by Amelia Grey
Was she silently crying?
“Louisa, what is it?” he asked, wanting to touch her but knowing that there were too many people too close to them to risk it.
“Rotten Row,” she whispered softly. “That’s where my brother died, isn’t it?”
Oh, hell!
Chapter 20
… when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
—Romeo and Juliet, act 3, scene 2
An unexpected shiver shook Louisa. Tears clouded her vision, and her breathing slowed and became so shallow that she felt light-headed.
“I’m sorry,” the duke whispered. “I should have remembered.”
“No, it’s all right,” she assured him, unable to keep the quiver out of her voice and hating the overwhelming sorrow that had engulfed her. “No reason for you to remember,” she said, trying to deny the pain she was feeling. “It’s been over two years. I’m sure you’ve been to the park many times since that night.”
“But it’s the first time you’ve been here. I should have been more intuitive and considerate.”
Louisa kept looking at the line of carriages and riders moving along the path, and willed the tears in her eyes to dissipate before rolling down her cheeks. She wanted to cry so badly, her throat ached and her chest heaved, she was determined not to show any outward emotion.
She didn’t want to look at His Grace. She was afraid if she did, she might throw herself into his arms, bury her face into his waistcoat, and cry for the loss of her brother. And not just for Nathan but for her father and mother, too. She had such a strong urge to seek the comfort she’d never received from anyone when she heard of Nathan’s death. She hadn’t been able to cry, because she had to be strong for her sisters. They needed her support more than she needed a shoulder.
She swallowed past a tight throat. Her whole body hurt from holding back her tears and fighting the grief that threatened to consume her.
The duke must have known what she was going through, because he stayed quietly beside her until she found the strength to say, “I have to admit that with the distraction of the younger girls being with us in the carriage, and worrying about Gwen, I failed to realize it until you said Rotten Row. That’s the lane you were racing down when the accident happened, isn’t it?”
“Yes. You don’t know how many times I’ve wished we hadn’t raced that night.”
“Probably fewer than the times I’ve wished it, Your Grace.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Did you know there was a young lady in our village waiting for him to settle down and marry her?”
“No, he never mentioned anyone. We didn’t talk about families or our lives outside the club.”
“Inheriting the title never changed my father. We moved into the Wayebury estate, of course, a much larger home with more servants, but Papa never went to London. His health was already failing by the time he assumed the title. Nathan was a quiet, educated young man. For a time, he considered following Papa’s footsteps to become a clergyman, but then Papa became the viscount and he needed Nathan to help him with all there was to learn and oversee—and for a time, he did. But then Nathan went to London and joined the Heirs’ Club, and he changed.”
“London has many vices to offer a young man.”
“Especially for one who has suddenly come into wealth and a title, and is eager to enjoy both.”
“Don’t blame him for that, Louisa,” the duke said quietly.
“When Papa died and Nathan became the viscount, I think he tried all the debauchery London had to offer. The power, the lands, the money, the gaming, and women—all of it changed him. He told me he became a different person when he went to London.”
“It might have changed what he did and how he did it, but I’m sure it didn’t change who he was. He was always friendly, fair, and well liked among the other members and the ton.”
“Thank you for telling me that. The lamps that I see lining the road, were they lit that night?”
“They are always lit at dusk and extinguished at dawn,” he said.
“Do you still race with your friends?”
“It’s a young man’s sport,” he said, not really answering her pointed question.
“I was told it was foggy that night.”
“It was.”
Feeling stronger, her eyes drier, her chest lighter, she turned and faced the duke. “Can you tell me about the accident?”
For a moment, he looked at her with such tenderness that she was once again tempted to throw herself into his arms and weep. Instead she set a steady gaze on his piercing green eyes.
“I could tell you, but I’m not sure I should.”
She wasn’t sure either, but she wanted to know something about that night and trusted the duke to tell her only what she needed to know. “Don’t you think I have a right to know more about what happened?”
“You know what happened, Louisa. He died.”
“But not instantly.”
“No.”
“He talked to you.”
“For a short time.”
“Did the carriage overturn, lose a wheel, hit a tree?”
“No one knows for sure. He was in the lead. It was dark, foggy, and misting rain, too. No one saw what happened.”
Louisa could tell it troubled the duke greatly to talk about this, but she pressed forward. “Still you raced.”
“Yes. We all did foolish things whenever we got together. We were way too far into our cups to think rationally, and no one tried to stop us, because they had been drinking all night, too. Hell, they had money wagered on the outcome. I’m not making excuses, just telling the truth.”
“You must have some idea about how the accident happened.”
“We think his wheel ran over a limb or a bottle and it flipped the curricle, throwing him off the seat and into the air.”
She tried to hide it but knew there was a slight tremor in her voice as she asked, “Did he break his bones, his back, or his neck?”
