Chapter 19
I s this how I lose my mind?
Perhaps it was the very last vestiges of sanity fraying and slipping out of his grasp. Had he wholly and completely overestimated his capacity here? He had only taken her as his wife in the first place to assuage his guilt over his involvement with her father… and now it was only growing.
Never before in his life had Dorian doubted his own capabilities of handling whatever task that he set his mind to. He was a gentleman of firm morals and standards. Even if they were his own, instead of what society might have otherwise deemed unacceptable or acceptable.
Every passing day that was spent with Cordelia, the love in his chest grew painfully. It filled his heart until he could not take it. The guilt was still in equal measure. Every time that he thought about telling his wife the truth, he simply imagined the horrified look on her face. He imagined her crying, perhaps crumbling to the floor, telling him how much she hated him. All of which were outcomes that he simply could not allow to happen.
“Brother?” Mary asked from the doorway to his study. It was messier than it had been the last few times she had come to visit. Dorian had not even properly noticed the way his study appeared to be in shambles until he was aware of the fact that a second pair of eyes were now upon his space.
He looked up from his work, awkwardly starting to push papers aside to make space for the tea tray his sister held in her hands. He was of a mind to attempt to explain that things were not the way they looked, or perhaps apologize for his uncharacteristic untidiness, but the words would not come out. However, he could feel her judgment in the way her eyes swept over the space, examining the books propped open, the bits of ink where they ought not to be, and the sheer number of ledgers and papers scattered over his desk.
“You did not need to bring me anything,” Dorian said as she placed the silver tray down on the cleared space of the desk. Mary did not answer at first, humming a noise of assent and rolling her shoulders. Silence stretched as she set about pouring them both a cup of tea and extending his out to him. He took it, even if he did not much feel like drinking it. “Is there something that I can assist you with, Sister?”
Mary turned and looked about the room, her eyes roaming over the bookshelves and the general unkemptness he had surrounded himself with. Then, she finally stopped at the curtains that were still snapped shut behind him despite the afternoon sun still high in the sky. He had already spent far too many hours peering out of that window toward the greenhouse, and he could not afford to become any more derelict in his duties than he already was. “When was the last time you got some fresh air, Dorian?”
“Is that what you came in here to ask me?” Dorian’s hand rubbed the stubble on his chin as he answered, hating that she might have a point already and that he was in denial of it.
“I came in here to see to my brother, is that a crime?”
Dorian was sorely tempted to point out that any time she had ever come to see him in here had resulted in an argument every time. But he forced himself to stay quiet.
“No. I do not think so, but I will reserve my final answer until I know the reason for your visit.”
“Are you always so suspicious of everything? It is a wonder that your forehead is not covered in wrinkles,” Mary said with a sigh as she stirred her tea slowly. “I think you are in this study far more than Father ever was.”
Dorian’s brow flattened. “I am not interested in discussing history right now, Mary. I am very busy with work, and discussing our father is certain to put me in a terrible mood.”
“Oh, is there a time when you are not in a foul temper?” Mary teased, the hint of a smirk lifting the corner of her lip that she quickly covered with her teacup and drank slowly.
“Why do you not just go ahead and say whatever it is that you were hoping to accomplish with this visit so that you can relocate elsewhere?” Dorian said with a heavy sigh.
“Honestly, why you are so determined to be miserable at every possible opportunity is something I shall never understand.” Mary set her teacup down on his desk just softly enough to keep the contents from sloshing over as she fell heavily into one of the seats across from him. “Despite what you might think, Dorian, I do care for you. I might not have forgiven you, and I might not ever truly forgive you for abandoning me back then, but this? I cannot stand by and watch you self-destruct like this.”
Dorian frowned and set his quill down. He moved the papers in front of him absently in hopes that he could ignore her words. “I do not understand your meaning.”
“Do not play dumb with me, it is not a look that flatters you,” Mary snapped. “Do not cheapen my concern for you with your quips either.”
“What would you have me do?”
“I think you should tell Cordelia the truth,” Mary said simply.
The bluntness of her words took him off guard momentarily.
“Be realistic,” Dorian said and shook his head.
“I am being realistic, Dorian! I see the way you look at her. You spend hours pining after the woman who is your wife . You do her no credit by constantly underestimating what she is and is not capable of handling! You should not be making that choice for her. She is not some frail little wallflower for you to make choices for. She is a woman who knows her own mind and is far stronger than you believe her to be.”
