gravely replied, ‘I shall contrive to persevere, your grace.’
Noxforth’s lips twitched. ‘See that you do. I need you to ready the blunt by the time I return.’
Adam nodded to this and added, ‘Will you be taking Warren with you?’
‘Certainly. When does he arrive to meet me?’
Adam pulled out a watch from his pocket to consult the hour. ‘Anytime now.’
Not long after, a scratch was heard at the library door and the butler, Mr. Walters with an austere countenance, appeared to announce the arrival of a Mr. Warren Price.
‘Send him in’ Noxforth nodded, ‘Thank you, Walters’.
A tall young man sharing similar physique as young Mr Adam Fox walked in. Unlike Adam and Noxforth, whose clothes were of the finest tailoring and worn with a precision that proclaimed the talents of trained valets, Mr. Warren Price’s appearance was relatively careless. It appeared the twenty-one-year-old had recently survived a growth spurt; the coat was a little too tight and the knee-breeches were a little too short on the resulting physique. As he came to stand beside Adam, their differences were startlingly apparent to Noxforth. Warren was dark to Adam’s fairness. While Adam had the lean face and high cheek bones ascertaining his distant connection to nobility, Warren’s was harsh with thick eyebrows and wide lips characterising his less than noble origins. While Adam’s eyes were calm and subtly observant, Warren’s betrayed a sharpness and eager ambition to move up in social and financial ladder. While Adam was restful, Warren was clearly restless although he stood without fidgeting. Beneath the surface, however, Noxforth found a lot of similarities in their strength of character, ease of conversation and intellectual capabilities.
‘Good morning, Your Grace’ Warren bowed to Noxforth and turned to Adam to shake his hands, ‘Adam’.
Adam clasped Warren’s hand and said, ‘Warren! Glad you could come at such a short notice.’
Warren grinned, ‘I was waiting for the summon!’
‘In that case, you will be pleased to know you’re to accompany me to Lancashire.’ Noxforth announced, ‘Tomorrow.’
Warren’s grin gave way to a full-fledged smile that crinkled his eyes and added a softness to his angular face, ‘So you have decided to invest then?’ He seemed about to jump up with a loud whoop into the air.
Noxforth leaned forward in his chair balancing his hands on the table. His eyes fixed gravely on the excited young face of Warren Price, son of the steward of his country seat at Horndale. ‘Subject to certain conditions, of course’
‘Of course!’ Warren agreed without hesitation, unperturbed by Noxforth’s demeaner, ‘What are the conditions?’ He looked from Noxforth to Adam.
Adam obliged him by answering, ‘The wages of the mill workers are abysmally low. This is a major risk factor because a sustained protest can easily stall the production and long-term profit gain. One of our major conditions behind the investment will be to increase the wages to stave off any such undesirable circumstance.’
Adam paused to allow the statement to sink in. Warren nodded his head at Adam to continue, but the smile was gone from his face by now and a frown occupied his forehead.
‘The second condition will be that Mr. Bolton has to agree to replace any child workers below the age of 12.’
Under Noxforth’s hooded gaze Warren’s face stiffened as if he had been stuck. With a clenched jaw he muttered, ‘I see.’ His face became flushed red with a combination of anger and disappointment.
Correctly perceiving that a dam was about to burst open Noxforth calmly stated, ‘No, you don’t see.’
Warren rigidly disagreed, ‘I do, your grace.’ Adam was looking mildly discomfited. Warren leaned forward towards Noxforth putting both of his hands on the table, ‘Even if your first demand could be met, no mill owner would agree to the second demand. That Bolton fellow has come out of gutters with no morals and no scruples. Word has it that he is the strictest, and probably the cruellest, master among those Lancashire mill owners. He’d never let go of his brats.’ He pointed his finger at Noxforth and said, ‘And you very well know it too!’ He did not wait for either Noxforth or Adam to refute this claim and raged, ‘If you merely wanted to show me my place you need not have toyed with the lowly son of a steward.’
