Mr. Cavendish, I Presume
Page 40
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“You visit all the time.”
“And see you for the prescribed ten minutes, fifteen if you are feeling generous.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You were far more amenable when you thought I was drunk.”
“You were drunk.”
“Regardless.” He bowed his head for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. Blast it all, what was he going to do about this?
“Is your head bothering you?” she asked.
He looked up.
“You do that”—she imitated his gesture—“when your head is bothering you.
He’d been doing it so much during the past twenty-four hours, it was a wonder the spot wasn’t as bruised as his eye. “Any number of things are bothering me,”
he said curtly, but she looked so stricken he was compelled to add, “I do not refer to you.”
Her lips parted but she did not comment.
He did not speak, either, and a full minute passed before she said, her voice careful, and indeed almost rueful, “I think we shall have to go. To Belgrave,” she clarified, when his gaze caught hers.
“I am sure you were thinking as I was,” she continued, “that we could simply take the carriage out to the country and while away an hour or two before returning me home.”
He was, actually. It would be hell on her reputation, were they discovered, but somehow that seemed the least of his concerns.
“But you don’t know my mother,” she added. “Not as I do. She will send someone to Belgrave. Or perhaps come herself, under some guise or another. Probably something about borrowing more books from your grandmother. If she arrives, and I am not there, it will be a disaster.”
He almost laughed. The only reason he did not was that it would be the height of insult, and there were certain gentlemanly traits he could not abandon, even when the world was falling down around him.
But really, after the events of yesterday—his new cousin, the possible loss of his title, his home, probably even the clothes on his back—the ramifications of an illicit country picnic seemed trivial. What could possibly happen? Someone would see them and they would be forced to marry? They were already betrothed.
Or were they? He no longer knew.
“I know that it would only hasten a ceremony that has been preordained for decades, but”—here her voice became tremulous, and it pierced his heart with guilt—“you don’t want that. Not yet. You’ve made that clear.”
“That’s not true,” he said quickly. And it wasn’t.
But it had been. And they both knew it. Looking at her now, her blond hair shining in the morning light, her eyes, not so hazel today, this time almost green—he no longer knew why he’d put this off for so long.
“I don’t want it,” she said, her voice almost low enough to be a whisper. “Not like that. Not some hastily patched-up thing. Already no one thinks you really want to marry me.”
He wanted to contradict her, to tell her she was being foolish, and silly, and imagining things that were simply not true. But he could not. He had not treated her badly, but nor had he treated her well.
He found himself looking at her, at her face, and it was as if he’d never truly seen her before. She was lovely. In every way. And she could have been his wife by now.
But the world was a very different place than it had been this time yesterday, and he no longer knew if he had any right to her. And good Lord, the last thing he wished to do was take her to Belgrave. Wouldn’t that be fun? He could introduce her to Highwayman Jack! He could imagine the conversation already.
Amelia, do meet my cousin.
Your cousin?
Indeed. He might be the duke.
Then who are you?
Excellent question.
Not to mention the other excellent questions she was sure to come up with, most notably—what, exactly, was the state of their betrothal?
Good God. The mind boggled, and his mind, on the mend but still worse for the wear after a night of drink, preferred to remain boggle-free.
It would be so easy to insist that they not go to Belgrave. He was used to making the decisions, and she was used to having to abide by them. His overriding of her wishes would not seem at all out of character.
But he couldn’t do it. Not today.
Maybe her mother would not seek her out. Maybe no one would ever know that she’d not been where she said she’d be.
But Amelia would know. She would know that she had looked him in the eye and told him why she needed to go to Belgrave, and she would know that he had been too callous to consider her feelings.
And he would know that he’d hurt her.
“Very well,” he said brusquely. “We shall head to Belgrave.” It wasn’t exactly a cottage. Surely they could avoid Mr. Audley. He was probably still abed, anyway.
He didn’t seem the sort to enjoy the morningtide.
Thomas directed the driver to take him home and then climbed into the carriage beside Amelia. “I don’t imagine you are eager for my grandmother’s company,”
he said.
“Not overmuch, no.”
“She favors the rooms at the front of the castle.” And if Mr. Audley was indeed awake, that was where he would also be, probably counting the silver or estimat-ing the worth of the collection of Canalettos in the north vestibule.
Thomas turned to Amelia. “We shall enter at the back.”
She nodded, and it was done.
When they reached Belgrave, the driver made straight for the stables, presumably, Amelia thought, on the duke’s orders. Indeed, they reached their destination without ever coming within sight of the castle’s front windows. If the dowager was where Wyndham had said she would be—and indeed, in all her visits to the castle, Amelia had only ever seen the dowager in three separate rooms, all at the front—then they would be able to carry out the rest of the morning in relative peace.
