Chapter 2
Fifteen years later, May, 1816
London, England
“Well, that was a bloody disaster,” Everett Simmons, the Earl of Robertson, muttered under his breath as he walked into his club. A footman took his hat and cane, and he climbed the stairs to the main room to nurse his disappointment.
He knew about the ton’s moniker for him—the Earl of Ice—and that they called him that because he was aloof and rarely showed emotion in public. When had that become a problem? He was a true gentleman, was never rude, and treated each young lady he encountered with the utmost respect. When his mistresses became too clingy, he broke it off with them. It was better to keep his heart frozen than ever risk being hurt again. It was a lesson burned into his soul.
The scene with Miss Grandier in her cousin’s library earlier this evening played over and over in his mind. He’d rather forget it, but that seemed easier said than done. He walked into the main room, spotted two friends in the far corner, and went over there to plop down in one of the chairs.
“Why do you look like your favorite horse has gone lame?” Miles Walker asked.
“What are you talking about? I’m fine,” Robertson said, more gruffly than he intended.
“Oh really? Doesn’t look like you’re fine to me,” chimed in his other friend, Noah Hughes. “I suspect there’s a woman involved. Did someone finally break through your icy exterior?”
Robertson glared at his friends. They’d met at boarding school and remained tight friends ever since. He enjoyed their company and relied on their advice, although not today.
Noah was the most perceptive of their small group, which Robertson usually admired but not at the moment. It was hard to hide things from his inquisitive nature. Miles, on the other hand, was a whiz with numbers and advised them both on good investments. He was probably wealthier than a lot of aristocrats, even though his family was merely country gentry. It didn’t matter one lick to Robertson that his friends didn’t hold titles. They’d been with him through thick and thin, and he cherished their friendship and would do anything for them.
It was almost like having brothers. Almost.
However, at this moment, he wanted them both to mind their own business, but that was looking less likely with every passing minute. He should have gone home instead of coming to the club, but the thought of spending another lonely night in his townhouse didn’t appeal to him.
A waiter came over to their table. “My lord, may I get you something to drink?”
“Whiskey,” Robertson said.
The waiter nodded and scurried away to fill his order.
He’d been courting Miss Helena Grandier this Season and thought she’d developed feelings for him. He admired her a great deal. Admiration was the only emotion he allowed himself to feel while courting. He never wanted to love anyone ever again. He’d done that once, and it’d been a disaster. Wasn’t admiration a good foundation for a marriage? He sincerely thought so, especially since some ton marriages were less than amicable. He’d seen that scenario over and over again.
He wouldn’t follow that route, as he took his responsibilities seriously and strove to be the best man and earl he could be. He made sure his tenants were given everything they needed to thrive and was glad they seemed content. He didn’t drink or gamble excessively and had foolishly thought that when he finally decided to marry, any young lady would be happy to accept his hand.
How could he have gotten it so wrong?
Robertson had hoped he’d finally be settled this Season. Miss Grandier would have made a perfect countess—she was witty, elegant, and quite beautiful—but it was not to be. He was adrift once again.
“My guess is it has something to do with Evans being back in Town,” Noah said. “Did I get that right?”
Robertson glared at his friend. “What do you know of Evans?” he asked with a scowl.
“I served with him during the war. He was a good and effective leader, and the men respected him a great deal. What young lady could resist a war hero?” Noah said.
“Leave it alone,” Robertson growled.
Noah held up his hands in mock surrender. “Bloody hell, Robertson. I meant no harm.”
Robertson grunted. Noah’s bringing up Evans’ military career rankled him, especially since he’d always wanted to serve his King and Country. However, his lung condition prevented him from enlisting. There was no way he could do any grueling marches or fight long, arduous battles without collapsing, trying to breathe. He hadn’t thought about that disappointment in years… that is, until Noah brought up the fact that Evans was a hero in the Napoleonic War and had won the hand of the woman Robertson was recently courting.
