Back in Bath, Marcus' life had routine and structure. He followed a plan every day, one designed to strengthen his body and mind, to help re-train his eyes to see, even though his left eye had precious little sight remaining. That very routine had kept him calm and focused on the task at hand, keeping the hard and angry part of him controlled and tucked safely away. It was one of the reasons why he had resisted leaving.
Once he returned home, then what? Would he be expected to resume the dissolute life of a young buck, just as he had before? Would he be expected to court proper young ladies and find one to take to wife in order to continue both the Breckenright and Evanston lines? Would those things be enough to hold his attention, allow him to retain the calm, peaceful feelings he had enjoyed in Bath? Or would he grow bored and angry with his new lot in life every time a pretty young thing turned away from him in disgust, his lame leg and unseeing eye making him undesirable in her eyes? Would the monster, the one he had so successfully kept locked up tight for the last two years, come back out? Worse, would the ton finally see that there was nothing good left inside of him, that he was only the shell of the man he used to be?
Would they even remember him? Or would they hear his name and think of nothing more than the dissolute rake with a reputation for bedding whores and virgins alike? He was not that man any longer, but to society, would it matter? Somehow, he thought not.
Marcus had no illusions about what his return to society would mean. There would be changes - for everyone, but most especially for him. But would he be able to hold his tongue and not grow resentful every time a proper young miss swallowed her fear and danced with him just so that she might eventually wed him and claim the title of countess as well as gain access to his fortune? For he did not attempt to fool himself that it would be otherwise. No sweet young thing would want him as he was for anything else. Not his body certainly. Not like before.
Not like Caroline.
Caroline. He hadn't thought of her since he had awoken in Bath under the care of Dr. Hastings. Or rather he tried not to, for remembering her hurt far too much. That day, the older man had calmly informed Marcus of how he had come to be at the resort town under his care, or an abridged version of it anyway, saying that the Cheltenham butler had discovered a fake physician attempting to kill Marcus with a knife. In the course of the conversation, Hastings also mentioned that he knew Lady Caroline, and, of course, Marcus had inquired about her. How could he not? She had been his world, his best friend before she had been ripped away from him and sent to Northumbria by that beast she called an uncle.
When Dr. Hastings informed Marcus that she had returned to London, his heart had quickened for a moment. Then, Hastings had mentioned that, according to gossip, she had changed and was not the woman Marcus remembered. She was frequently alone, often seen in the company of her maid, Glenna, and did not have a proper chaperone, though at her age, few in society seemed to care. After that, the good doctor said no more and would not divulge another word, no matter how Marcus roared and threatened. He advised Marcus to leave her be and not think of her. Instead, the physician wanted his patient to concentrate on healing himself.
Except that Marcus could not stop thinking of her, though he did stop inquiring when it became clear that whatever Hastings knew, he would not divulge. In his mind's eye, Marcus could even now picture Caroline as she must be at that very moment, her thick, reddish-blonde hair tinged with bright coppery highlights and deep mossy green eyes flashing fire as she turned the ballrooms and drawing rooms of London on their ears. She was probably just as lovely as always, her willowy body displaying just the right amount of curves, ones he itched to hold again. She was perfect, his Caroline. Or had been when he had seen her last so many years ago.
He wondered if she still was.
Then, as if merely thinking of her this very evening could conjure her out of thin air, he caught a brief glimpse of her from his carriage window, a lone figure being handed out of her own carriage and up the steps of Turner-Carson House where she had lived for so long with her father. William Turner, Marcus remembered with a grin, always preferred town to country, much to his daughter's dismay.
"Driver! Halt!" Marcus rapped on the roof of his carriage, uncertain as to what he might do next but unwilling to allow Caroline to simply vanish from his sight so quickly. He wanted to drink in the sight of her, just this once. Even if he could not speak to her.