“No, Louisa,” he whispered in anguish. “The physician we took him to said it was internal injuries. He tried, but there was nothing he could do to save Prim.”
Clearly His Grace was tormented to have to talk about this with her. And perhaps in some small way, she felt he deserved that bit of punishment.
“So you did try to get him help.”
His eyes narrowed and his brows knitted together in a frown of disbelief. “Yes, yes, of course. Did you doubt that?”
She wasn’t sure. There was so much uncertainty in her about the duke that she suddenly wanted to weep again. She fought the impulse by biting down on her bottom lip, then closed her eyes and summoned an inner strength.
She didn’t answer his question but asked, “What did Nathan say to you?”
“Not much.”
Louisa understood the duke’s reluctance to revisit that night. He’d given evasive answers to her questions, but she wanted to know more. “How did he convince you to promise him you would marry me when you didn’t want to?”
The duke swept his hat off his head and breathed a heavy sigh. “Damnation, Louisa, don’t make me do this. What he said is not important now.”
“It is to me.” She stepped close to him. “I believe I have a right to know what he said to make you swear an oath.”
“No—no, you don’t.”
She rose up on her toes and raised her voice as she leaned toward him and said, “I do!”
“It was between him and me, and he wouldn’t want you to know. He was in pain and he needed peace. I gave it to him. His last thoughts were of you and your sisters. He wanted like hell to live and to go back to Wayebury so he could take care of you. His dying thoughts were of you and your sisters, and that’s all I’m ever going to tell you about that
night. That’s all you need to know.”
In that moment, she saw that he was filled with pain and guilt about that night, even though he’d told her very little about it. It seemed so unfair that life had moved on for her, for her sisters, and for the duke—but not for Nathan. Louisa had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to cry again, and she stiffened. In a busy park, standing with a duke was not the place to cry. She also knew it was time to put Nathan’s death and the events surrounding it behind her, because life did go on.
Louisa looked up at the duke and whispered, “Thank you, you’ve told me enough.”
Chapter 21
The quality of mercy is not strain’d;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
—The Merchant of Venice, act 4, scene 1
Where was she?
Bray leaned against the back side of one of the massive columns in the ballroom of the Great Hall. It was the perfect place to watch the entrance and avoid the pushy mamas and nosy lords.
The night was growing long, and Bray was restless. He had fulfilled his duty to the ladies along the wall of the dance floor more than two hours ago, and he’d danced with at least half a dozen young ladies throughout the evening. It was almost midnight, and Miss Prim and her sister still hadn’t arrived at the ball.
Bray knew there were several smaller parties happening around Mayfair tonight, but the Great Hall was always the most well attended. He’d assumed that Mrs. Colthrust would have the good sense to let the sisters make an appearance before they quit the night. Now he was beginning to doubt that faith. He should have known he couldn’t trust their chaperone to do what was best for Louisa and Miss Gwen.
No doubt, Mr. Standish had the same thoughts as Bray. The man was already at the Great Hall when Bray arrived, and he hadn’t left either. And, like Bray, the man had done his share of dancing and conversing. Bray was fairly certain Mr. Standish had no genuine interest in Miss Gwen. The blade was just looking for another young lady to enjoy for a time and then discard as he had all the others.
But Bray couldn’t be too hard on the man. He had done the same thing at Standish’s age.
He whispered a curse to himself as his thoughts once again crept back to when he and Louisa were near Rotten Row. She became quiet after they’d discussed the night her brother died. He knew she needed time to ponder what he’d said so he didn’t press her to talk as they’d made their way back to the carriage. Once they picked up her sisters, the girls kept the chatter going about the puppet show all the way back to their house. And the reason for the hasty ride in the park seemed to end up all right, too. He never saw Mr. Standish make an improper move toward Miss Gwen the entire time they had watched them.
That surprised him. Maybe the man wasn’t like him after all.
Bray wondered how Louisa was doing. What was she feeling? He didn’t want her to hate him for what had happened to Prim but it was probably inevitable that she would. Bray had had great respect for her brother. The hell of it was Prim was the only man who had ever made Bray do something he didn’t want to do. Bray had promised to marry Louisa.
When he saw tears collecting in her eyes, he’d felt like the worst kind of blackguard and desperately wanted to hold her. He’d wanted to kiss her brow and run his hands up and down her back, soothing her, but he knew that at that moment, he was the last person she wanted touching her, comforting her.
He might have done it anyway, had they not been in the park at the time, surrounded by dozens of people. As for himself, he didn’t care a blast in hell what anyone thought, but if he had held Louisa and someone had seen them, it would have caused her even more heartache and sparked unwelcome gossip.
She was already dealing with too much. Why did he care so much about how she felt? How had she touched him so deeply, he couldn’t rip her out of his thoughts?
