If meeting Margery’s veteran friends the day before, the subsequent return of those horrifying nightmares, and his shame in then burdening Margery with the truth of that most devastating history had shaken Daniel, the visitor to Seacliff the following day completely undermined what little confidence he had managed to build these past weeks on Synne.
“Mr. Gregory Hayle is here to see you, Your Grace.”
Daniel gaped at the butler. Surely he’d misheard. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mr. Gregory Hayle. Shall I show him to the drawing room, Your Grace?”
Still, he couldn’t manage to comprehend what the butler was telling him. Gregory, here?
Wilkins, who had been putting the finishing touches to Daniel’s cravat, leaned in closer. “You can turn him away, you know.”
Daniel blinked down at him. The valet hadn’t attempted to cross the line between them into familiarity since that first night on Synne. Now, however, he gazed up at Daniel with a ferocious fire. “What was that?”
“Mr. Hayle. You needn’t see him.”
Daniel gaped at him. “But he’s my cousin, and came all this way.”
The valet mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “To cause mischief, no doubt.” When Daniel would have questioned Wilkins on it, however, the butler spoke again.
“Your Grace?”
Daniel started. “Er, yes, please have him shown to the drawing room.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
With the butler gone, Daniel turned back to Wilkins to question him on his reaction to Gregory’s arrival. It had been so out of character for the valet. But the man had already turned away and was hurrying into the adjacent room. Sighing, Daniel faced the mirror.
Everything was in order. And yet he suddenly felt every bit of his awkwardness. The scars that ravaged his cheek and temple made his already-rough features even more so. The elegant clothes, the best that money could buy, could not fail to hide the stocky, inelegant form beneath. He had managed to forget for a time who he really was, that he was a sham, that he didn’t belong. Margery had helped him begin to overcome that, he knew.
But no matter how she’d made him feel, he was still the same man he’d always been.
Nevertheless, he straightened his shoulders and, taking up his cane, made his way from the room.
Gregory turned from his position at the window when Daniel entered the drawing room. He grinned, striding forward, hand extended. “Ah, Cousin. You’re looking…decent.”
Daniel pressed his lips tight as he took the man’s hand. Trying and failing not to notice that decent was the least accurate description he would use for his cousin. The man was devilishly handsome as always, his long, lean form draped in clothes of the finest fit, the most expensive material. His features looked as if they’d been swiped from an ancient statue, his hair thick and wavy and combed just so.
Heading for a seat, Daniel indicated a chair some distance away. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Instead of taking the suggested chair, however, Gregory settled himself beside Daniel, exhaling a satisfied breath as he did so. “I vow, it was quite the journey to get here from London. I must look a veritable mess; I shouldn’t be seen in public.” He laughed heartily.
Daniel gave him a sickly smile. “What brings you to Synne, Gregory?”
“Why, to see you, of course. And my dear aunt. Where is she, by the way?”
“Taking a walk with Lady Tesh, I assume.”
“This healthful sea air doing her some good, I hope?”
Daniel merely nodded. His nerves were strung tight as a nocked bow, his mind whirling. What the devil did the man want?
“Good,” Gregory said with a wide smile, looking to his cuff and adjusting it. “Glad to hear it. But what is this I hear about you heading to London after?” He rearranged his features into a semblance of great concern. “Surely you don’t intend on dragging my aunt to the capital when she’s so frail.”
Daniel felt the blood leave his face. How had he forgotten the planned trip to London, as well as the most nerve-wracking part of it should he fail to find a bride while still on Synne?
But he knew in an instant: Margery. She had so bewitched him the last few days that he had not been able to think straight. Or, rather, he had willingly lost himself in her. And had completely lost sight of what he needed to do, which was to marry quickly.
As if Gregory heard Daniel’s troubled thoughts, he leaned forward in his seat and dropped his voice to a nearly believable concern. “Erica is still in London, you know. I’d expected them to travel to Thrushton’s country seat for the rest of her confinement, thereby saving you the pain of seeing them while you’re in town. But he’s of a mind to stay on for the opening of Parliament, and so they’ll remain for the birth as well. I thought it wise to forewarn you, so you are not caught unaware.”
