Gwinnie shrugged. “It’s what he’s always done, isn’t that right, Grandmother?”
“Yes. As a child, Aidan didn’t display any particular talent, like his siblings, and he wanted to be good at something like they were. So, he asked what he could do to help us with our talents. And he did. He seemed to enjoy helping, so we have let him continue that habit. But I admit, Ellinbourne said something the other day that has had me wondering if we didn’t cause Aidan not to develop his own talent.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lord Lakehurst.
“Ellinbourne suggested Aidan didn’t have a chance to develop his own talent—whatever that might be—as he was too busy helping everyone with their talents.”
“He is a wonder at getting things done,” Gwinnie said.
“I did not know,” Bella said. “He is very discreet, isn’t he?”
“Yes. One may trust Aidan to keep one’s secrets for you. All part of his service to the family.”
Bella frowned.
“What is it, my dear?” asked Lady Malmsby.
Bella shook her head. “I’m just thinking of some things.” She was thinking she felt a great deal of sympathy for Aidan.
As soon as dinner was over, Lord Lakehurst excused himself. He was going to the theater with some of his cronies, and, from Bella’s inference, she gathered he had arranged an assignation for afterward—thus the formal attire.
She, Lady Malmsby, and Gwinnie shared an after-dinner drink, then bid each other goodnight, far earlier than usual society hours. Gwinnie said she was going to practice for a couple of hours, and Lady Malmsby said she had correspondence to complete. This left Bella at loose ends. She didn’t mind. She had a great deal to think about.
When Bella met Aidan Nowlton three years ago, one of the aspects of his personality that drew her to him was his courteousness and how he was always doing things for his family. Three years ago, she’d found that endearing. Now she thought his family used Nowlton unfairly. And to say he lacked talents? Bella disagreed. His talents weren’t tangible, like painting, sculpting, and writing. Nowlton had an uncanny sense for art. He knew what it was when he saw it, and what it wasn’t. A well-defined Art Aesthetic, particularly for the romanticism movement. And if, as a younger son, Nowlton had pursued a commission, he would have been an able commander and strategist. Most likely directly on Wellington’s staff.
His life had gone a different path from those around him, but he had used his strengths. That was interesting.
She had seen a bit of this in him during their courtship. She remembered, with a sad secret smile, three years ago when he requested permission to court her. Her heart had fluttered wildly. A thousand butterflies could not have raised more of a fluttering sensation. Painfully shy, she appreciated his courtesy. He was gentle, but keenly interested in all she said. He made her feel like the smartest woman in London. She enjoyed her time spent with him and wondered when he might offer for her.
She sighed.
Thanks to Harry, he hadn’t, and they’d lost that promise of tomorrow.
CHAPTER3
HARGATE, OWEN, AND HARGATE
Bella stood hesitantly at the door of the breakfast parlor the next morning. One person sat in the room. He had the look of Aidan Nowlton, but older and on a larger frame. Spectacles sat on his nose as he read a book open beside his plate.
When he noticed her standing there, he closed the book and rose to his feet.
“Good morning! You must be Lady Blessingame. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Arthur Nowlton, Duke of Malmsby,” he said, bowing slightly. “Come in, come in, please. Jimmy here will get you a plate,” he said, indicating the footman who stood next to the breakfast buffet.
Bella sat in a chair near the Duke as he resumed his own.
“I’m sorry I missed meeting you at dinner last night. I was pledged to a lecture in Richmond last evening and had left early to have dinner there before the lecture.—In truth, I didn’t feel like taking a carriage ride on a full stomach,” he confided, with a merry wink.
“I can’t say I blame you,” she said. “So, what are you reading? I notice it is a new book. Has there been more written about King Arthur?”
“No, no—at least, I don’t think so.” He whispered. “Actually, don’t tell my family, however, I have done nothing with King Arthur in several years. Not since my wife died. She was the King Arthur enthusiast.”
Bella sat up straighter. “Oh! They led me to believe that is all you do is study and write about King Arthur.”
He shook his head. “Rubbish. Don’t get me wrong, I’m actually quite fond of the old guy; however, I exhausted my sources and interest. On to other things now. There is so much to learn in this world, and so little time. This book,” he said, holding up the book, “isAHistory of Persiaby Sir John Malcolm. Just light breakfast reading.”
“Is all the reading and studying you do the reason you leave your social obligations to your son? I heard Lord Lakehurst talking about them last night.”
He shook his head. “No, no.” He took up his napkin to wipe his mouth. “Only way to get him out in society to meet a gel he might like to marry. If he didn’t get out and about, he’d live in his fantastical writing worlds.—And I can see you are a bright woman, so before you ask, I’ll tell you. No one knows I don’t work on Arthurian stuff any longer because they don’t ask,” he said, rising from the table.
