Rallying in the face of his mother's set down, Robert straightened himself, adding at least an inch to his height. “These business opportunities I've been chasing were not going to wait while I relaxed with family and friends in the country. Other men were interested both in the land and in the cotton mill shares. Had I remained here, I'd have lost the chance to acquire both.”
“Even if that's true,” Lady Darlington hissed, “you could have handled the situation with better flare. As it stands, the Pratchards are ready to support their daughter in breaking things off, no matter the scandal.”
Charles hadn't realized this, and in spite of himself, he felt his heart fill with hope.
But then Robert said, “I will apologize to Bethany. Now that I am here and my work has been completed, I'll be able to give her the attention she deserves.”
“See that you do,” the marchioness said. She gave her son a pointed look, glanced briefly at Charles, and then walked away.
Robert muttered a curse. “I need a drink.” Grabbing his satchel, he strode off in the direction of his study.
Charles followed. He entered the study, closed the door behind him and turned to Robert. “What I cannot understand,” he said, his voice low and measured, “is your lack of effort where Bethany is concerned.” Robert, who was in the process of pouring a brandy, knit his brow and appeared to form a response. Before he could speak, however, Charles added, “No matter how occupied you have been with these projects of yours, you cannot tell me you did not have time for the occasional walk in the park or a night out at the opera. No one is that busy, not even the bloody prime minister.”
Robert narrowed his gaze on Charles and took a sip of his drink. “If I’d wanted that much bother, I would have waited for Bethany to make her debut and then competed against all the other gentlemen out there. But that seemed inefficient when the truth of the matter is that I’m marrying her for convenience, not love. What I require is a respectable Society wife, one who’s capable of providing me with heirs, hosting dinners when needed, and staying out of trouble. In return, I shall make sure she is well provided for and never wants for anything.”
“Except for her husband’s attention,” Charles muttered. He blew out a breath and dropped into the nearest chair. “I never realized you were so uncaring...so cold.”
A nerve ticked at the edge of Robert’s jaw. “You are in serious danger of overstepping the bounds of our friendship, Charles.”
“If I can’t be honest with you, then what is the point? This is my opinion based on observations I’ve made. Bethany is eager to get to know you better. She craves your company, longs to form a closer attachment with you and—”
“Let me make something perfectly clear. She is to be my wife, not my friend or my confidante.”
“Did you explain this to her?”
“I thought it was obvious given the haste with which I proposed and the fact that we’re not in love.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Lord knows I don’t need to experience the emotional chaos of that particular sentiment ever again.”
“It could be different with Bethany,” Charles told him softy. “If you’d give her a chance.”
Robert’s jaw tightened. His eyes seemed to darken. “No. I’ll manage this marriage as I’ve managed everything else in my life since Charlotte Walker ran off with my cousin. With logical reasoning and emotional detachment.”
“Bethany isn’t like Charlotte,” Charles said.
“Perhaps not, but if I’ve learned anything at all, it’s that women are skilled at putting on masks. Which is why I intend to keep my guard up at all times.”
“And you will be happy with that?”
Robert shrugged and tossed back his drink. “I’ve been perfectly happy with my life until now. There’s no reason why that should change just because I’ve acquired a wife. I’ll still go out and meet with friends, enjoy the occasional company of my mistress, and—”
“You’re keeping Lillian?” Charles made no effort to hide his shock or his disapproval.
“Of course.” Robert looked at him as if there were something wrong with him for asking. “She satisfies my needs in a way that Bethany never will. And rightfully so. A gently bred lady cannot be expected to perform the same acts as a mistress.”
Charles gaped at Robert, for although he technically agreed, he would have dropped his mistress in a heartbeat and looked forward to engaging Bethany in all manner of pleasure if he’d been the one about to wed her. The fact that Robert didn’t suggested that he not only had no interest in spending time with her, but that he felt no desire for her at all. Which was utterly astounding, considering the effect she had on Charles.
“I suppose so,” he muttered, afraid any other comment would reveal how he truly felt.
The door opened without any warning, giving way to Lady Pratchard. Both men rose to their feet. “Forgive the intrusion but...” She took a deep breath and looked straight at Robert. “Your mother mentioned your arrival, so it only made sense to seek you out when...”
Her words trailed off again, and it occurred to Charles that she looked rather pale. Concern pricked at the nape of his neck. Something was wrong.
“When what?” Robert prompted.
“I went to inform Bethany of your arrival, but she was not in her bedchamber as I expected. I’ve since searched the downstairs rooms and have asked some of the guests if they’ve seen her.” When Robert raised a questioning eyebrow, Lady Pratchard confirmed Charles’s suspicions by saying, “They have not.”
“This is a large house and I arrived not so long ago. It would have been impossible to look everywhere for her in such short time, so I would not fret, my lady, but if it will ease your mind, Townsbridge and I will help you look.”
Lady Pratchard breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, my lord. It is just so unlike her to disappear like this.” She led the way out into the hallway. “During our stay here, she’s been present downstairs every day, engaging the guests in conversation and games.”
