He made a step toward her but halted when she shook her head.
“No. The outcome is not the same. When I was Diana, you lied to me. You were determined not to tell me about your fiancée or your plans to make me your mistress. At the same time, you were fully intending to betray Lady Amelia the moment she became your wife,” she replied.
Owen could see any hope of him gaining control of the situation slipping from his grasp. He scrambled for purchase. “But you don’t know that I was going to betray you. I never said I was going to do that.”
Amy closed the distance between them in three quick strides. She looked up at Owen and sighed. “Oh, but you did. On the stage at the Sans Pareil theatre. Or are you going to try and tell me that my brother Colin and I did not hear you tell Sir Callum Sharp that you intended to use my dowry to keep your mistress in jewels and to buy her silence? You can twist this any way you like, but you never told Diana about your fiancée.”
Her low, bitter laugh echoed in the room. “Owen, Owen. You think you are so fucking clever. Well I hope that is true because it is going to take some fancy footwork on your part to find yourself a new fiancée. One with a nice fat dowry. You can take this as notice that our betrothal is formally at an end. My father sent a message to Lord Lowe an hour ago, so your father will be waiting to share the good news with you when you return to Lowe House.”
Owen continued to stare at Amy’s face, the same face that he had watched in wonder every time he brought her to climax. Those lips, now set in a hard line, had been soft and inviting under his mouth.
Her bottom lip quivered for the briefest of moments, and in that split second Owen saw her hard countenance falter. Amy sucked in a deep breath. When he blinked, the moment was gone.
Oh no.
Amy took a step back, then turned and headed for the door. She opened it and held it for him. “Good day, Lord Morrison. I hope you and I shall never see one another again.”
Amy was sitting on the sofa, hands gently clasped in her lap when Colin entered the drawing room a short time later. She was surprised to find herself in a quiet and reflective mood. She had spent many hours rehearsing her grand speech for Owen, deciding that her heart would prefer that she rain down hell, fire, and fury on him than assail him with tears.
“How did it go?” asked Colin.
She nodded, giving him a soft smile. “It’s done.”
Colin took a seat on the sofa next to her but kept his distance. She noted the apprehensive look on his face and reached out to take hold of his hand.
“I am fine, Colin. There will be plenty of time for tears once we get home,” she reassured him.
“What did Owen say?”
“He was obviously shocked at first, but in typical Owen fashion, he rallied and then attempted to turn things to his advantage. In his opinion, it didn’t matter that I was both Diana and Amelia. He said he still loved me and would be quite happy for us to marry,” she replied.
Colin sighed. “What a wicked, selfish bastard. He thought you would forget everything that has happened and his plans for keeping a wife and a mistress?”
“I think he did, but all his bravado disappeared the moment I raised our visit to the theatre. Even he couldn’t find a way to wriggle out of that unpleasant situation. Lord Morrison now understands exactly where he stands with me, and that our betrothal is over. I expect right this minute he is trying to figure out what to say to his sire, since Lord Lowe will have received the letter from Papa this morning,” she replied.
Her father had taken Amy’s decision not to marry Owen with more grace than she had expected he would. Rumors of Owen having beaten a man to a bloody pulp at a major social event had reached his ears and Lord Perry had not been pleased.
“At least Papa is not angry with you. He is disappointed, but he is laying the blame for all of this squarely at the feet of Owen Morrison,” said Colin.
Amy closed her eyes. She was wrung out. Emotionally exhausted from the events of the past few weeks. Her trip to London had been a success in that she had been able to extricate herself from a forced marriage, but with it had come bitter heartache.
Falling in love with Owen had never been part of the grand plan. Watching his hopeful face earlier had almost brought her undone. She had stood resolute against his earnest pleading, knowing that there was no other way. But all the while, her heart had been begging for her to forgive him and rush into his embrace.
“I would like to leave London today if it can be arranged,” she said. Amy wanted nothing more than to go home, sit under her favorite tree on the Perry family estate, and have a bloody good cry.
Colin put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “I will take you home.”
Chapter Forty-One
“We could sell this piece of land and move the sheep to graze in the upper lawn area.”
Owen leaned over and looked to where his father was pointing on the map of the Morrison family estate. The land in question was some of the best pasture that they had for their livestock.
It had been two days, or was that three, since his fateful audience with Lady Amelia Perry. Time had melded into one long afternoon of regret.
Owen and Lord Lowe were seated at the table in the formal dining room of Lowe House. Along the length of the magnificent oak table were piles of papers, titles, and letters. They had been working their way through the documents for most of the morning, trying to find a way to salvage the family estate. The sale of land was now on the agenda.
“But if you allow sheep to graze on the lawn area, Mama won’t be able to host garden parties in the summer,” said Owen.
His father sat back and gave him a disapproving look. Garden parties, or the lack of them, were the least of their problems. By not securing Amelia’s dowry, they were facing major liquidity issues.
Owen wiped a hand over the worry lines which sat on his brow.
“How much do you think we could get for that particular piece of land?”
