Everleigh was not at breakfast. Rothwilde gave them his son’s apologies, irritation hidden in his words. He explained Everleigh often had financial concerns that he had to attend to, and he seldom stayed at the estate long.
Everyone stole a glimpse at her and continued on as if nothing had been said.
Her father and Rothwilde spent a bit of time commiserating about the weather and, somehow, Vivian felt they weren’t really talking about the clouds, but about their children.
By the time breakfast was over, her mother had suggested returning to London and her father agreed.
The carriage ride proceeded with almost no conversation, each occupant lost in their own world.
* * *
A day after Vivian arrived home everything returned to normal—and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She no longer felt like dancing as she’d expected and her father feared her recovery had ended.
Her mother shook her head and said such things were expected for a woman navigating a life course away from marriage. That Vivian was merely finding her foothold in the world after being ill so long.
The older woman sat in her favourite chair for sewing—the one with a touch of rose colouring in the fabric which she thought went well with her favourite day dresses. Her mother put away her spectacles, pushed her needle into the linen and tapped the frame. A maid whisked it away.
‘It will be nice to have a child around again. I’d planned on it being a grandchild. But I am too young to be a grandmother.’
Vivian sat in the nearest straight-backed chair. ‘I suppose I’ll have lots of time to get to know the little one.’
Even with the family increasing, loneliness surrounded Vivian.
‘I shouldn’t have insisted Everleigh withdraw the proposal. But I don’t want to marry someone who thinks they might wake up one morning and dislike me.’
‘Dear.’ Her mother raised her brows. ‘No one should. And no one could wake up one morning and dislike you. You shouldn’t have needed a courtship longer than an introduction. But if your instincts tell you not to marry, then you mustn’t. You’d have too many second thoughts, and they’d strangle you. Or, at least, they’d kill your marriage.’
Her mother wrinkled her nose. ‘I do like the young man.’ She blinked and shook her head. ‘Can you imagine what it was like for me to hear a gunshot while I was in church, walk out and see the sight, and then realise you were in the carriage? Very dramatic.’ She smiled. ‘Your father was much like Everleigh in his younger days. Then he lost himself.’
‘But now he’s working to regain the man he used to be. He understands the trials he’s given you.’
‘Oh, of course he does.’ Her mother’s lips turned up. ‘We both love each other tremendously. That doesn’t mean we particularly want to disrupt each other’s day. Don’t expect much out of marriage, dear. You can’t have everything and love is rather overrated. I would say it’s better to have good servants—they make your life flow so smoothly. And I do have good servants.’ She tilted her head towards the maid who stood at her side. ‘The best,’ she said.
Her mother turned to Vivian. ‘Do you think Everleigh loves you?’ she asked.
Vivian paused. ‘No.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘He doesn’t. He doesn’t believe it lasts. He thinks it’s always temporary.’
‘Daughter.’ Her mother stood, then walked over and cupped Vivian’s cheeks. ‘He should love you. Any man worth a pence should love you. Leaving him on his own is the best way to get him to realise he cares for you. But I’d say if he’s not here in a week, you’d best consider it over.’
She sighed. ‘If he can’t figure himself out in a few days, then don’t expect a lifetime to be enough time. You need to get on with that life you were so anxious to step into. There are invitations to accept. Do so.’
* * *
Everleigh walked into his town house and handed his hat to the butler before speaking. He glanced at the fresh beeswax candles. ‘Mrs Rush has been working.’
‘She’s had us all decorating about.’ The butler glanced around, making sure no one else was listening. ‘She wanted the house festive. She sensed... Well, you know she’s friends with Mrs Mavis and they spent the whole time you were gone speculating about whether you would... I mean, Mavis came over to help Mrs Rush tidy up and they did speak about the possibility of a bride.’
‘No bride.’
‘But we had heard of your private betrothal from Mavis and we wished to celebrate.’
Everleigh noted the butler’s new cravat, a bright blue that contrasted with his usual black livery.
Nervously, the butler touched it. ‘I allowed it, as it made Mrs Rush so happy, and she advocates this colour as appropriate for your house.’
