by Jane Lark
She said nothing.
Drew did not apologize, not to Peter, nor to Marlow. He would not apologize for who he was! They could like him or not! He did not care!
He only cared for his friends… Damn!
But he still had Harry and Mark, didn’t he? And if he did not, so what? He had Mary, she could not leave him.
He held his hand out to her, saying he wanted her.
Her hand slotted into his, in that perfect fit he’d become accustomed to.
A tight vice like pain clenched about his heart as in his head he saw Peter’s hand on her back resting between her shoulders, and the empty brandy glass which stood on the side in his rooms.
Drew forced a path through the people, elbowing them out of his way if necessary and pulling Mary with him.
Reaching the hall, he growled at a footman to find her cloak, quickly.
He turned at the sound of a masculine stride behind them, echoing on the tiles.
Marlow, and his wife hurried behind them, Lady Marlow’s dress was clasped in her hand lifted a little to enable it.
“Framlington!” Marlow’s voice echoed about the stone trappings in the hall.
Mary’s loyalty was to be tested again. Marlow was going to begin another tug of war.
“What the hell did you think you were doing? Do you know what people are saying now?” Marlow’s strides ate up the distance between them.
“Let them say it!” Drew snarled. “What do I care?”
“I care!” Marlow growled, stopping three feet away from Drew, his gaze challenging. Then his voice dropped to a low threatening pitch. “And Mary cares. You will have her ostracised. You’ve hurt my daughter.” The wind blew out from the sails of Marlow’s anger as he looked at Mary.
Drew gripped her hand harder, this was it, another moment of choice, her family or him.
“Mary,” Marlow’s voice cut through the air between them soft and understanding, “come home with us, we should not have let this happen. Just come home now. This is enough. We can protect you from this—”
From this? From Drew!
“Let us weather this storm together. Ignore others’ judgement, Mary. You need not continue this…”
Drew’s jaw locked hard.
Her hand gripped his more firmly. “No, Papa, I’ll go home with Andrew. Do not worry. I’ll call on you tomorrow. We can discuss things then. But not now.”
The feeling that raced beneath his skin, through blood and bone and flesh, was relief, but it was hard and cold as ice. It was too late for her to cling to him now! She’d taken his heart and torn it in two, it was not beating anymore, not for her, not for anyone. He was stone inside.
Her father sighed.
“Mary.” Her mother came forward at the same time a footman brought Mary’s cloak. Her mother took it and set it on Mary’s shoulders, while Drew kept a hold of her hand as if the girl was driftwood in a swelling sea. The pain in his chest ate at him. Excruciating. Unbearable. He could barely breathe as they turned to the door.
“Tomorrow,” her father stated, as though he intended to persuade her to leave tomorrow.
Somehow Drew knew she would not. She would be like his mother, stay but be unfaithful. He could not be good-enough for her – he was worthless and unlovable. She would turn to other men, men who knew how to love her without running mad with jealousy. Men who knew how to cope amongst her family.
Men like Peter.
A cold shiver ran his spine as they walked the length of the street, until they found a handsome carriage waiting on the corner. Drew called up their destination to the driver and opened the door for Mary.
He did not speak as he climbed in.
Her hands rested in her lap.
He did not touch her. He did not think that he could ever bring himself to touch her again. It would only break his heart more when inevitably she let him down with someone else.
Chapter 26
The carriage rumbled and bounced over the uneven cobbled streets, the horses iron shoes ringing on the London stone, echoing in the silent air between them.
She had nothing to say to him, what could she say? He’d stormed out of their rooms hours before and then hit the Caldecotts’ ballroom with the full force of a hurricane, now they were in the eye of the storm. He’d neither spoken nor moved.
Without moving her head, Mary glanced towards him, hoping he would not see. He sat in the far corner, the ankle of one leg resting on the other knee, his elbow on the shallow ledge of the small window and his forearm and fingers lying back against the window.
Rain began falling outside the carriage, striking the hide roof in a hard pitter-patter.
He still did not move a single muscle, just stared from the carriage, his eyes focusing on nothing.
He looked in turmoil, and pain, not simply angry.
She should never have made him go to that house. She should have listened to him. Now she understood his complexity; the hidden fragments were broken pieces. He’d said once, in the beginning, in a letter, the second, which had won her soul, her heart having been given to him a year before. I cannot say I love you, not yet, I do not even know what on earth love is, but I do know that I cannot sleep for thinking of you, or dreaming of you. I think of you and I lose my breath, I see you and my heart begins to pound, I hear you and my spirit wants to sing. I am yours, Mary.
She’d read that letter again this afternoon, a dozen times, although his words had already been etched on her heart. But, oh, she understood it now, he had really not known love, because he’d never been loved. How could he know? How could he see that she gave it? Yet he had not written those words, his friends had written them.
But she believed the essence of those words were his. He did not know love.
She sighed, and his sharp gaze turned to her.
Mary looked out of the window, while his observation made her spine tingle. The first time she had met him, he’d carried a sense of mystery, holding dangerous secrets in his eyes. But the truth behind his secrets was pain, loneliness and longing. She saw through him now.
