Damien glanced briefly at Wentworth and nodded again. Wentworth held no drink. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Damien’s face. “But you know about that,” he said with a faint smile.
Damien, somewhat unnerved, faced forward again.
For a long while, they stood together, saying nothing, until Damien felt the duke’s intense gaze turn to him once more. “You’ve met my sister, as well. Lily.”
“Yes.”
“I saw you dancing earlier.”
Damien was beginning to feel as if the duke had eyes in the back of his head.
“She’s a lovely young woman,” Damien said. “You must be proud.”
“I am indeed.”
Damien felt the duke’s probing gaze upon his profile, then at last he looked away. “I must return to my wife. She’s expecting me for the next set.”
Raising his glass to the duke, Damien said, “It was a pleasure, Wentworth.”
“Likewise. Good evening, Alcester.” With that, he took his leave.
Damien also turned and walked out. He was more than ready to leave, for he had just been sharply and perceptively evaluated by a man who seemed to know far too much. Damien might as well have spilled his guts onto the floor.
Shortly after the duke walked away from Damien, Violet approached Lily.
“Are you having a good time?” she asked, checking inside her sparkling, beaded reticule to see if she had brought a fresh pair of gloves. She had. She snapped it shut and smiled. “I saw you dancing with my cousin.”
“Lord Alcester? He’s a very good dancer.”
Violet grinned mischievously and raised an eyebrow. “A good dancer? That’s not what most women would say about Damien.”
Lily gazed uneasily at Violet. “No?”
Violet chuckled. “No. Most would use the word ‘handsome,’ or ‘virile.’” She nudged Lily. “Don’t tell me you haven’t fallen for him. He’s the catch of the Season.”
Lily merely smiled.
“He likes you,” Violet said. “I could tell by the way he was looking at you. But you’re so pretty, how could any man not fall in love with you? What do you think of him?”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes, of course, my cousin!”
Lily swallowed uncomfortably. “I think he’s very nice.”
“Yes, he is.” Violet linked her arm through Lily’s. “Oh, darling, how I would love for us to be like sisters. If you married Damien, we would be. Damien knows Whitby. They seem to have become quite friendly lately. What a grand foursome we would make. We could go places together and—oh, it would be just stupendous.”
Lily gazed at Violet with surprise. “You’re going to marry Whitby?”
“Well, nothing’s official yet, but it will be soon, I’m certain. He’s magnificent, don’t you think?”
Lily gazed across the room to where Whitby was standing. She knew exactly where he was. She did not give her opinion.
“He’s close to the duke, I understand,” Violet said.
“Yes. He and James have known each other since they were boys.”
Violet took in what looked like an exceptionally fulfilling breath. “Whitby and the Duke of Wentworth. I will enjoy being welcomed into your circle, Lily. We will have such fun together.”
“Yes, I’m sure we will.” Lily gazed across the room at Whitby again, who was helping the aging, gray-haired Countess of Greenwood rise from her chair. Lily rested her hand on her belly. She felt slightly ill. But she had always known this day would come—the day Whitby would propose to someone.
She decided in that moment that this would be her last ball of the Season. She was not enjoying herself. Not at all. She wanted to go home to Yorkshire, to the country. She couldn’t be here for this. She would leave London first thing in the morning.
That night, Adele lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking of her future. She could not marry Harold. That much was obvious. Which meant she was going to have to break the news to her sisters and her mother, then she would have to explain her decision to Harold. None of it would be easy, but it had to be done, so she would do it, and she would be brave in the aftermath.
Tomorrow, she decided with firm resolve. She would tell everyone tomorrow.
But what then? She rolled over onto her side and gathered her pillow in her arms. She did not think she could remain in London. She did not want to hear about Damien proposing to Lady Lily. She did not want to think about him kissing her or touching her the way he had touched Adele in the teahouse. Nor could she bear the possibility that she might learn too late that she had been wrong about him, and then watch while he turned out to be a perfect husband.
So, she would go home to America. She would start again, careful this time not to put herself in the position of trying to please everyone but herself. She would not make that mistake again. She would carve out a life of her own and think about what she wanted. If she was lucky enough to marry, it would be for love, nothing less. She would find a man she could feel passion for, as well as trust and respect.
Or perhaps she would consider a career of some sort. Something to do with horses. What would her father think of that?
Adele closed her eyes and thought about what she would say to everyone the next day.
She suspected her mother was going to need some very strong smelling salts.
Chapter 22
Adele was sitting with Sophia in the Wentworth House drawing room when Clara, wearing a dark brown, slim-fitting walking-out dress with a matching hat, was shown in. She pulled off her gloves, sat down on the sofa and took hold of Adele’s hands. “What is it, darling? I came the moment I read your note.”
“She has something she wishes to discuss with us,” Sophia said as she poured tea for Clara.
Adele decided she didn’t want to waste time. She wanted to come straight to the point. “I’m not quite sure how to tell you this, because I know it will come as a shock, and I hope you won’t be angry with me, but I wish to break off my engagement to Harold.”
