She went to visit her mother.
Chapter 32
Trent walked all the way to his fencing club and spent half an hour stabbing a straw-filled dummy with his sword because he didn’t trust himself to spar with an actual person. The long walk home still didn’t free him from the agitation crawling under his skin, so he took his horse to the less crowded Regent’s Park, but at that time of the afternoon the bridal paths were still too crowded for him to lose his frustrations in the wind of a hard gallop.
Which was how he ended up back at Hawthorne House, throwing darts in Griffith’s study.
“It occurs to me,” Griffith murmured as he sliced open the seal on a letter, “that I’ve seen more of you since you married than I did when we lived under the same roof.”
“Nothing works, Griffith.” Trent threw another dart into the dead center of the board. At least his irritation was improving his aim this time. “I’ve done everything a man does to court a woman.”
Griffith didn’t say anything but rose to take three of the darts from Trent’s hand. He tossed them toward the board with an easy grace that still sent the tips sinking deep into the cork—proof that while his older brother lacked most of Trent’s athleticism, it wasn’t due to lack of strength.
Trent leaned his hip against Griffith’s desk and watched the darts fly. “I know it’s only been a matter of weeks, but things should be accelerated for us, shouldn’t they? There are couples who met at the Season’s first ball who are now announcing their betrothals. I thought it was working, but today all those soft feelings disappeared in a single moment. I didn’t want her anywhere near me. I failed, Griffith. I failed at courting my wife.”
Griffith crossed the room to collect the darts from the board. “I’ve been thinking about this, and I have a question. Have you tried being married?”
The pressures of the dukedom had finally addled Griffith’s brain. Didn’t he realize that being married is what had gotten Trent into this situation in the first place? “I am.”
“No, you’re not.” Griffith tossed a dart and then handed one to Trent. “You’re trying to conduct a courtship that has no rules or order to it.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Trent’s dart landed three inches right of center. He’d be off the board again by the time Griffith finished imparting his wisdom.
Griffith considered the dart in his hand, weighing it like he appeared to be weighing his words. Trent wasn’t going to like whatever came next because it usually made too much sense to refute.
“Obviously,” Griffith said, “something happened this morning. You don’t want to talk about it, and I respect that, but the fact is you’ve run from it. You’re here. Again. Leaving your marriage to be picked up and pieced back together by one person, which as we learned in here not too long ago, is never what God intended marriage to be.”
Trent crossed his arms over his chest, trying his best to look imposing so Griffith wouldn’t continue. It was hard to scare a mountain. “I didn’t ask for this marriage, Griffith.”
“And yet it’s the one that God gave you. If you don’t protect it, who will?”
He’d never thought of it that way. Oh, he’d told Griffith he trusted God’s plan and that this must have happened for a reason, but he wasn’t sure he’d actually believed any of it. At what point had he stopped trying to do things to fix the situation and let God handle it for him? Never. In fact he’d run from being in the one place God needed him to be in order to make what Trent had promised he would make: a God-honoring marriage. One couldn’t be married from across town or even across the room if he didn’t accept that the woman involved was well and truly forevermore the woman he had to protect and cherish above all others.
Including himself.
“I haven’t married,” Griffith said quietly.
Trent pulled himself from his thoughts to find that Griffith had finished throwing the darts and was now simply watching him. “So I’ve seen.”
“I’ve seen a lot of marriages though, and there’s one thing I’ve noticed. They have good days and they have bad days. But at the end of the day they’re still married and that makes them deal with the situation.”
Trent frowned. He’d been mad at Adelaide, but she was still his wife. He couldn’t walk away from her like a man in a normal courtship could. Tonight he was going to walk back into that house and take her out for the evening. And at the end of the evening he would take her back home. To his house. Their house.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
Which made him even more angry than he’d been about Adelaide snooping through his papers.
Griffith pried the last dart from Trent’s hand and tossed it at the board, giving a small smile as it landed in the center ring. “God gave you this marriage, Trent. Now what are you going to do about it?”
Adelaide gave a bemused smile as she looked around her mother’s large drawing room. The invitation to tea had not been the close family gathering Adelaide had assumed it would be. The gathering of people sitting on sofas or talking in corners could almost be considered a midafternoon party.
The mix of people was strange. About half of them were married, the ages ranging from hers to possibly a little older than her mother. Most of them were ladies, but a handful of gentlemen were scattered about the room as well. She’d met all of them at one time or another at her mother’s urging, but hadn’t realized that they were actually all friends of a sort. Including Mr. Givendale. It probably shouldn’t surprise her that the man who made Adelaide the most wary she’d ever been was apparently good friends with her mother.
He sat beside Adelaide on the rose-colored sofa, his leg pressed scandalously close to hers while they sipped their tea and talked to the other people seated in the cozy circle. Mrs. Seyton sat on his other side, meaning no one looking would think twice about Mr. Givendale’s nearness, but Adelaide knew there was no need for his knee to bump against hers.
“May I take a moment to compliment your appearance this afternoon, Lady Adelaide? That dress is very becoming on you.”
