It had been far easier when she’d been the aloof ice princess Society professed her to be. Now, she spoke of broken promises in a matter-of-fact way, devoid of bitterness, and an uncertain fate brought about by his family. Nay, his brother.
This is not your future to fix… You are not to blame…
And even with that, the sense of guilt riddled him. He and Lady Minerva may have spoken little as adults, but as children, he’d once called her friend. “You can still find your happiness,” he said quietly, slowing his steps. Happiness that did not require him to forsake his.
Carol cast a quick look back. Did he imagine the spark of pain in her eyes before she yanked her gaze forward? The sight of it ravaged him. And God help him, in this moment, he despised his brother. Hated Damian for having finally forsaken the expectations thrust upon him, for his own happiness, and leaving Gregory with the proverbial pieces to reassemble.
“I have no dowry, Gregory,” she whispered, using his Christian name. “My family has nothing but creditors calling. I am five and twenty.”
“You are a duke’s sister.” As soon as the reminder left his mouth, shame filled him. For the man who’d wed her for that reason alone, was really no man worth marrying.
Another sheen of tears filled her eyes and, this time, those crystal drops fell freely. “You are, of course, right.” Her voice rang with an eerie hollowness. “There is surely some gentleman who’d overlook my failings and offer me his name.” With a sound of frustration, she dashed at her damp cheeks. “Now I’ve become a watering pot. I do not even know why I’ve told you any of this.”
“Because we were once friends,” he gently reminded her. As such, it should be easy to carry through with the request put to him by his mother. And several days prior, mayhap it would have been easier. But then there had been a chance meeting, and a wistful moment stolen in a winter storm.
Through her pain, Minerva smiled, dimpling her cheek. “You once taught me to bait a hook.”
“And it was the last hook you baited,” he reminded her. Or had it been? As a girl of seven, she had blanched and vowed to never again touch a fishing rod. How very little he truly knew about the person she’d become and, yet, their families would have them wed, anyway.
With a frustrated growl, she slapped at the air with her hand. “I allowed my mother and father to determine my every path and lost sight of who I was and who I wanted to be.” Her passionate display abruptly ended. She studied the tips of her slippers. “I’ve missed your friendship, Gregory.” That had been a lifetime ago. Almost fifteen years had passed since they’d laughed and played shuttlecock at their families’ summer parties. She lifted her head and spoke hurriedly. “Our mothers would see us wed…” He stiffened. That reminder, unwanted and unnecessary. She touched a delicate hand to his coat sleeve. “I do not expect anything of you.”
Again, his insides twisted as she brought him out of the past and into the uncertain future she faced. And the different one he selfishly wished for.
“But I would not be opposed to a match with you, either,” she whispered, drifting closer. Her breasts brushed against the front of his shirt and she lifted her desire-filled eyes to his.
Gregory ran his gaze over her. With her long-legged, slender grace, there was a natural beauty to her. Her blonde hair, so pale it was nearly white, gave her an ethereal quality. He’d be mad not to desire her. Yet, as she tipped her face back and hooded her lashes he felt—nothing. Wholly unmoved. Wishing, instead, for another woman before him.
And it was then he knew.
For all his mother’s expectations and an age-old bond between ducal families, he could not, nor would not marry Minerva. Not to save her from financial ruin or make amends for a failed expectation from long ago.
Because he longed for another. The breath hitched painfully in his chest. By God, I want Carol Cresswall.
“I am ready to perform, Gregory,” Lady Minerva whispered, trailing her fingertips down his lapel. Her searching palm moved lower. “I wager you’ll very much enjoy it.”
His neck heated. “I cannot marry you.”
The lady stumbled. Her lips parted on a whispery exhalation that matched the shock in her eyes. Her hand fell away from his person. “I don’t—”
“As much as I am…” He searched his mind. “…regretful for how our families have influenced your fate and future, there is another.”
“Another,” she parroted, staggering back a step. “Miss Cresswall.”
