The Duchess War
Page 50
Pearls slid on the duchess’s wrist as she waved her hand dismissively. “Like I used to be,” she said. “Soft. Yielding.” Her lips became even harder. “Gullible. He’s an utter romantic—don’t deny it. He has to be, asking a woman like you to marry him.”
“A woman like me.” Minnie felt her own mouth curling in distaste. “What do you mean, a woman like me?”
“For the rest of his life, everyone will be looking at him and wondering why he married you, whispering about how terribly the Blaisdell family name has been besmirched.”
“I should think that would be his lookout, not yours.”
The other woman’s eyes flashed. “Do you know how much I gave up so that my child would be born with every advantage? For years I suffered through marriage to his cretinous, adulterous lump of a father. I had his bastard thrown in my face. I had to—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I gave up everything so that my son could have this life. Everything. You cannot conceive what I had to bear. I did not make a sacrifice of my entire life so that he could throw himself away on a nobody.”
From that Minnie surmised that Robert’s mother didn’t know about his hope to abolish the peerage.
But the duchess’s tirade went on. “You bring nothing to the match—no family, no money, no land, no power.”
“I am aware of my assets, Your Grace.”
“And you’re going to marry him anyway,” the duchess said scornfully. “I know my son. He’s likely caring about right and wrong, wanting so desperately to belong to something. He’ll hurl himself at whatever cause he so blindly chooses, heedless of the harm to himself.”
Perhaps the duchess knew Robert better than Minnie had initially supposed.
The duchess sniffed. “He probably thinks he’s saving you from a life of drudgery.”
Minnie’s cheeks flushed as the other woman once again took in her too-simple gown. The duchess’s gaze traveled down to Minnie’s gloves, up again to the simple knot Caro had made with her hair. Minnie stood straight, staring right back at her.
“He is saving you from a life of drudgery,” the duchess concluded. “I can’t blame you for letting him do it.”
“Who said I’m letting him?” Minnie snapped. “I’d not want to find myself in your shoes. Not for any one of your ridiculously indulgent gowns.”
Surprisingly, that brought a smile—one that warmed the other woman’s face, making her appear decades younger. “Really? Then you may have an iota of sense.” The woman set a beaded reticule on the table. “I know I sound harsh, but he is my only child. Such as we are.” She let out a sigh. “I am not entirely unfeeling. I once found myself in your position.” Her lips curled up, but there was no smile to the expression, only snarl. “It turns your head, to be courted by a duke. A young, handsome duke. I knew Robert’s father had a black reputation, but I was certain I could cure him of all that ailed him. He’d stop gambling and drinking to excess, and if he had me…why, he’d never look at another woman again.”
The duchess removed a single glove and folded it before meeting Minnie’s eyes.
“I had all my romantic notions beat out of me by the time I was twenty. But it wasn’t just the duke who was responsible. It was everyone I encountered. All of high society saw me as nothing more than a purse for the Duke of Clermont. I was told every day for years and years and years, in whispers that were not quite behind my back, that I was not my husband’s equal. It didn’t matter that he had no sense and no money. I was beneath him, and the fact that I dared to oppose him… Nothing my husband did ever caused a whisper, but my insistence that I be treated with respect? That was a scandal. When he visited whores, it was nothing to society. He struck me because I insisted on marital fidelity, but the only thing the ton found outrageous in that was that I dared to question him.” The duchess’s voice shook. “At least I had money. What do you think it will be like for you?”
Minnie swallowed. “Robert isn’t like that.”
The duchess’s hands compressed around her solitary glove. “I have read Pride and Prejudice. I know precisely what role you’re casting me in—the officious Lady Catherine, foolish meddler, who believes that Darcy must marry her miserable daughter.” Her lips pinched. “Maybe that is my place. I should sit here and shriek at you, ‘Are the shades of Clermont House to be thus polluted?’”
Minnie blinked in surprise, and the woman smiled.
“I did tell you I was once a romantic,” she said. “So maybe I am to be Lady Catherine. But I see so much of my foolish, younger self in him—that gallantry, that certainty of love, that hope for the future. I would not wish my life on anyone.”
This conversation had not gone as Minnie had first imagined. Instead of enraging her, the duchess’s words brought a sort of cold clarity to the situation.
“You must love your son very much,” she said.
“No,” the other woman said softly. “I suppose I could have, once. But there’s only so often a boy can be used as a knife to your heart before you stop feeling anything at all. I hadn’t any choice about it, and…” She shrugged. “I haven’t the emotion to browbeat you much further, or to beg. I will just ask, as nicely as I can.” She looked into Minnie’s eyes. “Please don’t do this to my son.”
The duchess, Minnie concluded, was an odd woman. Extremely odd. She felt a twinge of compassion for her.
“He’s a gentler boy than his father was.” Her lips pinched. “When he sees how they treat you, he’ll be miserable. He never could stand for mistreatment.”
“All very well,” Minnie said. “If I were a better person, I suppose I would agree and refuse his suit for his own good. But you said it yourself. I have no fortune, no family, no future.” She smiled awkwardly. “You’ve already heard rumors connecting me with your son. How do you suppose my reputation will fare in his absence?”
The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “Has he…”
“I’m not ruined,” Minnie continued. “And the gossip thus far is only outraged. But even a hint of a dark spot is all I need. Nicety of principle is a luxury for the wealthy. I can’t afford it.” She shook her head. “I know how utterly disastrous it would be to marry him. More than you could imagine.”
