The Forsaken Love of A Lord

by Vayden, Kristin

“But… though I shall certainly berate myself later for asking such a question.” She closed her eyes and then opened them again. “Why? If you are Lord Langley’s friend, why disclose any information to me… especially given our past? And…” She tilted her head, as if warning him to not interrupt. “…before you ask, let me answer your question. How hypocritical of me to say such a thing when I initially asked you.” She shook her head slightly. “And the answer is, I asked because, behind every rumor is a touch of truth. And the rumor is that Lord Langley has shut himself off from society. Which is, in my opinion, a great disservice to society, based on my knowledge of the man he was. Upon seeing your interaction with him, I hoped to find out his true state. It is not my intention to malign his name further, or create speculation.” She ended in a whisper.

  “I see.”

  Olivia stepped away as the music ended, watching Mr. Sheppard’s reaction.

  “Would you care to take a turn about the room, Miss Olivia?” he asked, the devil-may-care grin gone and replaced with an expression of pleased surprise.

  Olivia nodded and placed her hand on his forearm as he led her to the edge of the ballroom.

  “I must say I’m quite impressed with your little speech,” he said.

  “I must say my reason for stating it was not to impress you, however,” Olivia replied.

  Mr. Sheppard laughed, his face lightening up with humor. “You are utterly refreshing, the utter opposite of your sister.”

  Olivia stopped dead in her tracks. Turning to face him, she quickly asked, “I should hope so!” She reacted instinctively then paused. “You knew my sister?”

  “Er, yes?” Mr. Sheppard replied, though he appeared to grow ill-at-ease immediately after answering.

  “What—“

  “No.”

  “But you—“

  “Don’t know what you were going to say? Yes. I do. And no,” he answered, all traces of humor vanishing.

  Olivia heaved a disappointed sigh and glanced back at the dancers all performing the steps of the cotillion.

  “But…” he continued, pulling her attention back to him.

  “But?”

  “I do believe that I’m in your debt. After all, you did dance with me. You’re entitled to two questions.” He held up a white-gloved finger. “But I must add a stipulation. The questions may not be about your sister.”

  “That’s what they all say,” she mumbled.

  “Pardon?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say!” she replied brightly. After all, it was a far more cheerful… and intriguing prospect to learn about Lord Langley. That was her primary goal, was it not? Squaring her shoulders slightly, she pressed forward with her questions. “How is Lord Langley? Not the gossip, but the truth. Of course I’d ask him myself, if I were able, but we both know that is utterly impossible.” She lowered her gaze. Breathing in a silent sigh, she returned to gaze to his. “Please tell me how you know this type of information as well. I’m only interested in firsthand knowledge, not tattle.”

  “A woman not interested in gossip? Hades might freeze over,” Mr. Sheppard teased.

  “Amusing,” Olivia replied with a cheeky tone.

  “Very well. I’m one of the only friends who can tolerate the sour disposition of our mutual acquaintance, and so all of my information comes firsthand.” He bowed slightly.

  “Apparently you seek recognition for being a stalwart friend,” Olivia replied, clapping.

  “I do. Thank you, thank you.” He bowed again. “And though I believe I answered your first question with that one brilliant sentence, I shall elaborate. After all, I am the giving sort.”

  “How noble of you.”

  “Indeed! This is what I’m always telling people… a shame they don’t believe me.”

  “Rotten shame,” Olivia replied with emphasis, giggling.

  “Lord Langley has some misconceived notion that he is doing the world a favor by remaining in but not of it, if you gather my meaning. He has closed himself off, thus the rumors are true in that aspect, but he is not the ogre most make him out to be, nor…” He paused, regarding her carefully. “…I shall only say this once, so pay attention. Nor is he lamenting. Anything or anyone.”

  “He always was a smart one,” Olivia replied.

  “Indeed! Indeed. Though I’d never tell him to his face…”

  Olivia shook her head.

  “I dare say you have other questions?” Mr. Sheppard asked as he led her toward her parents.

