“What other option is there?” Patrick demanded. His voice cut off as a maid entered with the tea tray.
“Just in time, Josephine,” the dowager duchess said. Violet poured for them all, even Patrick, setting his teacup beside his glass of brandy, and they waited until Josephine had departed, closing the door.
“One sip to calm our nerves and then we shall begin again,” the dowager duchess instructed. Josie's hands trembled as she picked up her teacup, but she managed to take a sip without spilling anything.
Patrick ignored his tea and threw back the last of his brandy.
“There now, it seems you two have begun a relationship of sorts?”
Josie wanted to roll her eyes but she refrained. Now was not the time for insolence on her part.
Patrick took a deep breath. “I confess I've been taken with Josie since meeting again. It seems we have a common regard for books and the accumulation of knowledge, something that is rare to find among English ladies in town.”
“So you have a regard for Josie, lovely,” Her Grace said. She turned her attention to Josie. “And you, Josette? What are your feelings on the matter?”
Josie could either be brutally honest or… Well, there really wasn't anything else to do. There were simply no suitable words to convey what she had done. The word academic would mean nothing to Her Grace when applied to things like desire and attraction. She really should have done more research before embarking on the experimental phase of her theory.
“While I do feel a certain attraction toward Lord Selhorst, and I agree we do have things in common, I—” From the corner of her eyes, she could see his fist clench on the table. “I don't know what I was thinking. I got carried away and marriage is not what I wish to happen.”
She implored to Her Grace, the dowager. “He knows my feelings. I feel as though marriage would hinder me in my ability to further my knowledge for myself and also to help young women like me.”
The duchess tilted her head in sympathy. Then she shook it. “Dear, dear, Josie. So intelligent and yet so disillusioned.”
Josie sucked in a breath. “Your Grace?”
“I heartily support your ambitions to educate young women but to think that you can escape what's happened here is truly stupid.”
Violet grabbed her hand under the table and squeezed. Josie didn't know if that was just in support or if it meant she should be silent. She chose silence because inside it felt like everything she ever dreamed, everything she ever wanted, was now crashing down. Imploding into dust and she was simply too stunned to move or think.
“I won't be forced.” The words slipped out somehow from the destruction and carnage inside her. The last bastion of hope.
The dowager frowned. “Of course not.”
Violet leaned into her. “No one would ever do such a thing. You will marry Lord Selhorst only if you choose to do so.”
“And what of the consequences?” Patrick asked.
“There is certainly enough time to decide whether a wedding ought to take place. There is a lot to think about right now. Things are fraught with too much emotion to be clear on both sides,” Violet said. “Now, if I may, I will speak to Josie alone as a newly wedded woman myself. I think I have some insight I can share.”
“I must say I am rather disappointed,” the dowager duchess said. “Marriage between the two of you would be a fine match indeed for yourself, Josie, and your family. There's a great measure of power as the Countess of Selhorst that you would have and could do a lot of good with. I never thought you, out of all your sisters, would be the one to be so reckless.”
Josie bit her cheek, tasting blood. Her eyes stung, but she did not cry. She met the dowager’s gaze and then she glanced at Patrick, but his expression was shuttered behind a mask. Not a pleasant one but a painful one, which hurt all the more. The dowager stood and Patrick stood. They left Josie and Violet alone in the library. Patrick had followed her out without another word to Josie and without a backward glance. She didn't know why she felt so uncomfortable with that cold leaving, when only moments ago, mere minutes really, he’d professed that he loved her. Violet stood and she brought the brandy decanter over and splashed some of the liquid into their teacups.
“There. Something a bit stronger is warranted.”
“What happened today?” Josie asked, because just for a moment, she needed to think about something else, and something else had happened. Apparently, something rather serious at the Kirkland garden party involving one of her sisters.
“A young gentleman by the name of Mr. Rupert tried to kiss Bernie, and she punched him in the nose,” Violet said.