He gave a slight nod.
“I see,” she said, her throat working. High color stained the lady’s cheeks. “I wish you both every happiness,” she spat.
And he was grateful that as they made the remaining walk to the Music Room that not another word was said.
Chapter 7
Lady Minerva no doubt sang like a siren.
Of course she would. She was a duke’s daughter and flawless in every way. As Carol sat in the last row of neatly assembled chairs, resentment slithered around inside. A disgusting, vile sentiment she’d never before felt or known. Jealousy.
For the woman conveniently absent with Gregory.
The dowager duchess, seated at the front row, glanced about. A wide smile wreathed her face as she returned her attention to something the duke said. Of course the lady would be beaming. Given Theo’s revelation two days prior, all was going to plan with Her Grace’s goals for her unmarried son.
Bitterness burned at Carol’s chest and she gave her head a wry shake. All these years, doing anything and everything to circumvent her mother’s machinations, only to find that she enjoyed the gentleman’s company.
“You must sing, Carol,” her mother urged. The woman tugged at her hand, momentarily distracting her from her misery. “The moment he hears your voice, he will fall hopelessly under your spell.”
Whereas the dowager duchess had since moved on from a match between Carol and her distinguished son, the viscountess was unrelenting. “I am not singing, Mama,” she said from the corner of her mouth. Long ago, she’d vowed to never use a talent or skill to snare a gentleman’s attention. How well she sang or how straight her teeth were—which they were decidedly not—had no bearing on her status as a future spouse. Yet, Society was of an altogether different opinion.
“Tell your sister she must sing, Herbie.” Their mother shifted her plea to the child seated on her other side.
He tugged at his cravat. “Carol—”
She singed her brother with a look.
“—doesn’t want to sing,” he wisely substituted and then made a show of looking over the hall.
Undeterred the viscountess continued her haranguing. “Lady Minerva will. Sing that is.” Goodness, if the king’s army had a hint of her mother’s tenacity the war would have long been over. The older woman cocked her head. “Where is Lady Minerva?”
Oh, God. Carol made herself go still and stared with her gaze forward. She didn’t want to think about Gregory still being off with the haunting beauty. Didn’t wish to think of him teasing her and speaking freely of his childhood—those intimate details Carol selfishly wished for herself.
Seated alongside her mother-in-law and husband, Theo glanced back. Her easy smile dipped and a question lit her eyes.
Carol tried to return the other woman’s previous cheer but her lips twisted in a pained expression.
Footsteps sounded at the entrance of the room. Her heart thudded wildly and she knew. Knew without looking back or meeting his gaze but, instead, by the surge of awareness that stirred inside—Gregory was here.
“He is with Lady Minerva?”
Did that dejected whisper belong to Carol or her mother?
Gregory escorted the stunning beauty to the pianoforte at the front of the Music Room. Lady Minerva blushed as he started back down the aisle.
“See, you must sing,” her mother urged on a loud whisper. “She is earning his favor.”
Carol spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ve no intention of singing.” Lady
Minerva was free to put herself on display and, despite Mother’s fears, Carol would wager her very soul at Christmas that Gregory was not a man who’d give a lady his heart or affections from a song she might sing.
The dowager duchess said something, staying her son, and Gregory paused.
Another kernel of jealousy pitted in her stomach. Even Lady Minerva’s blasted blushes were lovely. Unlike her, whose cheeks turned splotchy like a sloppy artist had hurled crimson paint at her cheeks. He—
“Pretty smile, Carol. He is coming this way,” her mother urged on an elated whisper that brought her head shooting up.
Gregory stood beside the vacant chair. Her heart slowed to a halt and then resumed a frantic beating. He is magnificent. She took in every inch of his six-foot three-inch, powerful frame. Carol lingered her gaze on the broad expanse of his muscled thighs that strained the confines of his black breeches. Her mouth went dry. No gentleman had a right to such perfection. “May I claim this chair?”
