Along Came a Duke (24 page)

And Tabitha knew exactly why.

For before he could completely commit to Harriet's ridiculous dare, the matrons in the room burst into a cacophony of protest.

“Never!”

“Scandalous!”

“Think of our name! Of your uncle's good opinion.”

That was enough for Barkworth. He held up his hand to stave off their fears, smiling kindly at them. “I shall endeavor to face this trial without allowing my temper to get the better of my good judgment and your delicate sensibilities, ladies.”

Harriet's nose wrinkled at such a reply and she returned to the window seat, muttering something that ended with an expression she'd probably picked up from one of her brothers.

Lily-livered. . .

Daphne had also moved during all this hullaballoo and now stood by the door. “If you will excuse me,” she said, dipping her head to the company. “I forgot a letter I must answer before it is too late to post it.”

She slipped from the room, and Tabitha—for once—envied her friend's constant and demanding correspondence. It offered an excuse to leave, of which Tabitha had none.

And right now she wanted to escape this charade of a visit more than anything else.

“No more talk of duels and scandals,” Lady Ancil declared, sending a sniffy little glance of accusation in Harriet's direction. “I would rather talk of tomorrow night.”

At this, Barkworth brightened. “Yes, yes, we haven't come bearing entirely bad news . . . though this scandal is a terrible shame—”

Again a chorus of head nods answered him. “I knew by nuncheon that quick action would be required to nip this all in the bud, so I sought my uncle's counsel.”

“Dear, wise Lord Grately,” Lady Ancil added sagely.

“Yes, quite so,” Barkworth agreed. “And my uncle, the esteemed Marquess of Grately, thinks—nay,
knows
—that the best thing to do would be to go forward and announce our engagement tomorrow night at his annual soirée, as we've planned all along.”

“An announcement?” Tabitha managed, having the sense of the air rushing from the room. “So soon?” Whatever did he mean, “as we've planned all along”? Who'd planned? She looked over at her aunt and found Lady Timmons avoiding her gaze.

“Why of course,” Barkworth told her. “When society sees—
good society
, I must say, not that low assembly of
cits
Lady Knolles passes off as acceptable—that my uncle, the Marquess of Grately, approves not only of our match but of you, my dear Miss Timmons, it will stop the veriest hint of scandal on the good name of Barkworth.”

There were smiles all around, as if that settled the matter.

Not to Tabitha's way of thinking. She noted that he'd said “the good name of Barkworth,” not hers. Not the good name of Miss Tabitha Timmons.

“I had thought we'd come to an agreement, Mr. Barkworth,” she ventured, “that before we announce a betrothal—”

—we might get to know one another.

Lady Timmons looked ready to give her a wigging, and so, for that matter, did the always opinionated Lady Peevers, but neither lady could get a word in before a terrible discord rose up outside the closed door of the sitting room.

To be specific, a chorus of barking and yelping, followed by a large crash.

Mr. Muggins.

Tabitha flinched, for this disruption (not to mention possible damage) would only bait her aunt's temper further.

Daphne came headlong into the room. “Tabitha, you must come at once,” she said. “I fear Mr. Muggins is in a state.” To prove the point, Mr. Muggins invaded the room, barking madly and blindly running in circles.

“Goodness!” Lady Ancil exclaimed, clutching her reticule to her chest as if she thought the house had been invaded by an entire block of rushers.

Holding out the dog's lead, Daphne said with a bright smile, “Perhaps a walk in the park will bring him to his senses. You and Mr. Barkworth could take him together.”

Tabitha lunged to grab hold of her dog even as she shot a wry look at her friend. “I can't imagine what has him in such a state.”

Of course the fact that Daphne had gone upstairs and put on the new feather-trimmed pelisse she'd bought recently and had not yet dared to wear might have something to do with it.

“Please, Tabitha,” Lady Timmons pleaded as she watched Lady Ancil pale and waver in her seat.

Barkworth had retreated to behind the open door and peered out at the scene before him with a look of open fear.