A giggle escaped Josie. “That is rather like Bernie.
Violet laughed too. “I know.” She took a sip of her tea. “But Lord and Lady Kirkland are rather cross about it, and it stirred up a lot of hidden emotions.”
“They've never liked us,” Josie said.
“I find I don't like them,” Violet returned, “but back to our present situation… I’m fine with
letting the matter rest like bread that needs to rise before you can bake it. But a decision will have to be made.” She angled her chair toward Josie.
“Tell me what happened.”
Before Josie could think better of it, the words just spilled out of her. Every secret she'd kept from her sisters, every emotion and thought. Violet sat there calmly and took it as if hearing how a young woman and a gentleman had defiled her home was just another Tuesday.
“So you see,” Josie said at last, “he is right, but I can't marry a man because of honor. A man who would hinder my own purposes.”
“But you don't know that he would,” Violet countered. “And he did say he loved you. Men don't say that easily.”
“But he's a rake,” Josie replied. “Don't they like to get what they want?”
“He already got what he wanted, Josie. He got under your skirts and you were quite willing. He wants to marry you. Rakes don't want that, but men do. Men who feel very strongly for a woman. But there's another side to that coin. Do you love him in return? All these feelings you have for him, physical though they are, can mask deeper ones that perhaps you don't want to recognize just yet.”
Josie folded her arms on the table and rested her forehead there. “I don't understand love,” Josie confessed. “And I don't know if I'm feeling it. I’m afraid to fall in love like my mother did with my father, and what ruin that could lead to.”
Violet set her cup down. “You’re already ruined, dear. Love doesn't lead to ruin. In my experience, regret does or trying to resist love.”
“I don't trust love,” Josie said. “My father loves me, he loves my mother, and yet over and over again he's doomed us to such trials, to such disappointment.”
“I can't declare myself an expert on love. I can only share the experiences I've had. I loved Weirick for a long time—five years, actually, without him being present. And when I met him again, he was not the man I had loved. Yet that love still burned inside me, a fire that would not go out. When we love someone, we don't love them because they are perfect or because they love us back. We love them for all they are, good and bad, and we ask they love us back the way we deserve to be loved. And we do not accept anything less. That means it does take a good deal of work when one is in love to keep that love strong and vibrant. Like a garden, you have to tend it season after season, year after year.
“Your mother loves your father for reasons you and I will never be able to understand. People might look at Weirick and me and think the same. But that's not what matters. What matters is what you feel between the two of you. If you don't think you can love him, I will fight for you. I will make sure no one will force you to marry him.”
A tear slipped from Josie’s lashes. She sat up. “Thank you, Violet. That's all I need for right now.”
“Do not take his confession of love lightly,” Violet warned. “I had to shoot at Weirick before he realized he loved me in return. Lord Selhors
t seems a lot more reasonable. I'm not saying these things to convince you to do what others may think you should do. You have to do what is right for you. But you must first make certain you know what that is. Lord Selhorst is a good man. I reviewed each of the men. Weirick has powerful connections. He would not be here if we thought he didn't have qualities that would suit one of you. They are rakes, they've had their time to sow their wild oats, but they are also special in their own unique ways. Just like Weirick and Roderick. We would not love them as we do without their faults.”
That was more truth than Josie wanted to hear or was prepared to admit to.
“I suggest you do a bit of thinking about how you feel regarding Lord Selhorst, beyond the physical, because it wasn't just physical emotions that led you down this path, Josie. We’re women. That is how we differ from men. Our hearts like to mix the physical with the emotional, and our heads like to tell us that the two are like oil and water.
Sometimes our head is wrong, but the heart never is. Follow your heart, Josie.”
Josie sniffed, using the handkerchief from her pocket to dry her eyes and her nose. “Thank you, Violet. I will think on it.”