Cheeks blazing, she jerked her stare up. The ghost of a smile played on his lips. A knowing one. One that indicated he saw too much. Mortification sent heat spiraling over her entire person.
The viscountess jammed an elbow in her side.
“That would be fine—oomph,” At another well-placed jab from her displeased mama, she winced. “That is, it would be lovely,” Carol muttered. Gregory slid into the seat beside her, so close that his knee brushed against hers, crushing the fabric of her skirts.
Carol willed herself to focus on Lady Minerva adjusting her skirts in a receptive manner from the pianoforte bench. The lady he’d been alone with. The lady his mother would have him marry. She bit the inside of her lower lip, hating that that detail should matter.
Lady Minerva touched her fingertips to the keys. Her voice, a clear lyrical soprano, soared in the room.
“All hail to the days that merit more praise
Than all the rest of the year,
And welcome the nights that double delights
As well for the poor as the peer!”
“Tell me, my Christmas Carol.” Butterflies danced in her belly at the husky endearment whispered close to her ear. “Will you perform a Christmastide song?”
Do not be a foolish twit, Carol. In but a handful of days I’ve gone and lost my wits about the gentleman? She gave her head a slight shake.
“Good fortune attend each merry man’s friend,
That doth but the best that he may…”
He made a tsking sound. His breath, tinged with the sweet hint of wine and mint fanned her cheek. “And here I thought you lost yourself in the festive spirit of the year.”
“I do,” she returned on a whisper from the corner of her mouth.
“Are you shy?”
Her shoulders shook with amusement, earning a sharp look from her mother. After all, it would not do to insult a duke’s cherished sister. “Do I strike you as shy?” she countered, after her mother’s focus was firmly back on Lady Minerva.
“Hardly,” he quietly drawled, folding his arms at his chest.
“Forgetting old wrongs, with carols and songs,
To drive the cold winter away…”
“’Tis the season for forgetting old wrongs, is it not?” he continued, in that hushed quiet reserved for only her ears. That deep, melodic baritone washed over her, bringing her eyes briefly closed. What game did he play?
Or mayhap there is no game? Mayhap, he’d come to regret the years spent resenting and avoiding one another, as well. And yet, the time for more between them had come and passed. She stared blankly at the golden head bent over the pianoforte. At the woman his mother would see him wed. Resentment burned sour in her mouth. “There were never any wrongs committed,” she said softly. “Just deserved resentments against our families.” That had played out in their views and treatment of one another.
“’Tis ill for a mind to anger inclined
To think of small injuries now;
If wrath be to seek do not lend her thy cheek
Nor let her inhabit thy brow.”
Those lyrics served as a haunting reminder that the past had come and gone. And they could only move forward.
From the front of the Music Room, Lady Minerva glanced up from her playing. Her stare went briefly to Gregory and then over to Carol. And even while she sang the promising song of hope and peace, the hard glint in her eyes hinted at a woman who had no intention of making the same mistake Carol herself had.
Chapter 8
After more than a week of snow, the storm that had ravaged the countryside ended. Now there was just a soft whispering of wind that slapped gently against the window.
Arms clasped at his back, Gregory strolled through the empty halls of Castle Renshaw, the place he’d called home as a child. He’d never given thought of what his childhood had been like. He’d expected it had not been unlike any other noble family. There had been a loving bond shared by him and his brothers, but there had also been rules. And expectations. All neatly laid out, first by the Duke and Duchess of Devlin, and then reinforced by the stiff, formal tutors who’d come in and schooled them in not only their studies, but the way of the world.
Until Carol had opened his eyes to the lively existence she’d lived. A life with snowball fights and snow angels and sneaking about a host’s home, and lying prone upon the floor, simply because she wished it.
Gregory reached the end of the hall and, with a smile, he continued around the corner. What must she have been like as a girl? That musing conjured an image of a mischievous girl with golden curls and an equally mischievous grin.
