by Kelly Boyce
Laughter bubbled up from Hen’s throat. She had never seen his lordship so relaxed. She quite liked this side of him that bordered on the edge of humorous. It was much easier to get along with than his more taciturn side.
“I cannot speak as to the veracity of this claim, as I was not in London at the time, but I believe it was not an entire bowl of punch, but only half a bowl and it was in defense of her cousin, Lady Glenmor, whom your sister was terrorizing as she is wont to do. And Miss Elmsley was not banned from Society, her mother simply thought it best to retire to the country early to avoid any reprisals until matters calmed down.”
A deep rumble emanated from Lord Rothbury’s chest, the sound was positively delicious. She did not think she’d ever heard him laugh so freely before. He was always so stern and serious. What a gift to see this side of him, even if it was brought on by the hint of brandy she could smell wafting about him. How much more enjoyable he would be if this were the side he showed to the world instead of that of the distant, someday duke who had little time for such frivolities as laughter or silliness. Not that he had to always be silly, and in truth, she did find his serious side a rather potent combination of intensity and intelligence. But the occasional bit of silliness never hurt anyone.
“Tell me, are you enjoying yourself this evening, Lady Henrietta?”
Lord Rothbury’s question stole her thoughts away, which was just as well, as they had started down a path best left alone. There was little point in thinking about the marquess one way or the other. Her attentions would be better focused on Lord Walkerton, should he ever arrive this evening. The sooner she extracted a proposal from him, the sooner she could put the nastiness with Lady Susan and her threats well behind her.
She glanced up and gave him a half-hearted smile “I suppose I am enjoying myself to a certain degree, though the night has only begun.”
“That does not sound like a positive review.”
“I do not expect much from these entertainments, my lord. I only hope to get through them unscathed.”
“Good grief,” he said. “You make it sound as if you are to run the gauntlet, not participate in a few dances.” His rare smile warmed her and another hint of brandy drifted down to tickle her nose, solidifying her suspicion that he had indeed imbibed in spirits. Not that she blamed him. He had been long away from Society. Had she the option to partake, perhaps she too would have used a little liquid courage to get through yet another night beneath the constant scrutiny of people who paid more attention to her outsides than her insides.
“Sometimes attending such parties feels a little like running a gauntlet.” She glanced up at him. She barely reached his shoulder and would tuck quite nicely beneath his chin. Heat flushed across her chest and she was grateful for the fichu covering her pale skin. Wherever had that thought come from? Indeed, Lord Rothbury was a handsome man with murky gray eyes that held a mix of pain and secrets that captured her interest and gave her pause all at the same time. And the shoulders she barely reached were broad and strong, a testament to the time he spent out of doors in gentlemanly pursuits.
Or perhaps not so gentlemanly. Despite Lord Rothbury’s absence from Society, that did not stop its members from gossiping about him. He was a future duke, after all. One such tidbit from several months previous indicated the man dabbled in the pugilistic arts. If pummeling another man who was also attempting to pummel you could be considered an art form. She was on the fence in that regard. She had asked James if it was true, but her brother remained mum on the topic and suggested she not pay such close attention to the scandal sheets.
“I am certain my sister will cause you no grief while you are with me,” Lord Rothbury indicated, patting her gloved hand and sending strange little thrill up her arm.
“Unfortunately, I cannot spend my entire evening with you, my lord. Imagine the talk that would cause and likely Lord Walkerton would not appreciate courting a woman he could not tear away from another gentleman.”
Lord Rothbury had yet to remove his hand from atop hers and the sensation proved most distracting. “If Lord Walkerton cannot offer you the proper protection from certain elements then perhaps he is not the man for you.”
His words surprised her. That he had an opinion on the matter or had given it even minimal thought, surprised her. “Do you not approve of Lord Walkerton?”
She couldn’t imagine anyone disapproving of the earl. Indeed, his father had been a disreputable cad, but the sins of the father did not rest upon the son. Lord Walkerton had made a concerted effort to avoid scandal at all costs and had proven most successful in his endeavor.
