The Earl and the Wedding Crasher (The Brides of Elderglen #3)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

I t was a very different sort of feeling stepping into the study with the master of the house at her side instead of barging in to confront him or being summoned to speak to him like she was a naughty schoolgirl in trouble with a teacher.

There was still a little flutter of nerves in her chest from being alone with him, like they would get in trouble if they were found out. Perhaps that was the most ridiculous thing of all, to be feeling nervous to be alone with her own husband?

What will the servants say? She thought perhaps a little hysterically to herself. How scandalous, Lord and Lady St Vincent alone in his study. They might be talking, he might see her ankles!

She must be even more tired than she had thought, it was a relief when Cedric took her arm steadyingly, withdrawn and quiet as he showed her to a seat and then crossed to one of the dark wood shelves around the room, mostly piled high with strange old books, and pulled a bottle of dark amber down from a high shelf along with a couple of clear crystal glasses.

He poured a measure into one glass with a liberal hand and looked up to see her watching him. "Would you care for a drink, Louisa?" he asked, softly.

She felt as though there was a note of challenge or doubt in his voice, so she nodded firmly. She had never drunk anything like whatever this was. The most she had drunk before apart from occasional flutes of light champagne or a small glass of sweet wine was the time she had slipped into the masked ball and taken for herself an entire bottle of champagne. It had made her feel invulnerable, delightful and then sick in short succession.

Cedric crossed back to her with the second glass with only a very little amount in it. "It is quite strong," he said at her aggrieved look. "Best to ensure you like it before I pour you more."

Provoked by his condescension Louisa took a defiant swallow and promptly choked "My God! It tastes like turpentine!"

A flicker of amusement broke through the sadness on his face and he said, "When have you ever tasted turpentine, Louisa?"

She flushed hotly, it was amazing how infuriating the man could be even when they were here with the best intentions, trying to come to an accord. "It tastes the way the turpentine smells!" she said, her expression daring him to laugh at her even a little.

Cedric took heed of it, clearly smothering a laugh, before growing serious again "I suppose it does. Well." He paused, glancing away and out the window at the darkened grounds. "As you can see, I'm not good with children."

"You're not bad with them," Louisa offered, softening a little at his clear unhappiness. "You could definitely be worse. Many fathers are." Her own had been profoundly useless throughout most of her life.

"But I'm not their father," he said, pain all through his voice. "Am I?"

"You are the closest thing they have now," she said softly, approaching to lay a hand on his arm. "And that cannot replace him, of course it can't, nothing can, but you can learn to be what they need."

"And how do I do that?" he said, a note of bitterness in his voice.

"Well, I rather think that's what you married me for," she said lightly. "In fact I may be the most suitable bride you could have found for the purposes."

"And how is that?" he asked a little tartly, head whipping round to look at her.

"Because my own mother died when I was small," she said. "But not so small I can't remember how it felt. Or the way my younger sister would cry for her at night and we would have to hush her before our father heard."

"Oh," Cedric said, face softening as some realization came to him. "I'm sorry."

Louisa shook her head "It's all right. But I understand, you see. I know how they feel, and some of what they need, and I want to make sure they have it. You married me to give them something like a mother, Cedric and I want you to let me do that."

"I barely know you," he said. "And I have no idea what having a mother should be like, what it should look like from the outside."

His words were coming out stilted, with a deep seated pain behind them and Louisa's heart ached at it. "I thought, the Dowager, is she not your mother?"

Cedric's face darkened "She is but I barely know her. I was raised by my father, here, and she and my brother lived in Bath. For her health."

"You did not see them often?" Louisa guessed, and he shook his head.

"No. Not at all. She left when I was seven and the next time I saw my brother, he was in a coffin." Cedric's fists were clenched tight at his side and he stared at her, a coldness like ice in his eyes as though he were daring her to question him further on the matter.

"Oh my lord, I am sorry," she said, and he shook his head as if to repel her comfort, the coldness disappearing and a crooked smile taking its place.

"I am not in the habit of accepting apologies from young ladies, my lady." His smile grew a little at the sight of the frustrated flush that painted her cheeks at his comment. "But more to the point, 'It is imperative that I do better by them. The children. I know of my reputation. I know that I am well known for it even. But they are my priority now and I take that seriously."