Adam was stunned at this final jab against his employer. While he could easily encumber his noble employer with adjectives such as satirical, rigid, and occasionally managing he would never have attributed him with the word snobbish. Having survived a number of set downs from the duke in private during the early months of his employment, he had always known that none of them had been unjustly bestowed nor did the duke seem to have derived any sadistic pleasure from such sessions. In fact, Adam had found him to treat the dowager duchess, his grace’s sisters and his servants, all with the same unaffected air. During one of the rare candid moments with his great aunts, Adam had described the duke to them as having a pike up his arse hearing which the two old ladies had tittered uncontrollably until their great-nephew, conscience-stricken, had born upon them that old ladies had no business behaving like young misses with no manners, to which they had retorted that it seemed like he was the one who walked with a pike up his arse. Presently he was debating with himself whether to allow his employer to be thus besmirched or to argue with a hot-headed Warren when his junior stood back straight again. Adam saw him trying to control his anger. He glanced sideways at the duke, found him sitting as he had been, as cool as a cucumber and felt marginally relieved.
The duke asked calmly, ‘Are you done?’
Taking a deep breath and turning away Warren amended through clenched jaw, ‘You need only have said you were not interested, your grace. I beg your pardon for inconveniencing you, I must leave now.’ He started walking away towards the door to Adam’s utmost consternation.
The duke, however, was not to be easily fobbed. Noxforth had recognised early on the thin veneer of civility that covered the burning passions of a young man. He had no leash, letting his passion rule him. After this outburst, Noxforth aptly guessed that wounded pride at Eton and Oxford- quite easily acquired really- must have fuelled this passion. Without getting up from his seat he said in a clear voice that rang with generations of ducal authority, ‘Sit down, Warren.’
This stopped young Warren, his inexperienced and youthful passion no match against the duke’s command. Unable to brazenly flout the order, he turned back with a defiant and belligerent expression on his face and frozen undecidedly in his spot. Noxforth could see that his impulse was to rebel, but Warren was also extremely aware that the sole earner in his large family, his father Mr. Carlson Price, was an employee of Noxforth. Though Warren was very much mistaken in his notion that the duke would not scruple to take advantage of this, Noxforth did not feel it necessary to correct him. Although Warren did not leave, he refused to sit down. Noxforth ignored this breach.
‘Deliver me from the temper of young pups.’
Adam grinned at this, realising that the worst had passed. He pointed out to his junior, ‘If his grace had not been willing, he’d not be asking you to accompany him to Lancashire.’
Warren’s frame did not relax at this. Turning to Adam he snapped, ‘Only a fool would suppose that that Bolton fellow would agree after hearing those conditions!’
Ignoring that his master had been implied to be one such fool, Adam was about to reply but Warren cut him off, ‘I told you, we wouldn’t be the only willing investors!’
‘No, but we will be his best option.’ Noxforth repeated impatiently, ‘Sit down, both of you.’
Adam dragged a chair for Warren indicating that he should be the first to sit down. The rigidity of his shoulders fell away at Adam’s solicitude, but his face remained unconvinced and he stood unmoving. At Noxforth’s raised eyebrows, he seemed to resign himself, walked to the chair and folded himself onto it with visible reluctance. Adam sat down in the adjacent chair. Noxforth found himself thrown into the position of an unwilling mentor. Adam was barely older than Warren, but his disposition was much steadier. And, his secretary had been spending an inordinate amount of time with him and was attuned to his subtleties, unlike Warren. Fixing his gaze on the youngest member in the room he decided to be blunt, ‘You will hear me out in silence, young man. I will not tolerate any impetuous conduct. And the sooner you master that volatile temper of yours the better you can deal with the problem at hand.’
Warren’s face continued to remain flushed at being reprimanded like a child. Noxforth allowed the words to sink in and then continued without preamble, ‘We will not only be investing but also sponsoring the deficit the mill will face due to the wage increment. For two years. From our estimate the profit will be enough to cover the offset easily.’
Warren thought for a second but clearly he was not appeased. He was already shaking his head, ‘What happens after the two years? Bolton will not want to bear the cost.’
‘He will. Because we will be willing to make another investment after two years.’
Adam clarified, ‘It will be the appropriate incentive.’
