Chapter 3
“Why don’t we sit ourselves down in the drawing room, Hunter?” Algernon said, almost forcibly edging his cousin in that direction.
“Yes, I’ll ring for tea,” Hunter said, striding towards the bell rope at the side of the fireplace the moment they had entered the great drawing room.
“Let us not bother with tea, my dear fellow. What say you we have a brandy instead?” Algernon said with forced heartiness.
Hunter knew his cousin well and had immediately seen through his determinedly cheerful tone. Algernon Rochester never needed to give an air of cheer, for it was his ordinary and commonplace countenance. He was a light-hearted and good-humoured young man who saw the fun and distraction in almost everything. If he were finding it necessary to lay on a bit of extra hearty jocularity, then he surely had something most grave to convey.
As much as Hunter wanted to hear it, and hear it instantly, he also feared it. He was certain it had much to do with Lady Felicity Morgan, and there was a part of him which did not want to hear it at all. Whatever it was, it was bad, he knew that much. But it would only truly be bad at the moment that he heard it spoken aloud; all he had to do was put it off forever, then it could not happen.
“Is it not a little early for brandy, my dear cousin?” Hunter said automatically.
“It depends on your viewpoint. In my world, Hunter, it is never too early for brandy.” Algernon laughed and, once again, gave that air of forced jocularity.
Without waiting for his cousin’s full consent, Algernon Rochester made his way to the drinks cabinet and poured two extraordinarily large brandies. Hunter had taken a seat in one of the armchairs at the side of the fireplace, staring into the empty grate and wishing it was full winter instead of summer. Had it been winter, he could have concentrated upon the licking of the orange flames and the crackling of the heat-tortured logs. Instead, he simply stared at the iron grate and waited patiently for his life to unravel yet further still.
“Here, take this,” Algernon said as he handed his cousin the well-filled brandy glass.
“Thank you,” Hunter said and, despite his initial protestations, he drunk down half of the fiery liquid in his first gulp.
“I really was so terribly sorry to hear of your father’s passing, Hunter. I have always had, as I am sure you know, the highest regard for my uncle and have found myself greatly moved by his death.”
“I know it as surely as I know it of myself, Algernon. And my father looked upon you as another son, that much I know for certain.”
“The old Earl will be sorely missed, but I am confident that the new Earl will take on his duties without flinching.”
“You do me a great service with your words, Algernon. But then, you always did.” Hunter smiled and leaned back in his chair.
The drawing room had changed very little since his mother had died all those years ago. Her influence was still to be found everywhere around Addison Hall and her taste, even years later, was still much admired.
In the drawing room, of course, the dark oak wall panelling could hardly be escaped. It seemed as much a part of every country mansion as this stonework itself. But much had been made of the remaining walls, and the lemon coloured paintwork seemed as fresh on that day as it had seemed all those years ago when it had been newly done.
The couches and armchairs were all upholstered in either a thick dark cream blockade which depicted hunting scenes in red thread-work, or deep golden velvet, and Hunter had chosen his favoured brocade covered armchair on that day.
Algernon set his own drink down on a small oak side table before swinging his long coattails out to the side and sitting down on the armchair opposite his cousin. Algernon always seemed to fill whatever space he was in. He was well over six feet in height, an inch or two taller than Hunter himself. And whilst Hunter was certainly broad enough, Algernon was yet broader still. And yet, despite his large frame, there was a quality to Algernon’s face which made him more of an overgrown boy than a fully-grown man. At eight and twenty, he was but four years older than Hunter, and yet he could easily have passed for a man of five years younger still.
Hunter often thought that it was Algernon’s carefree approach to life which had rendered him so youthful in his looks. Perhaps he still bore glimpses of the boy he had once been because, in his heart, he had not changed a good deal and had never let the cares of adulthood weigh him down.
“Well, perhaps you ought to tell me everything you need to tell me now, Algernon,” Hunter said after taking a deep breath.
“And so, you have guessed there is something to tell?” Algernon said quietly.
“I knew there was something to tell the moment I saw you standing in my doorway, cousin. In truth, I had fully expected that the person who would be here to greet me would be Felicity. And yet I see that she is not here and can only conclude that you are here in her stead to give me news of her.”
“Indeed, I am here to give you news of Felicity,” Algernon said and bore the resigned look of a man on his way to the gallows. “And I am afraid that it is not good news.”
“At least tell me that she is well,” Hunter said and suddenly realized a sharp fear that something had happened to her.