“You presume that you know my wife better than I do?” Dorian’s temper flared as he rose from his desk. “Do not insert yourself into matters that do not concern you, and my marriage does not concern you.”
“Oh, I see,” Mary huffed. “So, your marriage concerns me just fine when you feel you need help or insight, but when I show concern for my friend, then it does not concern me?”
The muscle in Dorian’s jaw ticked as he shook his head. “I do not have to listen to this.”
“You cannot simply ignore every conversation that makes you uncomfortable, Dorian!” Mary continued, following him out of his study and into the corridor. “You have to face this sooner or later! Marriage is for life! You have been barely hanging on just the last month!”
He tuned her out and walked with long strides down the hall. He grabbed his coat from the foyer and did not stop at any of Mary’s shouted words or insults.
He knew enough about his wife to know that this news would break her.
London was not as inviting to him as he had hoped it would have been. He had hoped when he had left, that putting physical distance between himself and the problem might have soothed his nerves, even just a little bit. But that was proving not to be the case. He could not get Mary’s annoying voice out of his head. Now, it sat there right at the forefront of his mind, right beside how he imagined Cordelia’s face would crumble the moment he told her what he had done.
She would never forgive me.
And then what? He had to purchase her another home in the country so that she could be far enough away from him? Perhaps he should have done that from the beginning. At least, then, he would not have come to desire her so greatly. He would not have ever allowed himself to miss her face, to see the sparkle in her eyes when she smiled. Perhaps then he would have been able to have actual control over this whole situation instead of allowing this to become the mess that it presently was.
The doors of White’s were opened for him as he arrived, the servants keeping their gaze dutifully straight forward. Another came to relieve him of his coat as he moved without stopping toward the main room. There was the usual scent of cigar smoke and tobacco pipes, the sweet almond of whiskey, and cherry notes of brandy that seemed to be the constant perfume in the air. There was a low hum of conversation converging from the various card tables as well as seating areas.
Dorian was only interested in one particular table occupied by three familiar faces, and a man he did not recognize. Still, he did not wait for an invitation to sit with them and simply pulled out the chair for himself. Patrick was the only one who rose to his feet to shake Dorian’s hand. He almost did not wish to do it, given how he felt about the whole situation with Mary. But it would only bring about more questions if he refused to greet him properly.
One of the attendants brought him his usual order and placed it on the table for him, which he was only too happy to accept. He gestured with his hand to keep the drinks coming and took his first sip. He hoped that the alcohol would help steady his nerves.
He should have been doing that this whole time.
“We did not expect to see you for another week or two, Your Grace. To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” Patrick asked conversationally.
Dorian’s brow arched. “I was not aware that there was a schedule that I was meant to follow.”
Patrick faltered, shuffling the hand of cards that had been dealt to him, arranging them differently as he watched Dorian over his cards. “Well, we are always happy to share your taciturn company, Your Grace.”
Patrick spoke without any sort of inflection to his words, but Dorian understood anyway. But out of all the men at the table, Patrick was the one he wished to hear about the least. Certainly not after he had just gotten into yet another fight with Mary.
Xander tried to diffuse the situation. “So, Davenport. Let me introduce Aaron to you. He is the Duke of Harper. He does not go out much, but we managed to convince him to join us today.”
Dorian shook his head in a nod when Rhysand moved to deal him in, easing back in his chair. He could tell why he had not seen Harper around White’s. The man sported a big scar along the right side of his face, and Dorian tried not to stare too much. He shifted his attention elsewhere. The hands in front of him moved; cards were slid across the table as one round faded into another. He knew that they were giving him sideways glances from time to time, but he was still attempting to process everything.
Or, rather, he was—until Patrick started to press the issue once more.
“When you return home, you would do me such a great favor if you could relay my well wishes to your sister,” Patrick said happily. “I do hope that she is in good health?”
Normally, Dorian would simply tell him to ask her himself, but that was the last thing he wanted.
“I shall consider it.”
“Oh, come off it, Davenport,” Xander interjected with a sigh. “Let the man be smitten.”
That was the entire heart of the issue, in his opinion. He had been watching Mary pine after the man relentlessly. She and Cordelia spoke of him at every tea and meal. Mary was constantly humming around the house as she played with Georgie. However, it was when Georgie himself started to ask more questions about Patrick that made Dorian realize the seriousness of the situation. His sister was falling for Patrick Hislop, and Dorian was unsure what that would mean.