  “Indeed.”

  “Then I shall look forward to another dance with you in the future,” he replied softly as he lifted her wrist and kissed the air above it. With a sly wink, he turned and left.

  “Olivia? Dear?” her mother’s voice called, her tone curious.

  “Yes?” Olivia turned to face her mother.

  “Who was that?”

  “Mr. Sheppard,” she answered.

  “Ah, I’ll have to inquire about him and his prospects. He seemed quite taken with you,” she added as her gaze lingered on Mr. Sheppard’s departing figure.

  Olivia shivered as she recognized her mother’s predatory expression. “Perhaps,” she replied. “I see my friend. I’ll return shortly.” With that, she left.

  Edward paced his study, agitated. Where the devil was Curtis? It was nearly four p.m., and the man still hadn’t darkened the door to tell him about the previous evening with Miss Olivia! At first, Edward had thought the idea utter folly, yet as he regarded the situation, he saw the idea’s merit. And slowly, as the night progressed, his cautious intrigue grew to an insatiable curiosity. Was she the wolf-in-lamb’s clothing, like her sister? What had possessed her to risk such an ill-conceived notion and ask Curtis about him?

  As the clock chimed a quarter after, he prepared to go and collect his friend himself.

  “Ah, a lovely day, is it not?” The man in question spoke in a carefree tone as he sauntered into the library.

  “You’re late.”

  Curtis paused. “I’m sorry, Mother. Did I offend your delicate sensibilities for taking tea so late? A thousand apologies.” He bowed.

  “Ass.”

  “I’ve been called worse.” Curtis shrugged. “But, I’ve also been called better… especially last night.”

  “Bloo— Curtis, tell me you didn’t seduce the innocent—“

  “Gad, no! What do you take me for?” Curtis appeared sincerely hurt.

  “My apologies,” Edward amended.

  “She’s nothing like her sister, you know,” Curtis replied, taking off his hat and smoothing the dark brim with his fingers.

  Edward snorted. “And how can you be so sure?”

  “Believe me, if you were privy to my conversation with her last night, you’d harbor no doubt. There was no flirting, no batting of the eyelashes— Did you know the chit didn’t even want to hear the gossip about you? I mean, what kind of saint is she trying to be?” Curtis shook his head, baffled. “She honestly wanted to know how you were doing and how I knew such information. Demanding little thing,” he mumbled, though a smile broke through.

  “Met your match, did you?” Edward replied, though the words tasted bitter in this mouth.

  “No, but I might have met yours.” Curtis winked. “Of course, I’m reserving the right to change my opinion.”

  “Always. You’re practically a woman in that department.”

  “And you’re practically an ogre, without the warts, yet I don’t insult you,” Curtis replied.

  “Your benevolence is astounding. They should saint you.”

  “And yet they haven’t.” Curtis shook his head.

  “What else?” Edward asked, moving to sit in the chair beside the warm glow of the fire.

  “Not much, but I have an agreement with her.”

  “Agreement?” Edward asked, his brow furrowed.

  “Indeed. For every dance she gives me, in return, I’ll answer two questions.”

  “About me?”

  �
��That’s implied, yes.”

  “I hope you enjoyed your dance. It will certainly be one of your last, if not the last!” Edward chuckled.

  “Ah, that is where you are wrong, my friend. She seems to genuinely be concerned about you, to worry about your welfare—“

  “No one worries about my welfare.”

  “Do I not count?” Curtis asked dryly.

  “Fine, you care, or I amuse you in some way. Regardless, she has no attachment—“

  “She does, in a way. She mentioned that she remembered you.”

  “Of course she remembers me, you dolt. I was her—“

  “No, I believe she said, and I quote ‘and the rumor is that Lord Langley has shut himself off from society. Which is, in my opinion, a great disservice to society based on my knowledge of the man he was.’“ Curtis finished in a falsetto voice.

  Complete with batting eyelashes.

  “You should never attempt the theater.”

  “Noted.”

