"Ah. But here he is. Looking for you." She stood and as Neville slowly made his way toward them, she leaned over to add, "I always benefited from a good conversation with my husbands about their departed spouses."
Cards in their hands, they quickly found their game less appealing than enticing each other with games of discovery.
"Tell me the five places you'd love to visit in your lifetime," he asked her.
When one was Paris and another was Fontainebleau Palace, he took note and hope he might take her there. "Why Fontainebleau?"
"It's where Napoleon abdicated, isn't it? A palace. Some say he tried to poison himself there."
"I have a friend, a French general who declares that rumor is true." As a new member of the restored aristocracy, might he hope to be invited there and take her with him? But that issue of his new inheritance was one best reserved for later after she and he had developed more rapport. Instead, he took up a lighter matter. "Paris and Fontainebleau are closer trips than sailing to Athens."
"Plus I speak the language.”
“An asset,” he noted.
“And you, sir, I have a different question for you. Which places do you never wish to see again?"
"The plain at Waterloo, the inside of Wellington's command tent. A pit we stumbled across where many peasants were buried after French troops went through." His stomach rolled at the sickening memories. "Those are enough."
"A poor choice on my part. I apologize."
"No need. I should offer my apologies. I am not good company to bring up such matters."
"But I am not a delicate flower who wilts at the mention of war or wounds or terrible memories. You must not think that of me."
"Thank you. I won't."
"Would you tell me of a personal matter that might be an unwelcome topic?"
He opened one hand. "Anything. What would you know?"
She put her cards face down upon the table and sat back, stiff as if bracing for an onslaught. "Tell me about your marriage."
He grew still, recalling the utter vacuum that had been his relationship with his wife. "She was unknown to me the day we wed. I'd heard her name. I'd known she was an only daughter, a heiress of great means. How often in society you hear of others, and meet them once or twice. But she was a cipher, presented to me as my future wife. I could not debate the matter. I accepted it." He stared down at his folded hands.
"She was small. Her head not to my shoulders. Dark hair, dark eyes, brown. She was…thin, a willow of a girl. Quiet, unobtrusive."
He looked at those few on the other side of the room. He noted the liveliness of Del's Aunt Gertrude, the Countess of Marsden, as that lady spoke with his cousin, Penn, Lady Goddard. They were animated, full of life, interested in each other. At the next table, Lady Eliza Kent, the Earl of Leith’s only daughter laughed as she played at cards with Lord Riverdale and Mister Trevelyan. He'd not stayed in Carolyn's company long enough to know if she played cards or liked other women or even if she laughed in the every day company of men.
"I was uninterested in her. She gave me no cause to be. She did not try. Neither did I attempt to make myself pleasing to her. I had no desire." None at all. "I failed to even honor her in that small way, let alone—"
Well, he owed this to Del, didn't he? If he wished to ask her to become his wife, she needed a picture of what he'd done to the first woman who'd taken his name. "I never consummated the marriage."
Del's expression melted from interest to sympathy.
He doubted he deserved that. "She was sweet and tried to become at the very least friendly. I did not even try to match her in that. I married her. Put her in a rented house in London. Took the funds her father supplied to keep me suitably solvent and returned to my unit. Four months later, I returned once to London for two days soon after my father died to make arrangements and speak with the family solicitors. That night I saw her briefly. We dined together and I never saw her again. She died last December."
He fixed his gaze on Del's. "We were never intimate. I did not have the desire for it and I could not pretend it, either. I have no idea if she thought I'd failed her or if she was relieved."
Del reached across the table to twine her fingers in his cold ones.
He held on to her. "I was angry. Furious at what my father had done to me. To you. Us. God help me, but only after Carolyn died did I have any pity for her for what those two old men did to her. And what I did to her by ignoring her."
"I'm sure she must have had some pity for what they had done to you, Neville."
"I never looked for it." He stroked her fingers. "What I do know is that after she died, I vowed to see you when I could to apologize."
