Chapter Thirteen
A quarter hour earlier, Adrian had cantered through the park gate.
He’d taken the tisane as planned. Even so, he rode a half-length behind Harbury, leaving his friend to bear the brunt of social interaction.
With a polite expression affixed to his frozen face, he slowly merged into the sedate flow of prime blood and preening ton.
He shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable, so out of place.
This park. The city. The best of Great Britian’s traditions and ideals.
They were all he’d held during the very, public, very sordid decay of his parents’ marriage.
They were also why he chosen to live with Harbury’s father—the finest gentleman he’d known at the time, the embodiment, he’d thought, of all he held dear.
Later, those ideals had spurred him to purchase a commission.
A king kept in check was better than a self-crowned emperor with an endless lust for blood, land, and power.
They’d finally defeated that emperor, and yet, ever since he’d returned home, peacetime pleasantries felt heavy and nonsensical.
Added to the secrets and scandal that had always made him feel apart from his peers—branded, in a sense—he’d a long fight ahead, both internally and externally.
Even more so after last night.
Bessie and the Blackbird had played a devious trick. And yet, that trick had forced him to face a mirror. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen.
He intended to change course, to meet the moment, overcome his afflictions, and be the brother and guardian his sister deserved.
But could he?
While undressing last night, he’d discovered a long strand of chestnut brown hair. His limbs had grown heavy. He’d had to swallow down a lump in his throat.
The Blackbird had been so curious. So vital. So witty and so frank.
She’d given rise to a desire to know her, to protect her, to enchant and enthrall her, and then she’d cut him down. Even now, part of him felt a jolt whenever he laid eyes on a brown-haired woman in white. Which wasn’t at all reasonable.
He’d vowed to forget her and forget her he would.
Eventually.
At present, however, the Blackbird refused be ousted from a perch inside his head. He felt her there, shifting from foot to foot, eyeing his every thought, every action, with suspicion. User of women, who are you to think you can change?
He clenched his teeth beneath his tight smile and nodded to a man he’d recognized from one of Caroline’s salons. The man hesitated and then furtively glanced from side to side before returning his greeting.
Point proven.
Except for his family, a few of his soldier comrades, and Harbury, people of the polite world vastly preferred to deny and to forget the very scandal he represented. But to do so, they needed to shun his presence.
Who wouldn’t feel better without a constant reminder of shame?
“I can’t believe you talked me into coming with you,” Adrian muttered.
“Did we not swear to support one another through the worst of trials?”
“I fail to understand why you consider courting a pretty girl a trial,” Adrian replied. “All you’ve promised to do is dance attendance on her for a few weeks. Once the young bucks see she’s secured your interest, they’ll be banging down Lady Asquith’s door, and you’ll be off the proverbial hook.”
“Pfft.” Harbury made a derisive sound. “Did I say she was pretty?”
“Yes.” Adrian raised his brows. “I distinctly remember you using the word pretty.”
“Must have been, if I asked her to dance.” Harbury shrugged. “Damned thing is I don’t remember exactly what she looked like.”
Adrian grunted. “I understand asking was not involved.”
Harbury glanced over his shoulder and scowled.
“Would you honestly have me believe,” Adrian continued, “you practically ruined the girl, and you cannot remember what she looked like?”
“I told you—I required an immediate distraction.”
Distraction. Is that all women are to you?
He heard the Blackbird’s accusation as if the woman was, right now, riding along beside them. He shrugged involuntarily, shifted in his saddle, and then cracked his neck.
“Is something the matter?” Harbury asked.
“No,” he replied curtly.
Harbury continued to stare.
“If you must know, I’m tired.”
“You wouldn’t be if you’d have come with me to Almack’s,” Harbury resumed his grumbling. “If you’d have come with me to Almack’s, none of this would have happened.”
“I cannot always be present to steer you away from a possible run in with Vivi—”
“Don’t,” Harbury interrupted, “say her name.” He looked pointedly ahead. “You were right. Best if I put her out of my mind for the duration.”
“I’m impressed you remember.”
Harbury fixed him with a longsuffering expression.
“You could also take this opportunity to—” Adrian stopped himself before unconsciously repeating the plea Bessie had made to him the night before. Take this opportunity to heal, she’d said.
“To what? Get myself leg shackled? To a chit I can hardly remember?”
Adrian ignored Harbury, reflecting instead on Bessie’s suggestion.
Could mental wounds heal?