Oh, bother!
Tabitha finally caught hold of Mr. Muggins's collar, then grabbed the lead from Daphne and snapped it on. “Whatever are you doing?” she whispered to her friend.

“Giving you a chance to be courted.”

Quite frankly, Tabitha thought, looking at her cowering nearly betrothed and thinking of how Preston's blossoms had left her all tangled up inside, she'd had quite enough of being courted for one day.

O
 nce outside, Barkworth paused on the top step, looking down at Tabitha and Mr. Muggins awaiting him on the sidewalk, eyeing her dog with both an eye of disdain and a bit of fear.

Tabitha heaved a sigh. “Shall we go to the park?”

“However shall we get there? I have sent my carriage on,” he said.

“I was thinking more of walking.” Tabitha tightened her hold on the leash. Off to the right a bit, Daphne's maid waited, watching this exchange with wide eyes.

“Walking?” Barkworth glanced up and down the sidewalk as if it were a foreign lane.

“Yes, that is the prescribed method of taking Mr. Muggins for a walk. Besides, it is a lovely day.”

He eyed her as if he couldn't quite determine if she was teasing or not. “How quaint,” he said, finally venturing down the steps, where he held out his arm for her. Once her hand was atop his sleeve, he smiled blandly and turned in the direction of Hyde Park.

“There isn't anything improper in taking a walk, is there?” she asked. “Anything to impugn your reputation? Your good Barkworth name?”

Barkworth paused and drew himself up. “Miss Timmons, your concerns do you credit. You will make an admirable marchioness one day and a most worthy addition to the Barkworth family tree.”

Tabitha forced a smile on her lips, while Mr. Muggins tugged at the lead, if only to prod them both into continuing toward the park. “The Barkworths take great store in their unblemished reputation, I gather. Four centuries, I think your mother said?”

“An excellent memory, Miss Timmons,” he declared. “Yes, it has been the honor and the privilege of the Barkworths to have served their king—”

“And a few queens,” she noted.

“Yes, yes, under those necessary circumstances,” he agreed. “The Barkworths have never wavered in their faithful service.”

“No scandals, no wild cousin to blight the family name, no hints of piracy or illicit affairs?” she teased.

Barkworth's eyes widened. “Most certainly not. We have done our duty with the utmost discretion.”

“During Henry the Eighth's reforms? Which side did the family take? Reform or keep the old church?”

“We followed our king.”

“And later, when Cromwell cut off Charles's head?”

“Difficult times, but we remained loyal to England.”

Which Tabitha took to mean that they had walked a fine line between both sides—Puritan and Royalist—and landed with Charles the Second when he returned in triumph.

“How very inspiring,” she said when she could think of no other response.

They continued to walk along, Mr. Muggins behaving with more decorum than she'd ever known him to possess.

“I do say this is an excellent way to be seen,” he said after passing a matron and her daughter returning from their own stroll. “Did you see the way Lady Colicott just cast an approving glance in your direction? She has the most discerning air about her. Yes, yes, I can see the advantage of walking.”

“I thought we could use this time to see if we suit,” Tabitha suggested, which seemed far more important than Lady Colicott's good opinion.

“Suit?” Barkworth repeated, his brow furrowing. The notion was apparently as foreign to the man as walking.

“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound impatient. “So we might know if we'll be amenable marriage partners.”

The light finally dawned on Barkworth's handsome face and he laughed. “Miss Timmons, you have some very quaint notions. Whyever wouldn't we suit?”

Tabitha could think of a hundred reasons at the moment, but she held her tongue, thinking yet again of Daphne's caution not to jump to conclusions about the man.

See how wrong you were about Preston.

She might have been wrong about him being someone's by-blow, but at least he sent flowers.

“My uncle said you are a solicitor?” Tabitha asked, trying to do her best to “get to know” this man her family was pressing her to wed and put Preston and his whimsical bluebells as far from her thoughts as possible. “I hope I am not taking your time away from important matters.”