  “I’m sure such a sentiment wasn’t spoken with as much weight as you are giving it now,” Edward replied, waving his hand dismissively, though as Curtis said the words, his heart had pinched with a longing.

  Because he was once proud of the man he was.

  But no longer.

  Marybelle had made sure of that.

  “She honestly seemed to believe it. But it’s neither here nor there. I’m only a stepping-stone. What she wants…” He took a step toward Edward, his gaze direct. “…is you.”

  “Me?” Edward asked, amused.

  “Yes. Apparently she wishes to somehow speak with you, or at least that’s what I gathered. I’ll have to sort it all out eventually but I have faith that we have many more dances to look forward to—“

  “What’s in this for you?” Edward asked, in tone low.

  “Other than helping out two friends?” He shrugged. “Amusement. The satisfaction of solving a mystery and perhaps… helping you find closure as well.” He turned toward the door. “Though I must say it is a severe sacrifice on my part to dance with a beautiful, amusing woman at every chance. Yes. I must be daft to agree to such an arrangement.” He chuckled. “Until later!” He waved as he left.

  Edward watched the door close and leaned back in his chair. Her questions, her inquiry weren’t what he expected.

  Far from it.

  He expected coy. He expected a flirt trying to tease an answer from his friend.

  He didn’t expect an honest question.

  Or a seemingly honest answer.

  Could she remember him? Remember him fondly? It seemed so long ago, a different lifetime.

  A different man.

  Yet something whispered in his heart, that that man never died.

  He had just been silenced.

  Beaten.

  Bloodied.

  But never conquered.

  And for the first time in years, Edward began to feel strong.

  Not simply strong.

  But powerful.

  Hope did that to a man.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “IT’S BEEN THREE WEEKS. Have you run out of questions yet?” Mr. Sheppard asked as he led her across the marbled floor of the Bainbarg ballroom. The music lilted over the din of conversation, and candlelight twinkled as liveried footmen distributed refreshments.

  “Are you implying that you no longer wish to dance with me?” Olivia teased.

  “Heavens! What is it with women? I ask a simple question, and you turn it on me!”

  “A simple question I simply turned back to you… which, I must point out, you have failed to answer.” Olivia studied the gentleman with the exceedingly charming smile. It was rumored that he was taken with a widow — Alaina something or another — though she had never seen him single any lady out, besides herself. Yet she knew his attention wasn’t singular for the purpose of pursuit; after all, at every available opportunity, she had asked after Lord Langley.

  “I could point out the very same thing, minx. My question lingers in the air as well.” He chuckled, his familiar grin lighting up his face.

  Over the course of the past weeks, Olivia had come to regard Mr. Sheppard as a friend, a dangerously charming and refreshingly honest friend. At every event they mutually attended, he would seek her out and ask for a dance — sometimes two — and in return, she had asked two questions for each. At first, she had asked the most important ones: how Lord Langley was fairing, and if he was still plagued by her dead sister’s memory.

  Yet as time progressed, she began to ask different questions, ones that were of a softer, yet more intimate nature. What were Lord Langley’s interests? What did he do with his time? What amused him?

  And Mr. Sheppard never failed to relay some interesting fact or diverting story about Lord Langley that had only fueled her fascination with him. And as wonderful as his tales and information were, they couldn’t substitute for the real man.

  At night, when she’d remember the little anecdote or story from Mr. Sheppard about Lord Langley, her heart would long for the real man.

  Not the memory.

  Not the story or information.

  But the man.

  But how was that ever to be? She was forbidden to even speak his name, let along converse with him.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if he took any interest in her.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” Mr. Sheppard’s voice cut through her musing.

  “Ah, forgive me. I was woolgathering.” She shook her head in an attempt to dispel her thoughts.

  “You must have quite the stockpile,” Mr. Sheppard replied with a serious expression.

  “Amusing,” Olivia shot back, grinning.

  “I rather thought so myself. It’s rare to have something delightfully witty to say. With as much as we talk about Langley, a gentleman has to draw attention to himself once in a while.” He winked.