A thick mist from the evening's rain swirled around her as she emerged from the carriage, a bit of the sapphire blue gown she'd worn to the Devonmont's peeking out from beneath her thin, midnight-hued cloak. Her hair was twisted into an elaborate cascade of curls that was secured in place with sapphire studded pins and combs. A few loose curls caressed the sides of her face, brushing lightly along her cheekbones, and his fingers itched to do the same. She was still slight, just as she had always been, more willowy than curvy, but also still pleasingly feminine in all the right places. He had only managed a brief glimpse of her earlier at the musicale, but it had been enough to know that her breasts were still fairly small, though he also knew they would fit perfectly into his hands. Just as he had long imagined.
This night, she looked like an ethereal creature, one pulled directly from the pages of the books about fairies and other fanciful beings they used to read as children. She was just as beautiful now as she had been then, perhaps more so. And she was just as far out of his grasp as she had ever been. Even when he thought that he might finally capture her, along with her heart, he never truly had.
His best friend. Odd that she was, but that didn't make it any less true. Well, she had been once, in a time when he had thought anything was possible and that the world was simply his for the taking. All he had to do was but reach out and grab it.
He'd thought of having her to wife many years ago, of course, but then, what if they did not suit? He would loose the person he held most dear to him. Not to mention that, at the time, he hadn't been quite finished whoring his way through London. No, the best course of action was to seek another wife, or so he had believed at the time. Except that he hadn't. Found a wife, that was. So that final season in society, he had begun to court Caroline, slowly at first, hoping to discern whether or not she was amenable to the idea. She had been, or so he had thought, much to his delight.
Then, William Turner had died and she was gone. Marcus himself had fallen ill only a year or so later. Time had stopped. Well, for him it had. Had it done so for Caroline as well? Somehow, he doubted it.
She wasn't married or widowed. He knew that much from Amy's letters to him in Bath over the years, as well as the bits of information that Dr. Hastings let slip. His sister was known as The Paragon, at least according to Radcliffe who had kept an eye on such matters for Marcus when he was able. Not that the duke had done much of that in recent years, especially after his marriage to Lady Julia. Nor could Marcus blame the man. After all, when one had that lovely and caring of a wife at home, keeping an eye on another female seemed the height of crassness, not to mention a perfect way to court scandal. Marcus had, of course, ceased to ask.
Yet he could not put Caroline and her well-being from his mind. She was now known as The Mystery and had a position of some note within society, though it was a precarious one at best. She employed a chaperone, one of Lady Berkshire's notorious Gray Ladies, but that was more for show than anything, the chaperone in question, a Lady Mary he thought her name was, was rarely seen at the same functions with Caroline. More often than not, Caroline was alone and no one, least of all society as a whole, seemed to give a bloody damn. Those tidbits had come from one of his other old friends, Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood.
At Marcus' behest and after some degree of pleading, Nicholas had grudgingly agreed to keep an eye on Caroline. It wasn't that Marcus didn't trust someone like Lord Selby, another of his old school chums, to do the job. Rather, he didn't know quite how he would explain his reason for the request. Candlewood, on the other hand, was the onl
y man on Earth who knew of the true depth of friendship Marcus had shared with Caroline. The duke would not question Marcus' reasons, nor would he pry into matters that were not his affair. He would simply do as asked, a favor for an old friend.
Once Marcus had returned to London, however, Candlewood had warned his old friend to keep his distance from the lady unless he planed to marry her within a fortnight or less. The duke had done as requested and observed much about Lady Caroline during the time Marcus had been in Bath. That, Candlewood informed Marcus dryly, gave him some insight into the lady's present circumstances.
At nearly one and thirty, Caroline was old by society's standards, a spinster really, and she held herself aloof from the men of the ton, making it clear that she would not be anyone's mistress or plaything. She danced with men and flirted with them, certainly, but she did not allow anyone to get too close to her. Word was out that unless a man was serious about marrying her, she would not tolerate endless weeks of flirtation or courting. She did not let anyone, or no man anyway, close to her since her return to London three years ago.