"And you have. Quite well, too." She tipped her head and smiled at him.
"I never confronted Carolyn with all the apologies I might have made for my father."
"You could not do that for them. They were to blame."
"It might have lessened her burden."
"It might have. But then, you might also have lessened hers, simply by allowing her to live her own life, without a manipulative father and without a demanding husband."
He tried to smile at her graciousness. "One day, if I have a daughter I will see to her future with more care and less arrogance."
"I'm sure you will. We women depend upon that from the men in our families. One day I hope we can carve our own futures. Until then, we do what we can for our own integrity."
"You like to teach," he said, knowing he'd thought about her affections for the orphans in the vicarage.
"I do. I'd like to have children of my own. In a school, I mean."
"A way to earn money?"
"A way, yes. But I began it not because I looked for income but because I thought I had knowledge to share. I do. I enjoy it and so do they. That is my income. My gratification." She rose, the topic causing a frown to appear on her brow. "I must see to a few items for tonight's after dinner entertainments. Forgive me for leaving."
He'd driven her away by his tale of callousness toward Carolyn. But nothing else would have sufficed—nothing else would have appeased his guilt at ignoring Carolyn—except that he be honest with her about his failures with his wife.
He did not have an opportunity to visit with her privately the rest of the day. Whether that was circumstance or she planned to avoid him, he could not say.
After dinner, he joined the rest of the guests in the parlor. Charades were scheduled for this evening, but his heart was not into frivolity. He said his excuses to the countess early and went to his rooms.
He tried to read, but preferred, evidently, to fret. As he tired himself alternately by jumping up to pace or sitting down to growl about his woes, he questioned if Del would come to thank him for tonight's gift—and if she'd do it as magnanimously as she had last night.
When the knock came, he whirled around and yanked open the hall door.
She was in his arms, a world of kisses and laughter and he might have wept for joy had she not taken his breath away with her ardor.
"You're quite wonderful," she crooned as she spread kisses over his cheeks and jaw. "How could you know I wanted new music?"
"You love new challenges. I remember the Bach you'd never seen and attempted at that party.”
"And now you give me another! This ‘Well-Tempered Clavier’ looks easy, but I know it's not. So I must practice tomorrow."
"We'd not want you disappointing the guests."
She traced a finger along the arch of his cheek. "I would not want to disappoint you."
"You never do."
"You are a good man, Neville."
"If I hear you say it, it must be so."
"Believe it." With a kiss to his nose, and before he could check the hall to ensure her protection from rumor, she was gone.
Chapter 8
Neville did not find her the next day until late afternoon. She sat at the pianoforte, biting her lower lip as she practiced the piece he'd given her last night.
"Good a
fternoon!" He offered a quick courteous bow. "How are you today?"
"Quite well, thank you." She cast a glance toward the two women who sat talking together on the far settee. They were far enough away that they could not hear their conversation. "And how do you feel today?"
"Better. I was down for breakfast but did not see you. A few of the men took horses to ride north, but I thought better of that."
Her eyes twinkled. "Marvelous. Perhaps we can practice dancing again. What do you think?"
"I am at your disposal. Perhaps when you are finished here?"
She wrinkled her nose. "I hope so. Conquering this Prelude is more difficult than I thought."
"I'm surprised. I thought it would be easy." He stood beside the pianoforte, far enough away to maintain propriety.
"I played this once or twice many years ago. But not since we left our home. Our cousin kept all our sheet music."
"Why?"
She rolled her eyes at him. "Charles kept everything. I do believe he would have wanted us to leave our gowns if we'd said we didn't need them."
"That bad?" When he'd met the man last week, he'd seen that he was rather a prig. With much attention to the drape of his foppish lace cuffs and the exaggerated posturing of his pudgy hands, the new Viscount Worthing put on airs of an aristocrat far grander than his station. And his wealth. Neville was glad he'd gotten from the man what he had.