Chapter 21
Long after the house had gone quiet, Patrick had left the billiard room, presumably to find his own bed. Patrick still wandered the house in the dark, his thoughts churning, too turbulent to find any rest in his bed. He should be elated. He was certain the duchess, even Violet would eventually see reason and push for Josie to marry him.
She might not wish to right now. But certainly, even she would at some point realize they were suited. Christ, he was not this fanciful, but in his thoughts he said it.
They were meant to be, which made her rejection hurt all the more. His emotions weighed on him like a giant invisible ox yoke with pails on each end filled with rocks. His boot scraped on the carpet as he walked the lonely stone halls. The only ghost in residence, it seemed, or perhaps they rejected him too, the pitiful lovesick fool that he was.
He never thought when he at last confessed his love for a woman, when he opened his heart and said those three little words that seemed to terrify most men, they would be rejected.
He’d begged her and now his heart had wrenched itself in two. He’d taken her innocence. His stomach knotted. He couldn't bear to look at himself, and yet the moment he'd been seated inside her, to the hilt, filling her completely, he couldn't have moved even if he wanted to. He spilled his seed inside her, and for a single moment felt relief and clarity, but all too quickly, it was washed away by regret and anger.
That was not how it should have been.
It should have been a lovely moment. The pain he could never take back, for it hurt a woman to be breached for the first time. He knew she'd found release and she'd enjoyed it, but he was tormented with the echoes of her pleasure. He was left wanting and unsatisfied, not for her body because she so willingly gave herself to him, but for her heart, which she kept under lock and key, deeming him unworthy.
He didn't know rejection could hurt, causing physical pain not just emotional. His shoulders and his back ached as if he’d been carrying invisible boulders. He found a chair and collapsed into it, covering his face with his hands, his throat growing tight.
He'd felt so lost—his lungs seized—since his mother and father had died. Since the moment his uncle had told him they were never coming back. He recalled that emptiness all too easily, the silent cry of pain. It had echoed throughout his body while he stood numb, his uncle patting his shoulder and then pulling him close. He thought he'd turned into a frozen block of ice because he couldn't even feel his uncle’s embrace.
In the stillness of the darkness, a specter voice spoke.
“Steady hand, son. Don't take your eye off the target. You will know when to pull the trigger.”
He took a deep breath, a cold sweat breaking out over his forehead. The hair at the back of his neck standing on end. The memory came back to him slowly. He couldn't place when it had happened. He didn't know how old he was, old enough to hold a rifle though because that's what he was doing. His father's hand on his shoulder, whispering words to him and reassurance. That steady and calm voice he had that made Patrick feel like even if the world was falling down around them, his father could hold it up with ease.
The words stayed with him long after the memory and the eerie voice had gone.
Patrick didn't believe in ghosts, but just for that moment, he hadn't felt alone. He touched his shoulder, trying to mimic the feeling of his father's hand.
Steady now. Keep your eye on the target, don't lose sight.
Patrick stood, shaken.
He staggered in the dark, reorienting himself, his heart pounding, his skin chilled. Patrick tried to get his bearings on what was real and what was not. He didn't try to understand what had just happened. Whether his father had spoken to him in spirit, or if he'd simply recalled pertinent information when he needed it most, but either way, he knew what he had to do. Patrick may not have Josie's love now, but he would show her that above all else, he understood her, and he had to believe that in time she would love him in return. She would grow to understand and appreciate him. Their marriage would be good, maybe not at first after such a rocky start. But every waking morning, he swore would be a new chance to prove himself to her, to show her the things she cared about most were now his priorities too. Her fights were his fights. Her dreams were his dreams.
* * *
The next morning Patrick went down to breakfast with renewed purpose. There was something about the challenge of earning Josie's love that gave him new hope. All he had to do was put his mind to it. Nothing had ever stopped him before. Now wouldn’t prove any different.
He wanted her. He wanted her love more than anything in his entire life.
Steady. Eye on the target.
