| |
Marjorie alternately fumed about Oliver’s sudden coolness toward her and hovered on the edge of an emotional breakdown. The night they’d shared together had been nothing short of wonderful, and it had opened her eyes to many things above and beyond how relations between men and women should work. She’d seen a glimpse of the duke’s true self, had allowed herself to hope there might be something more between them than mere friendship, had given him another piece of her heart, to say nothing of the portion of her soul he’d taken as his own during that intimacy.
Then he’d destroyed it all by his callous words not an hour past that had left her both reeling and feeling wretched about herself. Had he used her like the last man she’d been with? Had he come to the realization that she wasn’t what he wanted for his life as Richard had? Unshed tears crowded her throat. Would her misfortune in romance continue to haunt her?
Yet hadn’t she signed those damned contracts knowing that there would never be romance between them?
How foolish of me to hope...
She didn’t care to have any of her clothing packed. There were more than enough gowns at her own townhouse to wear for the duration of the ill-fated engagement. If he wished to run back to London, so be it, but she was done playing the star-struck fiancée to his uncaring duke. Despite the contracts she’d signed, despite the potential pay out and the return to respectability, despite the stupid kernel of hope, at some point she needed to pull her dignity around her and play by her own rules, see to her own happiness, and if that didn’t include him, so be it.
If he can do it then so will I.
When she wandered down to the ladies’ salon to retrieve her sketchbook, she passed the drawing room. The doors stood slightly ajar, but the sound of Oliver’s voice and that of a woman’s brought her to an unexpected halt. Without shame, Marjorie listened at the door. Was this part of the business he’d spoken of that he had to attend?
“It was unwise of you to come to the castle, Miss Bowler. I asked that you wait for word from me when everything is in readiness.” A note of annoyance hung from his words, and as Marjorie peered through the crack of the double doors, she caught her breath.
It was the woman she’d seen in the courtyard the other day!
“I couldn’t sit around doing nothing, Oliver. You know that. I’m desperate for your help. Things grow worse by the hour.” There was no mistaking the apprehension in her voice, and as Marjorie watched, the woman stood up from her perch on a chair. The slight swell of her belly that the folds of her dress couldn’t hide showed her with child.
Her heart dropped into her toes. Was Oliver the father? Is that why the woman had come, to demand he do right by them? Disappointment shook her frame. Had he continued a liaison with this woman despite the clause in their betrothal contracts that said he’d be faithful to her? How was it possible she knew him not at all?
“I know you’re worried, and well you should be.” He caught the woman’s hands in his own. “But you must be patient. It takes time to find you a new residence without raising suspicion or alarm.”
Did he seek to hide his relationship with this woman from her? That would explain why he’d not explained her presence the other day. And the fact that he wished to settle her somewhere spoke of the fact that he wanted to further their contact. The urge to retch assailed her, and Marjorie quickly swallowed a few times in succession before she did just that. No wonder he didn’t want their relationship to advance; he was too busy with this... woman.
When Oliver spoke again, she reined in her wayward thoughts, hoping against hope he’d offer some sort of insight. “Go home, Miss Bowler. I’ll write when everything is in readiness. Until then, I’m returning to London with my fiancée.”
“Will you come back to Wiltshire soon?”
“Yes, hopefully, but whether it’s with Miss Fitzgerald, I can’t say.”
From her position at the door, Marjorie couldn’t identify the emotion in his voice, nor could she see his expression, since his back was to her. Obviously, he intended to finish out the engagement contract and then break all ties.
Oh, Oliver, I’d hoped you were different.
Once more on the verge of tears, Marjorie stepped away from the doors and continued on her way. Though it would pain her to leave Wiltshire and Scarborough Castle—there was so much she’d wished to sketch yet and it was just so homey here—she reminded herself that her engagement with Oliver was never meant to be permanent. He had his life, and she would need to build something from hers.
Without him, regardless of how much he’d already become an occupant of her heart in such a short time. It was folly, of course, to have let down her guard and come to care for him, and circumstances now proved her a fool.
Again.
At least she hadn’t fallen so far that she’d landed into love with the rogue. Thank goodness for that.
And damn his eyes for making her hope there might be something else between them. That she might be different enough to change his mind.
I think I hate you, Oliver Colborne.
