The Earl's Regret_Regency Romance

by Joyce Alec

"You have become a recluse, my son, and I must admit, it worries me deeply." He stared at his son very intently, his tired eyes combing over him as if it would reveal a truth he sought. "I thought that you were quite pleased with Lady Agnes."

  "I am!" John replied, rather more forcefully than he had intended. He sighed. "I am," he repeated more gently.

  "Then what on God's green earth has got you so befuddled?" His father asked.

  "I..." And again, his inability to relay his feelings gripped him by the throat, unrelenting and debilitating.

  "Is there another woman?"

  The way that his father's voice filled the room, and truly, filled every empty space in John's mind, made him almost recoil. He realized that his father had been waiting to say these very words since they had sat down together in this room. The entire conversation, everything that had been said, was leading up to this point.

  His father's gaze was no longer kind, but hard and intense. The lines on his face were apparent in the shadows of the afternoon sunlight, and his greying hair was slightly disheveled.

  "What?" He heard the word leave his mouth, but did not remember thinking about it.

  His father did not blink, and his stare did not falter. "Is there another woman?" he repeated more slowly. "Someone who is preventing you from embracing this wedding and this marriage wholeheartedly?"

  "How could you..." John was aghast. There had never been another woman, not even once. He had met plenty of wonderful women, but never once had he ever felt anything for them like he did for Lady Agnes.

  His shock had left his speechless. How could his father think so little of him and his integrity?

  A loud slap resounded in the room, and John jumped in his chair. He saw his father's hand on the low table between the two of them. The candle sticks and his own glass of water wobbled precariously from the impact.

  His father rose to his feet, rubbing his chin, turning his back to John.

  "I told your mother that she was wrong," his father muttered under his breath. "Told her that there was no way that you would be so daft as to jeopardize your entire life, your future...not to mention her reputation..."

  John rose to his feet, walking toward his father. "Father, you cannot be serious. This is absolutely ridiculous!"

  His father wheeled around and glared at John. "Is it?" He flashed a grim smile, and shook his head. "Your mother was the one who suggested it in the first place! She thinks that you are dragging your feet to marry Lady Agnes because you are off running about with some other woman!"

  "How could you both think so little of me?" John replied, his voice starting to rise as well to match his father's. He despised the way his heart beat in his chest, the way his cheeks felt hot and his eyes stung. "Why would I ever do something like that?"

  "Because I know how easy it is!"

  His father had crossed the room so quickly that John had almost not noticed it, except he was now standing almost nose to nose with his son.

  "I lived that life; I have already told you. And the way you have been acting is almost exactly how I was acting when I was your age. I - "

  "Then, Father, perhaps it is time to consider that I am not as much like you as you believe I am," John replied, taking a step back from him, but the volume in his voice had decreased. His hands were clenched at his sides, though, and he could feel his skin tight and cold against his bones.

  His father hesitated, and a flicker of shame shone in his eyes. He looked down at his feet and walked around the couches once more, pacing around the room.

  "There is no other woman, Father!" He felt as if his father did not believe him, and the idea infuriated him. Of course there would be no way to prove it, but it made him all that much more ashamed about his behavior the last few weeks.

  So much had his self-respect deteriorated since Lady Agnes had come into his life. He felt as if he no longer knew himself, and in turn, his family felt as if they did not know him either. All of the confused glances and angry looks from all of his siblings, and now his mother and father, flashed before his mind, and he felt his anger flare.

  "Son, I wish to believe you, but the way you are reacting -"

  "Why are you so determined to make me into a detestable man?"

  His father looked up at those words, and his face fell. "No, I... I am not trying to make you out to be that, son. I -"

  John held up his hand, cutting his father off in mid-sentence. "You are. You are so sure that I have done something terribly wrong, and have never considered to ask my opinion on the matter." His straightened his shoulders. "I would have willingly shared my thoughts with you, and yet you accuse me of ruining my marriage, a marriage that has not even happened yet."

  "Son, surely you must see that there is a grave problem arising between the two of you."

  "I have," John replied. "And I have been trying, Father, I have."

  "You have not," his father replied, the glare returning, and he continued to pace about the warm room. "You have neglected your duties as a husband to be and have completely ignored Lady Agnes."

  "I will admit, Father," John began, a little louder, to end his father's babbling of his poor behavior, "that I have not done all I should have. I have done some small things, such as showing her around the estate, engaging in conversation with her at meals, and I even brought her some tea and cakes when she was ill."

  His father seemed surprised at the last bit of information, and it encouraged him enough to continue.

  "But I will admit that I could have done more, and I should have. Will you believe me when I tell you that I wished I had, and that at the same time, I haven't known how?"

  His father studied is face closely, his lips pursed.

  "What do you mean that you haven't known how?"

  And John went on to explain how the last few weeks had been, and all of his doubts and his frustrations. The more he spoke, the more ashamed he felt, and yet, another feeling had started to emerge.

