Cavendish Brothers 01 - An Unintended Journey (6 page)

“
Yes, Mother,” was all Abby murmured in response. She retrieved a handkerchief from her reticule and dried her face with it, taking deep breaths in time with the pace of the horses outside the carriage walls.

When they came around the bend near a copse of trees, Danby Castle came into view.

At the same moment, Abby’s heart hammered to life, deafening her with the thunderous roar of her pulse. She tried to swallow, but her mouth suddenly grew as dry as wool. Her efforts were fruitless.

It was massive and imposing, standing on an estate that sprawled out, seemingly into forever. The Duke of Danby’s principal seat dwarfed Henley Green, and even Blacknall Manor, by comparison. The closer the carriage drew, the more insignificant she felt—something she’d not believed to be possible after the last several days.

The men’s muted voices rumbled outside. Moments later, the deafening racket of three horses racing off ahead of them startled Abby. They soon disappeared in the distance.

After what seemed an eternity, the carriage rattled to a stop and a liveried footman rushed forwards. He opened the carriage door and set down the steps, and then he handed first Mother and then Abby down as Father alit from his horse. “The boys and Mr. Cavendish came on ahead to inform His Grace of our arrival.”

“
Indeed, they did, sir,” said another uniformed man, coming down from the main entry hall of the castle. He seemed agitated…put out, even. “You may call me Milne. I’ve been asked to escort you in to the gold parlor for tea while you wait.”

Shaking, weary, and thoroughly disgruntled, Abby took one of Father’s arms and followed the butler into the castle. He led them through resonant corridors until they reached the most opulent room she’d ever laid eyes upon.

Robert and Thomas stood when they entered, setting their Wedgwood china teacups down on dainty saucers. Their eyes were wide.

Robert fidgeted with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Cavendish is meeting with the duke now.”

“
Hopefully he can ease our way into this,” Thomas said. “It seems we’ve not only interrupted His Grace’s Christmas celebrations, but we barged in on a wedding. The duke is not happy, to say the least.”

“
We tried to tell him that maybe you ought to speak with him first, Father, but…”

“
But I’m no one to Danby, and Cavendish is at least Fordingham’s brother.” Father took a seat on an entirely too delicate looking gilded armchair covered in white silk and gestured for the rest of the family to follow suit. “So we’ll wait.”

Mother poured three more cups of tea and passed them around, then took a seat next to Father. Thomas and Robert resumed their seats and took hasty sips from their cups.

Abby just stood there, staring, wishing the floor of the castle would open up and swallow her whole, or that there had been a moat in which she could be washed away, or that the sun had stopped rising when Grandmama had died.

But nothing ever seemed to happen as she wished of late.

*

The heavy oak door thudded to a close behind Wesley, ringing out like the lock of a prison cell in his mind. The Duke of Danby moved behind his mammoth desk and sat, then turned narrowed eyes on him. “What in God’s name is the meaning of this, Cavendish?”

There was nothing for it but to be out with it. “I must apologize for interrupting—”

“
That you should,” the old duke spat. “My granddaughter Emma was being married—the first of all my grandchildren to finally do so, mind you—and yet you saw fit to take it upon yourself to order
my
butler to pull me from the celebration to meet with you on
urgent
business. So what, pray tell, is so godforsaken urgent?”

The scar on Wesley’s cheek twitched. He unclenched his fists and gave a little tug on his cravat, then tried to calm himself. He hadn’t thought this through—none of it. For too much of the journey, he’d thought of nothing but Abby and of finally being with her. He hadn’t allowed himself to think through the particulars of making it happen.

“
Ah, well you see…a family has traveled to Yorkshire with me, Your Grace. The father has business with you as well, and once that is settled—”

“
Would you kindly stop beating about the bush and get to your point?” Danby lifted an eyebrow and glared in the way only a duke can do.

This wasn’t what he’d intended. It wasn’t Wesley’s place to tell the duke he had a bastard son, not to mention grand-bastards, if that was what they could be called. Yet his mouth opened and a torrent of words flooded out, and he couldn’t stop himself for all the world, though the old codger sat there staring at him with his mouth hanging agape as if he were the greatest simpleton in all of England.

“…
and my brother refuses to renounce Father’s lies and restore my name within society unless I marry—”

Finally, he recognized what he was about to say and pulled himself up short. He didn’t need to bring political leanings into this if he could avoid it.

“
Well?” Danby prodded. “Unless you marry what? Or I suppose the proper question should be
whom
.”

Wesley took a breath and thought carefully about what he ought to say. “Fordingham insists I must marry into a well-established family, such as yours, Your Grace. As I’ve already told you, I love Abby Goddard and cannot—
will
not—fathom marriage to anyone else.”

The duke scratched his nose…a nose exceedingly familiar to Wesley, with its odd bump right in the middle. Abby shared that bump, as did her father and both of her brothers. “I do have another granddaughter of marriageable age at the castle right at this moment, you know. Isabel is perfectly lovely and all. I could even arrange for a hasty ceremony—”

“
That won’t do,” Wesley interrupted, tossing his hands into the air. He stood and paced, his heavy Hessian boots nearly dragging along the Aubusson rug. “I apologize for my impertinence, Your Grace, but I’ve already explained I will marry none but Abby.”

“
Yes,” Danby murmured. “The daughter of this supposed bastard son of mine. Yet you also say his mother, my rumored paramour, has died. What proof could there possibly be, after all these years, that he’s truly my son? And therefore, what proof could there be that this Abby Goddard is my granddaughter?”

Perhaps, if Danby actually
saw
Abby and her family, he’d recognize the family resemblance. “If you would only meet with them, Your Grace—”

“
Of course,” the duke cut in sharply. “If I would
only
meet with them, and then if I would
only
agree that this man is my long-lost son, and then if I would
only
acknowledge your Abby as my granddaughter—as I’m sure Fordingham would insist upon, if this marriage would meet his requirements. You do realize what you’re asking of me, do you not?”