Warren’s eyes widened at this, limp with surprise he fell back against the back rest of the chair.
‘Another investment? But, how can you be so sure- it is extremely risky!’
Adam took over, ‘No. Steam engines are the future. And textile industry has a long way to go before failing. The risk is highly unlikely.’
Warren’s mathematical mind was busy doing rapid rough estimations of the transactions that will be involved to make profit, ‘You are betting on the fact that you will be the largest investor, more than Bolton asked for.’
Noxforth silently applauded Warren’s quick understanding, ‘Quite so.’
Adam added, ‘Bolton can expand much more rapidly than his competitors. And the profit margins will only shoot up further after the first two years.’ Then looking at his employer Adam added, ‘The only problem I see, your grace, is Bolton may not like answering to anyone and such heavy investment would put up his back.’
Noxforth agreed with this but said, ‘Indeed. But from what Warren has told me about this Bolton, I believe he is greedier than his pride.’
Warren pinched his nose between two fingers, trying to hide a small smile he was no longer able to hold back. ‘It’s true, Adam. He’s quite vile.’ In a reconciled voice he then asked, ‘And may I be granted a share of leverage in the second investment as well?’
Noxforth smoothly replied, ‘But, of course! Both you and Adam.’
‘I don’t believe it!’
Adam laughed, ‘Believe it!’
‘Why are you being so generous?’ Warren asked wonderingly.
Noxforth continued, ‘It was a rare piece of fortunate information you stumbled upon but the real astuteness you showed was in how used it. I am pleased.’
‘You mean by bring it to you’
‘Quite so!’
Warren grinned under the praise. Unable to sit still with the excitement humming in his veins he got up and walked around the table to Noxforth. Gently holding Noxforth’s hand in his, he brought them to his lips and kissed, ‘Thank you, your grace.’
He was finally going to make his fortune.
A bit surprised at this effusion and quite amused, Noxforth bade him to return to his seat.
‘You need not be grateful. Indeed, all I did was to take advantage of an opportunity.’
But Warren shook his head. In a few years he would have his fortune. He sat back down beside Adam debating over a confession for a few second and then plunged ahead, ‘You were the only man with enough blunt who would have granted me an audience, your grace. But in truth, my father told me that recently you had asked after me. And it was a major deciding factor in why I decided to approach you.’
At this, the duke exclaimed softly, ‘Is that so? And he began to laugh. ‘In that case, you must send your gratitude to Miss Andromeda Dormer.’
‘Who?’
Warren wore a bewildered expression, and Adam looked equally confused. He demanded of his employer, ‘Who is she?’
Warren asked bafflingly, ‘Andromeda Dormer?’ And when no reply came forth, he added, ‘You mean the little br-, miss from- from Ganymede?’
‘The very same!’ Noxforth produced pleasantly.
Adam persisted, this time asking Warren, ‘Who is Andromeda Dormer?’
Warren ignored Adam, ‘How- how do you know, how is she related-’
Noxforth gestured Warren to stop and answered Adam, ‘Miss Andromeda Dormer is the ten-year-old daughter of late Sir- er-Dormer, I forget his name-’
‘Sir Algernon Dormer’ supplied Warren, his eyes narrowed on Noxforth.
‘Sir Algernon Dormer, a country squire in Ganymede. It’s a neighbouring village of Horndale.’
Warren demanded, ‘What has she got to do with it?’
‘Nothing, I happened to meet her, and she happened to mention you to me, which is why I enquired after you to your father.’
‘Happened to meet her?’ Adam asked, trying wildly but failing to imagine any meeting between a ten-year-old girl and his solemn employer.
‘Mentioned me, did she?’ Warren asked to no one in particular, his mind whirring at what the brat could have said to Noxforth, ‘A most obnoxious brat!’
Noxforth offered in a flat voice, ‘Quite delightful. Then you know her?’
Warren’s eyes shot to Noxforth’s relaxed expression. His own eyes softened a bit, ‘What did she say? She forever used to badger me whenever I used to visit Father Morgan.’
‘Ah, I can believe that.’
‘What did she say about me?’ Warren repeated
‘How did you meet her?’ Adam asked unable to get past the meeting.