  "And now," he finished, "Everyone is angry with me, and I feel as if I am entirely to blame for it."

  "Well, you certainly have not handled the situation as well as you should have," his father continued. "You have a duty to uphold, and it is your responsibility to ensure that your marriage will work."

  "Father, I understand that, but -"

  "And you must be willing to admit when you have done wrong, and you must ensure that the woman you will be with is both happy and taken care of."

  "Yes, I know all of this, Father, but you must admit that -"

  "And," his father's voice grew in volume. "If this is all to fall apart, then it will be you and your family that will be ruined in this situation. Your reputation will be marred beyond repair, so I suggest that you do what you can to ensure that this does not happen."

  "So she has no responsibility in how our relationship has progressed?" John asked, his mind whirring in alarm even as he spoke. "It cannot be entirely my fault, surely."

  "You are the one who has handled it poorly!" His father replied. "You are the one who needs to fix it! There is obviously something wrong with you and your attitude, and now, all of this is spinning out of control."

  John, his anger spiking, said, "Something wrong with me? What about her? How is it that not any of this discord is being blamed on her? She cannot be entirely blameless!"

  His father's face flushed. "How dare you accuse a lady of anything!"

  "No," he said, pointing at his father. "No, I will not be held entirely responsible for all of this. Every relationship, the good ones anyway, require the commitment and care of both people involved. I have not seen her make any more effort than I in regards to getting to know me."

  "Foolish boy," his father spat. "It is your responsibility to engage her, or have you forgotten all of your sense?"

  John shook his head. "There have been plenty of appropriate circumstances in which we have found ourselves that she could have spoken with me, too, or times when I attempted to make simple conversation, and sh
e was uninterested. Completely uninterested."

  His father glared more intently, giving his son sidelong glances as he paced about the back of the room.

  "And it allows me to draw a similar conclusion," John continued when he felt he finally had the upper hand in the argument since it began. "That perhaps she is not interested in this marriage."

  "Ah, so that is what your true feelings are?" His father wheeled around, pointing at him.

  "I have never once said that I didn't want this marriage to work!" John retorted. "I actually have feelings for the woman, and stupidly, it has caused me to be shy."

  "Foolish," his father said. "It has caused you to be foolish."

  John forced himself to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, we can both agree that I have been quite foolish. Does that make you feel any better?"

  His father, his arms still crossed in front of himself, sighed heavily.

  "All I am saying is that perhaps this marriage is just..."

  "Just what?" His father asked, his voice steadier, some of the angry red in his cheeks diminishing.

  "Perhaps none of this is going to work -"

  There was a loud knock at the door that caused both of them to flinch, look at one another, and then look at the solid wood surface.

  "Who is it?" His father called.

  "Your wife, dear," came the voice of his mother, muffled through the wall. "May I come in and speak with you both?"

  How long had she been listening at the door? John wondered to himself, feeling the knot in his chest tighten.

  His father glanced at him one more time, and John wondered if there was some pity there. Regardless, he was grateful that they had to put their argument on hold, perhaps delay it all together.

  His mother's joyful face appeared at the door, and John forced an uncomfortable smirk onto his face, and said, "Hello, Mother."

  She nodded to him before turning back to his father. "I was hoping that we could go over some of the details for the ball," and it was obvious that she was pleased to be discussing something as elaborate as a social event.

  John cleared his throat as she sat down on one of the sofas in front of him. "Ah, yes. I shall leave you to it then," and he made to leave the room.

  His mother reached up and grabbed his sleeve. "Nonsense, my son, sit down. I am talking about your ball to announce your wedding. Surely you see that you must be involved in it. Come now," and with greater force that he knew she had, she pulled him around the couch and pulled him down to sit beside her.

  He blinked at her, but she would not meet his eye. As he watched her face, he realized that he did not much care for the look on her face; it felt very devious. How much of our conversation did she hear? Is this her way of punishing me?

  Before he had the chance to consider it further, there was another knock at the door, and in came Lord and Lady Kensington, closely followed by Lady Agnes.

  Their eyes met as she stepped into the room. John held her gaze. He had not spoken with her since he had come to her room to visit her when she was ill. He could not read her, and it made him uneasy. He could not tell if the small smile that passed over her face was a happy one, or sad. And the smile soon faded, only to leave the ghost of it playing tricks in his mind.

  She and her family sat down on the couch across the long, low table in front of them, the adults conversing happily.

  John wondered vaguely if they simply ignored their children's uneasy silence.

  "Well now, this is exciting, is it not?" Lady Kensington said, beaming at her daughter, squeezing her hand. "Oh, I know how you have dreamed of having a ball in your honor, dear! Do not fear, we shall ensure that it is the most elegant affair and that you will be the most beautiful woman."

  "Have you found her a dress?" John's mother asked, leaning closer to the other women.

  Lady Agnes seemed fixated on something on the back of her hand, and did not seem the least bit concerned about what her mother said.

