She shrugged. ‘Perhaps not cease, but it would at least lessen.’
He allowed his head to loll back against the sofa. ‘I cannot bear another disappointment. Or another fortune hunter. Or another…’ He didn’t continue. He didn’t wish to say it aloud.
She placed a hand along his forearm and squeezed it gently. After a moment, he lifted his head and met her gaze. ‘I know I cannot understand your…disappointment,’ she began. ‘Not truly, anyway, but I wish the best for you and for your future happiness. We all do and Lady Buchanan and I have an idea to end your worries about such a future match.’ Her eyes twinkled.
He groaned. ‘I am terrified to ask what you and my cousin have been plotting.’
She pulled a piece of folded parchment from her apron pocket. ‘All you must do is select one from this list. Lady Buchanan has vetted each of them as being suitable as a wife for you and mother to Millie. And you know she knows everyone.’
He accepted the list and scanned the names with hesitation. At the end, he frowned and handed it back to her. ‘None of these will do.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they are all members of theton. I will trust none of them with my daughter.’
‘Will you consider inviting some of them to the ball celebrating your succession, Your Grace? That will end some of the rumours.’ Her return to formal address saddened him. He preferred being Liam to Your Grace, but his life was long past such simplicities.
Millie’s day nurse came in to put his daughter to bed. He kissed Millie’s forehead and relinquished her begrudgingly. She was transferred easily to Miss Bellows’s arms as Millie was still asleep. He watched them until they exited the study. Then he returned his gaze to Mrs Chisholm.
‘I promise I will have a woman at my side at the ball to celebrate my succession as the Duke of Wimberley. You have my word. Will that do?’
‘For now,’ she said; her cheeks were pink, no doubt pleased from the progress of their conversation. He couldn’t begrudge her for looking out for him, even when he did not wish to look after himself.
‘And where will you find a presentable lady who is not of thetonin less than a fortnight?’
He sighed. Evidently, she was feeling emboldened by her success and pushed a bit further. He wished she had stopped while she had gained ground.
‘I have no idea as of yet, Mrs Chisholm.’ He was desperate to end this line of questioning. The idea of having another wife turned his stomach. ‘My focus must be on Millie for now. Speaking of which, when is the new governess due to arrive? I thought we sent for her already.’
He was eager to see if someone else, and in this case a woman far removed from thetonand the likes of Society as he knew it, might be able to unlock the hidden words within his daughter and provide her the kindness she’d deserved from the mother now gone from her life.
‘Later this week, Your Grace, if the weather allows. Stow is quite a distance and I am sure the recent rains have not aided their travel.’
He nodded, knowing such a distance was intentional. He wanted a kind, country woman to nurture his daughter, not someone who knew the vultures of London. ‘Pleased to hear it.’ Some of the pressure lifted from his chest. At least that was settled. Getting a wife would have to wait.
And, for once, thetonwould have to wait its turn, too.
‘A ticket to London, please, Mr Sneed.’
Miss Hattie Potts rubbed the two coins in her reticule together and prayed it would be enough for a seat on the next stagecoach to her new employer located just outside London. She’d never taken a public stagecoach with strangers such a distance before, but at least she wouldn’t have to travel alone. Gaining confidence, she smiled and set the coins on the counter as Mr Sneed shuffled through some papers and then glanced back at her.
‘No need, Miss Potts,’ he answered behind the counter. Without looking at her, he pushed the coins back towards her.
‘Is it not enough?’ she stammered in lowered tones, her cheeks heating. She could hardly begin her new employment if she couldn’t get there.
‘Your transport has already been paid for,’ Mr Sneed answered, leaning closer with a wry smile. ‘No stagecoach for you,’ he replied with a wink. ‘A carriage has been sent for you from His Grace and it arrived last night. Exciting opportunity for you, Miss.’ He pointed behind her.
She turned to look at the most glorious, glistening black carriage she’d ever seen. The large emblazoned gold crest reflected in the morning sunlight. Two chestnut-brown horseswere already bridled and ready, nibbling on the patchy green tufts of grass beneath them. A driver dressed in a pristine black uniform sat on the box seat with his hat resting beside him as he held the reins loosely in one hand and ate a red apple with the other.
‘Driver named Eddie asked me to send you on to him when you arrived,’ Mr Sneed added. ‘Enjoy your trip, Miss, and good luck.’ He gave her a final wink.
Hattie’s mind couldn’t catch up with the man’s words.A private carriage for her? Paid for?
‘Next!’ Mr Sneed bellowed and glanced behind her at the line of waiting travellers.
Stunned, Hattie dropped her coins back in her reticule and stepped aside. She wandered back to where her friends, Ophelia Granger and Gertrude Hastings, waited with her meagre luggage near the cluster of stagecoaches being readied for travel. Hattie stopped in front of them without a word.
There had to be a mistake. She stared at the carriage off in the distance. That could not possibly be for her. Could it?