August 12, 1818
It had been three days since she’d seen the duke, three days since an extremely uncomfortable and quiet trip back to London from the countryside. Oliver had chosen to ride alongside the traveling coach, so she’d kept company with her lady’s maid as well as Carmichael, who, for a valet, was quite a charming individual. He’d kept her and Emily laughing with his stories of military days as well as tales filled with improper irreverence regarding various members of the ton.
But oh, how she’d appreciated his attempt at humor, for it had taken her mind off her troubles and from Oliver in particular.
Now, three days after arriving in London and returning to her own townhouse, Marjorie stood in the drawing room of Lord and Lady Darlington, for she’d responded to the invitation before she’d signed contracts with the duke. Besides, in this way, she could pretend to be his soon-to-be duchess without the strain of having him at her side, showering her with false praise and admiration.
But it didn’t alleviate the dull ache that had formed about her heart since they’d left Wiltshire. She’d assumed once back in London and separated from him, her feelings of confusion and disappointment would have relieved themselves. Instead, they’d only heightened, for she hadn’t anticipated how much she’d miss his company even though they’d parted on rocky ground and with her in high dudgeon.
Had it only been four days ago she’d attended that ball with Oliver where she’d had the time of her life and their relationship had taken an unexpected turn?
“If I didn’t see you with my own eyes, I’d never have believed it’s you, Marjorie.”
She whirled around at the familiar voice and then grinned upon seeing her former fiancé. At least he would take her mind off the furtive glances various guests kept throwing her way or how women whispered behind their fans, no doubt about her. “Richard! How wonderful you’re here.” When he came close, she kissed first one of his cheeks and then the other, damn society’s rules.
“I’d say the same of you.” He held her gloved hands in his while standing back to rove his gaze up and down her person.
“You seem changed.” Indeed, he looked a thousand times more joyful than on their wedding day. “That makes me glad.”
“I am happy. Exceedingly.”
She clung to his hands, for despite him throwing her over and leaving her to the wolves of the gossipmongers, he was a friend, and she desperately needed one right now. “Is your... gentleman here tonight?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.
“Unfortunately, he is not. He had a prior commitment.” Richard released her hands. “Would you like to dance? They’re setting up for a country reel. I’m told this rout is the height of the summer social scene.”
“Which is why I’ve made an appearance.” Her nerves felt strung too tight, and she twisted the engagement ring around her finger beneath the glove.
“I see.” He lifted a blond eyebrow as he peered more intently into her face. “Since I feel as if I know you fairly well, I’m wondering why you don’t appear to be happy? After all, I heard the joyous news of your engagement to Scarborough.”
“It’s a complicated endeavor.” She looked away in confusion but couldn’t keep the heat from rising into her cheeks.
“Tell me.” He drew her toward the far side of the room, away from the bulk of the guests. Conversation and laughter filled the air, along with the first notes from a pianoforte as the dancing got underway.
As briefly as she could, Marjorie explained the basic facts regarding her betrothal to Oliver. “We, uh, had a few words after... things the other morning.” Soon, she’d melt into a puddle if the heat in her face didn’t subside. “I haven’t seen him for three days.”
“What a muddle.” Richard crossed his arms at his chest. Then a light jumped into his eyes and a slow grin eased over his face. “I understand the reason for your excess emotion.”
“Why?”
“You’ve gone and fallen in love with the duke.” He chuckled as if it were the funniest joke he’d heard all year. “But you don’t know what to do about it.”
“Perhaps.” How had he managed to sum up her confusion so succinctly? “What should I do? You have to admit, after the dismal failure of our engagement,” she fluttered a hand between her and Richard, “I’m a bit skittish to put a definite name on what I’m feeling.”
“In the event that Scarborough betrays you the same as I did.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” She nodded. “You must admit, I’m well within my rights to remain wary.”
“Oh, you should indeed. Most men aren’t to be trusted.” He grinned again. “Myself included.” Then he held up a finger. “However, knowing what I do of you and me and love in general, I will urge you to tell the duke how you feel. As soon as possible, actually. Don’t leave it to fester, else you’ll miss your chance. Which will make you regret not speaking.”
“Of course you speak from experience.” Poor man.
“I do.”
She shook her head. “It will further complicate relations between Oliver and me, possibly void the terms of the contracts, which will tear apart our respective plans.”