“There was no reason for you to warn me; their presence in London will not affect me at all,” Daniel managed, wholly unsure if it was a lie or not. If anything, he felt numb.
“Oh, well, that’s a relief.” Gregory smiled widely, clapping a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel flinched, an instinctual reaction where his cousin was concerned. He sent up a quick prayer that Gregory had not seen. The man thrived on people’s vulnerabilities, and used them to his advantage.
But those prayers were ignored. His cousin let out a bark of laughter. “Never tell me you still fear my fist, Danny.”
He should not. He was larger than Gregory now, after all, a man grown, a veteran of the war, a bloody duke.
And yet inside he still felt that same debilitating fear that he used to. There had not been a corner he had not rounded where he had not tensed for the possibility of Gregory being in the room. There had not been a single moment while in his presence that he had not held his breath, waiting for the swiftly wielded words that would cut as deftly as an assassin’s blade, leaving deep wounds, yet done under cover of politeness so that no one saw them for what they were. And there had not been a moment while alone in his presence that Daniel had not expected a heavy hand to descend. Punches carefully placed, so the bruising would not show.
Gregory seemed blessedly unaware of Daniel’s tortured memories. He rambled on, extolling the glories of London, even though mere moments ago he had been attempting to dissuade Daniel from visiting that same city. But wasn’t this a much slyer way of seeing that Daniel did not visit the capital? He made certain to touch upon every one of the things that would cause Daniel to turn tail and run: routs and balls, musicales and the theater, meeting so-and-so in Hyde Park, which was apparently the place to see and be seen. The man could be lying through his damn teeth, for all Daniel knew. He didn’t have a clue what London was like, after all, and most especially not in the off-season.
But that didn’t matter. His cousin’s words were dredging up a wild panic in his chest that he was hard-pressed to contain.
Finally Gregory grew silent and looked about with a raised brow. “But I thought you had learned your manners, Danny. No tea and biscuits for your dear cousin?” Before Daniel could think to apologize, the other man gave him a pitying look. “Well, no worries. I’m certain you’ll master the social niceties. Eventually.”
As Daniel stared mutely at him, Gregory stood with a fluidity and grace that would have had Daniel envious even at his most hale and hearty. “But I’d best be on my way. I’ve a mind to see this quaint little town while I’m here. Don’t get up on my account,” he continued when Daniel made to rise. Again, that pitying look. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt that leg of yours, after all.”
As Gregory headed for the drawing room door, whistling jauntily, Daniel finally managed to speak up. “Will we be seeing you again?”
His cousin paused and looked back at Daniel with unbridled humor, letting loose a gay laugh. “Oh, you are a funny one, Danny. As if I would come all this way for a single visit, and without even a drop of refreshments.” He grinned, almost a feral baring of teeth, all the pleasantness seeming to have been leached from it. “I’ve already taken a nice little room at the Master-at-Arms Inn, and so yes, Cousin, you can be certain you’ll be seeing more of me. Who knows, mayhap I’ll be able to assist you in preparing for London and seeing Erica again, eh?” And with that he was gone.
Daniel sat dumbly for a moment, staring at the open door, listening as his cousin exited the house in that boisterous, cheerful way of his that never failed to grate on Daniel’s nerves. The man’s parting words filled him with a hollow dread, as well as a remembrance that it was all too possible he might see Erica in London. Although there was little chance she would be out much in public, being so close to her confinement, a vivid image nevertheless popped into his mind then, of meeting Erica face-to-face, of seeing with his own eyes her swollen stomach, her contentment with Thrushton—and perhaps a vague pity and disgust in her eyes, as well as a deep relief that she had escaped having to make a life with Daniel.
To his shock, however, that possibility did not have the power it used to. Instead, it was quickly replaced by another: Margery, glorious and glowing, and heavy with his child. And his heart ached for that.