“Oh yes, it is.” Lady Ferrington leaned forward in her chair to more closely inspect Adelaide’s skirt. “Is that muslin? Wherever did you find it in such a lovely blue? And the cut is divine.”
“A beautiful dress is meaningless if it doesn’t grace a most becoming woman.” Mr. Givendale saluted her with his teacup, drawing giggles from the rest of the people in the circle.
Adelaide buried her face in her teacup. Did none of these people think it odd that the man was complimenting a married woman?
“There is something different about you today, though, Lady Adelaide.” Mrs. Seyton narrowed her gaze. “Have you always worn spectacles?”
There was still tea in her mouth when Adelaide gave a slight gasp, drawing forth a short set of coughs. “Ah, yes. I’ve always worn spectacles.”
“It’s the hair.” Mr. Givendale leaned toward Mrs. Seyton, effectively pressing his leg more tightly against Adelaide’s. “She’s pinned it back.”
Not even Trent had noticed that her hair had finally grown long enough to be pinned back in a fashion that more closely resembled the current style. But no matter how easy and charming Mr. Givendale’s conversation was, she couldn’t seem to quell the notion that he wasn’t simply being friendly. His leg bumped hers once more, and she set her cup on the nearby tea table. “Please excuse me. I need to speak to my mother for a moment.”
She rose, tugging the edge of her skirt from underneath Mr. Givendale’s leg, and crossed the room to where her mother stood, near a corner, alone for the first time all afternoon. “Quite the gathering you have here, Mother.”
Wide blue eyes blinked slowly in Adelaide’s direction. It was obvious now where Adelaide had picked up the affectation, but she dearly hoped she didn’t look like that when she did it. “Of course it is. People get bored during the afternoon, Adelaide. Especially if they don’t have unmarried daughters to take about. I discovere
d that last year.”
Last year. While Adelaide had been home in the country with an outgrown governess acting as companion.
“And Father doesn’t mind?”
“Your father doesn’t know, and I expect you to keep it that way. He only allows me to plan one social event a month, but he’s never limited my use of tea and biscuits.” Mother looked across her casual gathering. “You are being careful with Givendale, aren’t you?”
Adelaide’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked from her mother to the man who’d been plaguing her since she arrived. “Careful?”
“Yes, darling.” Mother finished her tea and set the cup on the table. “A flirtation is all well and good, but things get rather uncomfortable if you take it any farther than that. He’s quite amusing, though, so I keep him around.”
Adelaide didn’t know what to say, so she stood there, gaping like a landed fish.
“He’ll marry one day, though I don’t see his behavior changing much. Marriage vows have never been sacred to him. Still, he has his uses. If you’re going to continue flirting with him, you might see if he would be willing to sponsor Edgewick, since you haven’t seen fit to ask your husband.”
“Why not simply have Helena do it?”
Mother’s mouth screwed up in a frown. “Edgewick is the wrong coloring. Givendale only pursues women with fair-colored husbands. In case there’s a baby.”
“In case there’s a . . . Mother!” How had Adelaide reached the age of one-and-twenty and never truly known her mother? She should have seen it. All the signs had been there but she’d always thought that somehow, at the end of the day, her mother would do what was right.
“Well, you haven’t a title to worry about. And no one is saying you have to do anything with Givendale, but if your marriage isn’t making you happy, you’ll have to make your own happiness elsewhere.” Mother shrugged. “It’s a fact of life. I found my happiness in doing what I could to raise Helena’s stake in life.”
Adelaide thought she might be sick.
Especially when a green-wool-covered masculine arm reached into her field of vision holding a plate with three small sandwiches on it. “Did you try one of these yet?”
“Those are wonderful, aren’t they?” Mother reached out a hand, her long, tapered fingers lifting a sandwich from the plate.
“I think I need to get out of here,” Adelaide whispered through a throat tight with she didn’t even know what. Amazement? Revulsion? Horror?
“It is a bit crowded.” Mr. Givendale set the plate down. “Would you like to walk through the conservatory? I’ve never been there, but I hear the roses are already starting to bloom.”
Adelaide blinked at him, his blue eyes much closer to her than they should be, and a dozen realizations occurred to her.
She couldn’t walk with him in the conservatory, even if she’d wanted to, because she didn’t know where it was. She’d never been in her family’s London home because she didn’t belong in this world. She didn’t want this world, her mother’s world. God had saved her from her mother’s attentions and from being raised to accept this as normal, and she wasn’t going to waste that gift to earn the approval of someone who hadn’t affirmed her in twenty-one years.
And whatever mess she and Trent had made of their marriage, they’d still been honest with each other. She knew he was trying, and she dearly hoped he knew she was as well. Even if she never had a happy marriage like she saw in the rest of the Hawthorne family, she could at least have an honorable one. She owed Trent, owed God, that much. She owed herself that much.
Mr. Givendale took her hand in his own. “Are you feeling well? There’s a smaller drawing room across the way if you need to sit for a while.”
Adelaide was definitely going to be ill.
“Good-bye,” she muttered before pushing her way past him and all but running from the madness of the drawing room. She found her pelisse by the door but didn’t see her bonnet, and she wasn’t going to wait around for it to be fetched. It went against her new efforts of ladylike appearance, but the ton was just going to have to forgive her for an afternoon of wind-ravaged hair because she wasn’t staying in this house a moment longer.