His father reached over and picked up a letter from the top of a nearby pile and handed it to him. Owen read the short correspondence and frowned. The offer from the adjacent landowner was fair, but not generous.
“He must know just from looking that we have not completed repairs on the tenant buildings and that the livestock numbers have dwindled this year,” said Lord Lowe.
The sale of the land would help to clear some debts, but it was not enough. Only the injection of a significant amount of cash would make any serious dint in the problem. The reality of his failure was now laid bare before Owen.
“I’m sorry. I failed you. You gave me one task, to secure a favorable marriage, and I made an unholy mess of it,” said Owen.
He had already apologized many times to his father over the failure of his betrothal to Amelia, but Owen was going to keep saying he was sorry until he finally felt that his father was ready to accept his apology. From his father’s silence, it was clear that was not going to be anytime soon.
“I warned you, but you didn’t listen. I almost wish Viscount Follett had not sprung you from prison. It would have given you time to think.”
Owen looked back to the document he had been examining but was unable to focus on the writing. The Morrison family stood on the brink of ruin and it was all his fault. His father had been right; he had allowed his lust to rule his head. The fact that he had fallen in love with Amelia was a moot point. Their betrothal was over; he could add heartbreak to the list of his failures.
“Do you know why Lord Perry and I decided to go ahead and settle on a marriage between you and his daughter?” asked Lord Lowe.
He scowled at the question; the answer was obvious. “Her dowry, of course.”
His father shook his head. “The dowry was a major part of it, but Lord Perry and I genuinely thought that the two of you would make a good couple. You are both reasonably intelligent and level-headed people, with similar interests.”
Owen had to be grateful for that kind though
t, since he had behaved so foolishly and rash when it came to Amelia.
“But the one thing that sealed it for us was that you were both open and passionate people. There would be no point in you marrying a dull, society-trained wife. You need a woman with spirit and a sense of herself. I’ve never met the girl, but from what her father says, that is Lady Amelia Perry to a tee.”
Amelia was everything Owen should have looked for in a wife, and instead of securing her love he had hurt her and given her cause a plenty to call off their betrothal.
His final memory of that afternoon in the Perry family drawing room was of Amelia standing in a rigid stance. There had been that one moment when he could have sworn that the hard look on her face was about to falter. In that second, he had prayed she was going to leap into his arms.
And I would have held you and never let you go.
“The damage is done. What I did to her was unforgiveable. Her parting words at the end of our short meeting were that she hoped to never see me again,” said Owen.
“You never know. One day, she may forgive you,” replied his father.
Owen considered Lord Lowe’s comment. If Amelia was to ever forgive him for what he had done, it would have to begin with him offering up an unreserved apology to her.
Actually, that’s not a bad idea. An apology could go some way to help heal the rift between our respective families.
No excuses to be offered—just a heartfelt sorry for having deceived and hurt her.
“I will make the trip home this coming Saturday so we can continue with this work. After which, I won’t have to be back in London until the end of next week. While I am at home, I promise that one of the things I shall do will be to venture over to Rickmansworth and pay a visit to Lady Amelia.”
The auditions for the Noble Lords tour were still in progress, and Lady Lavinia and Marco were of the opinion that they would need at least another week before they could settle on the final lineup for the Noble Lord’s royal command tour.
He could only hope that Amelia would feel better if she received an apology over the terrible way, he had treated her. And seeing her again would be good. He missed her terribly. If loving Amelia as much as Owen did was punishment for all those years of his wicked ways, then he was in for a long, lonely existence.
If he could only hold her in his arms once more.
Chapter Forty-Two
The balls and parties of London had lost their shine. Owen had attended hundreds of events over the years, but only now did he realize that it had been his skirt-hunting hobby that had kept them interesting.
Now, all he saw before him were happy couples everywhere. Husbands and wives smiling at one another, dancing and laughing. A whole side of the ton he had been blind to in his pursuit of sexual liaisons with jaded wives.
It was as if the shades had suddenly fallen from his eyes and he was seeing London society in all its richness for the first time.
Standing to one side of the main ballroom, which in itself was uncharacteristic for him, Owen studied his wine glass and wondered how long he would have to stay for it to be polite for him to make his farewells.
“Owen, you are a sad man,” said Marco.
Marco’s English might not have been stellar, but he had Owen’s mood picked perfectly. Owen was sad. He had been miserable since the last time he had held Amelia in his arms.
“Yes, Marco, my friend, I am not a happy man. The last time I felt this low was at Waterloo,” he replied.
That night on the bloody battlefield in Belgium when the guns had finally fallen silent, and all that was left were the pitiful cries of wounded soldiers who he knew would not see the dawn of another day had stayed deep in his memory. The utter hopelessness and sheer waste of men’s lives.
He chastised himself for comparing the two. A broken heart caused by his own stubborn pride was nothing to the futility of a battle which had cost thousands of lives.
“What do you plan to do about this woman? Don’t tell me you have given up on her. You broke my cousin’s nose over Lady Amelia. Antonio would not take kindly to knowing that his pain was all in vain.”