He’d had sorrow and regrets about the night of Prim’s death, too, but he was sure she didn’t want to hear that from him. Hellfire, he’d hated telling her anything about that night. There was no good explanation for the foolish antics of two drunken bucks. He would never tell her that her brother had died in excruciating pain, begging him to marry her.
In truth, Bray had known she’d get around to asking him about the events of the accident one day, but why did it have to be after such a pleasant afternoon of easy conversation and sweet kisses?
She said he’d told her enough, and he hoped that was true. He’d meant it when he said he could never tell her more. Why should she have to learn about the gaping wound, the pleas for help that wasn’t available, and the demented cries of pain that Bray remembered so well? She shouldn’t have to live with that. He could never tell her how frightened her brother had been when he saw his injury, or just how long it took Bray to make that promise in the end, when Wayebury knew there was no hope he’d live. Bray didn’t want her to know that the other gentlemen standing around that night had coerced him into promising to marry her.
None of that mattered now.
“My dear, my dear, my dear, please don’t tell me you are holding up that column so the building won’t fall down and kill us all.”
Bray straightened. “Good evening, Your Grace,” he said to his mother. “You are looking young and lovely tonight.”
She opened her fan and gave him a doubtful look. “And you are looking as if you are brooding. I don’t think you looked so intense even when your father died. Should I venture a guess as to why you are wearing that deeply troubled expression?”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s up to you whether or not you tell me.”
“Very well. I believe it was easy for you to ignore Miss Prim and your debt to her brother before you met her and got to know her. Now that you have, you find that she is constantly on your mind, and you are trying to figure out why that is the case.”
Bray snorted a laugh at his mother’s intuitive suggestion. “It’s true Miss Prim is on my mind right now, but I don’t know that I would agree to the word ‘constantly.’”
“That’s because you don’t want me to know all you are thinking.”
“May you never know all that I think about, Your Grace.”
She laughed herself and said, “Yes, please. I don’t want to know. When I met her, I found Miss Prim to be pretty, clever, and strong-minded.”
“And you conclude this after only five minutes in her presence?”
The duchess lifted her brows. “It was more than five minutes, and over two different meetings with her. Her sister is lovely, by the way, too. And besides, you know it doesn’t take me long to make up my mind about a person, Your Grace. They either catch my attention early or not at all. I seldom give anyone a second chance to impress me.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“I think she will do nicely to have your child.”
Bray couldn’t help but notice that his mother said “child.” Not “children” and not “son” or “daughter.” There was no warmth or love in her voice, just the word “child.” His mother expected him to have the same pretense of a marriage that she and his father had had. Bray recoiled from that thought.
“I think you should go ahead and make plans to marry her before someone else catches her fancy and steals her from underneath your nose.”
“Do you?”
“Immediately.”
It would make the Prince happy and likewise all the other gentlemen with winning bets placed on a marriage with Louisa before the end of the Season, but there was one small obstacle that none of them knew about. Louisa had to ask him to marry her, and he didn’t see that happening. Though she’d never said the words, he knew she blamed him for her brother’s death. Bray didn’t know if she could ever bring herself to get over that, or the fact that the Duke of Drakestone was a known rake.
“Why did you never live with the duke a
fter I was born?”
Her eyes widened a little at his question. His mother was almost as good as he was at hiding her feelings. “Why should I? We couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Our parents arranged the marriage and we agreed. He had everything I wanted—a title, power, and wealth. I had what he wanted—heritage, beauty, and intelligence. It was a perfect match.”
But never a family.
“Did you ever have love?”
“Between your father and me? Don’t be ridiculous. Certainly not. We never wanted it or expected it.” She paused. “Is that what has you waiting to marry Miss Prim? Are you waiting to see if you will fall in love with her?”
Was he? Wasn’t he already half in love with her anyway? He didn’t know, because love wasn’t something he’d ever let himself feel.
Over his mother’s shoulder, he saw Mrs. Colthrust coming through the door with Miss Gwen right behind her. His heart started beating a little faster at the thought of seeing Louisa. He watched the two ladies take off their wraps and hand them to an attendant. He studied the entrance. Where was Louisa?
His mother kept talking, and he mumbled some kind of answer, but his attention was still on the door. Mrs. Colthrust and Miss Gwen walked down into the ballroom. He kept staring at the entrance. Louisa wasn’t with them. He had to find out why.
“Are you?” his mother asked.
“Am I what?”
“Waiting to fall in love with Miss Prim before you ask for her hand?”
“Surely you don’t think there is such a thing as love, do you?”
The duchess laughed. “If there is, I never found it.”
“Did you ever look for it?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed for the briefest time. She seemed to shake off whatever his question had made her feel or remember and said, “If I ever did, it was so long ago that I have no memory of it, and that is probably just as well.”
Bray thought of the Prince and his damned wager. “It would be nice if Miss Prim and I were left alone to make up our own minds about what we want to do about marrying.”