  Lady Kensington nodded. "We did indeed, Duchess! Just before we traveled here. It is the most beautiful shade of..." her voice cut off as she looked up at John, who immediately looked from Lady Agnes to her. Lady Kensington giggled. "But I should not say a thing! I am sure that her groom-to-be will find it the loveliest thing he has ever seen."

  John could not have been sure, but her voice seemed slightly higher than usual, and he wondered if the last thing she had said was more of a threat than an observation. He could not have been sure, for she and his mother both erupted into giggles like small girls.

  "Now, what should we serve for dinner?" Lord Kensington said from the other side of Lady Agnes. "We are willing to cover any extra costs that might arise. Only the best for our daughter."

  John could not take his eye off of Lady Agnes, but she refused to look up at him. At least, that was what he told himself, for how could she not be aware of the fact that he was watching her so closely?

  As the parents discussed various options to order for the grand feast that it was becoming, John wondered if what he had said in anger, was not in fact, the truth. He had been blaming himself all along for the way that their relationship had been developing, or the lack thereof. But maybe she was realizing that he was not at all what she wanted to marry, and that was why she was becoming so silent around him.

  The thought made him frustrated, and even if it was not true, it was as if his mind and heart had already accepted it as if it was. She did not think that he was a good enough match, did she? Did she feel, perhaps, that he was not worthy of her?

  I will have you know, dear Lady, that there are many women who would have given their left arms to be able to marry me. And here I am, still infatuated with you as I am, willing to try and make this marriage work.

  But was he truly willing to anymore?

  The conversation had moved from the ball to the wedding, and he found that he could not stomach it any longer. There was too much hanging in the air, and it did not help him feel more at ease. Instead, it made him feel as if he needed to figure out what he truly wanted to do...before it was too late to do so.

  "Excuse me," he said, getting to his feet.

  His mother, who had been right in the middle of talking about whether they should use the silver goblets or the crystal ones for the dinner, looked up at him. "We are not done working out the details. We will be done shortly, dear, come and sit back down."

  He crossed in front of his father and back toward the door. "It appears that you all have it under control. I trust your judgment to make the best decision."

  And before she could say anything else, he left the room.

  He could have sworn he saw Lady Agnes look up at him for the first time as he stood, and as he walked down along the hall, he wondered if perhaps that was not a reason that he had done it in the first place.

  5

  Sleep escaped him for the next three nights, and when the day of the ball fell upon them, he felt as if he had crossed the entire length of the country on foot. His body ached, his mind felt full of cotton, and the sight of food made him feel ill.

  He could not bring himself to admit the thoughts he had been entertaining, not even to himself. They caused his chest to burn with fear every time he pondered them. They were wicked and would anger many people, but the way that events were unfolding, he wondered if he had little choice at all.

  Lady Agnes was still silent whenever he was around, and he began to wonder if she was simply pretending that he was not in the room. He would continue to watch her, hoping to make eye contact with her. He would speak, and she would speak, even when they were beside one another, but it was never to each other.

  Their mothers were so fixated on the coming ball and wedding that they were unaware of their children's attitudes, but his siblings certainly were not. They spent much of their time when Lady Agnes was not in the room accusing him and scolding him. He allowed it, for he felt as if it was an agreeable punishment to what he was considering doing. He knew that if he went throu
gh it that their insults and prodding would be all that much worse.

  He sat at the edge of his bed just minutes before he had to be presented to the rest of the ball attendees, his mind racing. Was he really going to go through with it? Could he truly change the entire course of his future with just one decision?

  He knew that he could, but the question in his mind was...which decision was the right one?

  He rose to his feet, crossed to the mirror to examine his jacket and hat, and met his own eyes for the first time in days.

  Do you care for Lady Agnes? he asked himself.

  He sighed. "I do," he replied, out loud, but no louder than a whisper.

  Do you think that she cares for you? The question came to mind before he could quell it.

  He closed his eyes. "I...I don't know."

  Do you think that you should call the wedding off?

  And as he looked into his own eyes, he faced the question that had been dancing just along the outside of his mind for the last week. He forced himself to face it, for it was no small matter, and it was no good running from it any longer.

  And the truth was, he realized, that he honestly did not know the correct answer. He cared for her, and even if he felt as if he had perhaps ruined their marriage already, he knew that she had withdrawn from him as well, no matter what her parents' efforts had been. Something had changed, and he wondered, not for the first time, if she had ever cared for him at all.

  Perhaps he had been some lovesick fool who wasted no time in getting himself wrapped up in the idea of marrying her, so much so that it caused him to miss the truth. Perhaps she was not as sweet and kind and as gentle as he had initially made her out to be. She could very well be like all of the other women he had ever known—mysterious, always with a plan of their own.

  But how could he know for sure?

  He paced back and forth in his room, across the floor.

  Would he risk an entire life of unhappiness, for both of them, on the hope that he was wrong?

  There was a knock at his door.

  "Brother, you are needed."

  "I'll be right down. I was just changing my hat," he lied.