‘Don’t pity me, damn you!’ His last words before he’d stormed out this afternoon, she did not want to pity him, she just wanted to love him and be loved in return. But the darkness outside the carriage window was endless and the silence between them was a wall she did not know how to scale. His pain was a fortress she had no idea how to conquer. She would simply have to wait until his defences fell again.
He said nothing as he walked behind her up to their rooms.
In their bedchamber she tried to undo her dress. He came to her and began releasing the buttons, but he still did not speak, and then when she slipped out of her chemise he walked from the room into the sitting room.
She heard him pour a drink as she slid her nightgown over her head.
Then she heard a glass shatter against the hearth.
She knew it was the one Peter had drunk from.
She climbed into bed, her stomach growling with hunger. She’d still not eaten but she was not hungry, and nor could she sleep. She lay facing the door, watching the candlelight flicker in the other room and listening to him walking about.
He came to bed an hour later and undressed in the dark. His weight made the mattress sag as he lay down. He did not speak or touch her.
When she woke the next morning, it was to the smell of fried bacon, fresh bread, coffee and chocolate.
Her stomach rumbled loudly and she felt physically sick with hunger as she slipped from beneath the covers and searched out her dressing gown. Andrew sat in an armchair, a broadsheet paper open before him. He’d already eaten.
“Good morning,” she ventured.
Without looking up from the paper he answered, “I’ve ordered breakfast, luncheon and dinner, whether you or I are here or not, seeing as you’ll not order for yourself. I am going to Tattersall’s today to buy a carriage. I’ll employ a driver at the stables. I’ll buy another pair to pull it too. It will be yours, Mary, y
ou can then go wherever you like, whenever you please.”
“So I will have no need of an escort…”
“Quite so.” His voice was deep and bitter. He was still angry. Still full of pain.
Mary sat down to cut a slice of bread. She had no idea how to respond, or what to do.
“I will also employ a lady’s maid to come in the morning and evening, to help you dress.”
“And to undress?” Mary’s voice left her throat with quiet uncertainty. Was he saying he would have nothing more to do with her?
“She will await your return.”
Did he not wish to touch her anymore? Did he not love her anymore? Mary stood again, her hand gripping the top of the chair. “It was just a waltz, Andrew. He only took me because you were not at home.”
He stood too, but he did not look at her, he folded the paper and tossed it onto the table where the broken chessboard stood. “I’m going riding.”
Mary hurried forward and gripped his arm. “Wait, I’ll dress and come with you.”
His hazel eyes were empty and cold – lacklustre. “That is not necessary.”
“Not necessary or do you not want me to?”
“Both, Mary. I’ll have your carriage by tomorrow, you may do what you like then, ride your brother’s horses. Or Peter has some good ones, perhaps he’d oblige…”
“Do not be ridiculous. It was one waltz!”
His look narrowed. “We both know I am not good enough for you, so find someone else. It’s what you’ll do eventually anyway. I’m going out.”
“Andrew, stop it.” She followed him into their bedchamber. He did not stop but pulled on his long riding coat. “You cannot shut me out over one waltz!”
“It does not matter.” He picked up his gloves. “That is not the issue.”
She knew that. “The issue is your parents.” Stepping back she opened her arms wide across the door frame so he could not leave her. “I’m not responsible for them.”
His gaze met hers. His dark eyes desolate.
“Andrew.” Her fingers touched the shadow of the bruise on his cheek.
“Let me go, Mary.”
“To where?”
“I’m going riding. I’ll come back at midday, take you to your parents and then go to Tat’s to find you a carriage and horses.”
Tears burned in Mary’s eyes, but she refused to let him see. “You can be cruel!”
“You wished to be introduced to my parents! You accepted Peter’s escort!”
“And they are sins?”
“It does not matter. Just let me go, and stop making a childish scene.”
“As you did last night?”
“I will not argue with you. I do not care about it. Just get out of the way and let me go! I am only going riding!”
But it did not feel like that, it felt as if he was leaving, as though he’d left.
“Andrew?”
He merely stood, staring at her, his hat in his hand.
Mary’s hands fell to her sides and she stepped out of the way. There was no point in arguing, he was unreachable in this mood.
* * *
When Drew returned from his ride it was to find Pembroke’s carriage standing in the street before his apartment. Two grooms held the horses’ heads at the front of four glossy blacks. The coach itself was a shining black beast of a thing with Pembroke’s coat of arms emblazoned on the side, picked out in gilt, and a polished brass trim gleamed along its edges. Devil take it. What did Pembroke want? No doubt Drew was to be threatened again. If so his patience, currently paper thin, would rip, and he’d likely slam Pembroke up against a wall.
But when Drew reached his rooms it was only women’s voices he heard.
He entered without knocking. They were his rooms.
Three women looked at him, Mary, her mother and an aunt, the Duchess of Wiltshire.
So Marlow had sent the women in to do battle again, they were surveying the ground. It was extremely early to be calling, perhaps they’d hoped to catch him out. Perhaps they thought he would not have unchained Mary by this hour. They were obviously seeking to know how well he kept her.