Perhaps that was why her letters had grown fewer and farther between; perhaps she had been suffering from some sort of illness which had weakened her to such an extent that she had been unable to concentrate even upon so simple a thing as a letter. Hunter could hardly imagine why it was he had not thought of such a thing before.
“She is entirely unharmed, cousin. You may rest easy on that count.”
“On that count, if on no other,” Hunter said and raised his eyebrows.
“I daresay that the six months you were apart were long months for Felicity.” Algernon began somberly, and Hunter knew the worst was coming, and there was no stopping it now.
“They were long months for myself also. And yet, in other regards, they were all too short.”
“How dreadful for you, cousin. On one hand to wish yourself all the time in the world with your father and, on the other, to wish yourself back home again with the woman you love.”
“Indeed, that is true,” Hunter said and looked back towards the empty fire grate once more. “But I have had an inkling these last weeks that something is not well. Felicity’s letters have grown further and further apart, and their content has become ever more impersonal.”
“Impersonal?” Algernon said and seemed to shift in his seat as if he was feeling most uncomfortable.
“In the end, they were not the letters of a young woman to her love, but more like the letters from a sister to a brother. It was simply news, nothing more. But then, I daresay, you shall be able to fill in the rest. You know, of course, why our correspondence began to change.” Hunter felt sure he knew himself. He knew, without even being told, the Lady Felicity Morgan was no longer his; at least not in the way that she had been before he had left for Scotland.
“I am afraid I do know,” Algernon said and turned his head to look fully at his cousin.
“So, are you about to tell me that Felicity has become better interested in another man?”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking.”
“But tell me there is some hope for me. Tell me that my return home will be enough to put things right again. If so, then I shall have my horse saddled now and go directly to her.”
“But Hunter …”
“I shall ride over to Walney Hall this minute and hope that the moment she sees my face, our love for one another shall be returned to her.”
“Riding over to Walney Hall will do you little good, cousin, for Felicity is not there.”
“Then, where is she?”
“She lives now in the very heart of the Duchy of Galcross.”
“Felicity lives at Galcross Hall?” Hunter said incredulously.
He could not begin to imagine why it was that Felicity no longer remained at her father’s home but had chosen instead to live at the fine mansion of the Duke of Galcross. Surely she was not so well acquainted with that family? But perhaps she had been a friend of the Duke’s younger sister at some point in time that Hunter had not known of.
“Yes, she lives at Galcross Hall.”
“As a guest of the Duke’s sister? Ariadne Burton, is it not?”
“Ariadne Burton?” Algernon said and seemed suddenly confused.
“The younger sister of Christian Burton, the Duke of Galcross.” Hunter sought to make things clearer.
“Oh, I see,” Algernon said, understanding the family connection finally. “No, Felicity is not staying as a guest of Ariadne Burton, I am afraid.”
“Then in what capacity does she stay at Galcross Hall?” Hunter said, feeling confused and annoyed in equal measure.
“She stays there as the Duchess of Galcross,” Algernon said and finally tore his eyes away from Hunter’s so that he might look down at his own knees.
“Felicity is the Duchess of Galcross? But that is ridiculous, she is not …” Hunter stopped dead in his tracks; finally, he had realized exactly what had happened. “You mean to tell me, cousin, that Felicity Morgan has married Christian Burton? Whilst I have been away no more than six months, the woman I had intended to marry has married another? Is that what you mean to tell me?”
“In truth, try as I might, I could not find the right words. Forgive me, cousin, for I have gone about this most clumsily. I had thought to write to you at the time, but I could not think of a worse way of doing things. After all, you had enough sadness and concern as you watched your own father waste away before you that I could not, in all faith, have written or sent such a letter.” Algernon seemed beside himself, and Hunter was curiously compelled to put his cousin at his ease.
“And you have done the right thing, Algernon. Such a letter would not have changed things, would it? Unless, of course, you had seen the whole thing coming, and you might have put me in mind to stop it all.”
“I swear to you this day, Hunter, that I did not see it coming. I do not think that anybody saw it coming, and that is the truth.”
“But you must have some of the details, surely,” Hunter said, suddenly keen to know everything, despite the deep, dull ache in his chest.
In the most unusual way, the whole thing seemed like simple, scurrilous gossip; something to be enjoyed over a brandy and discussed at length. Something about somebody else, not himself, and not the woman he loved. Another couple, another family altogether. But, of course, it was not.