‘I will tell Mrs Rush how much I appreciate the effort, but there is to be no announcement.’ Somehow, his words wouldn’t stop. ‘As I have been refused.’
Waincott took a stumble back, sucked in a deep breath and spoke quickly. ‘Mrs Rush will not take that well.’
Everleigh’s expression tightened.
Waincott straightened and his arm dropped to his side. ‘You see, sir, she thinks... She thinks no one would dare refuse your proposal.’
‘I like the concept, but it is flawed.’
‘I will inform her.’ He briefly bowed his head. ‘I fear this will end the friendship between her and Mrs Mavis.’
‘There is no need for that,’ Everleigh said. ‘It is a private matter between myself and Miss Darius.’
The butler nodded, observing Everleigh. ‘I understand. But I fear Mrs Rush will not. She had new recipes planned for a wedding breakfast that she had gathered together with Mrs Mavis. It was to be grand, but they just did not know which house to have it at.’
‘We can still eat,’ Everleigh grumbled, moving up the stairs.
He walked into the main drawing room.
Mrs Rush had overstepped her boundaries. Ribbons were tied on the candleholders. The lamps sat on a new indigo scarf. A matching fabric decorated the fireplace mantel and tassels hung from it.
He stepped closer, taking the scarf in his hand. Silk. But not as soft as Vivian’s skin.
‘No.’ He heard Mrs Rush’s voice in the distance. A gasp. She’d been informed.
Hushed mumbles.
He could hardly reprimand her for the decoration, as she sounded to be having a tirade on his behalf.
Striding to the door, he called down the stairway. He couldn’t see them, but knew the staff could hear him.
‘It is a matter between myself and Miss Darius. It should not affect anyone else in this household.’
Mrs Rush’s face scowled around the banister at him. ‘It’s all that Mavis’s doing, getting us all excited about a wedding when there wasn’t to be one. I will not forgive her. I learned so many new dishes to cook and had planned such a celebration.’
‘We will still have a celebration. It’s...for my father. I’m planning to invite him to dinner.’
‘Is he marrying again?’ Mrs Rush asked.
‘I don’t think so. You can ask him.’
He put his fingertips to his temples. It would be joyous—he would bribe his father to visit and thank Mrs Rush, and they would watch their temper and he would give his father the gift of a large sum to gamble with. And he would invite his father to bring Mrs Trimble along as well.
An olive branch as big as all England—even though he hated the housekeeper still for defacing his mother’s portrait. His father would be unable to refuse.
Even without the bribe, his father would know better than to decline. Everleigh rarely asked for anything from his father and Rothwilde knew that the funds could vanish.
It would be a solemn event, little different from the ones they’d had since Daniel had left. He considered his brother. Daniel had brought a lot of laughter into their home. Everleigh had always considered his brother too frivolous, but perhaps enjoyment was as equally important as solemnity.
He reflected on seeing Vivian walk into his house and noticing the colours. It would have pleased her. The knowledge that she wouldn’t be there crashed his thoughts to the ground.
He remembered the comments Darius had made about breach of promise.
That irked him. Darius irked him almost as much as Rothwilde irritated him.
Vivian’s mother annoyed him for some reason that he couldn’t quite understand...and then he realised why.
She’d encouraged her daughter to think for herself and let her make her own decisions. An example of bad mothering, in his opinion.
She should have put her daughter’s interests first, instead of letting Vivian make up her own mind. But perhaps her mother was a bit under Vivian’s spell as well.
When Vivian was near, he never wanted her to leave. He relaxed and she soothed his concerns, and the spirit of her took over and the world faded. Finances didn’t matter and nothing else did. She was a balm that erased all cares and worries. Made everything else insignificant, but he had to take care, that could be a dangerous crevasse. Too deep to ignore and treacherous to the people who depended on him.
He’d seen beauties. But Vivian’s beauty came from within and then reached out, arresting him. It pulled all of a man. He could not get trapped in her.
When she’d first asked him to kiss her, he’d been entranced. He’d never, ever seen such innocence. He didn’t even think children were born with such. He’d not even suspected it existed.
