The grandfather clock in the hall had just rung ten when a carriage was heard on the drive. Mr Brown, who had been attentively awaiting the arrival, rang for the others immediately, and within seconds the hall was filled with the animated fluttering of the staff as they made for the door.
They were perfectly lined up outside, looking fresh and spotless, when Liam joined them. He swept a disaffected gaze of inspection over them all, before Mr Brown was graced with a nod of approval.
Rebecca, he dared not even look in the eye. Facing what he must, he could not bear to look at her, and be any more tortured than he already was. Enough had been said. There was nothing more to be done but greet his guests and move on.
Plastering as jovial and welcoming a smile as he could manage, he straightened, and stepped before them all to greet the carriage.
Within seconds, it pulled up, and the door swung open.
‘Reid, you rascal!’ the Marquess of Clairborne shouted in his usual warm, slightly mocking tone as he descended with a hop, hand extended, barely looking like someone who had been travelling.
He hadn’t changed at all since Liam had last seen him. The same boyish looks, golden curls and clear blue eyes, the same cheeky smile. He was as impeccably dressed as ever, his dark pantaloons, vibrantly green waistcoat, crisp linen shirt, blue jacket and billowing greatcoat all perfectly tailored in the latest fashion and finest materials. There was not a crease to be found; even the Gordian knot of his cravat had withstood the travails of travel.
‘It’s been too long, old fellow,’ he said, with that grin which had cost many a woman her wits and heart.
‘Indeed it has,’ Liam agreed, shaking Spencer’s hand warmly. Truth be told, he was pleased to see him. ‘Welcome to Thornhallow.’
‘Should’ve waited for an invite, I know, old chap, but I feared one would never come. As we were spending the festive season not a hundred miles away, I couldn’t resist surprising you. Besides, I really had to get out of Clairborne House.’
‘How are your mother and Mary?’ Liam asked.
‘Yes, jolly well, they send their regards, of course,’ he laughed. ‘Had to beat them off with a stick, they wanted to join so. But I thought we should save the larger reunion for another time.’
Spencer winked and Liam thanked his stars the whole family hadn’t come.
Beat them off with a stick, indeed.
It wouldn’t surprise him if it were actually true in this instance.
‘Ah, here is my good friend Mr Walton,’ the Marquess continued, indicating the simply but elegantly dressed and rather pleasant-looking young man just descending from the carriage. ‘Walton owns a shipping company—don’t you, Freddie?’
‘Guilty,’ Freddie said, with a warm smile as he bowed. ‘How do you do, my lord?’
‘Reid, please,’ he insisted, offering his hand.
The young man took it, surprise and appreciation in his eyes.
‘Welcome.’ Liam felt his smile fading, and forced himself to forge on. ‘Shall we adjourn inside? There is coffee waiting for us in the drawing room. Then I imagine you will wish to refresh yourselves?’
Spencer concurred with a nod, and Liam led him inside, closely followed by Freddie.
The door closed, and Rebecca and Gregory divested the gentlemen of coats, hats and gloves, whilst outside Thomas, the grooms and the Marquess’s valet saw to unpacking the carriage. Liam then guided his guests to the drawing room, where, by some magical feat only servants could manage, Lizzie awaited them with the promised refreshments.
They talked and sipped coffee, sampled little sandwiches and freshly baked scones, spoke of the journey and the weather and everyone’s health for nigh on two hours, until finally, Liam convinced his guests they should rest and settle into their quarters.
He was glad when he was left alone in the drawing room.
It was mind-numbingly easy to resume his place in society—and it made him want to scream. Though it was pleasant enough to see Spencer again, he could not help but feel none of it was right. He no longer belonged. He no longer wished to.
Had he more courage, he might have run away before they arrived. Had he more courage, he might have done a great deal many things.
Soon, you will be able to be rid of them. Soon...
‘I was asking, Reid,’ Spencer said loudly, a glint of mischief in his eyes, tearing Liam sharply from the reverie he’d slipped into, staring at the flame of the candles before him on the dinner table.
He looked around to find his guests staring at him expectantly, and graced them with the polite smile he had been using all too often today.
‘What are your plans, now that you’ve returned to England?’
‘None that are quite cemented enough to be shared, I fear,’ Liam said, returning his attention to his plate, intent on savouring Mrs Murray’s beef roast. Intent on ignoring everything but the roast, really.