Noxforth flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture and stood up turning his back towards both the young men. When he spoke again it was clear that any hint of Andromeda Dormer had vanished from his thought and Adam was not to know about it. The duke’s voice had become grave again as he rapidly started dictating orders to both Adam and Warren, ‘Fox, ready the coach for the travel to Lancashire and rooms at posting inns. Inform Mr. Bolton that Warren and I will meet him after five days from today. Ask Mr. Payton to prepare the investment documents. Today. Inform Mr. Price I will be taking his son with me.’ At this Warren made a protest which went unheeded, ‘Warren, you will pack your stuff for Cambridge and return their directly from Lancashire before October 11. I collect you have not informed any of your friends-’
‘Of course not’ came the indignant reply.
‘Very well. You will present yourself to Mr. Payton-’ at Warren’s confused expression he added, ‘He is my legal advisor. You will also furnish him your bank details- I assume you do your business with Barclay’s- that will do. We will have one day in our hands before we meet Bolton. You will visit the Bolton mills that day,’ Noxforth turned to look at Warren with a sharp expression, ‘as a Mr. Fairchild, willing to purchase a large quantity of supply at a future date.’
Warren’s eyes widened at the thought of this deception while his mind quickly grasped the advantages of it.
‘You will of course be verifying Fox’s reports and inspecting the probable sustenance of the working condition.’ Noxforth looked at Fox for confirmation. Fox nodded with a slight tilt of his head.
‘You will hold your temper and excitement while negotiating with Bolton, Warren, is that clear?’
‘Yes, your grace’ came the meek reply.
Noxforth finally sighed, ‘We begin at dawn tomorrow from here. You will partake your dinner at Noxforth House and stay the night. Fox, you’re to come too. Questions?’
Both the young men shook their head like school children.
‘Get out then.’ Noxforth dismissed them.
The young men arose, bowed, and left the library. Deep in thought, he slowly walked to the tall window that opened to the main entrance of the house. Adam and Warren were walking towards it, sharp barks of laughter following in their wake. Somewhere outside his library, Noxforth was aware, his two proteges had formed an alliance, dropped the formalities, and had started addressing each other on first name basis. Warren was burning with the fire of building a financial empire, Fox had high political ambitions and secrets to keep; both of their lives stretching in front of them with promises of opportunities. It was little wonder that they had formed a bond. Noxforth felt a mild twinge of envy; all he saw ahead of him were endless days of estate management, investments, ducal and filial responsibilities, the immediate one being siring the heir apparent. While he personally had no reservations against the passing of the title to another Villiers upon his death, he strongly objected it to be his younger brother. For a long time, he had been aware of a sullenness in Jonathon which he suspected to have stemmed from his father’s indifference towards the younger son. When Noxforth- then Horndale-, deep in his cups with the patriarch of the house in this very library, had disclosed these misgivings to his sire on a late-night years ago, the late duke had agreed with his heir. He had said, ‘Too much like your mother, that brother of yours. And I can tell you, my boy, had I been remiss in your upbringing, you’d not have turned out like him.’
‘You’re too generous, sir.’ Horndale had snorted.
‘Too much of me in you.’ The older man had grinned at his son.
‘Nobody other than you can think that!’
‘Ah, no, no. I do understand you have your standing to uphold.’ The duke had said with laughing eyes.
‘You’re mistaken. I do not give a groat about my standing.’
‘Exactly so. It must be exhausting to live up to that!’
Horndale had laughed much too loudly at this, partly drunk, ‘You’re impossible, sir.’
But the late duke had sobered and had confessed, ‘I did try, you know. But with Jonathon it wasn’t like it was with you.’ This had brought Horndale back to earth too. He had nodded and his father had continued, ‘God knows, I am not close to the girls. Shining everyone down, the both of them. Kitty is the image of her mother when she was her age and I daresay talks like her too. But Harriet takes after me- I have heard it from your grandmother, from your mother, from Walters and, even from that impudent Rowbridge. I do like that boy, I sure do.’
‘He’s a right one.’
‘Your mother chose right for our Harriet.’
