Chapter 11
A Great Mortification
Tyrell de Warenne paused on the flagstone terrace, gazing out upon the sweeping lawns and gardens behind the house at Adare.
Roses were his stepmother’s favorite flower and they were in bloom everywhere, in every color, but he really did not see them.
He was vaguely aware of his brother, Rex, seated on an iron lawn chair, a drink in hand. Feminine laughter sounded.
He quickly followed the noise. Several ladies could be seen emerging from the maze on the other side of the gazebo. One of them was his bride.
Tyrell had been raised in the de Warenne tradition from the very moment of his birth.
It was a proud and ancient heritage of honor, courage, loyalty and duty.
But it was far more than that, for he was the next earl of Adare.
His duties as heir had always been clear—he alone would be responsible for the stature, political position and finances of the family and estate.
He had always known that he would one day make a very advantageous marriage, one that would enhance the de Warenne position financially, politically, socially—or all three. He had never questioned his fate.
He wanted this match. Like his father and his grandfather before him, he would do his duty with pride.
And that duty included making sure that no one in his family lacked in any way.
He would be the one to provide for his brothers, his sister and, eventually, his parents; his actions would make or break the great and ancient name of Adare.
While his family’s holdings were rather large, they had recently sold off a lucrative estate in England to replenish their finances with an eye to the needs of future generations.
It was not enough to guarantee a life of wealth and power for his own children and those of his brothers and sister.
Lord Harrington was only a viscount, the title awarded a decade ago.
However, he was incredibly wealthy, having made his own fortune in manufacturing.
Marriage to his daughter would ensure a very solid financial position for the next generation of de Warennes, while giving the family another foothold in Britain.
He watched the woman who would be his wife approaching.
“So she does not have black teeth,” his brother remarked.
Tyrell turned as Rex hauled himself to his feet, no simple task as he had but one leg, the other lost in Spain in the Peninsular War in the spring of ’13.
He had been given a knighthood and an estate in Cornwall for his heroism.
He had spent most of the past year in utter seclusion there.
Rex was a touch shorter than Tyrell and far more muscular.
Their features, however, were similar; both had dark complexions, high cheekbones, straight noses and strong jaws.
Unlike Tyrell, Rex had dark brown eyes, a throwback to a famous ancestor, Stephen de Warenne.
Now Rex’s dark face had a sardonic twist to it.
Or was his expression formed from pain? Tyrell knew that the stump that was left of his right leg bothered him tremendously; Rex lived with pain.
“I did not expect her to resemble her portrait,” Tyrell commented calmly, still watching her closely.
In fact, usually the likeness sent upon a prospective match was hardly a likeness at all.
He had expected pimples, obesity or a hooked nose.
Instead he had been surprised to be confronted with a genuinely attractive woman with small, classic features, pale blond hair, blue eyes and porcelain skin.
Many men would find her terribly beautiful.
He supposed that he did, too, in a clinical way.
“She is very beautiful, and more so than her portrait.” Using a crutch, Rex limped over to Tyrell’s side.
“But you do not seem all that pleased. You seemed at odds last night, too. In fact, you were scowling at the fireplace. Is something amiss? I would have expected you to be satisfied—she will be amusing enough in bed and she will give you handsome sons and pretty daughters.”
Last night, he had been well into a bottle of brandy.
Instantly, he recalled the reason for his brooding.
She had gray eyes and wild titian hair. “I am pleased. Why wouldn’t I be pleased with my marriage?
” His manner remained composed. “I have waited long enough for this day. Lady Blanche is beautiful, and her father is Lord Harrington. Of course I am pleased.”
Rex was eying him. Tyrell suddenly realized that he felt very little emotion at all, other than some mild surprise that his marriage would finally come to be. Pleasure seemed to be escaping him now.
He was terribly distracted by his pursuit of Elizabeth Fitzgerald and he knew it.
And maybe that was why pleasure and satisfaction were failing him now.
