Page 3 of Love, the Duke
That comment had lingered on Hurst’s mind too.
When he remained quiet, Wyatt offered, “Perhaps she’s not as comely and fashionable as most young ladies of the ton, so he’s touting her other attributes.”
“Possibly frail?” Rick’s thick, golden-brown brows rose before he added, “Though maybe he only meant she wasn’t willful or easy to provoke, and to assure you of her calm nature and unblemished virtue.”
“Or could it be that his words meant nothing other than she has few options?”
Hurst’s jaw tightened, but he remained quiet and took another gulp of brandy while he listened to the suggestions about what Winston’s words had meant. Every idea was possible and reasonable, but true? He had no way of knowing.
“Her lineage?” Wyatt asked.
A disgruntled laugh rose from Hurst’s chest. “Solid. Stowe’s grandfather was a younger son of the former Earl of Canterfield. Stowe’s father was a vicar, and I’m quite sure he is too.”
Suddenly it was so quiet among the three of them that Hurst heard every spit and crackle of the fire. His friends looked uncertainly at each other before Wyatt stuttered a cough. Rick shifted from one side of his chair to the other and then back again.
“What’s with you two? It’s a common occurrencefor younger sons of titles to become a vicar,” he argued, if only to pacify himself. “You both know I seriously thought about becoming one myself when the duke suggested I should be a clergyman to plump my allowance.”
If the title of the family didn’t buy the sons a commission in the military or set them up to become rectors or vicars like Stowe’s, they usually disintegrated into lonely, old, and woefully indebted wastrels as Hurst’s father had. When only a young boy, and often with no money to see there was enough food in the house, Hurst promised himself he’d never allow that to happen to him as he grew older. He would have gladly been a vicar or captain in the army if the title hadn’t unexpectedly become his when his uncle and cousin perished.
However, Hurst wasn’t going down that memory path tonight either.
Brushing unwanted thoughts of the past away, he considered what Winston asked. It was a shock. It would be madness to agree to marry someone he’d never met. More than that, it felt wrong.
“Forgetting that for now,” Wyatt said while motioning for their glasses to be refilled, “is what your friend said true? Did you promise to help him in any way?”
“Yes, but I’d forgotten until now. I couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, but I’m certain I meant it at the time.”
Hurst pressed his head against the back of the chair and found himself staring up into the face of a wild boar that had been mounted over the fireplace. He suddenly felt just as snared. He had made the promise to Winston, no matter their ages, yet he found himself saying, “I don’t want to promise to wed someone I’ve never met. I know marrying ladies you didn’t know worked well for the two of you, but I don’t want my bride to be a stranger.”
“Damnation, Hurst. We knew them,” Wyatt grumbled, and nodded to Rick for confirmation.
“For a short time, yes,” Rick replied with an easy air of amusement, pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“A very short time,” Hurst mumbled, rubbing the inside corners of his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Days, not weeks. You both had complicated reasons for needing to wed quickly. I don’t have anything to spur me other than a slight prick of my conscience for an oath made years ago to someone who meant a lot to me at the time. If I married his sister, I would probably meet a lady the next day and fall deeply and madly in love with her and not be able to do a damned thing about it.” He placed his glass on the table with a thunk. “Yet, I did swear to do anything he might ask of me.”
“When you were a boy,” Rick clarified, as he reached over to nab the letter from the table. “Let me see this. I don’t believe your honor is in question here.” He folded out the paper and stared at it. “It says he is only asking you toconsidermarriage. The man’s not actually calling in the debt.”
Wyatt took the missive from Rick and had his turn reading it for himself.
“He is right about this. It reads that Stowe is giving you freedom to choose. This means you are well within your rights to decline honorably and never think of this again.”
Hurst felt tension behind his eyes. That sounded just like something the boy he remembered would do: let him off the hook. “Let me see that again.” Hurst pulled the parchment from Rick’s grasp.
Perhaps they were right. But like all decisions, this one shouldn’t be made quickly. Staying calm and thinking things through led to making better choices.
He glanced from one friend to the other. Their wordshad sound merit. The truth was, he wanted to marry. He needed to marry to protect the title. His family was currently without male heirs except for him. Which was why the title had fallen to Hurst when his great-uncle and cousin died in an explosion while inspecting one of their silver mines. Hurst needed to get about the business of choosing a bride and fathering a son. But he couldn’t put aside the feeling there was a lady out there for him. He just hadn’t met her yet.
“If we all agree Winston is only asking you to consider offering for his sister’s hand, then let’s consider it. Ten-year-old boys save each other’s lives all the time.”
“And at fifteen, twenty, and sometimes twenty-five,” Hurst said with the quirk of a smile.
Wyatt chuckled and nodded. “Rick must have been at least twenty when he decided to climb the trellis and enter Miss Avery’s bedchamber for a tumble under the covers with her.”
“He was too deep into his cups to remember anything about that night,” Hurst reminded them both.
“I might have been thoroughly jug bitten, but I do recall it was at her behest that I join her,” he argued as if trying to absolve himself. “At the time, it seemed worth attempting the risky venture.”
“Luckily, I caught up with you in time to stop you,” Hurst added. “The only reason a father would allow a trellis on a wall that led directly to his daughter’s bedchamber would be so he could catch an unsuspecting gentleman in a parson’s mousetrap.”