She shouldn’t have requested a kiss. His whole body had responded to just the one word from her lips. Kiss. He’d never been given a gift such as that.
And he’d been hard for days.
Then, he’d thought of trying for an invitation to Vivian’s house from Lord Darius. Everleigh had used all his strength and told himself not to be foolish. He could never have her. It would not be right to court her when she was ill. It would put her at a disadvantage. And, perhaps, hurt her health.
Because as much as she intrigued him, and as much as he suspected he would desire her if he stayed in the same room with her more than a few minutes, he truly didn’t have the kind of feelings she wanted.
He liked Vivian. He liked her tremendously. But love—love was nonsense with the same kind of frills Mrs Rush had used in the room.
Utter rot.
A humbug.
A lie from a person’s insides that faded away quickly and life became routine again.
He couldn’t understand why Vivian would want such nonsense.
That just proved she was correct and that they were not suited.
Taking the stairs to his room, he hoped he would find no more decorations.
Everleigh paused at the top, his hand still on the banister. Then he gave a push and moved into the silence of his sitting room. He had his wish. Nothing brightened the room.
He could feel his heartbeat sounding in his own ears.
This was the life he’d have for the rest of his days.
A life without Vivian, a woman who truly belonged in the world she inhabited.
He would make sure not to travel about when he might see her. He would make sure to keep his world closed and confined to business where she would not venture.
He imagined her hair lying on a pillow next to his. The glossy strands running through his fingertips, each strand brushing his skin and caressing his body.
He checked the furnishings in his bedroom. Nothing had changed. Exactly as it had been all the years he’d lived there. Except for the new pillows on his bed.
There were not enough swear words in the world...
* * *
He sat in the library, head bowed, holding the side of the empty brandy glass to his forehead, letting the coolness ease the warmth of his body. The night had moved with the speed of ice melting on a frigid midwinter day.
Trying to keep himself from getting hard if the house creaked because it reminded him of the first secret meeting when she’d walked the hallway with him. The day they’d kissed.
She wasn’t in his house. She was in her own home.
He gritted his teeth.
Vivian was exactly what he needed in a wife.
She had taken what could have been a scandal and earned the praises of society. The ton wanted to see the best in her because of her genuine nature.
Vivian had appeared so soon after Alexandria and, for a moment, she’d seemed to be cut of the same cloth.
Yet, when she believed that her mother might suffer because of Vivian not fulfilling her promise to Ella Etta, he’d unknowingly not co-operated and she’d decided she would take the consequences.
Like in the book about martyrs, Vivian had chosen the path of sacrifice.
But his attraction to her went beyond that.
When he’d spoken with her in the darkness at his father’s estate, her presence had filled him with a calmness—a peace he’d been unaware existed. He’d been teased with an indication that his life could be different. That illusion had settled in the recesses of his mind, forming stronger and stronger until it overwhelmed him.
He’d never imagined someone such as Vivian. She stirred him so that he could think of nothing else.
He had once said he would savour showing her all a woman needed to know about a man’s body.
But that wasn’t to be.
Could he live with the knowledge that she might fall in love with someone else?
Stepping to his bedside, he reached to touch the miniature of his grandfather that he had brought to the town house. His hand stopped in mid-movement, resting over empty air. He scrutinised his grandfather’s portrait.
The miniature had been given to his grandmother once. His grandfather had had it painted before he married, for his wife-to-be to have while he travelled. He’d wanted her to have a likeness of him to be the last thing she saw at night and the first object she viewed in the morning.
Everleigh had known about the miniature. After Everleigh’s grandmother had died, his grandfather carried it and always slept with it at his bedside. He’d said it reminded him of his wife.
Everleigh had taken it from his grandfather’s bedside when he died, both in respect for his grandparents’ union and to keep as a reminder of his grandfather.
He stared at it. When his grandfather had had the painting done, he must have been about thirty.
Shoving the thoughts away, Everleigh prepared for bed.
As he lay down, his brain whispered the word fool to him.
He was alone, in his room, with a picture of his grandfather at his bedside.