“Pish posh.” Richard waved a hand as if her argument had no merit. “I’d say he already broke those terms when he bedded you, and you offered no protest.”
Merciful heavens, please make this conversation stop.
Her former fiancé went on as if she weren’t about to die of embarrassment. “I’m going to tell you what you told me on the day we should have wed.” He took possession of her hand. “Life is too short to pretend you are something you aren’t. One should always strive for the truth; it’s the easiest way to happiness and acceptance.” When she sputtered to counter his words, he shook his head. “Tell Scarborough, Marjorie. For your sake and his.” He leaned into her and kissed her cheek. “You never loved me as deliriously or as deeply as I can see that you do him.”
“Such gammon you speak.” She pressed her free hand to her cheek. “I don’t.” But was that a lie she kept telling herself to circumvent the growing feelings and explain them away? Or worse yet, did she only have them because her head had been turned after being bedded by him? That would make her a sorry ninny.
“Do I?” He chuckled, a man clearly confident in himself and his place in life. “Search your heart, my dear. The differences in how you act with him and me are telling.”
“Even if the duke doesn’t return those feelings?” she asked in a soft voice.
“How do you know that he doesn’t?” He cocked an eyebrow in challenge.
“I...” Oh, how embarrassing. “I think he has a mistress, and a pregnant one at that.”
“Poppycock. Scarborough is as honest as the day is long, and he’s the noble sort besides. He would never do that to you.”
Marjorie pointed her gaze to the ceiling. “I thought so too until he met with the woman twice in the last week.” Quickly she relayed the gist of the conversation she’d overhead. “There’s a fondness, a familiarity between them. Why else would he wish to set her up someplace if she weren’t his mistress? Why would he not tell me who she is?”
“I don’t know, but men become cagey when in the grip of emotions that are foreign or frightening.” Richard caught her gaze and squeezed her fingers. “I doubt he’s been untrue to you, even before your betrothal.”
She swallowed around the ball of unshed tears in her throat. “I hope you’re right.”
“All the more reason to tell him how you feel. He might surprise you, and who knows? The things you long for in life might be on the other side of the fear holding you back.” His expression softened. “After everything, I want you to be happy, to know love. It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world when it’s right.”
“Thank you, Richard.” Marjorie released his hand. “I’ll take your words under advisement.”
“Everyone deserves to say those words to someone with meaning and emotion behind them.” He gave her a half-bow from the waist. “Even if you don’t hear them back, at least you’ll have the joy of saying them one time.”
“You’re right.” The smile she offered felt decidedly wobbly. “I will as soon as I can muster up the courage.”
“Good luck, Marjorie. Write to me with how things end between you two.”
“I will.” She frowned as he melted into the crowd, her mind once more in a morass of confusion. As she allowed her gaze to roam about the room, she sighed when it alighted upon her brother.
Near one of the doorways, Cecil argued in low tones with another man. Too far away to hear clearly and her vision partially blocked by other guests, she assumed he owed the man money. Worry sank like a stone in her stomach. She and the duke had to keep the farce going so that she might gain the allotted income as well as coin to cover all her brother’s debts.
Would telling Oliver how she was beginning to feel ruin all of that? Would he take violent exception and cut all ties while perpetuating the engagement, only to tell society at large they broke it off after he’d gained possession of the property? He obviously didn’t wish to court a woman and he outright refused to marry. Soon he’d be beyond her reach, quite possibly finding contentment with his increasing mistress.
A sob rose in her throat, and she barely stifled the sound in time. Oh, everything was so terribly complicated and confusing. Why did I have to develop feelings for him? I never wanted a romance either, but here I am, a foolish goose.
Again.
“What sort of duchess-to-be finds herself a wallflower without a bevy of admirers or sycophants around her?”
Marjorie turned about at the sound of his voice. Her heart leaped and need shivered down her spine. “Oliver!” He was so handsome. She fairly devoured him with her gaze as if she hadn’t seen him for years. His intense eyes never left her face, filled with a vulnerability that tugged at her chest. “What are you doing here?”
“When I called at your home and found you out, I... encouraged your butler to tell me what was on your schedule for this evening. Then I came here to find you.”
“Whyever for?” She couldn’t decide if she was annoyed with him for following her or flattered that he’d made the effort.