Chapter 33
He’d never hated balls before. Well, that wasn’t true. He’d always thought he hated balls. Nowhere was the courtship dance of the ton more evident than inside a ballroom. Even those who were in London to simply enjoy the camaraderie and festivities of the Season could turn obnoxious in a ballroom. If they didn’t have anyone of marriageable age in their own family, they took delight in gossiping about those who did.
But tonight he came to the realization that until now he had only found balls annoying.
Because he truly hated this one, and they’d barely stepped foot in the door.
Had his mother not brought the entire family out in a show of support he’d have skipped the evening entirely, but he respected her efforts and what she was trying to do. She didn’t know that what Trent really needed was to be home with his wife, having a long discussion about what had happened this afternoon. Since he’d returned home too late for them to talk, he’d gotten dressed and hurried down to the drawing room. She’d seemed a bit confused at first, coming down the stairs with a bit of hesitance in each step, but as her face came into view he knew it had been the right thing. There was something exciting about waiting for his wife, watching her come down the stairs, getting the chance to admire her in a way he didn’t get to for the rest of the evening.
This moment of grandeur was the least he could give her. He’d known better than to dabble in things best left to his brother, but he’d thought no one would ever know. As long as he didn’t show his thoughts to anyone, didn’t put anything into action, nothing would ever come of it and he would go through life as the carefree pugilist without anyone the wiser.
His illusion of protection had shattered today with one innocent question.
And in return he’d shattered her.
He swept her into their customary waltz, but she felt stiff tonight, stiffer than their current strained emotions would have justified. At least in his opinion. He was quickly learning that he had to remember his view of things wasn’t the only one that mattered anymore.
“Are you well?” he asked softly in her ear.
She blinked up at him. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
Why had he started this conversation on the dance floor? He cleared his throat. “You seem . . . different tonight.”
Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “Different?”
He tried to smile through the looming panic. “Different. You don’t look quite like yourself. And it isn’t only the pinned-back hair.”
“You noticed?” A small smile touched her lips and her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I didn’t think anyone besides Mr. Givendale was going to notice.”
The muscles in Trent’s shoulders seized and he pulled her closer. “When did Givendale notice?”
She winced, and he immediately relaxed his hold. “At Mother’s. I stopped over there for tea this afternoon.”
“Did he . . .” Trent swallowed and guided her around the end of the circle of dancers. “Are you all right?”
Her eyes widened as she realized what he was really asking. “I left. I mean, I didn’t do anything. Not that he wouldn’t have or didn’t . . . I’m not really sure, because I don’t really know about such things, but even my mother warned me to be careful.”
They stumbled through the rest of the dance, and Trent couldn’t help but see all the places he’d mishandled their situation. His worry that he would hold her hand but not her heart was proving more than valid. And all because he hadn’t been willing to risk his own heart. As Griffith said, he hadn’t been willing to be truly married.
He escorted her to the side of the dance floor, but her grip on the inside of his elbow lacked its usual strength.
He couldn’t feel his feet. They were numb, as if his custom boots had suddenly shrunk to the siz
e of a child’s foot. The sensation was also threatening to overtake his hands. The only thing he was sure he could feel was his heart, and it wasn’t beating in any kind of steady rhythm. Was he dying? He’d never heard of someone’s heart giving out at the age of twenty-four, but stranger things had happened. Maybe if he died Adelaide would go on to find happiness.
Perhaps even with Mr. Givendale.
Trent scowled into the crowd in general since he didn’t know where the wife-stealer was at that particular moment. She’d link her future to that man over his dead body.
“I should probably greet my mother at some point this evening.”
The blood drained into his too-small boots. She would rather be with her mother than him?
“Of course. Would you like me to help you find her?”
Her eyes looked somewhere in the vicinity of his left elbow. He’d thought they’d moved past her talking to various parts of his person instead of his face. “No, I think I see her.”
He feared she was lying, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he nodded and let her disappear into the crowd of people around them.
A wall of windows looked over Piccadilly Street, and he positioned himself between two of them so he could watch her. It took him a while to find her, but once he did he didn’t let the crowd take her from his gaze again. She did find her mother, or rather her mother found her. He couldn’t resist the small smile that formed as he then watched her seek solace at the side of Amelia or Anthony or, once, in a discussion with the Duke of Spindlewood.
Trent stayed in his spot. Watching her. Wishing he were somewhere else. Anywhere else. Somewhere totally devoid of people. Well, not all people. He needed to talk to Adelaide. The emotion boiling in his gut was unfamiliar, and he didn’t know what to call it, but it was fast taking over every part of his mind and body.
Thirty more minutes of torture and they would have stayed long enough to satisfy his mother’s sensibilities and avoid a lecture from an annoyed Ryland that he’d drug himself out in society for nothing. Thirty minutes should be plenty of time for him to find some control over himself and think of the right words to say that would convince Adelaide she wanted to leave. Thirty more minutes and he could be on his way home, where he could rip off his cravat and jacket and be comfortable.
An Uncommon Courtship Page 28