Both her sisters fell silent. Then Clara spoke quietly. “Is it because of what we talked about at Osulton Manor?”
“What did you talk about?” Sophia asked.
Clara began to explain. “You remember that Lord Alcester rescued Adele from the kidnapper and delivered her safely to Harold?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she and the viscount spent three days and nights traveling together, and—”
Sophia held up a hand. “You don’t need to explain, Clara. I understand.” She turned to Adele. “You care for Lord Alcester? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Adele gazed apologetically at her eldest sister. “I was going to, but there never seemed to be a good time, and I kept hoping that it would pass. But it didn’t, and it doesn’t matter now. I don’t want Damien. That’s not why I can’t marry Harold. I would have made this decision even if I had never been kidnapped and rescued by Damien. At least I hope I would have made it.”
Sophia glanced uneasily at Clara. “Good heavens, I’ve been encouraging Lily to consider Lord Alcester. I wouldn’t if I had known.”
Adele shook her head. “If he is inclined to propose to Lily, that is perfectly fine. It’s their business, not mine. I just want to go home.”
“But Lily left London this morning,” Sophia told her. “She didn’t say why, but we all know she doesn’t enjoy the marriage mart.”
Adele was surprised. Lily had said she wanted to fall in love.
Clara spoke up. “But if Damien has no hold on your feelings, Adele, why don’t you want to marry Harold?”
“Because I don’t love him. It’s as simple as that.”
“But you thought you did at one time,” Clara said.
“Yes, but that was before—” She stopped herself.
�
�Before you met Damien,” Clara finished for her.
Adele stood and paced around the room. “Yes, before I met Damien. But that doesn’t mean I want to marry him. He just helped me see that I wasn’t the person I thought I was.” She stopped in front of the window. “Mother is going to think he was a very bad influence.”
Sophia blew out a breath. “To be sure.”
They were all quiet for a moment, digesting the news, then Clara said, “When will you tell Harold?”
“Today,” Adele replied. “I’ll hate hurting him, of course, but I think this is best dealt with in a decisive manner. Then I will go home as soon as possible. I want to find a purpose in my life, or a dream of my own to work toward. I’m tired of drifting in the direction of other people’s pointing fingers.”
Sophia rose to her feet. “I think that sounds wonderful, Adele.”
Adele smiled. “So…will you help me explain it to Mother?”
Her sisters pulled wary faces.
“Of course we will,” Clara said.
“Most definitely,” Sophia added, “because I anticipate you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
Two hours later—after no shortage of sobs and arguments, and general, all-around misery from Adele’s mother—Adele stood on the front steps of Osulton House in Belgravia with her two sisters, tapping the large brass door knocker and trying to keep her nerves steady.
Harold, may I have a moment alone with you? she rehearsed in her mind. Or perhaps she would need to speak to Eustacia first. Eustacia, would you be so kind as to give me a moment alone with your son?
Her whole body churned with dread. She hoped Eustacia would not react the same way her mother had, toppling backward onto the sofa with her mouth open wide. Eustacia and her mother were similar creatures, however....
Adele turned to Clara. “Do you have the smelling salts?”
Clara patted her reticule. “Do you even need to ask?”
Just then, the door opened, and Henderson, the butler, appeared with his usual stony expression. He took one look at Sophia and Clara, however, and made a bow. “Your Grace. Lady Rawdon.” He then turned his attention to Adele. “And Miss Wilson. Good afternoon.”
Adele squeezed her reticule in her hand. “Is Lord Osulton at home?”
“I’m afraid he is not. The family left for the country not more than an hour ago.”
Adele’s eyes narrowed questioningly. “Whatever for?”
He inclined his head. “I regret to inform you that Lord Osulton’s grandmother is ill.”
Adele tensed. “Is it serious?”
“I believe it is, Miss Wilson.”
Adele turned to Clara and Sophia. “This is terrible. Poor Harold. I must go, too. I am still his fiancée after all. Surely Mother will take me.”
Adele started back to the coach with speed and determination in her gait—something Clara and Sophia had never seen in her before.
“Thank you,” Sophia said to the butler, before she and Clara had to scramble to keep up with their baby sister on her way down the steps.
Part Three
Wisdom
Chapter 23
It was past noon the following day when Adele and Beatrice were greeted at the door of Osulton Manor and invited inside. The house was somber. Adele and Beatrice were shown into the drawing room. Eustacia was standing alone at the window.
“Oh, my dears,” she said, turning to welcome them. “How good of you to come. We left in such a hurry, we had to leave it to Henderson to explain where we had gone.”
Beatrice embraced her. “We came as soon as we heard.”
“Is she any better?” Adele asked.
Eustacia held a handkerchief to her nose. “The physician doesn’t think so. He said it wouldn’t be more than a few days. A week at most.” She shuddered with a sob, and hugged Beatrice again. “Oh, my dear, dear mother. What will I do without her?”