On the other hand, Nicholas was fairly certain that Lady Caroline would make an exception for her old friend, Viscount Breckenright. She would be unable to resist him, remembering the way they had been together. And Nicholas was afraid that would be her ultimate downfall.
Caroline would take Marcus back into her confidence, dance with him a bit more than was strictly proper and allow him to pay her court. She would receive his calls and his gifts, perhaps even go riding in the park if he asked nicely or allow him to escort her to the theater. She would do whatever he asked, when he asked it, simply because it was Marcus.
In short, she would loose that illusion of mystery and intrigue that she wore like a cloak to protect herself from society. She would no longer be The Mystery, but rather just a woman, one who was no different than the rest. One who could be bought for the right price, possibly even taken as a mistress, despite her years of refusals.
Once she allowed one man to approach, to get close to her, others would follow, each more greedy and fortune-hunting than the last, eager for the secrets of her past and her rumored vast fortune. For given her age, there was little else a man could desire from her, or so it was whispered behind closed doors at White's and Brook's. Just like her friend "Plain" Jane Ashford, herself no raging beauty and rather advanced in age.
If Marcus came near her, Caroline would lose that which made her unique in the ton's eyes and become just another aging beauty that no man had bothered to snap up when there were plenty of other empty-headed chits to be had. People would begin to wonder what exactly was wrong with her, what scandalous secrets she hid, at least according to the duke. He had seen it happen before, much to the lady in question's detriment.
After all, Caroline had been absent from London during her prime, marriageable years. Only the fact that no one knew precisely how she had spent her time while in Northumbria kept her safe in harsh glare of society's unforgiving gaze. After all, people reasoned, whatever she had done while in the north could not have been that horrible, or else someone would have surely heard of her misdeeds. That no one had heard so much as a whisper of scandal allowed her reputation to remain unblemished. Yet there were still questions; there was no escaping them. That time away was her mystery, the cloak of security that allowed people to view her as intriguing rather than cold and aloof. It was what kept her safe from society's vicious claws.
If Marcus resumed his friendship with Caroline, he would destroy that illusion of mystery, and that, in turn, would destroy her. For Nicholas knew well that Marcus had no intention of marrying her. Not now and not ever.
Unlike Selby or even Hathaway, Candlewood knew the true extent of the monster that now lived inside of Marcus and how hard the other man fought to control his temper. Radcliffe knew the truth as well, but rarely remarked upon it, perhaps because their friendship was more recent and not nearly so old and battle-tested as the one Marcus shared with Nicholas. Candlewood also knew of the deep friendship Marcus and Caroline had once shared, one that went far beyond what society would deem proper. In fact, it was Nicholas that Marcus had sought out for advice when the viscount had first toyed with the idea of offering marriage to Caroline. Back then, Nicholas had warned Marcus to tread carefully where the lady's heart was concerned. Now it was no different.
Yes. Nicholas was right, Marcus decided, thankful that the dark, crestless carriage hid his identity from curious eyes. It would be best for all if he simply kept his distance.
Yet gazing at Caroline now, her head bowed as if the weight of the world rested upon it, Marcus wanted to go to her and talk to her, to pull her into his arms and offer her comfort. To assure her that she was no longer alone. He had returned for good and would take care of her. She had only but to ask.
Hell. Why lie? What he truly desired was to kiss her, even though he knew that would be a stupendously bad idea. The last thing he wanted was for her to look at him with the same sympathy and thinly disguised disgust that other women did. He did not think he could tolerate it, not even a little. He wanted Caroline to still see him as he had once been. Strong. Powerful. A man not to be trifled with. A man who was worthy of her.