"You meant it when you said you wanted them to have everything," Louisa said softly, biting her lip. Sometimes it was so hard to speak to him around all of the charm and arrogance, to see the important thing that he was saying. "I do too. Cedric let me love them. Let me take care of them. Let me give them what they need instead of treating them like… like little miniatures of adults, dressed up and silent and filled with sorrow and fear they're not allowed to express because they're Pembrokes, and apparently that's not done."

He looked at her then, his lips pressed so tightly together that they went white, and she continued. "And join me at it. We can do it together. You don't know what you're doing yet but you can learn."

Her husband nodded slowly then "Yes. I can learn."

"That is all that anyone could ask of you," Louisa said slowly, getting up from her chair and moving to the window so she would not have to see his expression when she said what was next. There was so much tension between them now that she did not know if she would be able to breathe if it were to get worse.

And oh she could not bear it if things were worse between them. Please let there be at least this cautious cease fire.

"Many fathers or guardians would not even do that. People say that children are to be seen and not to be heard, it would not even be considered wrong to leave them with nursery maids and governesses to care for them. You are already doing so much more than so many would do."

"That is not a high bar," Cedric said bitterly from behind her. "My father always gave me what I needed when I was a child, even after my mother left us."

Louisa thought in her heart of hearts, in a secret place she would never speak of aloud to him that his father could have stood to have taken care of both of his sons if she had understood the story right. To sacrifice one boy so that his wife would leave was a strange and cold decision. To separate brothers who had been so close and keep them apart was not something she as a beloved sister could bear to consider.

"My own father," she said carefully, cautious to reveal too much and make his consideration of her swing back to some sort of pity. "Was never the same after my mother died. He wanted sons and instead he had a wealth of girls. He stayed very far from us, left things to my older sisters. It is not something I would ever wish on children. You are doing better than him."

It was like peeling back a curtain to let light into a shadowy room, learning these little pieces of information about his young wife. When he had first met her he had been certain that she was an infatuated child drawn in by his appearance and reputation. God knew that he had certainly earned some of that reputation in his wild youth, but it had been so long since he had been anything but responsible.

Then in the church his opinion of her had dipped further. He knew that his friends saw it as a favor she had done him, to protect him from having to contend with a child that was not his but would be seen as such by all of society; but whatever had been said about him it had always been in good fun, a man who might flirt with and romance a young lady but not a man who would seduce an innocent and make promises to her that he would then break with another!

It had hurt him, his pride he supposed, that this was now how he would be known.

But now she was sharing parts of herself with him he could see her a little better he thought. He watched her standing by the window, haloed by the candlelight from his desk against the great dark expanse outside and thought that she was deeper and more complicated than he had first thought. A curious creature. Perhaps one that posed a danger to him after all.

"I hope I shall continue to do so," he said quietly, moving to stand behind her. "I do not want to emulate the ways our parents have failed either of us."

"You want them to have the security that -" she stopped and turned to face him, eyes searching his face.

"That my brother never had, yes," Cedric said. His brother would have been a wonderful father, he knew it as well as he knew his own soul. He knew it in the way that the children longed for him in the dark moments of the night, the way that when he had first collected them Kenneth had clung to him as 'Papa's brother' with a desperation for comfort that had not survived the cruelties of grief and time together.

Peter had perhaps remembered him as well.

Louisa searched Cedric's face, feeling a pang through her heart at the pain and uncertainty she could read there. He was normally so confident, so easily flirtatious or sure of himself. Now all she could see is sadness in his eyes.

Was it always a mask? She wondered to herself. Or has it been recently that he has found it a part he has to play to keep people from seeing what is happening underneath?

They were standing close to each other, the soft light of the candles flickering across Cedric's face and lacing his blue eyes with shards of golden warmth. It was a soft moment, a peace between them that she cherished. If only it could always be like this, quiet and full of understanding instead of how he usually managed to -

"You are staring," Cedric said, eyes back on her face assessingly.

"I am?" Louisa stammered, absolutely aware that she was staring and wishing that she could give him a reason that would sound better than enjoying the way the light looked in his eyes. How mawkish would that make her sound?

"Is there something you see that you like?"

He had killed the moment and then stomped on it! She felt the familiar rush of heat up her cheeks and scowled at him reprovingly even as a little smile bloomed across his lips in amusement.

"Not at all," she said pertly, turning his smile into a grin of approval. "In fact I am tired of looking at you, my lord, and I shall be returning to my chamber."

"Sleep well, my sweet wife," he called after her as she left, sending another rush of color up her cheeks.

Was there ever a man more frustrating, confusing or infuriating than Cedric Pembroke?