His greatest rebellion had not come until he’d left university and partnered with Mr. Tobias Cameron in a mining venture. A venture that had proved lucrative and had seen their pockets heavily lined. But also had earned the condemnation and whispers of all—including Gregory’s own family.
At that moment, he’d truly appreciated just how bound by propriety his family was—in particular, his mother. There had been no pride for everything he’d accomplished. Rather, she’d bemoaned the decisions he’d made and his work had become the shame never discussed and always forgotten.
That disapproval had made it all the easier to reject her calls for him to wed Miss Carol Cresswall.
Now, four years later, his mother would make another appeal to the honor that had been long-ingrained into all her sons. He paused in the corridor, stopping in front of a portrait. The duke and duchess sat at the center with their four sons at their sides. After all, a lady his mother approved of and a match she favored could only see him in a cold, emotionless union…and he wished for more. That realization hadn’t come to him until his brother had made a match with Lady Theo. He’d forsaken the expectations thrust upon him and found love and happiness.
The haunting hum of the pianoforte pulled his attention down the hall toward the distant strains.
“The old year now away is fled,
The new year it is entered;
Then let us all our sins down tread…”
Lady Minerva was a flawless singer. She possessed a crisp, clear voice that was unfaltering. This haunting contralto that now filled the corridors, however, possessed a soaring depth and power reserved for those heavenly choirs. The Christmastide hymn stretched out into the hall and ran through him with the wealth of emotion behind each verse.
Drawn inextricably forward, Gregory resumed walking.
“And now with New Year’s gifts each friend
Unto each other they do send;
God grant we may our lives amend,
And that truth may now appear.”
He came to a stop outside the Music Room and stood motionless. The husky contralto of Carol’s voice stirred the nighttime quiet.
“And to amend this new year begin:
God send us a merry new year!”
Head dipped over the keys, the hopeful lyrics spilled from her lips, each word a masterful gift that sucked the breath from his lungs. The abandon with w
hich she sang was the same zeal with which she marched through snow and laughed and teased. It was captivating. An elixir to the mundane existence he’d lived for so long and he wanted to drink of it and hold on to this forever.
He’d spent so many years pushing her away. He could never undo all that disinterest and disdain he’d shown her. I can only prove to her now. Court her. Woo her, as she deserved. Then, that was to assume Carol even wanted a future with him. She’d given no indication that she felt anything other than disinterest in a man who’d ignored her. Rightfully so. He curled his hands hard, wishing life had played out for them altogether differently.
Because then mayhap now, they’d be wed and not stealing moments when the household slept on.
“Good fortune to my master send,
And to our dame which is our friend,
Lord bless us all, and so I end:
God send us a happy new year!”
Those ending lyrics echoed from the ceiling, filling the Music Room. He clapped his hands slowly, ringing a gasp from her.
Carol shoved back her chair and slapped a hand to her chest. “Gregory.”
He strolled forward. “You do sing, madam.”
“I never said I did not.” The lady wetted her lips. This was a different glimpse of Carol…a woman who was, despite her earlier challenge in this very room, shy. Did she not know the gift she had?
He stopped beside the pianoforte and rested his palm along the top of the rosewood instrument. “And yet, you did not sing for a room full of guests,” he persisted. “But would come here, when the whole of the house is sleeping, and perform for empty seats?”
“Not everyone is sleeping,” she reminded him.
It did not escape his notice that she’d neatly sidestepped answering his question. “Why?” he asked quietly in a bid to understand. He wanted to know more about who Carol Cresswall was.
She lifted her shoulders and wandered away from him, walking a path around the instrument. “I don’t wish to perform for empty seats.” She paused and met his gaze squarely. “I don’t wish to perform for any seats. Everything we do,” she went on, frustration with her lot glaring in her every admission, “from how we speak, to walk, to hold a fan is used as a currency to judge a lady’s worth.” The eyes she lifted to his glittered with passion. “I’ll not let my voice be something else used to put me on display for—”
’Twas the Night Before Scandal Page 6
