Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
84 brOOK STREET, LONDON - JUNE 9, 1816
LEE
We strode to the dining room, her arm tucked in mine. Upon reflection, I was shocked to find that my offer to stay for supper hadn’t been perfunctory or obligatory. I truly did wish for her to dine with me. Usually, after the company of others, I ached for the quiet.
She settled across from me, and it was as though I was looking upon her with new eyes. Her father… No wonder she hadn’t wanted to involve him.
My parents hadn’t been overly demonstrative with affection, but I could never imagine my father dismissing me so. And to think she had anticipated it. What had her life been?
“Did you meet with success today?” She asked politely between sips of white soup. She gave no outward indication of her enjoyment, and I was wound too tight to truly taste it. I could only hope it impressed.
“I suppose that would depend on your definition of success.”
“I did warn you.” Her brow raised pointedly.
“You did. I bow to your superior knowledge of precisely how repugnant your family members are.”
Her laugh was quick and quickly aborted, covered under her napkin with a feigned cough. “He was that charming? You found him on a good day then.”
Biting back a smile, I added, “I did meet with success with the bishop.”
“That is excellent news.”
“Yes. I only had to imply that my scars were marks from the devil twice before he was quite willing to offer me anything I wished for in order to be free of me.”
It hadn’t been nearly that difficult. I just had to allow the man to stare wearily at them for a quarter of an hour before he signed the necessary documents.
After the scene in her father’s house, I hardly noticed the beady eyes tracing the lines from my forehead to my chin.
“Handy trick, that. I do not suppose you will tell me about them?” The causal disinterest in her gaze was belied by the curious note in her voice.
“It does come in handy. Had you considered a date for the wedding?”
She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing at me over the table. I hadn’t actually expected my dodge to work, but tonight was not the night for such conversations.
“Your subterfuge is noted and unappreciated. However, I would prefer to wed as soon as possible. For obvious reasons.”
“Would three days’ time be acceptable? We could wed from here? Unless you had something else in mind, of course.”
“Three days will do perfectly well. And I have no objections to being wed from here.”
“I will have Crawford tend to the arrangements. Did you enjoy your tour? Is there anything you would look to change immediately? I can have funds pulled, though substantive changes would be difficult to manage before we leave for Bennet Hall.”
“It is all quite well situated. There are the most intriguing portraits in the gallery…”
I winced. I hadn’t been strictly avoiding the discussion of Mia, but I wasn’t yet prepared to admit the totality of my failings. Not at the table at any rate.
“Yes, they’re lovely.”
“Indeed, I found one in particular of interest.”
“The one with Great Aunt Petunia—with the eye patch and peg leg and riding astride a large goat?”
“No, I do not recall that one.”
“Perhaps it is in Surrey and I’m mistaken.”
“Perhaps.” She considered the second course thoughtfully and cut into her roast with delicate, ladylike bites before returning her discerning gaze to mine. I busied myself moving food around my plate.
When the silence stretched into the third minute, she could abide it no longer. Her fork clattered to the plate. “You are unwilling to reveal anything?”
“About what? Aunt Petunia? I rather think she was an eccentric.”
A barely restrained irritation was apparent in her countenance and posture. Her spine was straighter, longer for her annoyance. Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. It took every ounce of good breeding I possessed to refrain from laughing outright. Such kittenish fury.
Moving into somewhat less amusing territory lest my restraint fail, I asked, “How long do you suppose you would need to be prepared to travel to Bennet Hall?”
“I believe the servants can have me readied by our wedding. My time in James Place was to come to an end sooner rather than later. The new heir and his wife are eager to take occupation of the place. Some of the process had already begun.”
“Charming. Did they wait until he was in the ground to inform you of their choice?”
“They did not, actually,” she stated, her prim lips pursed.
“Do you have any relations that are not repulsive?”
“I shall soon be able to write off that particular set.”
“Ousting a widow… Whoever heard of such a thing?” That was directed primarily to my own plate.
I considered for a moment the second cousin I’d met only once who could one day inherit should Lady James be carrying a girl… What would have happened to Mia if she’d survived and I had not?
The roast turned cold and slimy in my mouth at the thought. I would need to check with Mr. Summers again. It was best to be certain my widow would be well cared for in my absence.
“I rather think a lot of people,” she answered.
Her knife scrapped across the plate, slicing a potato before she speared it and popped it into her mouth. Oblivious to my turmoil.