He recoiled as if burned. He saw now that the love he’d had for Erica was pale in comparison to what he was beginning to feel for Margery.
Erica had been beautiful, and graceful, and at ease with everyone. Everything that Daniel had not been. She’d dazzled him, like a star. But he had only known her by her social persona; he hadn’t known who she truly was beneath the glittering exterior. His affection for her had been unformed, a mere bit of clay.
But with Margery, he was beginning to know her heart. His affections for her were being formed like a vase on a potter’s wheel, growing more complete with every conversation, every shared laugh, every glance. Every kiss. And he wanted so much more of that with her.
In the next moment he cursed himself for being the biggest fool alive. He had done the one thing he had vowed never to do, had put his guard down and let his emotions guide him. If he wanted to keep Gregory from eventually getting his hands on the dukedom, he had to secure a bride, and an heir. And by falling in love with Margery, who had proclaimed she would never marry, who was so against marrying again that she would hire herself out to him to find him a bride, though she was willing to take him to her bed, he would essentially be shooting himself in the foot.
He blanched then. Love Margery? Surely he didn’t. Theirs was a temporary affair. They had agreed on just that. And hadn’t he determined that he would never put himself in the position of loving another? Hadn’t he promised himself, with his broken heart and shattered dreams, that he would never grow close to another person again?
A numbness spread over him and seeped down to his very bones. His days of idyllic happiness were over. London or no London, he could not allow himself to continue falling in love with Margery. It was time to choose a wife, to marry. And to leave Synne—and Margery—behind for good.
* * *
Anticipation filled Margery as the carriage approached Seacliff. She had been gone the better part of the day, visiting Swallowhill and offering what help she could with Clara and the babe. But though she’d been kept happily busy, though she’d enjoyed the time spent with her family, the hours had dragged. She couldn’t stop thinking of Daniel.
And as the carriage rocked to a halt and she descended to the drive and entered the house, she felt quite honestly as if she were coming home.
Which shouldn’t surprise her. She had been a resident at Seacliff since Lenora and Peter’s marriage, after all, and before that had come to stay with her grandmother more times than she could count. But there was something different in the feeling just then, a warmth deep in her chest, a certainty that she had finally found her place.
She rushed into the house, up the stairs, down the upper hallway to her room, eager to change out of her clothes and join the rest of the household for dinner. She certainly didn’t expect to see Daniel’s door ajar. Nor did she expect to see him within.
He stood at the window, his back to her, seemingly focused on the garden below. Smiling to herself, mischief rearing up like a naughty child whispering in her ear, she crept up behind him. So engrossed was he in the view he didn’t hear her approach. When she reached him she snaked her arms about his waist, felt his start of surprise as she rested her cheek on his broad back.
“Hello. Did you miss me?” she murmured.
“Mrs. Kitteridge.”
The laugh that bubbled up in her throat at what she thought was teasing on his part in reverting to her formal name died a swift death as he extracted himself from her embrace and turned to face her. There was no humor in his expression. Rather, his eyes were somber, his scars standing out in harsh relief against the unnaturally pale cast to his skin.
“Daniel, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing at all.” But his eyes slid from hers as he said it. Clearing his throat, he made his way to the full-length mirror on the far side of the room and stared intently at himself. “I’m actually glad you’ve come. It seems we’ve lost track of the days, you and I. And the time for me to travel to London grows dangerously near.”
A chill began to creep through her. She clasped her hands tight before her to stave off the sudden shaking in them.
“I think it’s best if we put our focus once more on our original agreement,” he continued. His voice sounded distant, neutral. And like knives to her heart. He smoothed the front of his jacket, large, rough hands drifting over the impeccable material. “And I believe I’ve made a decision on whom I should court.”
Dragging in a deep breath, he looked her way. She felt as if she were watching him through a tunnel, the great roaring in her ears nearly blocking out what he was saying.
