Griffith sat back in his chair, folded his hands over his middle, and stared at his thumbs.
Trent stopped pacing and braced his hands on his brother’s desk, leaning over until he could skewer the larger man to the chair with his gaze. “Why haven’t you married yet?”
That one infuriating eyebrow winged upward. “Why do you think?”
“Because you’re an exacting perfectionist and there isn’t a woman alive who would put up with having to keep her teacup three inches from the edge of the table at all times?” Trent pushed off the desk and resumed pacing.
Griffith tried to frown, but the edges of a grin crept through. “I don’t make anyone else place their cup that way.”
“Ah, yes, but we aren’t married to you. We can ignore all your little personal rules. She’ll have to live with them.” It was well known in the family that Griffith liked things a certain way. He thought through everything, even the order in which he ate his meal. Trent had made the mistake of asking him about that once and had to sit through a bewildering discussion on how the flavors of different foods interacted and how some tastes lingered on the tongue, altering the experience of future bites.
“In a way, that’s true.” Griffith picked up the quill and ran his finger along the edge of the feather. “I have a plan for selecting a wife. It will happen soon enough, but I’ve already decided that when I marry her, I’ll love her.”
Trent scoffed. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. Believe me, I’d be eternally grateful if I could just point to Adelaide and say ‘I love her’ and have everything fall into place. But I don’t know how she thinks or what makes her happy. We’re not connected like Ryland and Miranda or Colin and Georgina. Even Mother and Lord Blackstone have that certain thing about them when you look at them. That look that tells you they know each other inside and out. Isn’t that what love is? It’s what I always imagined I’d have. I remember Father quoting bad poetry to Mother and making her laugh all day long as she remembered it. I wanted that. I was going to take my time like Father did and have the next epic love story.”
He collapsed against the wall, his voice growing small as he acknowledged out loud for the first time the death of the only dream he’d ever allowed himself to have. “That was the plan.”
Griffith sighed and set his arms on the edge of the desk, one thumb rubbing along his forefinger. “Trent, you didn’t give your life to Jesus to follow your own plan. You have to follow His plan, and for whatever reason He gave you Adelaide and you accepted her. Now what are you going to do about it?”
“How do you make yourself love someone, Griffith? And I’m not talking about the good Christian kind of love, where we extend charity and grace and forgiveness. That’s the kind of love that keeps us from using our social clout to shun people like Lady Crampton.” Trent placed his hands on Griffith’s desk and leaned forward, this time pleading for help instead of glaring him into submission. “Griffith, how do I love my wife?”
Adelaide had enjoyed Hyde Park from the seat of Trent’s curricle, but she adored it on foot. The Serpentine sparkled like a sea of jewels, and this far from Rotten Row she could hear the birds instead of the clatter of carriage wheels and snorts of horses. She lifted her face so the sun could reach past the rim of her bonnet, enjoying the heat on her skin when she felt chilled to the bone. It wasn’t the kind of cold that came from the wind or wearing a dress that was too thin. The chill seemed to actually be coming from her bones, making her numb to everything.
She stepped on a rock, the sharp point digging through the thin sole of her slipper and proving at least one part of her could still feel something. With a yelp she danced sideways off the rock, stepping on her hem and nearly tossing herself nose first into the water she’d recently been admiring.
“My lady!” Her maid rushed forward, but Adelaide righted herself first, though not without smudging the bottom of her dress in the dirt and grass.
She frowned at the stain, knowing it wasn’t the first dress she accidentally marked. As she walked away from the Serpentine she watched the smudged fabric dance above the toe of her slipper. A slipper she suddenly realized had lost its decorative bow somewhere along the way.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes, my lady?” The maid scurried from three paces back to Adelaide’s side. Trent’s unorthodox staff must be rubbing off on Adelaide since it even crossed her mind to suggest her maid stop walking so far behind her.
“How many dresses have I ruined since we came to London?”
“Completely ruined? Only two, my lady. I was able to fashion repairs on all the others.” The maid sounded almost proud of Adelaide for ruining only two dresses. There was something rather ridiculous in that, considering Rebecca likely didn’t have more than four or five dresses in her entire wardrobe.
Adelaide restrained the urge to sigh. “And how many shoes?”
Rebecca beamed at her. “Oh, I’ve been able to fix all but one of those. I remembered to request extra ribbons from the cobbler this time.”
Adelaide reached the top of a small rise and stopped to look around the park at all the people who seemed to have their life under control. “Hats?”
“I rearrange the feathers and ribbons sometimes, but we haven’t lost a hat yet.” The maid bit her lip. “Please don’t ask about the gloves.”
Adelaide knew better than to ask about the gloves. Her mother had started buying gloves in mass quantities almost as soon as Adelaide had gotten old enough to wear them.
No wonder things had gone so badly last night. Adelaide was a klutz. She’d never really had to admit it before, though she was fairly certain everyone knew it. They’d been wealthy enough and her mother had liked to shop enough that her wardrobe destructions were never that noticeable. There was always another dress, another pair of shoes, another hat, fifteen more pairs of gloves.