I swallowed my mouthful and it hit my stomach like a rock, settling there, hard and unyielding. The room had grown quite warm, the urge to tug at my cravat nearly overwhelming. Sweat gathered at the base of my neck and pooled in the silk there, saturating it. The soaked fabric itched.
Yes, it was certainly too hot in here.
I glanced from my plate to the woman across from me, seemingly unbothered by the oppressive, swampy heat. Lady James was as unaffected as ever.
Perspiration bloomed across my forehead and temples, seeping into my hairline. I tugged a few strands behind my ear, needing the air on my face.
No one could feign that kind of cool countenance in the face of the fever in this room. Yet no dampness appeared on Lady Charlotte’s forehead, no beads of sweat on her upper lip.
My chest tightened with realization. It was just me. Again.
Wind rushed through my ears.
I was getting farther and farther away. Abandoning the table for horrifying places long gone.
Table. Table. My fork clattered to my plate and I grasped the edge of the table in my hand, pressing down on the wood.
Solid, immovable.
The tablecloth was rough, sliding against the smooth wood beneath. I ran my thumbs across it. My thumbnail caught on a loose stitch.
Sound returned next, the roar dying down. That was when the humiliation crashed in.
“My lord? Lord Champaign? Are you well?”
Lady James, frozen, half risen from her chair to reach my side.
Damn. I had one of my episodes in front of her.
For a brief moment, I wished it had been worse. That it had been one of the ones where I left this reality and found my own, years away. Yes, it was horrifying there, full of the copper tang of blood and the scent of charred flesh. But when I recovered from those, I never recalled anything from this world at all. Including any humiliation I may have suffered in the interim.
I fought through the shame, clearing my throat with a cough. Jack was at my side, peppermint-oil-soaked cloth in hand. I breathed deep and harsh. The metallic tang in my mouth was chased away by the mint’s threat.
Confident, for the moment at least, of where I was, who I was, what I was, I finally looked up.
Disgust was etched into the lines of her face, her raised brow, her wide eyes, her flushed cheeks—it was clear to see.
And I couldn’t manage it.
I should tell her. I knew I should. It was the only proper thing to do. I should have done before I approached her father. But damn it all, her solution was so simple. A wife and potential heir in one neat package. I could do my duty by my title.
And though I hadn’t admitted it to myself until that exact moment, I did not wish to be alone any longer.
The truth would send her running—as it should. No sane woman wanted to be saddled with a half-addled beast of a man.
But for once in my life, I wanted to be selfish. As absurd as it was, I found myself enjoying her company. And I was so damn lonely.
So I lied.
And coughed again, harder. I coughed until even I believed I was choking. Until tears streamed down my face and my throat was raw. It was a clever bit of acting to convince her I had met with success. I managed a few more well placed coughs afterward.
“Apologies, Lady James.” I rasped. “I merely swallowed wrong. I am quite well, thank you.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, quite.” I took a heavy drink of the wine beside me. In a cruel twist of irony, it burnt my ragged throat on the way down and I had another, sincere, fit of coughing.
When I regained control of my chest and lungs, I continued, “Forgive me. I do not know that I will be worthy company this evening with my throat so scraped. Speaking is somewhat painful at present.”
She nodded thoughtfully, fortunately all but finished with her dinner. It was unpardonable to send her away without dessert, and unforgivable to send her off into the night unescorted. I hated myself more than a little for doing it. But that was precisely what I did.
I had Crawford bundle her off into my carriage. I did not even see her to the door, too afraid the sight of the conveyance would set me off again with nothing to excuse it.
Crawford looked in on me, still in the dining room in front of my half-empty, long-cold plate, after he had sent her into the night, alone. He gave a disapproving shake of his head before wandering off to scold some staff member or other.
Eventually, Brigsby stepped into the room. He pulled out the nearby chair and flopped down in it across from me. I had pushed myself away from the table some time ago, intending to do… something. Instead, my elbows had found my knees and my head had met my hands. Too trapped in the swirling hurricane of self-loathing, self-pity, and exhaustion to stand.
“It was perhaps too much today. Tomorrow will be better,” Brigs murmured soothingly.
I didn’t want forgiveness. I didn’t want understanding. I wanted someone to hate me more than I hated myself. But I wasn’t entirely certain that was possible. Perhaps Lady James would in short order, when she saw the shell of a man she had purchased with the rest of her life.
Something to look forward to.