Today had felt interminable, as though time had been slowed to purposely lengthen his torture. To an outsider, the day would have seemed an altogether quiet and convivial affair, filled with tours of the house and gardens, a lively afternoon meal, a game of billiards and spirited conversation. To Liam, however, it all had served only as a reminder of the dull emptiness that filled such a life as he was meant to live.
A life without true purpose.
He’d found some solace in the time he’d spent with Spencer—who, for all his airs, was a shrewd, practical fellow—and Freddie—who proved himself to be an intelligent, enterprising young man, who had built his own company and fortune from nothing, and was a self-made man such as Liam liked. But for all the camaraderie he’d found, his spirits had only worsened. With every passing moment, so grew his restlessness and desire for his guests to take their leave, even as they had only just arrived.
To top it all, he’d received a letter that afternoon from Leonards, stating in no uncertain terms that his dream, his plans, were impossible.
All he wanted was to return to the world as it had been before his guests’ arrival. The world in which Thornhallow actually felt like home, complete with a family. Complete with Rebecca.
It was a terrifying thought, that his hatred of the place had been so diminished, yet it also felt inevitable. Rebecca’s light had finally pushed back the darkness, and he... When she was gone the darkness returned.
At odd moments throughout the day, he’d found himself praying that she might come to him, or that he might find the courage to go to her. He longed to say Damn it all, and rush down to the servants’ quarters and tell her everything, beg her forgiveness. But he did not. Rebecca had made it clear that any feelings either of them had were to be forgotten, pushed away into some dark, forgotten place.
She had remained unseen, out of reach, more a wraith haunting his house than Hal had ever been. Hidden in her own realm, she had ensured, with her usual flair, that the household ticked along like clockwork. She’d made her presence felt, to him at least, by her absence, and the hole it left within him. The world they had created existed only in a time which had passed, and could never be found again. Not for all his wishing.
Though now he found himself wishing that she’d remained unseen. Rebecca had been forced into his presence for dinner, if only to bring in the food with Lizzie, and her nearness taunted him more than her absence.
Focus. Spencer. Unwanted questions.
‘It is only months since I’ve returned, and there is much for me to reacquaint myself with.’
‘Surely, you have returned for a reason,’ Spencer continued, his conviviality now verging on interrogation.
The tension grew, not only at the table, but also among the servants. Thomas and Gregory straightened almost imperceptibly. Though whether it was because someone was questioning the master, or because they too desperately longed for the answer, was anyone’s guess.
I, too, long for answers. But I have none to give, even to myself.
‘As you say, it is months since your return,’ Spencer said, lazily sipping his wine, though the sharp intent in his eyes belied his relaxed manner. ‘You must have formulated some scheme, made preparations for your future, and that of the Earldom.’
‘Plans which, as they are in their fragile beginnings, I cannot share, old friend. You will learn of them when the time is right.’
‘The counsel of friends can be most illuminating.’
Liam nodded tersely, still refusing to take his eyes off his plate, though at the rate he was devouring the meal upon it, tasting none of it, the distraction would be short-lived.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to confide in his friend, didn’t want to trust him with everything—only he couldn’t. There was no telling what either of them would say or do, what would be left of their friendship if he revealed it all.
The table fell into silence again, the delicate tinkling of cutlery and refilling of wine glasses the only sounds.
‘Well, whatever your plans,’ Spencer said finally, wiping the corners of his mouth delicately, ‘society will be enthralled when you finally decide to grace it with your presence. Already the mamas and debutantes are working themselves into a frenzy to ensure they are thoroughly prepared for the Disappeared Earl. Why, when we were in town before Christmas, you were all that was on anyone’s lips—isn’t that right, Freddie?’
‘Indeed,’ Freddie agreed warily, eyeing both friends, careful not to put himself in the midst of what he sensed was a conversation verging on less than amicable. ‘I expect you will have a most entertaining Season.’
‘That is an understatement, Freddie,’ Spencer chuckled. ‘Novelty is all that keeps those creatures entertained, and you, my dear Reid, are the most novel thing to happen since Napoleon escaped Elba.’
‘Are you not one of those creatures, then?’ Liam said coldly, his irritation growing. He had managed to avoid talk of the future, and his plans so far; he would not be taken in now. A flash of hurt shone in his friend’s eyes, but he forged on. ‘As for the Season, I have absolutely no reason to take part in that dreadful occasion. I have quite enough to satisfy me here at Thornhallow.’