‘I believe it was a love match, sir. Harriet wouldn’t say though.’
‘Wouldn’t say, eh? Why, was she afraid that her mother would refuse?’
Horndale’s eyes had danced at his father’s supreme ignorance of the effect he had on his children, ‘I think she was afraid of you.’
‘Of me!? I may be a trifle disguised but don’t go selling me that bag of moonshine.’ The duke had been genuinely astonished, ‘Afraid of me, indeed! What gave the chit such a notion?’
Horndale had kept his silence, unable to disabuse his sire of his fond notions. The duke continued though, ‘But Rowbridge was very proper. Asked me if he could court her, very proper.’ Horndale had known this, Rowbridge having consulted him before approaching his father. ‘Knew his father too. Didn’t have an ounce of steel in him. Good thing, he cocked up bang up to the mark. Rowbridge is quite different, knew it from the moment I saw him at White’s that first time. He wasn’t one of those who used to hang about our door making up to Harriet. Fools, the lot of them. I daresay when Kitty is out next year, we’ll again have an infernal crowd hounding us every morning. I will ask Caroline to hold her court in the blue salon, I don’t want no yapping near the library.’ He had paused briefly, much struck by the advantages of his own idea, inebriated beyond measure. ‘No, Kitty don’t concern me, she will land on her feet. But that brother of yours, I can’t shake a bad feeling. I suppose I was too late in taking him in hand.’
Horndale had added, ‘You sent him to Eton too.’
The duke had been surprised. ‘Eh? What’s in it to raise a breeze? Caroline told me he fussed about not having any friends in London.’
‘You may be right, sir, but he did not like to be sent away when you had not sent me to Eton.’
His father’s rare stern expression had appeared at this, ‘Jealous of his own brother! I cannot like it. I never compared and nor is there a comparison to be made.’ But then he had faltered, ‘Oh I have made a mull of it. I wish I knew he did not want to go to Eton, Horn. But even in those days he was so quiet, wouldn’t talk to me. I should have paid closer attention to that boy.’
Though Horndale had known his father’s tongue loosened very easily in his cups, which was why the duke never permitted himself to be inebriated anywhere outside his own library, Horndale had never heard him this remorseful.
‘Now I don’t know how to reach him.’ He had finished.
‘No, neither can I.’
‘No, not you. He always disliked you, I knew that. But I thought it was merely a brotherly spat which he would grow out of, only he never did.’
‘He is still young, you know.’
‘Fair set in his ways to want to change. Does he want to join the army, do you think?’
‘I am not in his confidence, I am afraid.’
‘I’ll buy him the colours. I wager, it’ll do him good.’
Faintly alarmed that the duke might go at it bull-headed like he had usually done, Horndale had stalled him, ‘Pray do not urge him, your grace. Let him finish at Oxford first and make up his mind.’
‘Of course, of course. No, I will not say anything, only if he wanted to. Been drawing the bustle too freely on bits of muslin and Kirkwood saw him at Newmarket too. Will soon be in the suds again.’ He had paused and then had said in a much sober tone, ‘Horn, do not let the title pass on to him though. Under no circumstance-’ He had broken off unable to contemplate the potential demise of his beloved eldest son, ‘- I say, I must be a cork-brained father but I know what I am talking about as a duke. He’ll ruin it. He has no head for it, nor the discipline. You understand?’
Horndale had become red under this veiled hint, ‘If you are entertaining the notion that I will marry and beget a spare just to oblige you, you are entirely mistaken, your grace!’
The duke had laughed, ‘Oh don’t ring a peal over me, dear boy, I am sure you’ll do the deed in your own time. You’ll let me know when you set your cap at some chit?’
‘I daresay, you’ll know about it even before I do’ Horndale had proclaimed with asperity. And years later- a mere months before his death- his father sure had learned it, even before he had been decided on his course to court the fair dame Lady Diana Tempest. This time when he had asked Horndale to present himself at Noxforth House, the duke had been sober. When his son had entered the library, he had said in a casual tone without beating about the bush.
‘Eastland’s daughter, Horn?’