  “Indeed. Forgive me for neglecting you.” She rolled her eyes and glanced ahead of them as they wove through the crowd.

  “So, you actually never did answer my question.” He said somewhat hesitantly.

  “About?” Olivia glanced back to him, furrowing her brow. “Ah! I remember. Hmm. Yes. I have thought of my first question.”

  “Delightful.”

  “What makes Lord Langley smile?”

  “Besides my charming friendship?” Mr. Sheppard asked with a sly wink.

  “I would think that that would be obvious!” Olivia replied.

  “Of course!” Mr. Sheppard grinned a lopsided smile. “Hmm, it’s a good question you ask, and I’m afraid I don’t have much of an answer. Truth be told, it’s been far too long since I’ve seen him smile freely. It’s a shame, it is.”

  “I should think so. If memory serves, his smile was even more dangerous than yours, Mr. Sheppard.”

  “Ah! Flattery will get you everywhere,” he replied loftily. “Do you have a second question?” he asked as he led them around a large gathering of people milling about the refreshment table stacked high with seasonal fruit and tarts.

  Olivia hesitated. She did, indeed, have one more question. But it was of a far more private nature than she had ever dared ask before. Her heart pounding harder with each step, she swallowed her trepidation and asked before she lost the nerve. “Does…” She paused. “That is, do you tell him about our conversations regarding him… and if so, what is his response? What I’m asking is…” She swallowed. “Does he ever ask about me?” She turned her gaze to her friend, searching his expression for an answer before he voiced it.

  “Hmm. I do believe that was three questions,” Mr. Sheppard replied, his expression kind yet suspiciously closed-off.

  Olivia bit her lip. “I suppose it was.”

  “However, I am the giving sort—“

  “So you’ve told me,” she teased, relaxing slightly and releasing the pent-up breath she had been holding.

  “And being that—“ He cut a glance to her, as if warning her not to interrupt… again. “—I shall an
swer your additional questions. But!” He held up a gloved finger. “It shall cost you.”

  “Cost me? Hmm… what is your price, dear sir?” Olivia asked, narrowing her eyes in a playful manner.

  “The masquerade. I wish to waltz with you to the Smyth Masquerade.”

  “Oh. Of course. Easily promised.”

  “Delightful! What will you be wearing?” Mr. Sheppard asked, utterly nonchalant.

  “Pardon?” Olivia was taken aback. Gentlemen did not ask ladies about their attire.

  “The masquerade. How else will I be able to find you unless I know your costume?” he asked, shrugging.

  “Ah, I see. My costume shall be that of an angel. Complete with wings. Small ones, mind you, I don’t want to knock over anyone. Heavens, I don’t need help being clumsy!”

  “An angel? How appropriate!”

  “Why, thank you,” she replied. “What will your costume be?” she asked somewhat impatiently, wanting to find out the answers to her questions, not talk about costumes.

  “Hmm... I think I shall leave you in suspense.”

  “Foul play! You asked me mine!”

  “Indeed, and now I shall be able to find you quite easily. Thus my stipulation was a wise one.” He wagged his eyebrows playfully. “Though your hair would have likely given you away.” He glanced to the golden curls piled on her head.

  Olivia sighed, irritated.

  “Now to answer your questions.”

  Her annoyance vanished, as he seemed to take in their surroundings and navigate them to a less-populated region of the ballroom.

  “Yes. I do tell him about our conversations. And his reaction is different each time. At times, he’s like an impatient ogre waiting to hear news of the outside world. Other times, indifferent. And yes, he asks about you.”

  “He does?”

  “Did I not just say so?” Mr. Sheppard replied softly, though his expression wasn’t as playful as usual.

  “What does he—“

  “Ah.” He held up his hand. “Since we’ve already danced this evening, and I do not wish to start talk with dancing again, I do believe your questions are more than used,” he teased.

  “You’ve been more than generous,” Olivia replied. Though burning with curiosity, she had to give him the credit that was due.