The silence which followed was painfully tense but thankfully short, as Liam nodded to Thomas and then began the dance of clearing the table, and setting it for dessert.
‘Yes, well, I do hate to notice, Reid, but comfortable though you may be,’ Spencer drawled, swirling the vintage red Liam was now sad Thomas had unearthed from the cellars, ‘there is a lack.’
‘A lack,’ Liam repeated, raising a brow.
‘The servants, Reid. Indeed, the whole management of this house. I know you are accustomed to much more savage conditions than these,’ he forged on.
Liam clenched the arms of his chair so tightly he might have torn them off. Better that than unleash the well of anger inside him at Spencer, who was still his friend, and a guest, even if he couldn’t quite see his friend at the moment.
‘But, truly, you need a proper hand here.’
‘Mrs Hardwicke has everything well in hand,’ Liam managed to say evenly enough, through gritted teeth. ‘She keeps things as I wish them to be.’
‘I’m sure she does.’ Spencer smiled. He paused, just long enough for everyone to think they might make it out of what was quickly becoming a dreadful evening, alive. ‘But this house—as do all grand houses—requires a mistress to guide it.’
That was it.
The last of Liam’s patience snapped.
He could endure an interrogation—indeed, he’d expected one. It wasn’t precisely Spencer’s fault that every plan Liam had made was now shattered into a million pieces. He could endure the vague insinuations about his lifestyle. What he couldn’t, he found, was any insult on Rebecca, or his household, paired with an overt if subtle attempt at matchmaking.
He’d never thought his friend would succumb to the business as his mother had, but here they were.
And he’d had enough.
‘As far as I’m concerned, Mrs Hardwicke is mistress of this house,’ he said, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them, pinning Spencer with a stare to shatter ice.
The entire room froze.
From Freddie, who had just reached for his glass, to Gregory, who was laying out terrines of jellied fruit on the sideboard.
Spencer matched Liam’s stare for a moment, then his eyes flicked to the doorway at Liam’s back, and a smirk grew on his lips. Only too late did Liam realise what precisely Spencer had fixed his attention upon.
No... What have I done?
‘Well, then, Mrs Hardwicke,’ Spencer said congenially, though there was as much ice in his tone as there was in Liam’s eyes. ‘It seems you are to be complimented indeed for all your efforts.’
Liam’s voice died in his throat as he turned just enough to see Rebecca standing in the doorway, frozen just like the rest of them, as she handed Thomas a coffee tray.
He felt her shame and her hurt radiating off her in waves, and it kept him silent even as he wished to salvage what he’d done. Her duty, her pride—he knew how important those things were to her. How much a part of her they were, and now... He had shamed her—before guests, before a peer, before her own staff—all but announcing to the world what they’d done.
Her eyes flitted to him, searching for something, for anything.
Forgive me, Rebecca.
Spencer opened his mouth to speak and Liam came to. ‘Leave us,’ he ordered them all.
No one needed to be asked twice. With eerie grace, calm and silence, the staff bowed and curtsied, dropped what they were doing, and slunk out.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Freddie muttered, following in their wake with haste.
Liam tried his utmost to rein in his emotions as Spencer leaned back in his chair lazily. He was walking a dangerous line, risking either more dishonour for Rebecca, or his friendship—which, no matter how much he detested Spencer at that moment, he had no wish to lose.
‘Such an exquisite find, Reid,’ he drawled. ‘A rare flower, indeed.’
‘Mind yourself,’ Liam warned.
‘Though what flower, I wonder?’ The Marquess smiled. ‘If my sister were, for instance, that perfect English rose which we all know she is,’ he said pointedly, ‘what do you suppose Mrs Hardwicke might be?’
‘Spencer...’
‘A briar rose, perhaps,’ he offered. ‘Too simple. Lady’s mantle? Very hardy... No. I know. A foxglove. Such a beautiful bloom. Delicate, perfect symmetry, enticing colours, inviting. Some even seek it for its healing properties. But beneath it all, it is poison.’
I should wring your throat, Spencer.
Instead, he grabbed his glass, nearly shattering it, and downed his wine.