“A woman like me.” Minnie felt her own mouth curling in distaste. “What do you mean, a woman like me?”
“For the rest of his life, everyone will be looking at him and wondering why he married you, whispering about how terribly the Blaisdell family name has been besmirched.”
“I should think that would be his lookout, not yours.”
The other woman’s eyes flashed. “Do you know how much I gave up so that my child would be born with every advantage? For years I suffered through marriage to his cretinous, adulterous lump of a father. I had his bastard thrown in my face. I had to—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I gave up everything so that my son could have this life. Everything. You cannot conceive what I had to bear. I did not make a sacrifice of my entire life so that he could throw himself away on a nobody.”
From that Minnie surmised that Robert’s mother didn’t know about his hope to abolish the peerage.
But the duchess’s tirade went on. “You bring nothing to the match—no family, no money, no land, no power.”
“I am aware of my assets, Your Grace.”
“And you’re going to marry him anyway,” the duchess said scornfully. “I know my son. He’s likely caring about right and wrong, wanting so desperately to belong to something. He’ll hurl himself at whatever cause he so blindly chooses, heedless of the harm to himself.”
Perhaps the duchess knew Robert better than Minnie had initially supposed.
The duchess sniffed. “He probably thinks he’s saving you from a life of drudgery.”
Minnie’s cheeks flushed as the other woman once again took in her too-simple gown. The duchess’s gaze traveled down to Minnie’s gloves, up again to the simple knot Caro had made with her hair. Minnie stood straight, staring right back at her.
“He is saving you from a life of drudgery,” the duchess concluded. “I can’t blame you for letting him do it.”
“Who said I’m letting him?” Minnie snapped. “I’d not want to find myself in your shoes. Not for any one of your ridiculously indulgent gowns.”
Surprisingly, that brought a smile—one that warmed the other woman’s face, making her appear decades younger. “Really? Then you may have an iota of sense.” The woman set a beaded reticule on the table. “I know I sound harsh, but he is my only child. Such as we are.” She let out a sigh. “I am not entirely unfeeling. I once found myself in your position.” Her lips curled up, but there was no smile to the expression, only snarl. “It turns your head, to be courted by a duke. A young, handsome duke. I knew Robert’s father had a black reputation, but I was certain I could cure him of all that ailed him. He’d stop gambling and drinking to excess, and if he had me…why, he’d never look at another woman again.”
The duchess removed a single glove and folded it before meeting Minnie’s eyes.
“I had all my romantic notions beat out of me by the time I was twenty. But it wasn’t just the duke who was responsible. It was everyone I encountered. All of high society saw me as nothing more than a purse for the Duke of Clermont. I was told every day for years and years and years, in whispers that were not quite behind my back, that I was not my husband’s equal. It didn’t matter that he had no sense and no money. I was beneath him, and the fact that I dared to oppose him… Nothing my husband did ever caused a whisper, but my insistence that I be treated with respect? That was a scandal. When he visited whores, it was nothing to society. He struck me because I insisted on marital fidelity, but the only thing the ton found outrageous in that was that I dared to question him.” The duchess’s voice shook. “At least I had money. What do you think it will be like for you?”
Minnie swallowed. “Robert isn’t like that.”
The duchess’s hands compressed around her solitary glove. “I have read Pride and Prejudice. I know precisely what role you’re casting me in—the officious Lady Catherine, foolish meddler, who believes that Darcy must marry her miserable daughter.” Her lips pinched. “Maybe that is my place. I should sit here and shriek at you, ‘Are the shades of Clermont House to be thus polluted?’”
Minnie blinked in surprise, and the woman smiled.
“I did tell you I was once a romantic,” she said. “So maybe I am to be Lady Catherine. But I see so much of my foolish, younger self in him—that gallantry, that certainty of love, that hope for the future. I would not wish my life on anyone.”
This conversation had not gone as Minnie had first imagined. Instead of enraging her, the duchess’s words brought a sort of cold clarity to the situation.
“You must love your son very much,” she said.
“No,” the other woman said softly. “I suppose I could have, once. But there’s only so often a boy can be used as a knife to your heart before you stop feeling anything at all. I hadn’t any choice about it, and…” She shrugged. “I haven’t the emotion to browbeat you much further, or to beg. I will just ask, as nicely as I can.” She looked into Minnie’s eyes. “Please don’t do this to my son.”
The duchess, Minnie concluded, was an odd woman. Extremely odd. She felt a twinge of compassion for her.
“He’s a gentler boy than his father was.” Her lips pinched. “When he sees how they treat you, he’ll be miserable. He never could stand for mistreatment.”
“All very well,” Minnie said. “If I were a better person, I suppose I would agree and refuse his suit for his own good. But you said it yourself. I have no fortune, no family, no future.” She smiled awkwardly. “You’ve already heard rumors connecting me with your son. How do you suppose my reputation will fare in his absence?”
The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “Has he…”
“I’m not ruined,” Minnie continued. “And the gossip thus far is only outraged. But even a hint of a dark spot is all I need. Nicety of principle is a luxury for the wealthy. I can’t afford it.” She shook her head. “I know how utterly disastrous it would be to marry him. More than you could imagine.”