“It is not that I think him lacking, I simply do not feel he is the right man for you,” Lord Rothbury stated.
“And why ever not? He is titled and kind and willing to overlook my disfigurements.”
“Willing to overlook—” The words sputtered out of Lord Rothbury though he did not finish his sentence, apparently too taken aback by what she had said to carry the notion through to its conclusion. “That is the most preposterous list of attributes I have ever heard of.”
Several heads swiveled in their direction as they stepped inside the refreshment room, reminding Hen once again that they were not alone, a fact that became increasingly difficult to remember whenever she stared up into Lord Rothbury’s captivating countenance. Honestly, was it any wonder the matchmaking mamas were tripping over themselves to throw their daughters in his path? And yet here he was, escorting her about and taking her to task because the list she’d given him on Lord Walkerton’s attributes were apparently not up to snuff.
“It is not preposterous at all, my lord. It is hardly a secret that the gentlemen of the ton have turned down every attempt James has made with respect to finding me a husband. Given that I come from a good family, am of a marriageable age, and have a rather significant dowry yet still have been unsuccessful in having any man court me, brings one to the conclusion that it is my scars that keep them away.”
What other deduction could be made? She was not blind. If she looked into a mirror on the side of her body that bore no scarring, she could quite objectively recognize the fact that she was what others would deem beautiful. But turn to the other side and what met your gaze was the body of a monster mated with a human, a hybrid of smooth, natural skin that was suddenly overtaken with the pink and white welts left behind from where the fire’s flames had tasted her flesh.
“Any man who cannot see past something so inconsequential to the gem that lies beneath does not deserve your time or your attention.”
He thought her a gem? Truly?
“Nor have they received it.” Unless one counted Lord Pengrin, but she was determined to push that ugly episode from her mind. She must look forward, not back. “But Lord Walkerton has never treated me as if my scars caused him concern. He has been most kind and solicitous. I fail to see how you can find him lacking as a proper suitor.”
Lord Rothbury said nothing as he poured her a glass of sweet punch and handed the small cup out to her. Then he took her elbow and directed her away from the table to a quiet corner. The gazes of the others present bored into her as they passed. She could almost hear their silent condemnation, their wonderment that someone the caliber of Lord Rothbury bothered with the likes of her. If only he could see what she felt, perhaps he wouldn’t be so quick to pass off her scars as an inconsequential matter.
“Do you think he will make you happy?”
He put such stress on the word happy as if it was something he had close personal experience with, which she knew to be untrue. Her aunt had told her enough about Lord Rothbury’s marriage to his late wife for her to know the union that had begun happy enough, ended in abject misery.
“And what is your definition of happy, my lord?”
Her question took him aback; she could tell by the fast blink of his eyelids and the way his gaze refused to rest in one spot, but rather looked about the room as if he would find the answer hidden somewhere amongst the sweets.
“Is that what you are searching for?” She regretted the question the moment the words jumped out of her mouth, but it was too late to take them back. It was just that his assumptions irked her. Was he searching for happiness when choosing a wife this Season? Likely not. He sought someone suitable. Was it so surprising that she would do the same?
A dark shadow crossed his features and the storm that brewed so close to the surface returned to be reflected in his eyes. “My decision is predicated on different criteria.”
“Such as?”
He glared down at her but she refused to cower.
“I require an heir and therefore—”
“As does Lord Walkerton,” she interrupted.
“You miss the point. Women are more prone to soft feelings and as such, love is of a higher importance to them. It makes marriage more palatable for them, I would think, should they love their husbands.” He said this with such certainty that it stoked her ire and the flames leaped beyond her ability to hold her tongue.
