by Gaelen Foley
“You don’t understand, Katrina. If I start courting any one of them in earnest, next thing you know, there will be expectations. I don’t want to do to some poor girl what Cecil Cooper did to you.”
“Oh,” she muttered. “Good point.”
He rested his arm on the back of the bench and studied her, sensing progress. “You can see I’m out of my depth here. If you don’t want me for yourself, won’t you at least help me look? It could be fun,” he said. “And your advice has already saved my life once, as you noted.”
She looked at him incredulously. “You want me to help you pick a wife?”
“Why not? You could help me research…? Well, it’s not as if you care who I marry!”
She scoffed and looked away. “That’s not true and you know it.”
“It seems true.”
She turned to him again, looking vexed. “You think this is easy for me?”
“Isn’t it?”
“No! You’re very hard to say no to, actually,” she said.
“Then say yes,” he suggested in a murmur.
She gave him a subtle warning look and turned away, though the very air was charged between them.
He kept thinking of his dream, running his hands all over her body, making her gasp and heave with pleasure.
“You can change your mind, you know,” he coaxed her. “That’s what women do.”
“I am not most women,” she said in a tone as prickly as the nearby rosebushes, rich with leaves but not yet ready to bloom. “If you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I have. But I still don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do. You are merely being obtuse.”
Now he was getting vexed, too. He sat up straight again. “I see. So the single life makes you so very happy?”
“It makes you happy, doesn’t it?” she retorted.
The question took him off guard. Because the answer that sprang immediately to mind was not the one he would’ve expected only last week or the week before.
It dawned on him as they stared at each other, mutually irked, that all this time, all his conquests and peccadilloes had merely been a way to drown out the loneliness.
The bone-chilling realization quite routed him as the unsettling reality sank in. He looked away, shook his head, and rose. “Well, dear one, I don’t wish to overstay my welcome.” He turned around and sketched a bow. “Enjoy your day.”
“Gable.”
He turned with an inquiring look, his mask of mild-mannered savoir faire back firmly in place.
“Are you angry at me now?” she asked softly.
He succumbed to a rueful half-smile. “Never. But I do seem to get more than I bargained for whenever I see you, my fair neighbor.”
“Here. Take this for your pains.” She reached into the roomy pocket of her white work apron and handed him a delicate little sprig of forget-me-nots that she had clipped. “I was going to make a wee bouquet for my room, but you take it for your boutonniere. The blue will match your eyes. Get it into water soon,” she added.
He took it from her with a wistful half-smile and tucked it into his buttonhole, a glimmer of roguery in his eyes. “I’d really rather have another kiss.”
A startled laugh burst from her rosy lips. “Not from me!” she shot back as her cheeks turned pink.
“Your loss,” he murmured with a smile, holding her gaze a moment longer in intimate remembrance of their kiss that enchanting night at the gazebo.
She seemed to be remembering it, too. He thrilled to the attraction that thrummed between them as she licked her lips unconsciously. The wave of desire passing behind her eyes hinted that at least she was tempted on that point. Well, of course, Gable thought wryly. That part had always been his forte.
He wondered, in a moment’s fleeting cynical vanity, if perhaps she had taken his suggestion and asked one of his worldly ex-lovers what he was like in bed.
But on second thought, no. The virginal Katrina would be too embarrassed to ask anybody any such thing.
That’s not why she wouldn’t ask them, you idiot, his better sense muttered in the back of his mind, sounding rather exasperated with him. She wouldn’t ask because she wouldn’t want to know about your escapades with other women.
Because she cares for you. This one genuinely cares.
He could see it in her eyes, could feel it in his heart. And it shook him to the core. Did she even realize, come to think of it, that forget-me-nots symbolized steadfast love in the language of flowers?
Probably not.
With an awkward nod goodbye, he walked away, leaving Katrina to her garden.
But he pondered that wild, unsettling realization for the rest of the day. For he knew then that this one could love him…and it was very possible that he could love her, too.
Indeed, he feared a portion of him already did, and the implications of that tilted the whole damned planet off its axis for him.
That night, Gable stayed up late, took out his telescope, and tried to read his fate among the stars, to no avail. In the end, there was nothing to force his hand. Not destiny, not even his father. The choice was his alone—whether to give up his hedonistic ways and risk his heart or remain safely cynical, never knowing love.
Alone in the velvet darkness of the sparkling night, he still had no answers, but when a meteor streaked by, he bloody well wished on it.
Because you just never knew.
Chapter 5
Wedding Madness
The great day had arrived—and had nearly passed, by this hour—but Trinny still couldn’t believe it. Her little sister had become a married woman.
Before her.
The reality of her decision not to marry, ever, was beginning to sink in after the beautiful ceremony at St. Andrew’s on one end of Moonlight Square, and the packed reception at the Grand Albion on the other.
The Assembly Rooms were hot and the wine flowed freely, and everyone was there.
Abigail and Freddie were glowing, mingling among their countless guests. Mama was misty-eyed and slightly tipsy, hanging on to their precious bride and telling embarrassing childhood stories about her to anyone who’d listen.