"Oh, I am serious," she said and did so without malice. Instead, she kept on practicing, leaning in to the sheet music and squinting at the notes. But then she stopped playing, stared at Neville and said, "He was so covetous, he wouldn't let us take even our mother's Italian cameo."
Neville wished he'd known about that. He would have bought that too.
"Why don't I leave you to your practice? I'll retire to the orangerie with a book."
"Good. Do sit in the sun." She sounded like a wife badgering her husband to be careful of his person. "It will loosen your muscles. I'll come as soon as I have this score in my bones. Why are you grinning at me?"
Because each time we talk, I have more hope you may consent to marry me.
"I like the looks of you at the piano," he said instead and bid her adieu.
She scolded him with a sideways glance. "Go."
In the end he decided not to return up the stairs. Too much walking this day meant he might not be up to dancing later and he didn't want to aggravate his condition. Terrible to be crippled at so young an age, but then there was nothing for it but to tolerate his limits. Adjust for them.
He made his way to the orangerie, pulled over one of the iron garden chairs and sat down in the tender winter rays of the sun.
He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he felt a shadow cross before him and then a warmth settle next to him. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Del. Instead, he saw the devilish brown eyes of one of the guests. Lady… Lady Renfield? Renton? Renwick?
"Good afternoon, my lady." He sat straighter, clearing his throat. "Forgive me. The afternoon sun makes me lethargic."
"Indeed. It does me too, my lord."
He attempted to reacquaint himself with her, who and what she was. Why had he not paid more attention when the introductions were made that first night? Too concerned with Del and how she received him, most likely. No matter. He'd try to compensate for his lack.
"Have you known the Countess of Marsden for a long time?" he asked her after she'd told him she'd come down from London for this party. No mention of a husband. Or a son. No appearance of a female companion, either. Hmmm.
"Many years. She and I were on the stage together." She whipped open a red lace fan and batted her lashes at him.
Was she flirting with him?
Good god.
She had to be twenty—thirty years older than he. More!
"How wonderful." He thought he'd exclaimed but heard himself sound flat as a plank. "What play was that?"
She babbled on. This play! That year! The costumes! The audience! "You do know that the third earl, Gertrude's late husband, met her, loved her and swept her away to marry her that night."
"Well. Really? I thought they'd courted for a few—"
"No. No, no." The woman shook a finger at him, adamant. She also smelled of port. A lot of port. Tipsy, was she? "It was love at once. They say that doesn't happen. But I know it does."
He nodded. "I know it does too."
"Oh, you darling man." She shot up like a geyser and plunked herself in his lap. Her hand was at his flies, her lips were on his own. "I knew you cared for me."
"I'm—I'm sorry, my lady, but—"
"Oh, don't bother to deny. Men are so attracted to me."
They are? "Not I, I assure you, madam. I mean, forgive me." He caught her fingers, much too busy with his buttons.
"You are young. Sooo virile. A hero from the war."
"Lady Renfield? Major Lord Bromley?"
He closed his eyes in horror.
The woman lunged to her feet and weaved a bit.
Wonderful.
He heard Del's shoes click on the stone tiles as she strode to stand before them.
"Miss Craymore, how divine to see you."
"Getting to know the Major more intimately, are you?"
"Yes." The woman pushed back brown curls from her face and graced Del with a wobbly grin. "Lovely man."
Del's eyes locked on his.
He winced and shook his head.
"Perhaps I can accompany you to your room, Lady Renfield? It's to be a lovely Christmas Eve dinner and musicale and we must be rested, don't you agree?"
"Marvelous. Idea." She hiccupped. "Good afternoon, Major. You know, I thought I might sing tonight."
Del drew her brows together, pained. "Did you sing upon the stage, Lady Renfield?"
"I did. Until that old pile of manure I married forbid me. I was good, you see. Very. So whaddo you think, hmmm? Should I?"
"Sing? Of course."
"What shall it be? I know. I do know! The Hallelujah Chorus."