“And see you for the prescribed ten minutes, fifteen if you are feeling generous.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You were far more amenable when you thought I was drunk.”
“You were drunk.”
“Regardless.” He bowed his head for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. Blast it all, what was he going to do about this?
“Is your head bothering you?” she asked.
He looked up.
“You do that”—she imitated his gesture—“when your head is bothering you.
He’d been doing it so much during the past twenty-four hours, it was a wonder the spot wasn’t as bruised as his eye. “Any number of things are bothering me,”
he said curtly, but she looked so stricken he was compelled to add, “I do not refer to you.”
Her lips parted but she did not comment.
He did not speak, either, and a full minute passed before she said, her voice careful, and indeed almost rueful, “I think we shall have to go. To Belgrave,” she clarified, when his gaze caught hers.
“I am sure you were thinking as I was,” she continued, “that we could simply take the carriage out to the country and while away an hour or two before returning me home.”
He was, actually. It would be hell on her reputation, were they discovered, but somehow that seemed the least of his concerns.
“But you don’t know my mother,” she added. “Not as I do. She will send someone to Belgrave. Or perhaps come herself, under some guise or another. Probably something about borrowing more books from your grandmother. If she arrives, and I am not there, it will be a disaster.”
He almost laughed. The only reason he did not was that it would be the height of insult, and there were certain gentlemanly traits he could not abandon, even when the world was falling down around him.
But really, after the events of yesterday—his new cousin, the possible loss of his title, his home, probably even the clothes on his back—the ramifications of an illicit country picnic seemed trivial. What could possibly happen? Someone would see them and they would be forced to marry? They were already betrothed.
Or were they? He no longer knew.
“I know that it would only hasten a ceremony that has been preordained for decades, but”—here her voice became tremulous, and it pierced his heart with guilt—“you don’t want that. Not yet. You’ve made that clear.”
“That’s not true,” he said quickly. And it wasn’t.
But it had been. And they both knew it. Looking at her now, her blond hair shining in the morning light, her eyes, not so hazel today, this time almost green—he no longer knew why he’d put this off for so long.
“I don’t want it,” she said, her voice almost low enough to be a whisper. “Not like that. Not some hastily patched-up thing. Already no one thinks you really want to marry me.”
He wanted to contradict her, to tell her she was being foolish, and silly, and imagining things that were simply not true. But he could not. He had not treated her badly, but nor had he treated her well.
He found himself looking at her, at her face, and it was as if he’d never truly seen her before. She was lovely. In every way. And she could have been his wife by now.
But the world was a very different place than it had been this time yesterday, and he no longer knew if he had any right to her. And good Lord, the last thing he wished to do was take her to Belgrave. Wouldn’t that be fun? He could introduce her to Highwayman Jack! He could imagine the conversation already.
Amelia, do meet my cousin.
Your cousin?
Indeed. He might be the duke.
Then who are you?
Excellent question.
Not to mention the other excellent questions she was sure to come up with, most notably—what, exactly, was the state of their betrothal?
Good God. The mind boggled, and his mind, on the mend but still worse for the wear after a night of drink, preferred to remain boggle-free.
It would be so easy to insist that they not go to Belgrave. He was used to making the decisions, and she was used to having to abide by them. His overriding of her wishes would not seem at all out of character.
But he couldn’t do it. Not today.
Maybe her mother would not seek her out. Maybe no one would ever know that she’d not been where she said she’d be.
But Amelia would know. She would know that she had looked him in the eye and told him why she needed to go to Belgrave, and she would know that he had been too callous to consider her feelings.
And he would know that he’d hurt her.
“Very well,” he said brusquely. “We shall head to Belgrave.” It wasn’t exactly a cottage. Surely they could avoid Mr. Audley. He was probably still abed, anyway.
He didn’t seem the sort to enjoy the morningtide.
Thomas directed the driver to take him home and then climbed into the carriage beside Amelia. “I don’t imagine you are eager for my grandmother’s company,”
he said.
“Not overmuch, no.”
“She favors the rooms at the front of the castle.” And if Mr. Audley was indeed awake, that was where he would also be, probably counting the silver or estimat-ing the worth of the collection of Canalettos in the north vestibule.
Thomas turned to Amelia. “We shall enter at the back.”
She nodded, and it was done.
When they reached Belgrave, the driver made straight for the stables, presumably, Amelia thought, on the duke’s orders. Indeed, they reached their destination without ever coming within sight of the castle’s front windows. If the dowager was where Wyndham had said she would be—and indeed, in all her visits to the castle, Amelia had only ever seen the dowager in three separate rooms, all at the front—then they would be able to carry out the rest of the morning in relative peace.