‘A flower not to be trifled with,’ Liam sneered. ‘A rose, other than beauty, thorns and a sweet scent, what does it offer in its short life?’
‘Every flower has its uses. One must only know when to sample one or the other,’ Spencer advised, with less hostility, and more sincerity in his eyes. ‘Everything in its proper place. As with all things.’
Spoiling for a fight—for anything that might make him forget the despair currently residing in his chest—Liam rose and marched over to the sideboard, pouring himself more wine, and knocking it back before turning to Spencer, who was still lazily lounging in that damned chair as if nothing at all was wrong with the world.
‘Enough with the pretty words,’ Liam growled. ‘What is this? If not for the friendship we once shared I would lay you out right now!’
‘All because of a housekeeper?’ Spencer asked tauntingly.
‘She isn’t just a housekeeper!’ he shouted, tossing away the glass, which shattered against the wall into as many pieces as his own life, and took a step towards Spencer.
‘Precisely,’ Spencer snapped, all false humour and pretence gone, his eyes flashing dangerously as he rose, nearly toe to toe with Liam. ‘We’d have to be blind not to see it. I’m only looking out for you.’
‘What...?’ Liam asked meekly, his mind reeling as his anger was replaced with shock.
‘I am still your friend,’ Spencer said earnestly.
His eyes were now devoid of anything but pleading, and Liam was lost.
‘Always will be.’
‘You’re just looking out for yourself,’ Liam spat, afraid of acknowledging what Spencer was saying.
He set about pacing the room, hoping it would help dispel the feelings of helplessness and despair from rising again. Anger—anger was safe.
‘This is about you, and your mother, working towards marrying me to your sister.’
‘Goddammit, Reid!’ Spencer shouted. ‘This isn’t about me or my sister. Yes, I would be happy to see you two wed.’ He sighed, raked his fingers through his hair, and Liam stopped. ‘But this is about you. You’re burying yourself here, taking your housekeeper to bed. And don’t you dare deny it,’ he warned. ‘You are an earl! Nothing can come of whatever is between you. She knows her place, and her duty, but you refuse to see it.’
‘I am acutely aware of my duties.’
Now I sound like Rebecca...
All at once, anguish took hold again. Liam managed to fall into the chair Freddie had vacated, defeated. He knew Spencer was right. His friend was trying to help him. Trying to open his eyes to the impossibility of the situation, just as Rebecca had. Liam had known, but refused to acknowledge it.
Spencer gently put a glass of whisky in his hand, and sat again.
‘You must know,’ he said softly. ‘She can never be a countess. And I know you too well, despite all these years between us, to know that is what you want of her.’
No, I want—
Her.
He did. Not as his countess, perhaps, but only because he never wanted to be Earl. But he did want to share a life with her—he saw that now. Wanted her always by his side. Only, whatever way he looked at it, he couldn’t ask that of her. Spencer was right, he couldn’t make her his countess. The scandal would bring nothing more than hardship to her, even if they ran again, far away. As much as he might dream of them living quietly, exiled alone, even then it would be too much to bear.
And wouldn’t there be shame for her, too, if he asked her to be his, if he by some miracle enacted his plans? Would there not be dishonour in that, too? Was that not why he hadn’t breathed a word of his intentions? Because he knew she would see him differently? Not as the man come to set things to rights, but as the coward who didn’t know his place. His duty.
There would be shame, too, in making her his mistress.
She already is.
No. What they had, it was more than an arrangement. More than him setting her up in some apartment, paying her way. Paying the way for any children their nights together might bring. What they had shared...it was more than that.
‘I ask nothing of you,’ she’d said that first night. She had simply given, everything of herself. And he...couldn’t ask her to give up her dignity for him.
Closing his eyes, Liam tossed back the drink, and looked over to his friend.
‘I am sorry, Reid,’ Spencer said quietly.
‘As am I.’
‘Freddie and I will leave in the morning.’
‘You don’t—’
‘Yes, we do.’
With a nod, Spencer rose and left Liam alone to his thoughts.
And as he sat in the chair that night, attempting to drown his frustration in fine wine and whisky, he could not shake a growing feeling of impending doom. Perhaps it was that he’d been caged into a role today, forced to become that which he despised. Perhaps it was his inability to further his plans. Perhaps it was what he’d done to Rebecca.
Whatever it was didn’t fade with the copious amounts he drank.