As for Trinny, with her duties as maid of honor all but completed, she felt liberated after weeks of nonstop scrambling about on wedding business. Weeks of being at her mother’s and sister’s beck and call, ever since she had declared her spinsterhood and freed the happy couple to set the date.
It had been draining, exhausting. It had also been a gigantic distraction from her own life. Now that the orchestra was playing and the whole ordeal was close to being over, she was beginning to experience the first uneasy glimmerings of what existence would be like for her beyond this night. The long, lonely years ahead…
Another glass of wine helped her ignore the thought. Alas, it also made her slightly cheeky.
She was standing around chatting with a group of people, two of whom included Lord Sefton and his tall, handsome heir.
Gable was looking even more gorgeous than usual in his smart black-and-white evening attire, his ebony hair slicked back, not a one out of place. His nearness made her happy, though she hadn’t had much chance to talk to him yet.
He had smiled at her in the church when she had walked down the aisle—alone—ahead of her sister and taken up her position off to the side, opposite Freddie’s younger brother, the groomsman.
He seemed to like the way she looked in the pale pink dress her sister had chosen for her so that she’d match the blush-colored roses. It was very low-cut, but Abigail had always had a more daring sense of fashion than she did. Perhaps that helped explain why she hadn’t had any trouble getting a man to fall in love with her…
Trinny suppressed a sigh, gulped a mouthful of wine, and met Gable’s gaze as he stood on the other side of the group of people there chatting. He raised an eyebrow at her, swigging wine like a sailor, but suddenly, his father’s polite monotone drew her attention.
“Congratulations, Lady B
eresford,” Lord Sefton said to Mama. “Your daughter and new son-in-law look very happy together.”
“That’s because they’re very much in love,” Trinny piped up, slurring slightly, with an edge of reproach in her tone for the old bully. “People should marry for love, not money, don’t you think, m’lord?”
Gable choked on his wine.
His father frowned at her, taken aback by her impertinence.
She waited expectantly for the mighty earl’s answer, but everyone else around them shuffled and looked at their feet, since money matches were the done thing across all Society.
Well, it seemed she’d killed another conversation. But what else did they expect from the odd duck of the family?
“Er, Katrina, dear!” Mama said, flashing an apologetic smile around at her guests. “Go tell the staff we need more roast beef brought out. The buffet table seems to be running low.”
She looked at her mother indignantly. The countess sent her a glare that said, Rudesby!
“Yes, Mama,” she muttered. But she sent Lord Sefton a warning look before she obeyed, letting her friend’s overbearing father know that she, for one, was aware of his bullying and did not at all approve of the ultimatum he had given his son.
“Humph.” Pivoting on her heel, she marched off, though she winced with every step. She’d been on her feet for many hours and the slight heels on the pink-dyed shoes her sister had chosen for her were pinching her toes.
She looked around for a servant to whom she could pass along her mother’s request—if more roast beef was even needed. She probably just wanted to get rid of me, Trinny thought, on the verge of moping but only because the wine had made her a little emotional.
In any case, all the waiters and footmen she saw were already busy helping other guests. Very well, I’ll tell them myself. A spinster daughter is little more than a servant, anyway.
You brought it on yourself.
Oh, leave me alone! she told her brain. The wine was supposed to shut you up, anyway.
With a sigh, she headed for the service door off the ballroom. Behind it lay a little walk-through anteroom, where the hotel’s efficient staff put everything they might quickly need to grab: waiting rolls of silverware in napkins, stacks of extra plates of various sizes, a tower of clean wineglasses, rags for cleaning up the tables, pitchers of water, and…
Aha!
A big barrel of ice with a treasure trove of open wine bottles left to breathe for a bit before being served.
Her glass now empty, Trinny helped herself to a bottle; hefting it by the neck, she marched on toward the door at the other end of the service passage. It opened onto a dim wooden stairwell. She could hear a clamor from below that told her this was, indeed, the way to the kitchens.
Feet smarting, she walked down the creaky steps until she reached the huge, crazed kitchens. She beckoned to a plump, harried-looking woman who seemed to be in charge.
“So sorry to bother you. More roast beef upstairs, I’m told.”
“Ach, you shouldn’t have had to trouble yerself, miss! Couldn’t you find one of the waiters to tell?” the cook cried, looking aghast to assume the staff was not attending properly to the guests.
“No, no! They were all busy taking care of others. The truth is, I suppose I just wanted a few minutes of peace and quiet. I’m the maid of honor, you see. And I’m exhausted. Would you mind terribly if I took a wee break down here somewhere out of the way?”
“Make yourself at home, dearie,” the woman said, clearly relieved. “There’s a stool in the pantry where you can put your feet up if ye like.”
“Bless you!” Trinny said, following her gesture toward the open doorway across from the bottom of the stairs.
As she shuffled toward the pantry to get out of everybody’s way, she felt the cool night breeze wafting in from the service door to the terrace straight ahead, between the pantry and the bottom of the stairs.