Then again, that was the talk of a mad man, for Marcus had been gone far too long for them to simply return to the way they had been together, fast friends who defied convention and courted disaster with their closeness. They were different people now. He knew it from Rosemont's reports as well as from Amy's letters. Caroline was closed off, secretive, and no longer the open, giving young woman she had once been. Even if she had cared for him in a romantic fashion years before, he was certain she no longer did.
After all, what woman could love a monster like him, one that could not walk and could barely see? He was hardly the catch of the season that he had once been. He did not think that even his beloved Caroline was that strong as to overlook his flaws. And he had many.
No, Candlewood was right. It was best to leave Caroline be and seek out a woman of some sort that could look upon him with some manner of affection. Or if not affection, then perhaps something less than outright disgust. He could not hope for love, certainly. That was too much to expect. But perhaps he could strive for tolerance. Yes, that would do and he would be greedy to expect more. And he would leave Caroline and their closeness firmly in the past where they belonged, a part of his old life that he had been forced to leave behind when the fevers had wracked his body and stolen his health.
It was just a pity that it hurt so much to do so.
Because he did love her. He had never stopped. Not in the seven long years they had been apart. He could not even begin to fathom a day when he would not.
Chapter Two
Late May 1819
Society Tales
Has it really been over a month since the swoon-worthy "Viscount of Mystery" has returned to London? This author can scarcely believe it but it is true! Then again, the man's social life has been nothing short of a whirlwind, I dare say! Between the events that unfolded immediately upon his return to town to the recent marriage in his family, he has scarcely had a moment to breathe, let alone consider matters of the heart.
Now, however, as we begin to enter the end of the Season, one can only wonder if Lord M.C. will finally turn his attentions to the matter of securing a wife. After all, it is no secret that he is looking, yet for some reason, no particular young lady has caught his eye as of late.
It makes one wonder what, exactly, it would take to catch the eye - or rather heart - of one such as he and if there is any young lady in our midst who can discern the secret to snaring his affections. To be certain, this author does not know, but prays that the dashingly handsome lord finds a lady sooner rather than later. After all, men such as he should not live their lives alone and without a family.
And to the young ladies of Society, do not be so bashful! Yes, proper decorum is always a must, but looking a man in the eye for even the briefest momen
t before glancing away with a coy smile is often times worth far more in matters of the heart than allowing one's assets to be on full display. It shows character, something I greatly suspect that Lord M.C. values quite highly. Unless, of course, I am wrong. And I rarely am.
- Lady X
"Good God! This woman would have me married off to the first chit who graces me with a smile and a bit of eye contact!" Marcus tossed that morning's copy of the gossip sheet aside with disgust, watching the pages flutter to the ground with some measure of perverse satisfaction. "Does she not understand that I am looking for a proper wife and that tossing debutantes at me like old rags will not accomplish anything? Why is it even her bloody business, anyway? I don't even know the wretched old dragon! Nor would I want to, the interfering old busybody!"
For some reason, that made Nicholas Rosemont smile, much to Marcus' supreme annoyance. "Calm yourself, Breckenright." The duke made certain to use the other man's title since they were in public, something that Nicholas thought Marcus should become accustomed to, even if he did not much like it.
Then, almost as if to further annoy his friend, Rosemont took a good, long sip of coffee before continuing, forcing Marcus to stew a bit longer in silence. "And anyway, the woman is merely plying her trade. Something she's rather good at, whether you realize it or not. She is also, from the rumors I have heard bandied about, rather on the young side. Hardly what one would call a dragon. Or old, for that matter." He paused to take another healthy swallow of his coffee before continuing, his dark eyes studying Marcus over the rim of his cup. Almost as if he could see right into Marcus' very soul. Considering that this was Nicholas, he might be doing exactly that. "Let me be clear, my friend. She is not wrong. Far from it, in fact. It is almost as if she knows you rather well. You do prefer a woman of character and not some mindless idiot, no matter how pretty she might be. Lord knows, you've seen enough desperate young chits in the last month to have figured out that much at least."
A Viscount of Mystery Page 3