“I have them if you want them, Hunter. But really, is the news itself not enough for now?” Algernon looked at him with concern, and it was concern which Hunter knew to be entirely genuine.
“I think I need to hear all of it now, my dear fellow. I think it would be easier to hear it whilst I still do not entirely believe it if that makes any sense at all. If I leave it a day or two for things to settle in and for the truth of the thing to hit me, I shall not be equal to the task. No, I think it far better that you tell me now. Tell it to me quickly, before your words have the capacity to hurt.”
“Very well,” Algernon said on the back of a long sigh. “I shall tell you everything that I know, but please know that I have it second-hand. You see, the first I knew of any of it was the news that the Duke had married.”
“But was it not announced? Surely such a thing would be an event in the county,” Hunter said, marvelling at his curious detachment.
“Ordinarily, yes. The marriage of a Duke would undoubtedly be a very fine affair. And it is its very lack of grandiosity and announcement which makes me realize that the two of them knew the great wrong they were doing you. The entire county knows that you were away in Scotland, and they know why. Your father was much admired in these parts, as well you know, and there was not a person who did not approve of what you did for him in his final months.”
“Indeed, he was much admired.”
“And so, I would say without compunction that Felicity and the Duke of Galcross scurried off like thieves in the night to get married in a most low-key manner so that they might not draw the comment and condemnation of all around them.”
“Christian Burton is a Duke, Algernon, and I doubt he cares a good deal for the condemnation of others. It would be so much water off a duck’s back, would it not?”
“But that would not be the case for Felicity, I daresay. After all, she is a vain young lady and one who would not care to hear herself talked about in disapproving tones. And she has not been seen out much in society ever since. I cannot help thinking she has been awaiting your return before doing so. She knows that you will not make a scene of any kind, and the moment you are seen out in society to be quite upright and without emotion upon the thing, she will set herself free from the prison of her own making. She will unleash herself upon the world again so that she might strut and preen and primp as a Duchess for all to see.”
“Did you always feel so about Felicity, my dear cousin, or is it simply now that she has done me a good deal of wrong?”
“I have always felt so, Hunter. Forgive me, but it is true. Although I must admit, I find the feeling has grown since her betrayal has reached my ears.”
“You need not look down, Algernon. You are free to speak your mind, and I should not have you do any other, really I should not.”
“Your understanding does you credit, Hunter. But surely you cannot be so understanding of Felicity herself. Surely you will never be able to forgive such a thing.”
“Perhaps, when the truth of it finally hits me, you shall be quite right, and I will never forgive her. But now, as I sit here and say the words, I feel as if I am talking about another man and woman entirely. I cannot believe that the woman I had intended to marry is now already married to another. Tell me, when did it happen?”
“As far as I know it, the two of them had met at several events during the early part of the London Season. Of course, the Season being what it is, I do not think that anybody thought their growing acquaintanceship amiss in any way,” Algernon said and shrugged. “But I have no doubt that Christian Burton has flattered her greatly, for how else would a man of his age seek to entice so young a woman?”
“Whilst it is true that Christian Burton is, at forty years, almost twice Felicity’s age, he is a Duke. Perhaps he had no need to flatter her at all, especially if the woman I once thought I knew really is as vain as you perceived. Perhaps the idea that she would be a Duchess, instead of just the Countess that she would have been had she married me, was enough for her.”
“Yes, you are likely right. And please do forgive me for speaking so plainly about Felicity. Her behaviour has caused you pain enough, and I would not seek to add to it with my pronouncements on her character which have simply come too late.”
“But her character is something that I ought to have discerned for myself, Algernon. You have absolutely nothing to reproach yourself for, my dear fellow, and I will not hear it.” Hunter rose to his feet and strode over to the drinks cabinet. He lifted the brandy bottle and walked back with it, pausing briefly to add a little more to his cousin’s glass before almost filling his own.
“Anyway, I believe that they were married five or six weeks ago. As I said before, there was very little fuss made about the thing.”
Hunter thought about her last letter to him and tried to remember the exact details. He had kept the letter, of course, and knew that he would return to it the moment his cousin left him alone. He knew, of course, that it had contained little of personal content, and now he knew why. But what he wondered more than anything at that moment was if she had written that letter to him when she had still been Lady Felicity Morgan. Had there still been a moment where chance might still have brought them together? Or had she written the letter to him from her own chamber at Galcross Hall? The chamber she now occupied as the wife of another man. For reasons he could not quite explain at that moment, it was somehow vitally important that he knew.