Owen hung his head. He had settled things with Marco, but Antonio and the other two members of their group had sailed home for Italy before he’d had a chance to make amends. He had written a long letter of apology to Antonio, but it was not the same as having said any of it to his face. He still felt a great sense of shame over what he had done.
“Attacking Antonio was a terrible thing. It was bad enough that I broke his nose, but even after he dropped to his knees, I kept hitting him. I behaved like a wild beast in front of the woman I love,” replied Owen. Raising his glass to his lips, he drained the last of his drink, then began to look for another. He caught sight of a footman bearing a tray of drinks, but his gaze settled on an old couple. The husband stepped forward and selected a glass of champagne. He then turned, and with a great flourish, presented it to his wife. She smiled at him, and the light of love which shone in her eyes had Owen blinking back tears.
The taste for another drink was gone.
“Marco, I must apologize. I am not good company tonight. I think I shall retire for the evening. I shall see you at breakfast.”
Marco patted him on the shoulder. “I wish I could tell you that I don’t understand how you feel, but believe me, I know exactly how much a broken heart does hurt. Goodnight, Owen.”
Owen made his way back to Windmill Street. The only company he was good for was his own.
Once inside Follett House, he stopped by the ballroom. At times, it felt like the only place where he could find solace was in the music. He collected his violin from over in the corner and set up in his usual rehearsal chair.
Kendal may not have been a fan of Mozart, but Owen loved the light touch of his music. The strains of a concerto soon filled the room. Owen closed his eyes and let the music fill his soul.
He stopped at one point and wiped tears from his cheeks before going back to playing. When he stopped a second time, he pulled the violin from under his chin and set it and the bow back into the case. Even his first love could not soothe his aching heart.
Owen glanced down at the violin. His most precious possession. A priceless family heirloom.
He bent over and lifted the case and sat it on his lap. For a time, he just ran his fingers over the wood, back and forth, smiling as he remembered all the times, he had played it.
Eventually, he wrapped the red silk around the neck of the violin and closed the case one last time. Tomorrow morning, he would attend Sotheby’s auction house on the Strand and have the violin appraised. It was time for him to step up and do all he could to save his family’s heritage.
He rose from the chair and set the violin case down. Walking softly so as not to disturb the sacred quiet, Owen left the ballroom.
Farewell, my love.
Chapter Forty-Three
Amy was out in the garden of her family home enjoying the summer sunshine when the sound of carriage wheels on gravel made her lift her head and look toward the long drive. She squinted as a travel coach came into view.
“Oh,” she murmured.
The coat of arms on the side of the carriage was unmistakable—a rearing red dragon with a long, winding tail. The family crest of the Morrisons. Lord Lowe had no doubt come to visit his old friend, her father.
She was in two minds as to whether she should head toward the house. It would be expected of her to go and greet Lord Lowe but considering how things had gone between her and Owen, Amy felt a little shy about seeing him.
Her sense of duty, however, won over, and she made several steps toward the front door.
The carriage drew to a halt. The door opened; out stepped Owen.
Her breath caught in her throat. What the hell was he doing here? Hadn’t she made it plain enough that they were finished?
“Don’t be silly. He is not here to see you; he is here to grovel to Papa,” she said.
Lord Lowe woul
d no doubt have given strict instructions to Owen that he had to make a full apology to Lord Perry. He had embarrassed and offended the earl’s only daughter. It would be expected by all concerned that Owen would make every effort to repair the relationship between the two old friends.
She was about to turn and go for a long walk in the nearby forest when Owen waved at her. He began to walk in her direction.
“You cannot be serious,” she muttered.
When Owen finally got within a few feet, he stopped and bowed. Amy pursed her lips.
“Lady Amelia,” he said.
She swallowed deep. “Lord Morrison.”
That was the extent of the words she felt safe in speaking to him. She feared that if she opened her mouth to say anything else, the tidal wave of emotion which had suddenly rushed up inside her would crash over the seawall and drown them both.
“You look well,” he said.
Silence.
“Have you been home in the country long?”
Silence. And a small nod.
When Owen took another step forward, Amy wanted nothing more than to turn and flee.
“I am sorry,” he said
“What?”
“I came to apologize to you. What I did in London was a rotten, unforgiveable thing. And my intentions to keep a mistress after we were married were beyond disgraceful,” he said.
She studied him for a moment. To her surprise, there was not a hint of a lie on his face. He seemed genuinely sorry.
“I have spent my entire adult life being a scoundrel—sleeping with other men’s wives and having no regard for anyone’s feelings. But you changed all that for me. You made me look at myself. And I must confess that when I did, I didn’t particularly like what I saw.”
Amy screwed her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears, but it was to no avail. They poured freely down her face. As fast as she wiped them away, more fell. She wished he would stop, but Owen pressed on.
“I have brought shame on my family. The one time my father needed me to support him, I failed. And in doing so, I threw away the love of a beautiful girl. I don’t know where to start to rebuild my life, but an apology seems as good a place as any.”
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