He shrugged and somehow managed to look even more devastating than before. “I missed you. Since returning to London, we haven’t spent time together.”
“Whose fault is that? You’ve avoided me.”
“You said you wanted a few days away from me, so I honored that request.”
Oh, dear God, he’d remembered what she’d said in anger and took her at her word. A little piece of her heart flew into his keeping, and a ball of tears welled in her throat. Now was not the time to mention her feelings, not when he offered a tenuous peace.
“I took that to mean you’d tired of my company.”
“Never.” His voice was rough, graveled with emotions he didn’t share either. “We still have time together.” He cleared his throat. Worry pooled in his eyes. “Who was the man you were talking to?” Wariness lined his expression. “Have I been replaced already?”
“No. Of course not.” Surely, he couldn’t only want her friendship if the thought of her with another man rendered him both jealous and hopeless. “That was Richard Stafford, my former fiancé.”
“Ah. I’m glad the two of you are still on speaking terms. You have a good heart.” He caught her gloved hand in his and threaded it through his crooked arm. “Walk with me.”
“Where?”
“Let’s find out.” He guided her around the perimeter of the room, greeting people and responding to questions as he went like the duke that he was.
Marjorie kept pace with him, for why wouldn’t she? I’m a besotted fool. She waved to Richard, who beamed, then Oliver whisked her onto the terrace beyond the drawing room. Other couples milled about, but he didn’t linger there. Instead, the duke led her down the few steps to stroll through the garden and onward toward the open square that stretched between the four rows of townhouses that made up Berkley Square.
“I thought since the night is clear we should take advantage of it.”
“It is certainly less stifling than inside.” The cool summer air wafted over her skin and ruffled the skirts of her gold silk gown.
“Indeed.” Oliver remained silent for a few moments. “I’m sorry I’ve neglected you.” He paused, and she held her breath. “Never think it’s because I don’t wish to be in your company.”
“You were out of sorts when we left Wiltshire. Refused to ride in the coach with me.”
“I suspected you didn’t want me with you after what I said.” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Yes, I wasn’t in the mood to talk, and my mindset wasn’t where it should have been, but the brown study had nothing to do with you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Do you wish to talk about what’s bothering you?” Perhaps if he did, they could discuss what happened between them, and she might speak candidly.
“I can’t until I understand it myself, and frankly, I don’t want to rush the process.”
“Fair enough.” Was he as confused about the whole morass as she? Had everything changed, and did it matter if it had? Regardless of what she felt, what he might be starting to feel, she’d missed him these past few days, for he had become a dear friend. “As lovely as the other night was, I almost wish it hadn’t happened.”
“Why?” Oliver’s voice sounded tight. He tensed beside her.
“That coupling has put an invisible barrier between us.” Her own voice shook. “I miss our easy friendship.” It was the closest she’d come to telling him her new and growing truth. Perhaps she was merely a foolish old maid, becoming starry-eyed because a man had paid her attention, seen to her pleasure.
“I can understand that.” He patted her hand. “I’ll do a better job of repairing our relationship and attending to it.” When he turned his head and caught her gaze, confusion clouded those depths. “I want to mend the rift between us.”
“I’d like that, for our time together is almost at an end.” Marjorie’s chin quivered. They were both dancing around the subject but too afraid to mention it. “I’ve become rather fond of you since we met.”
Would he understand what she didn’t say?
“You’ve become an unexpected bit of wonderful, I’ll admit.” His chuckle sent eddies of awareness over her skin. “If I’d known an advertisement would have brought you into my life, I would have had it printed sooner.” He squeezed her fingers, and she wished they weren’t both wearing gloves, for the need to feel his skin against hers grew strong. “Your friendship is like the jewelry around a woman’s neck—enhancing what’s already there.”
Heat suffused her cheeks, for he hadn’t lost his charm. “Perhaps you’re in your cups again.”
“I’m not.” A certain hardness went through his tone. “I won’t be for the foreseeable future. It made me too irresponsible the other night.”
“Oh.” Did he regret their coming together—twice? Regret sharing the ultimate intimacy with her? She was too afraid to ask. Instead, she changed the subject altogether. “I miss your mother. We left so quickly I didn’t have time to tell her goodbye. She was out when we set off.”
“I do too. I find I could use her counsel.” Once more he found her gaze. A trace of sadness flitted over his face. “Would you like to return to Scarborough Castle?”