“What a ridiculous way of thinking, my lord!” A few heads turned in her direction and she took a quick breath to calm herself, but not enough to hold her tongue. “Are you telling me you expect your wife to love you, but that it is not necessary for you to return those feelings? How can any level of happiness be achieved in this manner? Do you not think, in the end, the woman would become disenchanted by such an imbalance to the point where it would breed resentment, twisting any pre-existing tender feelings into something dark and ugly? Is that perhaps what happened in your first marriage?”
He straightened suddenly as if she had struck him, his body going stiff from the impact of her words. Then a curtain dropped behind his gaze, making his thoughts unreadable.
Hen winced. She had gone too far and in doing so obviously hit upon a truth that rested against a raw nerve. Was that why Lady Rothbury had ended her own life? Some believed the story that her death was an accident, but most leaned more toward the belief that she had taken her own life. Though, most kept this thought to themselves to prevent angering a powerful family such as the St. John’s. Regardless, Hen had overheard James speak of it to Auntie, of the stones found in Lady Rothbury’s pockets that were meant to weigh her down revealing the truth.
Hen did not judge the woman harshly for her choice. She understood the sadness and hopelessness and sense of irrevocability that led one to act in such a desperate manner. Years earlier, when the scars were new and the truth of how they changed her future too potent to bear, she had considered doing something just as drastic. But Hen had stepped back from that edge, where Lady Rothbury had not.
And now she had thrown this horrible memory in the face of the man who had suffered through the loss, practically calling him out as the responsible party. God forbid, she might as well have accused him of placing the rocks in his wife’s pockets himself!
“Forgive me, Lord Rothbury. It was impertinent of me to speak so freely and so harshly.” She reached a hand out and touched his arm, but he pulled back and her hand fell away, cold with the sudden rejection.
He gave his head a brusque shake. “It is of no matter. Do not trouble yourself.” His gaze passed by her and looked beyond. “Ah, speaking of unhappiness, your Lord Walkerton approaches.”
His remark smarted, but she had no time to respond before Lord Walkerton reached them.
“Lady Henrietta. I hope you will forgive my tardy arrival. Mother fell ill suddenly and I had to tend to her before leaving. Lord Rothbury.” He nodded toward the marquess.
“Oh, I hope it is nothing serious,” Hen said. She had met Lady Walkerton on only one other occasion and did not leave the encounter with the impression that the countess was overly impressed with her. Auntie had insisted she not take it personal as word was, Lady Walkerton did not appear to care much for anyone, save her son.
“A headache, is all. I’m sure she’ll be fine after a proper night’s rest. I hope you have saved me a dance, my lady.”
“Indeed, I have.”
“Well, if you will both excuse me, I will leave you in good hands, Lady Henrietta.” Lord Rothbury executed a curt bow and without hesitation left them. His displeasure with their conversation written in the stiffness of his broad shoulders as he walked away, quitting the refreshment room. Quitting her. Guilt weighed upon her conscience.
“Was it something I said?” Lord Walkerton asked, his brows lifting in a hint of surprise at Lord Rothbury’s abrupt departure.
“No, my lord.” Hen let out a reluctant sigh. “I’m afraid I’m am the guilty party on that account. His lordship and I do not appear to be able to have a conversation that ends with us in accord on whatever matter we were discussing.”
“I cannot imagine you saying anything to upset anyone, Lady Henrietta. You are the soul of sweetness.”
“You are kind to say so, my lord.” Though, in truth, he had not really spent enough time in her company to make such a solid judgment.
She glanced at the space occupied by Lord Rothbury only a moment before. It distressed her, seeing him walk away from her in anger before they could finish their conversation.
“Shall we return to the ballroom and have our dance, my lady?”
Hen forced a smile as she took his arm. “Yes, of course.”
And afterward, she would search out Lord Rothbury and make a proper apology for her hurtful remarks.
Chapter Nine
The night had been a proper disaster.
Alex threw back the last of the brandy in his glass and glared at the cards in his hand without seeing them. What had he been thinking, making such a ridiculous statement to Lady Henrietta?