But there wasn’t another Trent. She couldn’t shove her husband into the ragbag and get another because she’d messed this one up.
It was time for Adelaide to grow up and stop blaming her upbringing for everything.
Perhaps it was even time to stop trying to make everyone happy.
Her mother wanted her to be socially ambitious and popular. And to be honest, the skills she’d acquired growing up—of doing whatever was expected of her and disappearing whenever she wished—would probably stand in her in good stead if she wanted to pursue such a life. But she had only to look at her parents to see the cost of living life that way, a cost she wasn’t willing to pay.
But what did Trent need her to be? Despite his claim to the contrary, he enjoyed being social. He spent time at the clubs, taking her out for rides and meals and ice treats. He needed someone poised, capable, and polished who could attend the horse race with him one day and the opera the next with a sophisticated soiree in between. She knew now that she could handle herself in all of those situations, could interact with numerous people as long as she didn’t have to start the conversation. The only problem was that she did so while looking like an oafish simpleton.
Trent hadn’t asked for this marriage. The least she could do was give him a wife who was a real lady. A wife who rose to the expectations created by the women who’d already filled his life.
She strolled along, trying to figure out what ladies did that she needed to learn. Elegance and poise such as Georgina possessed was a necessity. It was doubtful that young lady ever returned to the house less presentable than when she left it. Wit, such as Miranda and Lady Raebourne utilized, would certainly be an asset. The way both of them and even Griffith were able to turn conversations and politely handle people with a turn of phrase was a skill she desperately wanted to learn. Could such a thing be learned? Could any of them teach her?
With renewed purpose, Adelaide trod across the park and hailed a hack to take her and Rebecca back across Mayfair. There was only one thing, one person, all of those women had in common. And the very thought scared her until her mouth turned dry.
At l
east three times she raised her fist to stop the driver and have him turn around. Each time she took a deep breath and whispered a pleading prayer for strength before letting the driver continue. Rebecca sat in the other seat in wide-eyed silence, occasionally glancing out the window as if to discern where they were going.
Finally the carriage stopped at another town house, and Adelaide was presenting her card to another butler. Her entrance this time was immediate and welcoming.
Adelaide waited in the drawing room, determined not to run. Less than five minutes passed before she heard someone enter behind her. She whirled around, pasting a smile on her face that she hoped looked confident and friendly instead of reflecting the ill feeling that was growing in her midsection. “Good afternoon, Lady Blackstone. I need your help.”
Chapter 29
Trent should have known better than to ask his brother a question. Griffith didn’t do things like a normal man, speculating and pulling from his prior knowledge to answer a question. No, when Griffith needed answers, he researched.
“Can I leave now?” Trent tilted his head back over the edge of the club chair he’d sprawled in. It had been an hour since Trent asked his question, and Griffith had responded by summoning a footman and sending out three letters. Then he’d gone back to work and told Trent to make himself comfortable.
“No.”
That was it. No explanation, no reassurances. And yet, Trent waited. It wasn’t as if Griffith was going to come after him and bodily restrain him if he tried to leave. At least he didn’t think Griffith would do such a thing. But he’d asked a question, and Griffith seemed to think the answer was coming, so Trent waited. His older brother had never let him down before.
A loud thunk drew Trent’s attention, and he rose, waiting for Griffith to stop him from leaving the room. When no objection came, Trent wandered out of the study and toward the front hall. Finch stood next to Trent’s traveling trunk, discussing with Griffith’s butler how to transport the trunk back to Mount Street.
“Finch?”
“Yes, my lord?”
Trent cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
Finch looked at the trunk and then back at Trent, a hint of worry creeping across his face. “Packing us to return home, sir? His Grace informed me that you had decided to move back.”
Trent stared at the trunk. Part of Trent wanted to resist, to send the trunk back upstairs and return things to the way they’d been yesterday.
But things weren’t the same as they’d been yesterday. And while Trent didn’t regret his courtship plan, it was time to move on. There was no reason to stay in Hawthorne House any longer.
“Should I take it back upstairs, my lord?” Finch shifted his weight from foot to foot, casting anxious looks at the trunk, the butler, and the corridor that led to Griffith’s open study door.
“No.” Trent swallowed. “No, Griffith is correct. It’s time for us to go home.”
And it really was. Was this what Griffith had been keeping him here for? Had he been giving Trent the time needed to come to his own conclusions and understand that it was time to move on?
A forceful knock echoed through the front hall and Gibson, the butler, strode calmly to the door to answer it.
“I had a feeling such a summons would be forthcoming,” Anthony said as he patted Gibson on the shoulder and strolled into the house, looking exceptionally more put together than he had when Trent invaded his home early that morning.
Trent’s mouth dropped open a bit as Anthony turned him toward the back of the house and gave him a light shove in the direction of Griffith’s study.
Trent stomped into the room and glared at his brother. “You called in the cavalry?”
Griffith shrugged. “I don’t know the answer, and you’ve already established that what you’ve learned from books and rumor is wrong, so the obvious choice is to ask someone trustworthy with firsthand experience.”
