Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Halfway down the drive, whistling and grinning like a man assured of salvation, Remmy ran into a nightmare.
His parents.
Holding hands as they drifted lazily toward the house, they were as they’d always been—entirely in love and perfectly oblivious. He might just sneak around them without them noticing, hoofbeats, dirt flying, and all.
No such luck.
They looked up before he was in talking distance, and their mouths dropped open at the same time. They remained open until he passed by them.
He would have tipped his hat had he been wearing one. “Good morning, Mother, Father.”
His mother closed her mouth first. “Remmy…”
“Why are you wearing naught but your smalls, Remington?” his father demanded.
Remmy kept going. He owed his success to them. But he didn’t have to like it.
“Can’t be comfortable,” his mother mumbled.
“Stop, son,” his father said. “I know you’re dedicated to scene making and dishonoring the family these days, but come down from there and talk to us!”
Remmy dropped off Jeopardy, ignoring the uncomfortable free swinging of the parts hid but not well-contained by his smalls. “Well?”
“You must stop what you’re doing,” his father demanded. “We have looked the other way while you’ve run wild, but you’re not to bring that sort of behavior home. You’re scandalizing your poor mother.”
His mother did not look scandalized. Frustrated, yes, ready to read him a lecture, absolutely. “You’re jeopardizing the family reputation, Remmy.”
“You two were the ones who told me I was useless. I’ve found a lucrative use for myself. You should be happy.”
“Useless?” his mother gasped.
“What sort of nonsense is that?” his father demanded.
He should get back on his horse and ride all the way to London in nothing but his smalls, but he’d had it. Tessa had been back not more than a week in his life, and he was right back where he’d been six years ago—aching and desperate, and his parents must suffer, too.
“I came to you and told you what I wanted. I wanted to save her, to marry her.” He was yelling, didn’t care.
Maybe, if he’d been allowed to marry Tessa back then, she’d have been in love with him by now.
“And you told me no and reminded me oh-so lovingly that I had nothing, nothing at all, to offer a wife.”
“Remmy,” his mother said, an attempt to soften him.
“It was true.” His father wouldn’t back down.
Good. “It was true. It woke me up. And I’ve worked myself to the bone and gristle trying to change my circumstances since then.”
“We know,” his mother said.
“We’re proud of you.” His father nodded, a stout sort of thing full of conviction about that pride. “Which is why we will not condone your actions.”
“My actions are all part of my success. Gossip makes money.”
“Bah.” His father stamped a foot. “You do not need gossip to succeed. Which is why we’re so disappointed with your behavior of late. Tessa’s mother possesses high moral standards, and she will not accept Tessa back into her home if she marries a man like you.”
Remmy felt as if he were still somehow on Jeopardy, moving farther and farther away from understanding of this conversation. “Do you mean you expect me to propose? To Tessa King? To the same girl you warned me away from six years ago?”
They nodded.
“But I’m not good enough for her,” he growled, “remember? Surely you have not forgotten your own words.” He hadn’t.
The misery of knowing he’d been partly at fault for her situation, the exhilaration of knowing this was his moment to play hero.
He’d marry her, save her, convince her from the marriage bed to love him back.
But his parents had said no as if responding to a request for more wine.
No. So simple, so logical. He was one of eleven children, had not an allowance large enough to support a family, had not work to supplement his allowance, had not committed himself to the church or the military or the law.
They would not allow him to ruin that poor sweet girl.
Ruin.
Ha.
He’d felt ruined, crushed under his parents’ dancing feet. Yet he’d told Tessa how he felt anyway, hoping they could promise themselves, bide their time until his parents relented.
I love you.
And she’d had no clue how he’d meant it.
His mother wrapped both hands around his wrists and gave his arms a little shake. “You were not ready then, Remmy. You are now.”
“Would you have been able to sleep in the back of the theatre if you’d had a wife?” his father asked.