Could a past wound be sown up just like a bayonet wound? Sown up, and allowed to slowly scab, eventually leaving only residual numbness and the faint line of a scar?
While the crim. con. case had brought to light many of his mother’s indiscretions, the worst thing his father had done remained a dark, family secret.
Adrian had only been six at the time, but, even then, he’d known right from wrong.
What had happened haunted him until this day. His father had done the worst of wrongs, all in the name of preserving the D’Acre succession.
A white haze settled over his vision.
“Adrian.”
A burning sensation knifed along his thigh.
“Adrian!”
His horse sidestepped, jostling him back to the present. He shook his head, retook the reins in his right hand, and then discreetly pressed against his thigh, certain he’d unconsciously scratched hard enough to open the wound.
“Are you certain you are well?” Harbury’s face had become a mask of concern.
Adrian cleared his throat. “Fine.”
“Don’t lie. It’s me, isn’t it? I’m being a wretch.”
Adrian’s gaze softened. “No more than usual.”
Harbury humphed. “Must do better, be better. Must.”
Adrian inhaled slowly, tuning his ear to the sounds around him.
The light breeze jostled clicks and whispers from mostly bare branches. The sound of children shouting and laughing traveled from beyond the fence. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the squeaks and rattles made by passing coaches.
Within minutes, he’d settled back into his bones. There is only the present, he reminded himself. And the sin had been his father’s, not his.
He’d held the babe on his lap. Tried to revive him…
He cleared his throat. “How”—his voice cracked, making him wince—“are we supposed to accomplish this ‘accidental’ meeting if you cannot remember what the girl looks like?”
“Don’t you worry,” Harbury replied ominously. “Lady Asquith will not allow us to miss them.”
They shifted to the left as the carriage head of them pulled off to the side.
“In fact, that is Lady Asquith just ahead.”
In an open barouche not twenty yards away sat the countess. Two young ladies in absurdly large bonnets occupied the opposite seat.
One of the two persons facing away from them, the one on the right, turned her head. For a moment, she appeared to be gazing directly at him. But no—her eyes were fixed on an oblivious Harbury.
While Harbury was grimly assessing Lady Asquith, the young lady’s head moved, sweeping Adrian’s friend with the most haughty, dismissive expression Adrian had ever seen on a lady so young. An expression so hostile, he almost laughed.
Then, with deliberate dismissal, she looked away.
If that was the twin Harbury was supposed to court, then poor Harbury.
On the other hand—a spark of anticipation kindled inside of him—she could be the Wainwright left to him.
“Adrian!”
He turned toward the sound of his sister’s voice, spotting Emily and Caroline moving through the crowd. His sister was an eager step ahead of her stepmama, her face wreathed in one of her brightest smiles.
Ah. There were good things in the world.
Just not many.
“The devil,” Harbury murmured. “We’ve been spotted by Lady Asquith.”
Adrian glanced back. Harbury didn’t mention the cut. Had he even noticed?
“You go on ahead.”
“Adrian! You promised.”
Good Lord. His friend looked frightened.
“I’ll be there presently. I’m merely going to ask Caroline and Emily to join us, as I told you last night. What better way to distract attention from you? Young women are always interested in other young women.”
“Yes…” Harbury agreed thoughtfully. He flashed a grin. “You’re brilliant!”
Adrian snorted. “Go on, now. I have every faith in you.”
Harbury adjusted his hat, lifted his chin, and started toward the barouche. Adrian followed Harbury’s progress until his friend reached the side of Lady Asquith’s carriage. Then, he turned back toward his family.
“Don’t you look fine,” his sister said.
“Looking very well yourself, Piccola.” He nodded at his father’s widow. “Caroline.”
“Redver,” Caroline nodded back.
“You can’t call me ‘little one’ anymore.” Emily reached toward him. “I’m taller than Mama, now.”
“Are you?” He caught her outstretched hand and squeezed. “Even so, you’ll always be Piccola to me.”
Emily drew out her sigh as if thoroughly exasperated. “Now, tell me why you’ve invited us out this morning. You never ride during the fashionable hour.”
“Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Of course. Naturally, however, I am suspicious.”
Her furtive glance Caroline suggested she’d heard something inappropriate.
“Was that the Duke of Harbury I saw you riding with just now?” she asked, her expression sly.
“Yes. as a matter of fact. And he has agreed to join us on our outing to the Royal Academy. That is, if you approve, Caroline.”
He glanced over at Caroline, who didn’t appear to be listening.