The remains of their breakfast was left on the table. Mary had at least eaten. He may be angry with her, he may wish to hold her at arms’ length, so she could not hurt him, but he still cared for her. The girl would make herself ill if she did not eat.
Taking off his hat, he bowed to them, although not formally. He was family whether they liked it or not.
Her mother stood and stepped forward. “Lord Framlington, we are about to leave, we thought we might miss you. I’m glad you’ve arrived. We have asked Mary to accompany us to the Duchess of Bradford’s garden party this afternoon.”
Her aunt stood then. “We were passing, as I am visiting Margaret, so we thought it would be nice to call rather than send a message via the servants.”
That was nonsense, Mary’s cousin lived streets away and Drew’s apartment was not on route.
“We had letters for Mary too,” her mother concluded.
But most importantly you wished to spy.
Drew looked at Mary wondering what she’d told them. That he was an ignorant monster, probably; incapable of loving her and unable to be loved.
But he was not ashamed of his rooms. She did not have extravagance and excess here, but Mary had everything she needed. They could not fault him on that. Or rather she had all she needed if she would deem to take care of herself, which she did not.
He’d been angry when Joseph told him this morning she’d eaten neither luncheon nor dinner the day before. That was the moment he’d decided to take control of her life, although it also eased his conscience, employing servants to manage her meant he could withdraw without feeling guilt.
“Does my home meet your expectations, Lady Marlow?” He asked of her, ignoring her little speech.
“It is not my expectations you have to meet, is it, my Lord?” her answer was sharp and shrewish.
“No, it is Mary’s, and she has everything she wants.” Except a man she can love.
“Except a husband who can apply restraint, Lord Framlington.”
“Mama!” Mary stood and came to stand beside him. As though he needed her to defend him. As though he cared. He did not care what her mother thought. But obviously Mary had not been honest with them, she’d not told them he was a hell-born bastard who no one could ever love.
“Your mother is right,” her aunt looked at Mary, then at Drew, just the way he imagined she would look at a street-sweep, with disdain. “Your behaviour last night, Lord Framlington, was unforgivable.”
Mary’s chin lifted in defiance. Drew sighed, he did not wish her to argue with her family on his behalf anymore, the time for that had passed. She needed her family, he did not need her, he’d told himself that a hundred times already. “You’re quite right, Your Grace, Lady Marlow. Obviously I’m sorry I spoiled the evening, but it is water under the bridge today and as you can see, I do not keep Mary in a prison cell or feed her gruel, you may report back that all is well here.”
Both women stared, their matching eyes – the spit of Mary’s – narrowing. Those pale blue eyes could be sharp as a pin prick.
“You are not amusing, Lord Framlington,” her mother stated.
“Yes, I think you told me that before, Lady Marlow. I shall try to remember in future that you do not appreciate my humour.” Mary’s fingers gripped his arm.
“Mary, do you wish us to collect you?” her aunt asked.
“I can deliver her to where she needs to be.” Her aunt’s and mother’s eyebrows rose. “But have no fear I’ll not stay. I take it I am not invited—”
“I’ll meet you there,” Mary answered.
“Very well,” her mother accepted, but she showed no sign of going.
Drew turned, “Mary, did you offer our visitors tea, I can call down,” and then he looked back to her mother, “Or something stronger, perhaps a brandy to suffer my company a little longer.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
Mary’s fingers gripped his arm so tightly her fingernails began to bite through the fabric of his coat.
“Very well ladies, you clearly do not wish me here, and so I shall withdraw and leave you with Mary. I need to go out again anyway. Your servant.” He bowed to one then the other, then turned away. Mary’s fingers slipped from his arm uncertainly. He did not look back as he left.
He had not planned to go to Tats for a couple of hours though, and so in fact he had nothing to do, but he crossed back over to the stables and told the grooms to prepare the curricle for three hours’ time. Then leaned against the wall and watched about the corner with his arms folded over his chest waiting for the women to leave.
But before they got back into Pembroke’s grand carriage, the Duchess called over young Timmy and gave him a coin or two, dolling out her largesse.
Drew was lower than a street-sweep in her opinion then.
I don’t care.
When the carriage pulled away he walked back across the street and knocked off Timmy’s hat to make him laugh, passing a wry comment on the Duchess’s gift.
Mary was seated in an armchair opening the letters her mother must have brought, there were half a dozen or more.
“Who are they from?” She jumped when he spoke, having not heard the door. Then stood. He held up a hand. “Read your letters, you do not have to tell me.”
“They’re from family, those who aren’t in town. This…” She held up the letter she’d just opened, “is from my younger brother Robbie.” Her face lit up as she said her brother’s name.
It was impossible not to love her. But he had to stop, because he could not bear to watch her with another man, and the time would come. He knew it would.
When she sat back down, he crossed the room to collect the paper, but as he passed he looked over her shoulder.
I cannot believe you fixed on a man so suddenly, and Framlington, a man with a renowned reputation. Good heavens, what has become of my sister!
It was more condemnation.
Drew put his hat and gloves down on a chest, then took off his riding coat, and threw it over the back of a chair. Picking up the paper he dropped into the seat beside hers, only to realise Mary had stopped reading letters and was currently reading him.