Did he ever. “More than you could possibly know.”

Danby moved over to look out a massive window. For long moments, he stared out at the soft, steady fall of snowflakes coming down to blanket the castle grounds. The entire time, Wesley’s stomach roiled to the point it was miraculous the duke couldn’t hear it.

Finally, Danby faced him again. “It is Christmas, Cavendish,” he snapped, glowering at him. “I am full of the holiday spirit, and so I will agree to meet this Goddard family.”

A flood of air left Wesley’s lungs on this pronouncement. Surely if Danby saw them, he’d acknowledge them as his own. Wouldn’t he?

Holding up a single hand, Danby continued with, “But—”

Wesley’s heart crashed down to somewhere in the general vicinity of the castle’s dungeons. But?

“
But,” Danby continued, drawing the words out exceedingly slowly, “I make you no promises beyond that. Goddard may convince me he is my son, or he may not. This Abby of yours may convince me I should acknowledge her as my granddaughter, but she may not.” The duke resumed his seat behind his desk and opened a lower drawer to pull out a stack of parchment. He shuffled through them, as though searching for something in particular. “If this all goes the way you wish it to, we’ll consider my acknowledgement of her status as my Christmas gift to you, shall we?”

A Christmas gift? Beelzebub’s breeches, he hadn’t come here expecting a damned thing from Danby. Without a clue what else to do, Wesley nodded.

“
Excellent. As a return gift to me, if such a thing comes to pass—” he broke off as he found the paper he’d been searching for, a wide grin taking over his countenance and a twinkle flashing in his eyes— “you’ll marry Abby here at Danby Castle as soon as it can be arranged.”

“
Of course,” Wesley stammered. He didn’t particularly care where they married…and Abby should be satisfied as long as her family was present. He doubted she would take exception to such an understanding.

Danby reached over and tugged on the bell pull, and moments later the butler popped into the room. “Milne, would you please show the Goddard family in? I’d like to see them now.”

“
Of course, Your Grace.” The butler inclined his head and started to back away, but came up short when Danby motioned to him, then lifted the parchment he’d been searching for into the air. At that, he moved forwards into the room, bent low over the duke, and waited as Danby issued him whispered instructions.

After a moment, he straightened again. Taking the slip of parchment from the duke’s hand, he nodded and said, “Right away, Your Grace.” Then he left them.

Wesley had watched the entire exchange without the slightest clue what it had been about. His curiosity was about to rip him apart from the inside, but if Danby had wanted him to know, surely he would have informed him.

Still the stack of papers remained on top of the desk, and the duke had stood to pour himself a brandy at the sideboard while they waited. Inching as cautiously as he could over to get a better view, Wesley strained his neck and squinted.

He shook his head, sure he had it wrong.

The page on the top of the stack was a special license for marriage, already signed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, with Lady Isabel Whitton named as one of the two parties involved, and the other spot left blank.

What in blazes had he and the Goddards just interrupted? And, perhaps more importantly, what in God’s good name was on that slip of parchment the butler had just taken off with?

6

Their footsteps echoed on the marble floors as Milne guided them all through the corridors of Danby Castle, leading them to the duke’s study. Abby supposed she should be thankful that she wouldn’t face the man alone. At least not yet. Quite likely, at some point, he’d request a private interview with her. If, of course, he intended to settle a dowry upon her as Father thought he ought to do.

It was anyone’s guess how Father believed such a thing might come to pass, though.

Still, it should all come to an end before too much longer, and then they could return to Henley Green and real life, and forget this had ever happened. Abby certainly intended to do her best to forget—and to forget Wesley Cavendish right along with this farcical journey.

As soon as her heart stopped bleeding.

After what felt like half a mile or more, Milne stopped before a massive oak door, and two footmen outfitted in the finest livery Abby had ever laid eyes upon pushed them open. “The Goddard family, Your Grace.”

Seated behind a monstrosity of a desk, the old duke held a quill to parchment and was scribbling away. He barely lifted his head to notice them, simply waving his free hand in an impatient gesture. Wesley stood by the empty hearth with his hands folded together behind his back. He caught Abby’s eye as she entered, his midnight eyes following her every movement.

Once they had all passed through the doors, the butler gave a brief bow and backed out of the room. A hollow sound echoed as the doors closed.

“
Well?” the duke barked, still not deigning to spare them a glance. “Sit!”

A grouping of chairs and a settee had been arranged close to his desk. Abby moved forwards with the rest of her family. Mother, Father, and her brothers took up the chairs, leaving her the settee. She smoothed her skirts in the same motion as she sat, then finally looked up to find His Grace glowering at her.

Blast him.

Abby met his stare, refusing to cower beneath the ducal weight of it. After a few moments, he moved his gaze to her two brothers, then to Father. With each passing moment, the expression on his face became more curious and less agitated. By the time he turned towards Mother, at the opposite end of the family line, Abby could see it, too.

Danby had the same bump in the middle of his nose. She inhaled audibly at the realization. Wesley came up behind her. He didn’t touch her—just stood behind her, close enough she could feel his presence. It was oddly soothing, like he belonged there. Abby closed her eyes at her errant thoughts, trying to banish them from her mind. He did not belong anywhere near her. Not now. Not ever.

Other than her gasp, there’d hardly been a sound since the door closed. Finally, the duke faced her father and narrowed his eyes. “Young Cavendish, here, tells me some fanciful story about you being my by-blow. I’ll have you know I was faithful to my Mary right up until the day she died.” He took up his quill again, dipped it in the ink pot, and scratched against another sheet of parchment.