‘Why am I not surprised you found out already. Do you disapprove, your grace?’
‘Damned inconvenient to find out from Eastland than from my own son but who am I to disapprove?’ The duke had said trying to brush off some non-existent lint on his coat.
‘I am not courting her formally, yet. What am I missing?’ Horndale had asked correctly interpreting his sire’s disapproval. He might not have liked it but he would have been a fool not to have taken his opinion. The duke wouldn’t have interfered unnecessarily.
‘Why nothing? I believe you already know he has run quite off his legs but as far as I am aware the dowries of his large brood of girls are intact. That boy of his, though, is always in the dun territory.’
‘I hardly care about Jeremy. Nor I do care about the dowry.’
‘By Jove, I should hope so. I have raised you better than that.’
‘What then?’
The duke had looked at his heir pensively. ‘Why now, Horn?’
‘Why, sir, I believe you have been badgering me about a grandson for years now.’
‘Don’t think you can gammon me, my boy. Give it to me straight. Do you love her?’
‘Love?’ Horndale had not been expecting that from his father. ‘What has that got to do with anything?’
‘I see. So, it will be a marriage of convenience?’
‘With due respect, sir, it is none of your business.’
‘You’re right. It’s not. Answer me nonetheless.’
Horndale had bristled but utmost respect for his father had stopped him from turning and walking away, ‘It will be exactly the kind of marriage you have had, sir.’
‘Ah, is that so?’ The duke’s voice had turned cool, ‘Pray tell me what are the conveniences involved for both parties.’
‘Diana will get to be a rich duchess and I will have my heir apparent.’
‘And then she will look the other way as you visit your lady birds?’
‘None of your business!’
‘Because I will tell you, Ignatius, it is not going to be like that. From what Caroline tells me, the girl has too much pride.’
‘Mother has sent you to talk me out of it?’ Horndale had been furious.
But the duke had merely waved his hand. ‘She doesn’t suspect yet.’
‘I see nothing wrong in a proud duchess. She will handle the responsibilities well.’
‘Oh she will. Undoubtedly. Only she will not be able to handle you.’
‘I assure you; I do not wish to be handled by her. One person is more than enough.’
‘Well thrust!’ The duke had laughed. But then he had leaned forward repeating candidly, ‘Why, Horn? If this has some damned sacrificial motive, I will remind you that your father is still alive.’
‘No sacrificial motive. I am past thirty and I believe old enough to start my own nursery.’
Then the duke had gone for his jugulars, ‘What about the masquerade girl?’
He had been unprepared for a frontal attack. ‘It’s been over three years.’
‘Over her now, are you?’
‘I have told you, sir, I was never in love with her.’
‘So you have, my dear boy. But I admit I cannot quite forget it. What with those neck-or-nothing races, drunk as a wheelbarrow with fits of blue-devils, you surpassed all the scrapes Jonathon had gotten into in a single year?’ He had then sighed heavily, ‘I deeply regret we never found her and I will be the first person to tell you to forget her. Nothing could have come of it anyway, what with she already being betrothed.’
‘I have forgotten her.’ Horndale had insisted.
‘I daresay you want to.’ The duke had not believed him.
Horndale had snapped, ‘Do you have any other objection to my marriage?’
‘Oh, go away.’ The duke had finally said. ‘I have no objection.’
Then within a few months Horndale had become Noxforth and had decided to make her his duchess. He had courted her last season mechanically, realising the importance of marrying and begetting an heir as soon as possible, too conscious of the transience of life. In the end he had not offered for her, excusing himself with the knowledge that he would observe the one-year period of mourning. Presently, his thoughts shied away whenever he tried to imagine any kind of fondness that went beyond physical and social pleasantries between him and Diana. She was a composed young woman bred for exactly the role of a duchess, herself the daughter of a duke. The only event he looked forward to with a measure of anticipation is being a father. He hoped to share the bond of love with his children, similar to what he had shared with the late duke. The idea of love, as always, brought a tightness to his muscles. But he was able to banish the feeling quickly, having convinced himself long ago that he had exaggerated that fateful connection in his mind, even more so because he had never been able to find her again.