“No, no,” he said, waving his hand. “I have very little to do with actual matters.”

She glanced sideways at him. “So you do not work?”

“Work?” Barkworth paled at the word. “Why, of course not. I only studied the law at my uncle's insistence. He said I needed something to keep me occupied until . . . until . . .”

His unfortunate passing . . .
Tabitha could almost hear him saying.

“So however do you spend your time?” she pressed. Truly, she couldn't imagine a man without some sort of occupation—thinking of her father and the constant duties of the vicarage, or Harriet's father and his vigilance with his estate. Even Lord Roxley made the occasional visit to Foxgrove to ensure that the house and grounds were properly maintained—much to his aunt's indignation that she couldn't see to the property herself.

“Spend my time? Well, as most gentlemen do, I suppose,” he answered.

“However is that?”

He looked rather blankly at her, like he'd never considered what it was he did with his days. “The usual pursuits. I visit my uncle regularly.”

“To learn his business and help with the management of his estates, I presume,” Tabitha remarked, thinking that was why his uncle had insisted Barkworth study the law.

“No, not at all. My uncle has a steward for those mundane matters. I cannot appear to be too interested in his fortunes, for that would be rather presumptive.”

For a mere presumptive heir
, Tabitha wanted to reply, but she doubted Barkworth would see the humor in it.

“I call upon him merely to inquire as to his health,” Barkworth said, as if that made his intentions all the more noble and honorable.

“Yes, most considerate,” she said before biting her lips together, which was better than making the remark she longed to let slip past her lips.

Hallo, Uncle, however is your heart today?

“You don't live with his lordship?”

Barkworth shook his head. “Heavens no. That would be—”

“Presumptive,” Tabitha finished.

“Exactly,” he said. “Mother and I have the use of a house on Foley Place. It is comfortable enough—most likely quite grand compared with a country vicarage, though nothing like the grandeur of my uncle's house on Hanover Square, but I never complain. At least not to my uncle.”

“No, whyever should you, when you are comfortable?”

He glanced over at her. “Yes, well, Mother finds it a bit confining and longs for a larger residence. With the prospect of our marriage, she's been on the prowl for a new address.”

“She plans to move out?”

Barkworth's eyes widened with horror. “Of course not! With the addition of you to our small, but happy, family, we will most decidedly need more space, especially once, and I daresay I hope I don't offend your delicate sensibilities, we
increase
our happiness—” He waggled his brows at her.

Oh, good heavens, he means children.
Tabitha suddenly saw a passel of handsome, albeit useless, Barkworths tugging at her skirt.

“Be that as it may, Mother says that with our circumstances being greatly improved due to your uncle's generosity—”

Translation:
With the infusion of your uncle's fortune into my hands, I won't be so completely constrained by my uncle's meager charity and general lack of munificence.

Oh, good heavens. This cleared up so many of Tabitha's questions as to why Barkworth might agree to this marriage.

He clearly wanted it. Nay, he
needed
it.

Then he proved her supposition by saying, “I know Mother has already visited a house close to Grosvenor Square. On Brook Street, I believe. The owner is in ill health and wants to rent it out, but Mother thought that while it was most suitably located, it was in such ill repair that no lady would deign to set her foot inside it, let alone inhabit it.”

“She's already been house-hunting?” Speaking of presumption! “Certainly the house your uncle has provided is both economical and well appointed. I hardly see the need—”

“Miss Timmons, you are a delightful surprise. I suppose your simple sensibilities are the result of having lived your entire life in the country—and in a vicarage of all places—so much so that you will find my humble abode a castle in comparison. But by London standards . . .” He patted her hand, which still rested on his sleeve, and smiled at her.

Tabitha pasted a bland smile on her face to match the one on his, for there seemed no point in reminding the man that she had as yet to agree to marry him.

Why was it everyone just assumed she had no objections to this match?

Because it will save you from a life as your aunt's scullery maid . . . leave you secure for the remainder of your days . . . because this is how it is done.