Mary deserved nothing but the best. No matter how they argued or any sibling spat they might have had—it was his duty to protect her. The very same duty that he had failed in before and he was not the sort of man who was simply going to repeat such a huge mistake by being anything less than diligent. If Patrick expected Dorian to consent to this marriage, then he was going to need to earn his approval.
“It is my duty to do everything in my power to ensure that my sister is well taken care of,” Dorian answered flatly.
Patrick’s brow arched. “Are you accusing me of something, Your Grace?”
Dorian finished off his third glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are you telling me that I should not be concerned? That you only have my sister’s best interests at heart?”
“I could! Because it is the truth!”
Dorian scoffed. “I have heard such things plenty of times before.”
“I have nothing but honorable intentions toward Lady Mary, as I have expressed before. I am quite fond of her, and she of me!” Patrick insisted, his voice rising slightly.
“She has been hurt enough in the past.”
“I am not going to hurt her, Your Grace.” Patrick continued, the game of cards seemingly forgotten by everybody at the table. “I intend to marry her.”
Dorian shook his head. “Not without my permission, you are not.”
Something that Patrick had not even done him the courtesy of asking for. He had not met with Dorian privately once on his visits. Out of deference to Mary, he had chosen to overlook what might have otherwise been considered a slight against him, given how seriously the pair seemed to be courting.
Perhaps Patrick needed a firmer reminder that it would only take one word from Dorian to end this whole thing.
“Let us not be hasty,” Xander said firmly. “Tempers can flare high; Patrick and I had a rocky start as well when I first met him.” He turned to Dorian as he set his cards down. “But he is a reformed man. Have you not punished him enough?”
It would be so easy to continue to escalate the situation. Some large part of him, perhaps the alcohol-fueled part, was itching to work his frustrations out in a fight. But it would solve nothing. Mary was unlikely to forgive him if he were to inform her that he had injured Patrick when he knew that she, too, was rather fond of him.
Rhysand, who looked bored the whole time, decided to step in. “Patrick might look like a fool at first sight, but he is also my wife’s brother. I can vouch for him if I have to.”
Patrick bristled from where he sat, turning to Rhysand as he spoke. “I almost killed you once, you know. I do not need vouching for.”
Rhysand smirked and shook his head. “We both know that you would have died if it had been an actual duel.”
Some of the tension at the table started to lessen.
“Besides, will it not be to your advantage to have your sister and nephew out of the house? I imagine it must be quite a lot to have such a full house as newlyweds,” Xander said easily as he picked back up his cards. “It sounds like a win-win situation for everybody involved, no?”
Dorian did not answer, he did not know what to say.
“Frankly, it would be beneficial for us all,” Rhysand interjected.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that Penelope will not stop talking about how enamored Lady Cordelia is with you. So, if I have to sit through another dinner, hearing about your marriage, I will come for you,” Rhysand finished.
Enamored? With him? If anything, it was he who was–
And then it hit him. He could deny it to himself no longer. Cordelia was a constant in his thoughts and an ever-present fixture. It was not supposed to have gone this way. She was not supposed to be so important to him. It was supposed to merely be a convenience, and atonement for the wrongdoings but now… oh, he could not picture his life without her.
Dorian glanced down at the glass in his hand, his heart feeling heavier with each passing moment. The alcohol was making him sentimental. What would his life be if she had not entered it… stagnant and stale… the same thing every day. She had forced him to look at parts of himself, things about his past that he had been convinced he would have kept buried forever.
Cordelia might be infatuated with him, but he was absolutely in love with her.
“Eleanor is also concerned about Cordelia’s infatuation with you. So, stop playing so hard to get, Davenport, and save us all some nagging,” Xander said, downing his drink.
Silence fell at the table, and all eyes turned to the Duke of Harper. When he did not add anything to the conversation, Xander elbowed him.
“Well, truth be told, Marina is quite concerned about her friend as well. She fears she will have her heart broken.”
Dorian nodded and accepted his fourth glass of whiskey with a polite hum.
If only that were true.
But what reason would Cordelia have to lie to her friends? Was not the information she gave to them in private an accurate representation of her true feelings? They would have to know better than he did, right? Was Mary right after all? What a chilling thought.
Could telling her the truth be not so bad after all?
Dorian certainly loved her enough to try.