“Griffith, I’m touched.” Anthony placed a hand over his heart and pretended to swoon into the club chair across from the one Trent had been occupying.
“Don’t be.” Griffith grunted and began stacking his ledgers and clearing his desk. “I hear there’s going to be a lecture before I marry.”
Trapped in what was sure to be life’s most awkward conversation ever, Trent fell back into his chair and draped his arms over the sides before sticking his legs out to cross them at the ankles.
Anthony’s grin was unrepentant. “Would you rather get it from Trent? I’m assuming he’ll have time to figure everything out by then, unless you’ve got something in the works you’re not telling us.”
“He has a plan,” Trent muttered, happy to see someone else under scrutiny, if only for a little while.
Griffith didn’t even blink or bother raising his arrogant eyebrow. He also didn’t hesitate as he continued putting his things in order. “I always have a plan.”
The next knock interrupted the conversation, and Colin entered with Ryland on his heels. Trent’s brief reprieve was over. The assembling crowd would give him helpful, godly advice, but he had no doubt that they were going to humiliate him first.
“Gentlemen,” Griffith said, rising from his position behind his desk once everyone had claimed seats around the room. “The question I’d like to put to you today—more for Trent’s benefit than my own, though I do find myself curious as well—is what you mean when you say you love your wife. And how one is supposed to go about attaining that emotion.”
Three powerful men stared. Not a word was spoken, leaving the tick of the mantel clock the only noise in the room. Griffith waited them out. Trent tried to do the same but found himself fidgeting under the weight of silence.
“Well, that was not what I expected,” Anthony said at last.
Colin ran a hand behind his neck and cast a look over at Ryland before addressing Griffith once more. “You realize that’s a bit of a tricky question, don’t you?”
That drew forth the arrogant eyebrow. Trent was really going to have to discover an exercise of some kind to learn how to do that. “If the question were simple I wouldn’t need to assemble all of you, would I?”
“I think what he means,” Ryland said dryly, “is that he and I are married to your sisters, and this discussion has the potential to get more personal than you might like.”
Griffith nodded in understanding before leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Trent informed me that Anthony has already covered a discussion of the more physical aspect.”
Trent groaned and closed his eyes, praying for the Lord’s return. Any moment now would be nice and then he wouldn’t have to deal with the problem or this conversation.
Ryland’s smirk was evident in his voice. “That must have been interesting.”
“You have no idea.” Anthony kicked Trent’s extended legs. “Pay attention, pup. We’re only assembling for this conversation once, so take notes.”
“First, know you aren’t going to change her.” Colin held up a single finger. “You love her as she is, flaws and all, because you’ve got flaws of your own that she’s going to have to embrace.”
A laugh burst from Griffith before he could attempt to contain it to a series of snorts and coughs. “Please tell me you’ve mentioned that part to Georgina.”
That mental image took the edge off of Trent’s anxiety. Georgina was exceptionally good at presenting a picture of perfection to the world.
Anthony nodded. “But at the same time, you are going to change each other. The closer you get to her, the more you’ll adapt to each other. It’s hard to explain, but it happens. One day you’re making yourself wade through acres of flowers because she likes them, and before you know it, instead you’re just having to accept a ridiculous number of vases filled with fresh flowers all over your house.”
“Sounds fragrant,” Griffith muttered.
Anthony grimaced and shrugged.
Ryland sat forward and stretched one long arm t
oward Griffith’s desk, where a Bible sat on the corner. “You really want to love your wife? Let’s talk Isaac and Rebekah.”
“I’d think Ephesians would be a better place to start.” Colin leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair in order to better see the Bible in Ryland’s lap.
Anthony crossed the room to lean over Ryland’s shoulder. “What about First Peter?”
Griffith remained leaning against his desk with his arms over his chest, but he turned his head and caught Trent’s eye with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Trent had to concede to his older brother once more. As much as he hated to admit it, calling these men in had been the right thing to do. One could never go wrong with advice from the Bible.
“I need you to teach me how to be a lady.” Adelaide sat in her mother-in-law’s drawing room wishing there was another way to describe what she wanted. Also wishing that she’d decided to go to Miranda, Georgina, or even Lady Raebourne first. But this new idea of taking charge of things hadn’t had much time to grow a logical side yet, so she’d gone straight to the person who’d taught her daughters the skills she wanted to know.
“Nonsense.” Caroline waved a hand through the air. “All you lack is a bit of grace. You’ve the tact of an angel and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, though perhaps a bit more gumption is in order.”
Adelaide blinked at the matter-of-fact compliment. “Oh.”
“Now. Let’s start with how to sit.” Caroline led Adelaide over to a grouping of chairs.
Sitting seemed like a strange thing to teach. Adelaide had been successfully getting in and out of chairs for as long as she could remember. Had she been doing it wrong? How could there be a wrong way to do it? Adelaide lowered herself into the chair. Once seated she tried to fold her hands gently into her lap, but the dress pulled at her shoulder. Her skirt was folded underneath her in a way that severely limited how much she could move without wriggling her clothing into a better position.
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