“No.” He’d not even taken rooms during the first year and a half as the Folly’s owner. He’d slept on an old broken sofa in his office, using every bit of his allowance for repairs.
“Would the Folly be as close now to success if you’d been married?”
Likely not. He would have spent pounds and hours caring for his wife.
“You were not ready,” his mother repeated. “You are now. You know, Remmy… You could have married an heiress.”
Instead he’d played the rake, trying to forget, but always keeping a part of him closed off, waiting…
His mother hooked one arm through his. On his other side, his father did the same. Then they dragged him back down the drive toward the house.
“The horse,” he said, but it was trotting along behind them like a well-trained dog. Felt like betrayal. “My clothes?”
“Do you care?” his mother asked.
Suddenly… he did. “They’re in the stables,” he grumbled.
“Do you know,” his father said, “you’ve not even given me a birthday present yet.”
“I know what gift would bring you much joy, Howard.” His mother’s voice skipped along like a happy child.
“What’s that, my flower?” His father sounded much too pleased with himself.
“An engagement.”
“That would be nice.”
His mother laid a hand on Remmy’s arm. “You came to me quite scared once. For a woman. And I helped her find a position because you were not quite ready. Now you are, and she has returned…” Her words dissipated into a shrug.
“How do you know I am ready?” He didn’t feel ready. Not even a little. “The Folly is not yet solvent.”
“How close are you?” his father asked.
Damn close. “Not there yet.”
“You will be.”
“How can you know?”
His father clasped Remmy’s shoulder, squeezed.
“Because you’re walking mostly naked down the drive.
Before you were barely trying to find your own life.
Now you’re willing to do anything to make your life a success.
I’m sure you can apply that kind of”—he scanned Remmy’s nearly naked body from foot to forehead—“dubious dedication to courtship as well.”
“It does not matter how ready I am,” Remmy said, “if she is not. If she never will be.”
“Have you asked her?” His father peered closely at Remmy’s face.
“Is that fear I see there?” He chuckled.
“Good. All the best women make their men a little scared. Scared for their well-being, scared of how the world might treat them, scared they aren’t working hard enough to make them happy, and scared of losing their heart and never getting it back.
You mustn’t let that keep you from dissecting your heart for her. ”
“Dissection sounds painful.”
His mother patted his arm. “It’s not as painful as anticipated, or so I’m told.”
“Not at all.” His father sighed. “If you give it to the right woman, it doesn’t hurt at all.”
“The right woman being the one I’m scared of?” Remmy asked, just to make sure.
Chuckling, his father said, “Oh yes. Petrified.”
“Are you petrified of me, darling?” His mother clung to his father, lifting her face.
“Horribly so.” His father dipped lower.
They were going to kiss.
“Can the both of you please stop talking over my head?” They were both shorter than him, his father by an inch at most and his mother by six or seven inches, but still it felt like they traded words above his noggin like batting a birdy with rackets.
“Be brave.” His mother patted his cheek. “And tell Tessa what you want from her. Then give her time to understand what she wants, too.”
“What if I don’t have time?” There was another man involved, after all. There was a damn deadline.
“Then give her what she needs as soon as you know what that is.” His father slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulder and pulled her down the drive.
Tell her how he felt? He’d done that before, did not relish doing it again, not unless he had confirmation her response would be different.
His father was right about one thing—loving Tessa was terrifying.
Because he was lost. Irrevocably, no matter how hard he tried to resist it.
He’d chased oblivion in his work, in other women’s bodies, but he’d failed entirely to forget her, to fall out of love with her.
She wanted his body, no denying that. But it wasn’t enough. Love and lust were not the same, and she was grasping for him because her life was at a crossroads. He didn’t want to be her rakish diversion. He wanted to be the man she chose forever, not for a moment.
Remmy turned to his horse. Jeopardy stood ready on the drive, ears twitching, tail swinging. He put a foot in the stirrup to mount, flexed his muscles to pull all the way up. Time to make a scene. He’d much rather gad about mostly naked than say I love you. Again.