She glanced out at the gardens beyond the terrace, but nobody was out there. The stone benches looked appealing, but the thought of sitting alone in the dark was a little more solitude than she desired.
She was already feeling a bit depressed, cut off from the world by this single state she had embraced. She did not wish to put herself even farther from the ordinary course of life. She preferred to stay here, close to the comforting bustle of human activity at the edge of the kitchens.
Honestly, though, it was a relief to escape the worried scrutiny of all her relatives and neighbors upstairs for a while, all of whom she just knew secretly pitied her.
Upon entering the pantry, she plopped down onto the stool she found there, and the first thing she did was take off her shoes and flex her aching feet. “Ahh.”
The kitchen’s flagstone floor was cool and soothing to the sole, she thought with a tipsy chuckle. Then she refilled her empty wineglass from the bottle she’d purloined.
After swallowing another gulp, she let out a weary sigh and leaned back against the cabinets. The clamor of the kitchen was muffled in her little hideaway, and she savored this moment to catch her breath in utter luxury. She probably should’ve invited Abigail to join her, for her poor sister had been onstage all day, as it were.
I’m glad I’ll never be a bride, Trinny thought. Too much work!
She closed her eyes, waiting for the feeling to return to her toes. Aside from her throbbing feet, the rest of her was tingling from the wine. She’d surely suffer the headache tomorrow, but for now, the pleasant buzz in her head blurred her messy emotions, which made no sense to her right now, anyway.
Her heart was all mixed up today, both happy and sad, poignant and wistful. And behind it all, a slight panic had begun to percolate in the back of her mind, screeching at her, What have I done to my life?
Was this really what she wanted? Never to be the lady of the house? Never to be a mother? A grandmother someday?
Because if not, she could still change her mind. She had a gorgeous, charming man—with a castle—interested in marrying her. Making her his countess.
You don’t have to be alone, you quiz.
But don’t you see? I will be, if I marry him. Even more alone than if I were single, because we would live under the same roof but…he would never love me. Not the way that I’d love him, with everything I’ve got.
No, I couldn’t bear it.
“So, there you are,” a droll voice said. “What is going on in here, dare I ask?”
She opened her eyes and found Gable leaning in the doorway, looking debonair, and studying her in amusement.
“Are we hiding?” he inquired.
“No,” she said, though not too convincingly. “We’re just taking a break. And drinking.” She reached for the bottle and topped off her glass again. “Lots of drinking.”
“Well, you shouldn’t drink alone. Can I join the party?”
“Of course you may, dear fellow. But only if you don’t try to make me put my shoes back on.” She straightened both legs until her bare feet peeked out from underneath the hem of her gown. “See?”
He flashed a roguish grin as he joined her in the narrow pantry. “Put those darling things away before I bite them.”
“Ew! You’re mad.”
“I mean it.”
“I suppose you probably do, knowing you.” Laughing, she offered him the bottle. He grasped it by the neck and took a swig, then loosened his cravat. “Mmm, that’s good. What is it, a Riesling?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but I warn ye, it goes down easy,” she declared, slurring ever so slightly.
He leaned against the cabinets in an idle pose and studied her in amusement. He smelled good, she thought as she inhaled the enticing scent of his cologne in the close confines of the pantry, then she let out a sigh and rubbed the back of her neck.
“So what did you want, anyway? Did they need me for something again?” She paused and frowned. “Did my mother send you to find me?”
“What, you think I’m a spy for the enemy? N
ow I’m offended.”
She grinned at his jest. “Actually, I came to give you a round of applause for what you said to my father.” A look of rich satisfaction crept across his chiseled face as he set the bottle on the cabinet and began clapping slowly for her. “God, that was utterly delicious.”
She let out a gleeful laugh and swung her feet. “Wasn’t it, though? You’re very welcome, my friend! Somebody had to stand up to him.”
“Hear, hear. He didn’t know what hit him.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think I made a very good impression.” She giggled again, and Gable grinned.
“Ah, don’t worry. He finds fault with everyone.”
“I really don’t know what came over me. Must’ve been the wine talking.”
“Well, I thought it was your finest moment—and you have a lot of those.” He toasted her with the bottle, and they both took another swallow, then lapsed into a brief, companionable silence.
“So how are you?” he murmured, eyeing her shrewdly.
“Worn out,” she said. “I had no idea that getting a sister married off would be such a grueling ordeal. Do you realize I’ll still have to go through this four more times over the years? For Martha, Gwendolyn, Betsy, and Jane. All this effort for a mere few hours! Honestly, if it were me, I’d rather elope.”
“Me too,” he agreed.
“Not that it matters,” she reminded him with a pointed look.
He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Well, congratulations anyway, love. You survived it.”
“Thank you,” she replied, and took another swallow of wine.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he persisted in a diplomatic tone a few seconds later. “I saw you crying earlier today. I was worried. I hate it when you cry.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Everybody cries at weddings. Don’t they?”
He merely arched a brow, studying her.
“I’m fine! Those were tears of happiness, I swear.”
“Is that why you’re in here getting drunk?” he asked softly.