If he weren't so miserable, he would have barked in laughter.
"Perfect choice," Del assured her. "Come along now."
Then she allowed Del to loop her arm through hers and lead her away.
She argued with herself that she had no reason to be peevish about the scene in the orangerie. Neville was not to blame but Lady Renfield…well. Not that Del blamed the woman, either. Last night during dinner, Lady Eliza had considered him much too long. Any number of the other ladies might have as well. Meanwhile, how would Del know for certain? She'd not been watching them.
I have eyes only for him.
Yet she remained irritable the rest of the afternoon, going about her tasks. She placed her music sheets on the left of the pianoforte in ready for tonight. She'd gone to the kitchens to see if she might help with any task. She'd donned an apron and helped a footman inspect the silver service for dinner. Then, only this morning, Mister Banks the bookseller in the Lanes had delivered the last of her precious little gifts for the orphans. She'd counted them twice over. Nervous. Excited. Happy to be able to give them such small tokens of the season, she'd saved her pin money since July to afford to buy the books.
When she descended the staircase for dinner, she was determined to enjoy herself. After all it was Christmas Eve. Magical things happened on such a night, her mother always said.
During the meal, however, she wondered if her mother had foreseen the sad doings of this evening. Poor Bee sat beside Lord Carlson. Del supposed the man was assigned there. Whatever the circumstance, Bee was decidedly unhappy, frowning and possibly inching away from him. Down the table, Alastair could not take his eyes from her. And if looks might kill, he'd have Carlson gone in one shot. Meanwhile Marjorie who sat next to Griff was having a whispered argument with him. Del had the dubious honor to sit next to one older gentleman who seemed as obnoxious as Bee's inebriated dinner companion. Lord Hallerton was his name and a more self-impressed rooster Del had not met in a very
long time. Thank goodness the man to her other side this evening was in every sense of the word a gentleman.
And during this, what of Neville? That man stared at Del, soft grey eyes forlorn, as he dined between his cousin Lady Goddard and a friend of Aunt Gertrude's. Lady Renfield had not made it down to dinner. No surprise there, yet Del felt a sympathy for the older woman who gained her courage from alcohol.
Del sighed. Dear Mama, I hope you're right about tonight's charms. But nothing looks like it may go right.
When the last of the desserts was cleared, Aunt Gertrude called for the guests to adjourn for the musicale.
Marjorie caught up with Bee and appeared to be scolding her. Del couldn't hear her words, but she caught Bee's response.
"I don't need to incite rivals to value Alastair's offer for its own merits." Bee pushed open the doors to the music room. It had been Bee's job to see that every item was in place for the evening's entertainment. She touched every instrument now as if to affirm all would go well. "Carlson, however, becomes overbearing. I'd like to avoid him. I'll tell Simms not to place me near him."
"I'll help you avoid him." Del caught up to them, fanning herself. "It's Christmas and we shouldn't have to fend off men we don't want."
"Only those we do?" Marjorie asked, sadness in her gaze.
Del bit her lower lip, worried about both her sisters' futures as well as her own. "Speak for yourself."
"Where is Bromley?" Marjorie scanned the crowd.
"From now on, he'll be pursuing another of our guests."
"You argued?" Bee's eyes widened in alarm.
"Silly, isn't it?"
"He came here for you, sweetheart."
He had. Boldly, too. Del glanced around the room. She was being childish because she could not bear for him to look at any other woman. Not for a second. In truth, he hadn't. She had to count the Renfield incident as irrelevant.
Marjorie patted her arm. "Shall we sit together?"
"I prefer to stand," Bee said straightening her backbone.
"As do I," said Del with a lift of her chin.
Ever valiant, her two sisters inspired her. They had helped her, led the way to survive the grief after the loss of their father, their brother, their fortune, their home and worst of all, their good name. If they each had their preferences, they would most likely choose to marry…and marry men they loved.
The Viscount's Only Love: Christmas Belles, Book 2 Page 9