“Could we?” Excitement buzzed at the base of her spine.
“Of course. I would do anything to keep you happy.”
Except offer me what you can’t stand. “I would adore that. There are places I want to sketch, and I’ve fallen in love with the place.” Why was it so easy to say about a pile of stones but not him?
“We can leave in two days.”
“Truly?”
Oliver nodded. “Yes. I want to take you driving tomorrow and make up for lost time. Besides, the weather is perfect, and I want all of London to see you with me.”
“Ah, due to the engagement.” Some of her high spirits tumbled.
“No, because you’re beautiful, and I’ve missed you, and I want to show you off... for my own selfish reasons.” He pulled her behind a knot of oak trees and then tugged her into his arms, her back to his front, simply holding her as her mind spun on what those reasons were. “If only life were as uncomplicated as the stars. They never worry. Just shine and inspire.”
“You’re inspiring to me, and I suspect you’ve only told me the very tip of what you do as a duke to make others’ lives more bearable.” Marjorie stared into the midnight velvet sky where thousands of twinkling points of light punctured the darkness. “Shall I tell you a story about a couple of the constellations?”
“Do you know one?” Surprise lingered in his voice. The warmth of his breath skated over her ear and cheek.
“I’m widely read, Scarborough.”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “I stand corrected. Proceed.”
With a grin, she began. “This is but one variation of the story about Altair and Vega. Chinese legends tell of a weaver girl and a cow herder who fell in love. The girl’s parents weren’t happy about the relationship. The more time the two spent together, the more her parents objected.”
“As any true story of star-crossed romance should.” His chuckle resounded in her chest.
She settled her arms along his. “The girl’s family was immortal gods, and the cow herder came from a line of mortals. The gods didn’t like romantic interest between immortal and mortal beings, but the parents had one thing in common: work. Hers didn’t like that she neglected her weaving and his weren’t pleased he didn’t mind his herd while they were together.”
“Understandable. Responsibilities don’t vanish merely for love.”
Was that the reason for his own confliction? “So the parents arranged to separate the lovers. A celestial river was carved between the two families. The boy and his herd were put on one side of the sparkling water, while the girl and her loom were kept on the other.”
“Did the lovers ever come together?” The interest in his voice was adorable.
“According to Chinese legend, the lovers were able to spend one night per year together. Magpies sympathized with their plight. They would flock closely together to form a bridge over the river on that one night. I’d like to think that night was the most special they’d ever known, and that their love remained strong.” She settled more comfortably against his chest. “In the skies during mid-February, you can see the weaver girl in the Vega constellation. The cowherd is Altair. Between them is the Milky Way galaxy spiral that makes the river.”
“I don’t know which is lovelier: the story or the teller.”
Butterfly wings tickled her lower belly. “How sweet.”
He gently turned her about in his arms and brushed his lips over hers. “Please don’t think the worst of me due to the circumstances surrounding us.”
The ache in her heart intensified. She rested her palms on his chest. “I don’t, but I do have doubts.”
Hurt jumped into his eyes, icy and intense in the moonlight. “I feared you might, and I don’t blame you.” Almost as if he wished to hide, he shrank into himself. Defeat lay stamped across his face. “Do you trust me?”
“Mostly, yes.”
He nodded. “I promise I’ll never hurt you.” Yet he didn’t mention the pregnant woman or his relationship with her.
Neither did she, but her heart strained for answers. “I know you won’t intentionally.”
For a long time, they stood together in a loose embrace, as silent as the trees around them.
“Ah, Marjorie, if only you could tell me what I should do,” he said in such a low voice she almost missed it.
“About?”
“Life.”
What a sad, pathetic pair they made, each too broken in their own ways to be honest about their feelings. “Perhaps you need to think of what your father would do and let him influence your steps. He seems to be the guiding force stronger than any words.”
“You’re a wise woman.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Would you like to return, perhaps dance with me?”
“Not really. I don’t feel like so much exercise.” Her menses had come yesterday and had left her out of sorts and tired.
“Very well. Regardless, I’m pleased you’re back with me.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “For however long that may be.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she put her arms around him and sighed. For the first time since their pretend engagement began, she felt needed, wanted, almost cherished.
That had to be enough, and if it weren’t, she’d cry over her broken heart at the end of the month.