Mary Balogh: Secrets of the Heart

Unfortunately, he reflected, when one had decided to give up one's single status for the advantages of matrimony, one had also to give up one's freedom to do just what one wished with one's life. He was nine and-twenty and it was high time that he gave up his strong aversion to marriage, well-founded though that aversion might have been. He had no brothers, and his closest male relative was a stranger to him and did not even bear the family name. The title had been in the Montagu family for five generations, and he hated the thought that it might pass to a family of another name if he failed to do something about the matter.

He had not taken great pains to find himself a prospective bride. He could have gone to London for the Season and looked over the crop of young girls newly "out." There he might have looked at his leisure for a lady of beauty and breeding and wit and intelligence and any other qualities that he supposed might be desirable if he gave the matter sufficient thought. But he had decided against such a step. He knew what would happen if he went. Almost every marriageable girl in town would set her cap at him, and it would be very difficult to know the true character of someone chosen under such circumstances.

Cranwell had winced at the thought. It had happened to him once. He had been deceived by a woman, and he had no wish to repeat that experience. He had been four years younger at that time, young and naive enough to believe that when a lady showed interest in him Ind avowed love for him, it was really him her attention was focused on. It had taken a bitter and painful experience to learn that his dukedom and his wealth and property could be far more attractive inducements than either his person or his character.

When he chose, therefore, he looked for nothing in a bride beyond youth and the apparent ability to breed. And purity, of course. That last was very important and the most difficult of all to be sure of in a stranger. Thus he did not choose a stranger. He chose Lady Hannah Lane, daughter of the Earl of Cavendish. The family lived in neighboring Gloucestershire, and a fast friendship had existed between the earl and the late duke. Cranwell had known Hannah from her infancy and could be reasonably sure of several things about her.

She was seventeen years old and not yet "out." All her life had been spent in the country, either at her father's home or at that of her grandmother. She had been out of the schoolroom for only a few months. She had had a strict and sheltered upbringing. These facts had merely emphasized a natural shyness and timidity of character. Cranwell had discovered during a visit to her father's home that she seemed well-bred and sensible, though she did not have a great deal of conversation. She had some beauty, being small and fragile in build, with honey-colored hair and skin that was almost translucent.

He had offered for her and had been accepted before his return home. The whole transaction had been made between him and Lord Cavendish. He had had only one short interview with Hannah, during which he had made a formal proposal and been accepted by a tongue-tied girl who had not once looked at him.

Cranwell would have been quite content to spend the summer quietly at Montagu Hall until it was time to claim his bride at Christmastime. Not that life at home was as peaceful as it had used to be. His young sister had returned home from school a couple of months before. Fanny had always been a girl of ebullient spirits, but now she seemed positively to)ounce with energy. Her schooling was over and she was bursting to taste all that life had to offer. Already she was pestering him for a come-out Season in London the following spring. It gave him quite a jolt to realize suddenly that she and Hannah were of an age. Fanny seemed the merest child. He realized guiltily that he was almost robbing the cradle to have engaged himself to Hannah.

If the presence of Fanny was not enough to rob him of his peace, Cranwell had discovered that the dowager Countess of Cavendish certainly was. She was delighted with the news that her granddaughter was betrothed to the duke, of whom she had always been fond. But she was loudly disturbed by the fact that Hannah had had no come-out. Her son would not hear of postponing the nuptials until the following summer so that his daughter might be taken to London and duly presented at St. James's. There was only one solution, albeit an unsatisfactory one. Hannah must be taken to Bath, where she could at least mingle with society for a few weeks. And if Hannah and the dowager were to go to Bath, Cranwell discovered ruefully, he was to go there too as their escort. And if he was going, then Fanny could not be left behind, even had she wanted to be.

Hence the Duke of Cranwell, who liked nothing better than a quiet life in the country with his farms and his art and his books, found himself by late summer amidst all the bustle and glare of a health spa.

He left the White Hart Inn, where he was staying, at eight o'clock on the morning after their arrival and walked through the Pump Yard, already filling with fashionable men and women on their way to take the waters or seek out gossip. It was no strange matter for him to be up so early. Indeed, he had been sitting in his room reading for upwards of an hour before leaving. But he wondered with inner amusement how the ladies would take to such early rising. Fanny, he knew, rarely put in a public appearance at home until close to noon, and even then she was frequently as cross as a bear until she had breakfasted. Unfortunately, the days at Bath progressed quite strictly to timetable, and the hours of seven to ten in the morning were the fashionable time to take the waters and promenade in the Pump Room.

All three ladies were ready when he arrived in Laura Place, where they had taken lodgings. Lady Cavendish was sitting straight-backed in a chair, looking for all the world as if she had been sitting there for an hour or more already, and Hannah was sitting quietly at her side. Fanny was in a temper, Cranwell could see at a glance, standing at the window of the sitting room glaring out at the sun-bright street.

"I really don't see why we have to be up in the middle of the night, George," she said, rounding on him as he was shown into the room. "Surely no one will be out at this ungodly hour."

"On the contrary," he said. "The Pump Yard was full of people as I passed through it ten minutes ago. I would imagine there is quite a squeeze in the Pump Room already." He bowed to Lady Cavendish and Hannah. "Good morning, ma'am," he said to the former. "Are you still determined to walk this morning? It is not too late for me to go for a carriage. My dear?" He took Hannah's hand and raised it to his lips.

"Take a carriage?" Lady Cavendish said, rising to her feet. "And miss seeing who is who on the street? My dear boy, you will find that I am not yet quite decrepit with age."

"Well," Fanny said, taking her bonnet from the window seat and tying the bow beneath her chin, "what are we waiting for? If we do not leave at once, we may miss all the morning's entertainment."

When they left the narrow three-storied building on Laura Place, Cranwell took Lady Cavendish on one arm and his betrothed on the other. The latter, he noticed, walked as far distant from him as her arm would allow and proceeded along the pavement with lowered eyes. She had not said a word to him that morning beyond a polite greeting. He wondered suddenly if she were not somewhat in awe of him. The idea irritated him a little, but he supposed that if it were true the fault must lie with him. He must make the effort to find some topic about which they could converse. They must surely have some interest in common.

Fanny tripped along ahead of the others, her parasol twirling about her head. She gazed with animation — it the scene around her, apparently having forgotten that humanity was not intended to function at such an ungodly hour of the day. As they passed the Abbey, at which she stared with some awe, having lowered her parasol so that she could look up with more ease, Lady Cavendish joined her, declaring that it was impossible to walk through such a crush three abreast.