I would think you would prefer to marry someone you could love?
Indeed. As if he knew anything about such matters. A fact she pointed out in short order and with alarming accuracy.
Because he had not loved Ruth. Not enough. Certainly not in the end when, perhaps, she had needed him the most. He didn’t know how. Alex had died along with Edward, at least on the inside. Outwardly, he continued to function. He ran his estate, attended to business matters, answered his correspondences in a timely fashion. He breathed. He ate. He walked about like an ordinary man. But inside—inside he had died the moment they had pulled his son’s lifeless body from his arms and buried his little boy in the ground.
He had not inquire about Ruth’s feelings nor offered her comfort. He’d had nothing left inside to facilitate this. He was a shell of a man who felt nothing until Ruth announced that she was pregnant with another man’s child, throwing the news in his face as if to hurt him with this ultimate betrayal.
And she had. Grievously. Though which hurt worse—her taking up with another man or the idea of her bringing another child into their home to replace Edward, he could not rightly say. But it had been the death knell of their relationship and he’d made no effort to change that. And then it was too late. She was gone and only he and Margaret remained.
In retrospect, he could see what at the time he’d considered love was little more than a young man’s infatuation with a pretty woman. With the idea of who she was, rather than the reality. Lady Dalridge’s pointed advice had been spot on, but he’d been too blind to see and too foolish to understand that it mattered.
He had not loved his wife. Not truly or deeply. Not in the way that made marriage meaningful or worthwhile or something that went beyond duty.
And now Lady Henrietta was about to make the same mistake he had. Engaging in a union for no other reason than because that was what Society and her family expected from her. It vexed him to no end. Even more bothersome was the raging disappointment he experienced that Lord Walkerton would be the one to benefit from this foolish decision she insisted on following through.
And not him.
He froze in his seat as the thought flew through his head.
“Are you going to lay down a card, Rothbury?”
Al
ex looked across the table at James, who returned a questioning gaze and raised one dark eyebrow. His friend knew him too well. It was the one downside of their friendship, being unable to hide. But what was he to tell him? I’m entertaining impure thoughts about your sister?
He cleared his throat and threw down a card, his choice causing James’s other eyebrow to lift and meet the first. Alex scowled and placed his remaining cards face down onto the table. “I think I will fold, gentlemen. I do not seem to have the mind for gaming this evening.”
A murmur went around the table, but when James made to fold as well, Alex shook his head, a silent indication he did not wish for company. Brooding, after all, was a solitary endeavor and as pathetic as it sounded, he needed a good brood. Lady Henrietta’s comment had opened the Pandora’s box where he’d hidden away the disappointments and resentment about his marriage to Ruth and the despondency toward his future. Was he on the verge of repeating history by doing the same thing he had just counseled Lady Henrietta not to do—marry without love?
And if so, then what?
The question echoed around him, bouncing off the furniture as he strode past and nipping at the heels of his boots as he exited out the French doors that led to the stone terrace. There they pummeled him over and over when he came to a stop by the low wall that wound around the terrace.
Then what?
He did not know. The truth of the matter was, the thrill of marrying Ruth had dissipated quickly once the infatuation waned. Why, he could not say. She was a beautiful woman and kind enough, if a bit vain. And needy. A trait he had not realized until after they were wed and one he found rather exhausting. But his disappointment in their marriage was soon replaced with anticipation over news of Edward’s impending arrival.
Alex had never thought much about children, other than acknowledging he required an heir, but with the reality of fatherhood facing him, he discovered he could not contain his excitement. There was so much he wanted to do with this new arrival, so many things he wanted to teach him. And once Edward arrived, so small with soft, downy hair and blue eyes, Alex could not bear to be apart from him. He would spend hours sitting by the boy’s crib, annoying the nannies and the wet nurse. Everything Edward had done had left Alex utterly fascinated, as if he were the only baby in the world to laugh or burp or discover his fingers and toes.