Beatrice led Eustacia to the sofa, and Eustacia lifted her puffy, watery gaze. “Adele, go and see my mother now. Harold is with her. It will mean so much to him that you came.”
Adele bent to squeeze Eustacia’s hand and met her mother’s worried eyes. Beatrice had made no secret of the fact that she had hoped this visit would change Adele’s mind about Harold. Adele did not know what would transpire. Perhaps it would change her mind. Perhaps it would not. She only wished for clarity and an absolute certainty in her decision, whatever it turned out to be.
She made her way through the house to the east wing where the dowager’s rooms were located and knocked upon the door. No one answered, so she quietly entered.
The dowager’s sitting room looked the same as always. It was cluttered with old pillows and interesting knickknacks—evidence of a lifetime of collecting special treasures. Adele passed through to the double doors that led to the dowager’s bedchamber but hesitated. She must prepare herself. Harold was surely going to be distraught. She would do her best to comfort him, and she would hold off on the news about her decision to end their engagement. Now would not be the time to deliver a second blow.
The doors were slightly ajar, so she peered through the narrow opening. She could see only the foot of the bed, but she heard a quiet weeping.
Oh, poor Harold.
Adele closed her eyes and bowed her head. She gently pushed the door open, but it was not Harold she saw. The person sitting next to the bed, with his head resting on the dowager’s hand, was Damien.
Adele pressed her hand to her heart.
He must have sensed her presence because he turned and looked at her. His eyes were colored by a dark, despairing anguish, along with a measure of shock from seeing her when he had not expected it.
Adele swallowed over a sudden painful lump in her throat. Damien—the black knight who could raise his sword and conquer any enemy, and the scoundrel who could, at his whim, seduce any woman.... He was weeping.
Adele stood motionless while they regarded each other warily. Then Damien rose from his chair and crossed toward her. He stood for a moment, staring into her eyes, then he pulled her gently, tenderly into his arms. Adele shuddered with surprise at the contact, not realizing how desperately she had wanted to touch him and hold him, despite all her reasons not to.
He embraced her for several seconds, then buried his face in the crook of her neck. She allowed it, because she could not forget all the times he had helped and comforted her when she was distraught. But when he laid a trail of kisses across her cheek and took her face in his hands and gazed down at her lips, Adele realized she was not allowing this as a gift of comfort. It was an excuse to take from him what she wanted for herself. Closeness. Intimacy.
Elated just to be in his arms, jubilant simply to see him, she ignored the little voice in her brain that reminded her that anyone could walk in and find them this way, gazing into each other’s eyes like lovers. Or that the dowager could open her eyes and see what sin they were committing, what betrayal, when Adele was still engaged to Harold.
But in all honesty, and to Adele’s utter shame and bewilderment, none of that mattered. Not at this moment when Damien was holding her and telling her with his body that he still cared for her. All she wanted to do was ease his woes and mend his heart.
Damien closed his eyes and shook his head. “I shouldn’t be touching you like this.”
“Please, don’t apologize.”
He said nothing for a few seconds, then his voice was a mere whisper when he spoke. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard about your grandmother.” They glanced with concern at the bed where she lay. “How is she?” Adele asked softly.
“Not good. All her life, she’s had a spark in her eye. But not today.”
“What did the doctor say?”
Damien explained the prognosis—that at her age, this illness would take everything she had, and leav
e her with nothing. Her breathing was already shallow and erratic, which suggested the worst.
“Has she been conscious?” Adele asked.
“Not this afternoon. I’ve been sitting here, talking to her for over an hour, trying to get her to wake up, but—”
Adele reached for his hand and clasped it tightly in hers.
“We were able to talk earlier this morning,” Damien said. “She had a great many things to say.”
Adele waited patiently for him to continue, but for the longest time he simply stared at the rug, then he glanced uncertainly at her.
“I’m listening,” Adele said.
He glanced back at the bed. “She told me something I didn’t know. That my father kept a secret from me and the rest of the world.” Damien faced Adele again. “There is something I never told you about the way my parents died.”
Adele remembered what Violet had told her....
“Damien, you don’t have to hide it,” she said. “I already know. Violet told me something after you left for London. She said your father killed himself.”
His brow furrowed. “You knew that?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how it happened, exactly. I only know what would be considered gossip, I suppose.”
He swallowed hard. “Well, I don’t think anyone knows how much of it I consider to be my fault. Except for my grandmother.”
Adele reached for his hand. “Oh, Damien. What happened?”
He sent a glance her way—a glance that told her he appreciated her sympathy and understanding, and that it was difficult for him talk about this part of his past. “I was only nine when I found out my mother was having an affair,” he admitted quietly. “I was angry with her, and I didn’t have the sense or experience in life to handle it tactfully, so I told my father. He was devastated, and he went after my mother with a pistol.”
“Good heavens.”
“I mounted my horse and followed him to the house where her lover lived, but I didn’t get there in time. My father had found them together. He meant to shoot them both, I believe.”
In Love with the Viscount (American Heiress Trilogy Book 3) Page 18