But he would not let anything or anyone jeopardize his future, including himself—and certainly not a gray-eyed woman whom he simply could not comprehend.
Tyrell turned away from his approaching fiancée. Elizabeth Fitzgerald appeared sweet and innocent, well bred and proper, but it was a stupendous lie. How could he not face the facts? She had returned to the county with another man’s child, born out of wedlock.
And why was she refusing him now? She had no reputation to lose. He knew women well enough to know that she wanted him, too. What did she think to gain by refusing him again? Or was this another one of her clever games? For she had certainly played him like a fool that All Hallow’s Eve.
“You do not look pleased. You do not even sound pleased. You sound thoroughly disinterested,” Rex said, cutting into his thoughts.
Tyrell acknowledged the truth—he could not summon up any real interest in his soon-to-be bride, but his interest in a very fallen woman knew no bounds.
Tyrell focused on his brother, a disturbing topic but a safer one. “Is your leg bothering you?” He hoped that was why his brother was drinking at noon, but he did not think so.
“My leg is fine, but you are not,” Rex replied, but belying his words, he rubbed his left hand over the stump that was his right thigh.
Tyrell saw and instantly berated himself.
He was preoccupied with a slip of a woman who was not his bride, while his brother had lost a leg, lived in constant pain, and seemed intent on inflicting some kind of self-imposed exile on himself.
“I am not bothered by the impending union, Rex.” He hesitated.
“I happen to have another woman on my mind.” The remark was an impulsive one and he instantly regretted his candor.
“Really? Then I suggest you take your fill so you can turn your attention where it belongs.” Rex seemed surprised. They both watched Blanche approaching with her two friends.
He wanted nothing more than to have his fill of Elizabeth Fitzgerald.
Tyrell was unpleasantly stabbed by a surge of desire at the thought, just as he realized that Lady Blanche was waiting expectantly before him, a pleasing smile on her face, her two lady friends standing just behind her.
He smiled as pleasantly in return, bowing as she curtsied.
“I hope you are enjoying this fine Irish day,” he said, continuing to smile.
“How could I not?” she asked simply. “It is a very pleasant day and your home is beautiful, my lord.”
Tyrell searched her blue-green gaze for any pretense on her part, but could find none.
Many Englishmen and women looked down upon his country and he was well aware of it.
Blanche did not seem at all condescending.
They had met for the second time last night when she had arrived with her father, but they had not had any time to speak privately.
He had studied her, though, during supper, and he had found that her pleasant manner never seemed to waver.
“Thank you. I am pleased that you might come to care for my home. Would you care to join me later for a carriage ride? I can show you some of the countryside.” A ride about the county was the last thing on his mind, but he would do his duty by his future bride.
Perhaps they might even get to know each other a bit more before the wedding.
“I would be honored, sir,” she said with another slight smile. “May I introduce my best friends, Lady Bess Harcliffe and Lady Felicia Greene? They arrived this morning.”
The ladies curtsied, both of them blushing and refusing to meet his eyes.
He bowed, murmuring some appropriate greeting.
He then took Blanche’s hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a slight kiss there.
When he looked up, she met his gaze and he realized she was hardly flustered by him.
A simpering virgin would annoy him—her friends annoyed him—and he admired her composure.
He wondered if anything would unbalance her.
“Until this afternoon, then,” he said politely.
“I look forward to it.” She curtsied with inherent grace, as did her friends, and the trio left.
Tyrell watched them walking away, her bearing straight but relaxed, while her friends were already whispering with excitement in her ear. He had no doubt that they gossiped about him. If Blanche was excited, she never faltered, and if she was amused, she never laughed.
Elizabeth stared at him, still breathless from his kisses. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment, or was it anger? Tears filled her eyes and she closed them, but he saw. “I cannot accept your proposal.”
“Tyrell?” Rex tugged on his arm. “I have never seen you so distracted,” he said bluntly. There was some disapproval in his tone.
“She is leading me on a merry chase,” Tyrell returned.