“I do think Miss Pickering will do just fine,” he said. “She seems a sensible girl, and would be more than happy, I think, to have a marriage of convenience. And I can provide her the space and privacy she no doubt requires for her studies.”
“Miss Pickering,” Margery repeated dazedly.
He nodded. “Really, I don’t know why I didn’t see her as an ideal choice from the start. There won’t be any demands for a deeper connection from her. And, as you’ve known from the beginning, I’m not looking for a romantic attachment. Quite the opposite, really.” He paused. Then, his gaze sliding to his cuff as he made some adjustment, he said, “No, friendship and love are the last things I want or need.”
Margery’s head spun. She thought she might be sick.
“This will, of course, mean an end to our affair.”
“Of course,” she managed through stiff lips.
He raised his eyes to hers. She felt as if she’d been slapped. There was nothing there, none of the warmth she’d come to recognize, no emotion. It was as if she were looking at a painting. No, less than a painting, for even an amateur artist could elicit emotion in art. And there was not a hint of emotion, either warm or cold, in his flat gaze.
“We had always meant it to be temporary, just that one night. It went on longer than we had planned.”
“Yes.”
He regarded her for a long moment. Then something shifted, emotion peeking through the veneer. His voice, when he spoke, was a mere rasp of sound. “I will never forget our time together.”
Which only made this worse. Self-preservation and pride and fury at herself for letting it get so far brought her shoulders back, forced the bright smile to her lips. “Certainly. And I shan’t forget it, either.” She let loose a laugh. “Goodness, but this is a relief. I had come here to suggest the very same thing. But I’ll send a note to the Pickerings immediately, shall I? Though I’m quite certain there won’t be any difficulty in securing something with them right away.”
Before he could answer she spun about, rushing from the room. Only when she was safe behind her own closed door did she allow herself to breathe. But there was no relief in it. Her chest felt tight, air barely wheezing through her suddenly dry lips.
Had she been so starved for physical affection that she would put aside everything she held dear once she finally tasted it again? She went to twist her wedding ring—and her heart dropped into her stomach to find her finger bare. It took her some seconds to remember she had removed it that first night she’d lain with Daniel.
Stupid, stupid woman, she berated herself as she hurried to her desk. All the care, all the caution, and still she had come to care for Daniel. She yanked open the drawer, retrieved the ring. Pushing it onto her finger, forcing it over her knuckle, she let it settle back where it had rested for so long. The coldness of the metal seemed to seep down into her very bones. And then, as a further reminder, she lifted out the miniature of Aaron she’d hidden alongside it. She traced her gaze over his features, the faint roundness still present in his cheeks, the unruly curl that never would lay flat no matter how he tried.
But, to her dismay, the connection she usually felt when gazing at his beloved features—the one and only painting she had of him—was just out of reach. She tried to remember the day the miniature had been painted. He’d been so embarrassed to sit for it; his family had never been well-off, and having a portrait done of oneself was the height of vanity and excess to them. But with kisses and pretty begging she had finally gotten him to agree to sit for Lenora, however reluctantly. They’d been newly married at the time, just learning the physical joys of one another, beginning to set up a home together in London. Though he’d tried to hold himself in what he deemed was a properly sober fashion for his forced portrait, he still hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from Margery as she’d sat beside Lenora. They’d drifted her way time and time again, the promise of love in his eyes. And Lenora, with her incredible talent, had captured the moment perfectly, the slight flush to his cheeks, the small smile on his lips, the affection in his gaze. One of the happiest moments of Margery’s life.
But though the memory was there, it wasn’t as clear as it typically was. She focused harder, but it was like trying to peer through a thick fog.
Suddenly frightened that she might be losing even the memory of him, she hugged the small framed portrait to her chest. Then, dragging in a shaky breath, she placed the miniature on the desk and ran her finger along the edge before, setting her jaw, she made her way from the room. Daniel had been right; time was quickly flying by, much more quickly than she’d realized. The blackmail money was due in less than a fortnight, and she didn’t have room for any more dalliances, any more distractions. It was time to get Daniel married.