Page 37 of Her Summer Duke

Instead, he turned his thoughts to the previous day, and allowed himself to remember the evening – to remember Lady Margaret's words as she spoke to her cousin, Lady Phoebe, her declaration of her love for him – well, for Ensign Chester, although she had admitted to forgiving him for that deceit.

He had been a little shocked to see the two young women in the theatre, with no other escort, but he rather admired their courage in doing such a thing.

His travels at sea had rather broadened his view of what women were capable of – which was far more than most young ladies of the ton were ever allowed to venture.

Now, the day stretched before him, interminably long, until that moment when he might stand before her again, might allow her to see him, as himself, with no deceit of any kind between them. But long years of shipboard living meant that he was not good at being idle. He rose, and dressed, and went to seek breakfast.

As he sat eating, the Innkeeper came in, and handed him a letter. He recognised his mother’s writing, but thought nothing of it. He had received letters from her almost every day. Once he had eaten, he returned to his rooms. Outside, the storm was easing, and perhaps by twelve, the sun would be out for his meeting with Lady Margaret.

He dropped into the chair before the small desk and broke the seal on the letter, unfolded it, and began to read.

My dear Adam,

It is with great regret that I must write to tell you that, despite my best efforts, and those of the best physicians, the worst has happened. Your brother, George, has passed from this world. He took his last painful breath yesterday evening, as I sat by his side. It is beyond my ability to express the depth of my grief, to have lost both my husband and my son in such a short time.

You must return home immediately, for there is much to do. You are now, though you never sought or expected it, the Duke of Milbrook.

Your duties await you, and I need you to support me through my grief.

Yours

Amelia, Duchess of Milbrook.

It dropped from his fingers, to slip unregarded to the floor, and for a moment, he cradled his head in his hands.

So it had come to this. He had prepared, this last week and more, knowing that it was possible, but still, it had not truly seemed real to him. But it was. He must leave Brighton, that very afternoon. But before then, he must see Lady Margaret, must know if she would marry him, if she would accept the role of Duchess, with all that it entailed.

The thought that she might not, that she might doom him to spending his life without her, was too terrible to contemplate.

~~~~~

The next morning Margaret arose, dressed, and forced herself to break her fast, and converse quietly with Phoebe. All the while, she was in turmoil – how might she ensure that she was near the pier, at twelve, when Captain Halstone would be there? She could hardly risk going off by herself again, after the previous evening’s escapades.

She would have to recruit Lucy’s assistance, or perhaps Lady Peabody’s, but could she trust them to help? She was not sure, and it rather removed her appetite, as she worried about it. Still, Lady Mantrell was not in sight, and Margaret was grateful that her guardian tended to sleep late.

Lady Peabody was awake, however, and Margaret decided that she would ask her for help. Once they had all eaten, as they rose from their places, Margaret hung back when Phoebe set off upstairs towards their rooms.

“Lady Peabody…”

Lady Peabody turned to Margaret, her expression curious.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Will you… will you walk with me in the garden for a moment?”

“Certainly.”

Lady Peabody's eyes were bright, and Margaret could tell that she rather desperately wanted to know what this was about. Together, they left the dining room, and went out into the Hotel’s beautiful garden. The morning’s storm had cleared, and the summer sun had reclaimed the sky. Slowly, the water droplets which still adorned the flowers diminished in its light. There, with no one else about to overhear, Margaret felt brave enough to speak.

“Lady Peabody, I would entreat your aid. I need to be near the end of the pier, when the clocks strike twelve. I... I have a rendezvous….”

Lady Peabody considered her for a moment, then nodded.

“A rendezvous! With a gentleman? How exciting! Dare I guess – you love this man, yet you expect that Lady Mantrell would not approve?”

Margaret nodded, and Lady Peabody clapped her hands in delight.

“Then I will most certainly accompany you along the promenade to take the sea air. And I will be sure to stay well back from you, to allow you privacy, whilst still providing respectable chaperonage. We can’t have a repeat of your little excursion last night! You must not put your reputation so at risk again.”