Nothing would take his focus off of it from now on. As he entered the breakfast parlor, he spotted Josie at the end of the table with Miss Lunette, but he wasn't going to approach her, not today. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the bags of purple under her eyes. His first instinct was to go to her, to comfort her, but she wouldn't want that. He needed to bide his time and let her come to her own conclusions. Forcing her now would only hurt him and her.
He worked his way through eggs, kippers, and thick slices of bacon, washing it down with bitter coffee just the way he liked it. The Selbourne cook certainly knew how to put out a proper English meal like no other. He’d have to pester her for some recipes for his own chef.
There was a commotion as a strange man entered, glowering down the room at everyone he saw. He had thinning dark brown hair peppered with white, and bushy eyebrows that nearly touched as he scowled. His jacket had seen better days, and his waistcoat was stretched tight over a paunch belly.
“Where is Bernadette?” he demanded, startling everyone. “That girl has run off, I tell you.”
He wagged his finger and then pivoted to leave the room. There was a surge as all the Marsden sisters jumped to their feet, running after him.
Patrick sat there stunned. Was that…Mr. Marsden? His possible future father-in-law? Patrick set down his own fork and jumped to his feet to follow the sisters into the front foyer.
“She will marry him. I will see to it!” the man yelled.
Patrick froze. He searched for Josie. She was off to the side near Georgie and Jeanie, pleading with their father. The crowd around them had thickened, but Patrick kept his distance, not sure if he should speak up or hold his tongue until a better time when things were more private. But he didn't understand what was going on, if this was about him and Josie or something else entirely.
The dowager duchess appeared and a calm seemed to settle over everyone.
“Mr. Marsden, how lovely to see you this morning. I've been informed you are inquiring after Bernadette's whereabouts?”
Bernadette? She’s missing? He scanned the crowd, and in truth, he did not see her. Patrick strained to hear more.
Mr. Marsden had turned on Anne and Roderick, who were standing together, Roderick's arm around her.
“Interesting…” Patrick muttered. He’d had no idea that had been going on, but why should he? He’d been rather obsessed with his own Marsden.
“Get your hands off my daughter,” Mr. Marsden bellowed and Patrick winced.
“Anne and I will be getting married,” Roderick said loud and clear for everyone to hear. “You need not force Bernie to marry that spineless pup.”
Patrick folded his arms, stunned. Mr. Marsden blathered on. Why the hell would he argue the fact that his daughter was marrying a wealthy lord? Patrick wondered. Was this man insane?
Mr. Marsden puffed his chest out. “My Anne, marry the likes of you? She can barely stand the sight of you.”
“That's not true anymore, Papa,” Anne said. “I love him.”
Her declaration rang through the room, and Patrick's own wistful heart skipped a beat. He stepped back now, not wanting to meddle in something that did not involve him. He caught sight of Luckfeld as Mr. Marsden seemed to have finished his ranting and made for the exit.
“What was that about?” Lord Luckfeld asked.
“What did you hear?” Patrick asked and then he took a sip of his coffee.
“Nothing.”
Patrick quickly swallowed. “Nothing? Come with me.”
Luckfeld grabbed himself a cup of coffee and then followed Patrick out to the courtyard.
“That was Mr. Marsden,” Patrick said, still unsure if the man was extremely upset or utterly insane.
Luckfeld grimaced. “He seems interesting…”
“Doesn't he?” Patrick stroked his chin, truly puzzled by the man and not so eager to form family ties with him. No wonder his estate was in disarray.
“Very,” Luckfeld replied dryly. “So, what was his issue?”
“Well,” Patrick began, and he still couldn't believe all that he'd heard. The sheer madness this party was creating was one for the history books. “Bernie and Chester are missing, but what makes things more scintillating is the big uproar about some whelp who tried to take a liberty from Miss Bernadette and she swatted his nose. Lord Kirkland is insisting they marry now—"
The Five Second Rule For Kissing: The Northumberland Nine Series Page 16