“Is it possible she went for a walk?” Charles asked as he glanced at a window and saw rain now pelting against the glass. The clouds had ruptured while he’d been talking to Robert, and the sky was now dark save for the occasional flash of light.
“In this weather?” Lady Pratchard asked.
“Bethany is a sensible woman,” Robert said. “She would not have left the house to go walking about in a thunderstorm.”
Charles agreed. It seemed unlikely.
With this in mind, he strode through hallways and rooms together with Robert. When they failed to find her within ten minutes, they enlisted the help of servants, but no one seemed to know where she’d gone, which could only mean...
Charles stepped out onto the terrace, sheltered there by a slight overhang as he stared out across the fields. This would make a perfect sanctuary – the perfect place to escape to. Instinct stole into his chest, clutching at his heart. Without even thinking, he strode out into the rain and hurried across to the stables. “Ready a horse,” he commanded the groom.
Five minutes later, he was racing toward the castle ruins, determined to discover if he was correct. He dared not imagine what might have compelled her to risk her health like this. One thing was certain and that was that he’d have a few choice words to deliver to her when he found her. Christ, she’d catch her death out here – a thought that caused him to urge his horse into a faster gallop, heedless of his already soaked clothes, the chill sinking into his bones, and the water pouring over his face. Nothing would stop him from reaching her. Nothing would stop him from keeping her safe.
He rounded a bend and the ruin was there, cast against the darkened sky like a jagged claw reaching toward the heavens. Mud sprayed in every direction as he pulled his horse to a halt. He leapt to the ground and secured the reins to a tree before rushing into the roofless building. “Bethany?” His voice was muffled by wind and rain. “Bethany?”
A whimper caught his attention, and
he turned, making his way to a staircase that no longer led anywhere. The sound intensified and then came the unmistakable sound of his name, trembling through the air. “Charles?”
A lump formed in his throat, and he hastened forward, rounding the stairs and entering an area that had most likely been a dining room once. And there, tucked against a corner, was a curled up figure, so small he’d have missed her if he hadn’t been searching.
Without hesitation, Charles crouched down and pulled Bethany into his arms. Her body shook as she pressed herself to him, seeking warmth though none was to be found.
“Dear God, what were you thinking?” he asked, his voice strained with all the emotions she instilled in him.
“I couldn't face him,” she rasped with the sort of weakness that made Charles hug her even tighter. “Not when...” Her voice broke with a sob. “I just couldn't.”
“Shh. It's all right. You don't have to explain, but I do need to get you home before you catch your death out here.” Easing his hands beneath her, he scooped her up into his arms and stood. A flash of lightning illuminated her face, so wrought by misery he felt his heart burst with the need to protect her.
The desire to kiss her was overwhelming. He desperately wanted to show her he cared and that in spite of how Robert chose to treat her, she mattered. To him.
Her eyes sharpened with awareness, and her hand curled more firmly around his neck. A tremor raked over his skin where she touched him, banishing the cold and replacing it with heat. Charles bowed his head, his heart pounding hard while the rain continued to fall.
She's not yours.
She's not yours.
She's not yours.
Instead she was soaked and in danger of getting seriously ill. “Damn.” He broke eye contact and strode past the stairs, carrying her out of the building and toward his horse.
Neither of them said a word as they returned to Langdon House. In a way there was too much to say, none of it very helpful given the situation. But one thing was clear in Charles's mind; his friendship with Robert would have to end after the wedding. They could never see each other again. Not when he was in love with Bethany and wanted her for himself. The risk was simply too great.
“PREPARE A HOT BATH and tell someone to bring a tea tray up to Lady Bethany's bedchamber! Where is Lady Pratchard?”
Clinging to Charles, Bethany pressed her cheek into his hard chest while he ordered people about. He was just as wet as she, but his solidity and the tight hold he had on her made her feel safe.
He'd almost kissed her earlier. She had no doubt in her mind. And as much as she'd wanted him to go through with it, to show her what it would be like with him just once, a part of her had feared it. She’d been afraid that it would be everything she’d ever dreamed of, the most wonderful experience in the world, and that it would make marrying Robert so much harder than it already was.
“You found her. Oh thank God.” It was her mother, her familiar voice an instant comfort to Bethany’s troubled mind. “Come. I’ll show you up to her bedchamber.”
Charles’s chest rose and fell against Bethany’s cheek as he started walking. More so as he climbed the stairs. “I’ve requested a bath for her and some tea.”
“Thank you. The quicker we get her out of those wet clothes the better.”
A rough sound rose from Charles’s throat. His hand moved to press her more firmly against him. Bethany’s heart fluttered until he said, “Where’s Langdon?” The question was a jarring reminder that she was drawn to the wrong man.
“When I saw him last he was in the library conversing with Mr. Hewitt.” They reached the top of the landing and began making their way through a long corridor. “He realized Bethany wasn’t here, and when he learned you’d gone out looking for her, he decided there was nothing else to do but wait for your return.”
When Charles didn’t comment, Bethany leaned her head back a little and glanced up at his face. Her breath caught in her throat on account of the anger she saw there – anger directed at Robert – anger on her behalf.