Bloody war hero!He was loathe to admit it, but Noah was right. Not many young ladies could resist a man in uniform, especially one who’d distinguished himself so well during the war. Even the Crown was impressed with him and had awarded him the title Marquis of Evans. A war hero and a marquis? How could he compete with that?
The waiter returned with Robertson’s whiskey, and he downed it in one gulp, letting the fiery liquid burn down his throat. It was good to feel something besides disappointment. “Another,” he said.
The waiter nodded and left to fetch more.
“If you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you, how about a change of subject?” Miles asked. He was the peacemaker of their little trio and never liked to see any of them upset.
Robertson arched an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Miles would continue to talk whether he wanted him to or not. Miles was a talker, and he liked to hash out anything and everything, sometimes ad nauseam. It was best to just let him talk and get to whatever point he was trying to make. “What are you going on about now, Miles? I’m not in the mood to discuss any new investments you may have found.”
“It’s not that. Something fun for a change. Lord Fleming is hosting a house party at his country estate in Guilford, which I was considering attending. I’ve heard the land is teeming with game birds. Nothing makes a man feel better than shooting something. What do you say, chaps? Shall we go?”
Both Miles and Noah waited for Robertson’s answer. Perhaps a house party was just what he needed. He didn’t particularly want to be in Town when Evans announced his betrothal to Miss Grandier. “Sounds perfect.”
“Excellent. We can leave in the morning,” Miles said with an expansive smile.
“We’ll use my carriage,” Robertson said. “I don’t relish being in the saddle for hours on end.”
“A toast to having a good time,” Miles said, raising his glass.
Both he and Noah clinked their glasses with Miles, and Robertson was once again grateful for his friends. They were a good lot, and he cherished their friendship more than he could say. The loneliness he’d felt as a child had abated somewhat when he met Miles and Noah and their friendship made boarding school bearable.
For tonight, however, he planned on getting very drunk to drown his disappointment over his rejected proposal. Although it was highly unusual for him to drink so much, he didn’t care. Tonight, he would indulge. He knew his friends would see him home safely. And if he stayed out late enough, his mother would have retired for the night by the time he arrived home, not that it made any difference to him what she did.
His relationship, or lack thereof, with his mother hadn’t changed in the past fifteen years. She still blamed him for his brother’s death, and no amount of explaining what had really happened had swayed her to his side or even to a truce of sorts. They were like ships passing each other, keeping their own schedule and avoiding each other as much as possible. Rarely was a word spoken between them. That suited him just fine.
He’d never do anything to harm his mother, and as long as she stayed out of his way, he was content to let her live with him in his London townhouse and to continue to pay her bills. Her suite of rooms was now on the opposite side of the house from his, at his specific demand. After he became earl, he told his mother to vacate the countess’s suite of rooms located next to his. She’d resisted at first, saying she’d had the suite for years and didn’t want to move, but in the end, she had complied with his demands. It was either do that or move to the dower house at their country estate, which he knew she loathed. Over the years, he’d learned to stand up for himself, just like Grayson had told him to all those years ago.
His father had left Grace a small widow’s pension, and she could, of course, move to their country estate, but she wasn’t a fan of the country. On top of that, her pension wasn’t nearly enough to continue in the lifestyle she’d been accustomed to when his father was alive. Grace was smart enough to realize that she needed to curb her sharp tongue around Robertson after he became the earl, especially since her comfort now depended upon his largess.
When his father had passed away two years earlier, Robertson hadn’t felt any remorse as he stood by the gravesite. The day his brother died had torn the family apart, and no matter what Robertson had achieved since that day made no difference to his parents.
The waiter returned with the bottle this time, and Robertson poured another generous portion into his glass and topped off Miles’s glass. Tonight was all about forgetting about the past. Dwelling on the past didn’t do any good because nothing was going to change. His brother was dead, his father was dead, and his mother despised him.
It was as if he were an orphan.
An orphan with a heart as hard as a rock.