Her heart swelled as a new feeling started to grip her. It was like sunshine flowing through her veins to soothe away all her pain. It was love, pure and simple and utterly beautiful, yet heart-wrenchingly painful at the same time. She blinked away the wetness pooling against her lashes and bowed her head before he might see how destroyed she was.
Perhaps she should call off the wedding and risk whatever scandal might follow. She had her parents’ full support, but could she really bring herself to do it? People had travelled far in order to be here, a huge expense had been invested, the settlement signed weeks ago, only so she could inform everyone that it was for nothing?
She wasn’t so sure. Then again, the alternative would be to marry a man who would never see her as anything more than a necessary acquisition. A man she had no hope of falling in love with. Her heart trembled at the thought of having to see Charles when he came to visit, of eventually meeting the woman with whom he would choose to spend the rest of his life.
It was an impossible situation, made harder because of duty and responsibility. She could not stand the idea of marrying Robert any longer, but neither could she hurt his reputation by being the woman who jilted him at the last second.
Not knowing what to do, Bethany let her mother tend to her in silence. She’d felt Charles’s reluctance when he’d set her down in her bedchamber. For a second after, he’d lingered, as if there were something he wished to say but wasn’t sure how to express. In the end, he’d simply wished her well and departed, his stiff stride and clenched fists suggesting that a conflict similar to hers was playing itself out in his head.
“If only you were marrying Mr. Townsbridge instead,” her mother said while she helped Bethany undress. “He’s far more attentive than Robert and seems to genuinely care for you.” A pause followed and then her mother added, “He’s also heir to a viscountcy. I’ve inquired a little about his circumstances and have learned that he’s independently wealthy and—”
“What you’re suggesting would destroy Robert’s reputation and ours. He would forever be known as the man who was thrown over by his fiancée and betrayed by his friend. His only recourse would be to challenge Mr. Townsbridge to a duel and...” Bethany shook her head, the idea of either man possibly dying because of her too painful to even consider.
“I’m sorry,” her mother murmured as she helped her put on a dressing gown.
Bethany sighed and stepped closer to the fire, warming herself as she waited for the footmen to arrive with the tub. “It’s not your fault. You encouraged me to do what you believed was best for me at the time, and I agreed with you. It’s just incredibly bad luck that I did not meet Mr. Townsbridge sooner.” She forced a smile and glanced at her mother. “But I am hardly the first to marry for the sake of convenience.”
“True. But I never would have supported the idea if I’d known how miserable you’d be.”
“I have no intention of being miserable, Mama. One way on the other, I will find the means to be happy. Of that I can assure you.”
“YOU LOOK LIKE A WRECK,” James said when he happened to find Charles enjoying a moment of solitude and a much needed drink in the upstairs gallery. After changing his clothes, he’d endured dinner, conscious of Bethany’s absence from the table. Her mother had, without any prompting on his part, mentioned that she slept and that she showed no signs of ailment at present. She’d thanked him again for his help in finding her and bringing her back to Langdon House, for which both she and her husband were incredibly grateful.
Sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out before him, Charles looked up at James, snorted, and took another sip from the bottle of brandy he’d brought along with him. “What can I say? I’m having a bad year.” The brandy felt good as it heated his insides, easing the tension he’d been feeling for most of the day.
James frowned. “It’s not like you to get foxed. Especially not while you’re a guest under someone else’
s roof.” He paused for a second, then asked, “What’s going on, Charles?”
Charles grinned and let his head fall back against the wall. “It’s a mess, James. The biggest bloody mess I’ve ever encountered, and I don’t know how the hell to get out of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
Taking another swig from the bottle, Charles contemplated confiding in his brother, but changed his mind quickly. “It’s not your burden to bear.”
James took a deep breath. “You’re making no sense, which shouldn’t really surprise me. Was that bottle full when you came up here?”
“I don’t remember.” Charles tilted his head. He could hear footsteps approaching. Christ. All he wanted was some time to himself.
“There you are,” Athena said. Her pace slowed as she took in the scene. “Lady Pratchard asked me to tell you that her daughter has awoken from her nap and appears to be feeling much better. She says there’s no sign of fever and that she expects her to be completely recovered by tomorrow.”
Relief flooded Charles’s veins, and he expelled a deep breath. “Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate that.”
Athena’s brow puckered. She glanced at James and then back at Charles. “Why are you sitting on the floor?” She drew closer. “Are you in your cups?”
“Barely,” Charles murmured. He set the bottle to his lips once more and took a long sip.
Athena gasped. “You are!” And then her expression twisted with what could only be described as a mixture of sadness and compassion. It tore at Charles’s gut and only made him all the more eager to drink himself into oblivion. “You have to tell her how you feel.”
Charles sputtered, almost choking on his drink. “What?” The word was violently spoken and caused his sister to flinch.
“How he feels about whom?’ James prompted.
Athena sighed. “About Lady Bethany.”
“Athena,” Charles warned, his voice slightly strangled by fear and by the result of too much brandy.
When Love Leads To Scandal (The Townsbridges, #1) Page 6