by Cecilia Gray
Or maybe it was his duty to marry Alice, he thought. It would be a simple arrangement. Not a romantic one, but both parties would be similarly aware.
Then his eyes rested on Dinah. Her hair had grown longer since their last encounter. It curled against the back of her neck, into the collar of her black mourning gown. The color was dreadful on her, making her skin seem sallow and her lips pale. She was speaking to Bridget. Both had been keeping a watchful eye on Sera before Alice had guided her away.
Dinah was worried, and she should be worried. Sera had been inconsolable. Still, Dinah was the only one whose cheeks were dry, whose eyes weren’t red. She hadn’t cried. Not a single tear.
He wondered how she did it. How she managed it. How she could turn off a world’s worth of emotions and not feel love or pain.
Ah, but she had felt it once, hadn’t she?
The kiss flashed through his mind. He’d meant it to be a simple peck. He’d meant to press his lips to hers, to hold her tight, to shake her up for a moment. He’d been angry enough to take the liberty.
He hadn’t meant to taste her and then want more. He hadn’t meant to take her tongue prisoner, to run his hands over her body. Most of all, he hadn’t meant for her to melt into him and hold him close in return.
Graham had meant to teach her a lesson, but he had been the one affected. The one who had to turn and run before he did something he would regret, before he crossed the line. As if the kiss already hadn’t done that.
He’d returned to his room hours later, needing her to be gone but silently hoping she would still be there. Because if she was still there . . . Well . . . then what? It would mean arrangements and marriage and Dinah in his life every day, and he’d begun to realize those thoughts were not so bad. He spared a thought for her every day. Why not a glance, a word, a life, as well?
He’d hated himself for his betrayal of his feelings for Lily, and most of all he’d hated Dinah for not being affected. She hadn’t been in his room, and the next day all the Belles except Sera had departed for the city. There had been no note reprimanding him, no outraged missive demanding that he do the honorable thing.
No, other than that single utterance of Shakespeare! It was as though he had not affected her at all. Just as she was unaffected now.
But damn it, he would see her moved again. He crossed the room to her.
He knew the exact moment she became aware of him. Her neck straightened, her gloved hand touched the curls at her nape, and her gaze slid to him. She made some effort to speak to Bridget and met him partway in the parlor.
“Graham,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
His lower lip trembled. No, this was not how seeing her again was supposed to be. He was supposed to be the one in charge, with the upper hand. Instead, he was going to embarrass himself in front of her, in front of them all. He stalked past her and into the library, closing the door hard behind him. He took deep breaths and pressed his eyes shut, squeezing away tears.
What would Tom have said of how he’d mistreated Dinah? His brother would have been appalled, and rightfully so. To have her usher apologies, instead, even though it was understandable given the occasion, made him feel less of a man.
The library door creaked open, and he knew without a doubt who had entered. He had known she would come, hadn’t he? He turned around to find her standing still.
He took three quick steps to her, sank to his knees, and wrapped his arms around her hips to her gasp of surprise. He rested the side of his face against her belly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeated the phrase over and over, his voice hoarse and shaken.
* * *
Dinah looked down at the top of Graham’s head in shock. He held her tightly around her hips, his face buried in her dress. After a moment, she let her fingers rest in his hair. “It’s all right,” she said.
“It is not all right.”
She shushed him. His shoulders shook against her, and she realized he was crying. She ached with the desire to make his pain go away. She had thought of little else but Graham since that night in his bedroom. The images of him had been consuming, overpowering. He had sought to teach her a lesson, and he had been overwhelmingly successful.
She had spent the past few months engaged in her own scientific experiment. She had pinched and prodded herself whenever she had romantic feelings, all to no avail. She had surrounded herself with her friends and her family and good wine and music in an attempt to form better memories. But nothing lessened the heat and thrill of that moment with him.
But more surprising still was how much she’d missed him, missed someone she had no expectation of seeing or hearing from on a day-to-day basis. He had become a necessary part of her day, an obsessive thought forever tarrying in the back of her mind. She had struggled with how to satisfy her hunger for information about him. She read the sheets, in case his name was mentioned, asked after the Abernathy family at every opportunity. She had even ventured down to her father’s office by the docks, a short distance from Christian Hughes’s boxing club, just in case Graham might chance by.
And then the accident had happened, and Graham’s father and brother had died, and she had no notion of anything but the need to see him, to know his feelings. Now that he was on his knees before her, she would have given anything to soothe him.
“On your feet, Graham, please.”
He rose before her, tears staining his cheeks, and a strange expression crossed his face, one of confusion. He reached out to wipe her cheek, and it came away wet. Then his fingers curled tight into the fabric of her gown and she was hauled against him.
For a moment, she thought he would kiss her again, but instead, he buried his face in her neck and cried. She placed her arms around him and held him close.
“I miss them both. Even my father. And I thought he was a bastard,” he said.
“He could be.”
“No more than I can be.” He clutched her tighter.
“Or I.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she could not assess their origin. She was devastated for her family’s loss but also felt a sense of relief that she and Graham had finally repaired their relationship, even though she didn’t know to what extent.
Tears of sadness, of relief, of happiness, and even of joy, all at once . . . Who would have known it was possible?
* * *
When the last guest had left and the house was silent, Graham and Benjamin sat alone in the study. From their seats in the wingback chairs, they stared across the room to a mahogany table, atop which sat the silver tray of spirits—the tray from which, when they were children, their father would often pour a drink prior to a tirade or sometimes a beating. Not that Graham had ever received beatings. No, he’d been the good son, the one who’d tried to make his father happy. It had reached the point where the younger Graham cringed whenever he heard the sound of crystal clinking, since it so often preceded a switch being taken to Benjamin’s or Gray’s backside.
“You should throw it out,” Graham said as Benjamin’s stare grew darker.
“First the tray, then what? Then I burn down the entire house?” Benjamin said. “How ungrateful we sound.”
Graham crossed the room to the tray and poured a drink for himself and for Benjamin. The decanter jingled against the glass. He crossed the room, holding out one of the glasses to his brother. “We must make new memories, Benjamin. We don’t have to forget the old ones. Some were happy, especially those of Tom.” His voice choked, and he took a quick drink. “Gray is back now, as well. We must start anew.”
Benjamin accepted the glass, his face still dark and moody beneath his slashed brows.
“We will make new memories,” Graham repeated firmly. “Happy ones. So that when we look back on the old ones, they won’t hurt as much.”
“Cheers, then.” Benjamin lifted his glass and tossed back the liquor. With a sigh, he set the empty tumbler down hard on the table. “I am sure this is pr
emature; however, despite your silence on the matter, it has not escaped my attention over the years that perhaps there is a certain young lady who holds your particular interest.”
Graham’s cheeks flushed. Had Benjamin seen him with Dinah earlier? He’d been so indiscreet. Only later did he realize how inappropriately he’d behaved, the effect it could have on her reputation.
“I wanted to let you know that when you are ready to make your intentions official, unlike Father, you will have my support.”
Graham smiled. “Thank you, Benjamin. But you needn’t worry yourself thinking you are going against his wishes. Father would have been more than happy with the match.”
“Really?” Benjamin tilted his head and squinted. “I could have sworn there was a young lady from a concert you dragged me to in London a few years ago. No one of consequence.”
Lily?
“Yes, I see your meaning now. We were speaking of different ladies,” Graham said, staring down into his glass. “The lady from the concert is married and with child.” How simple it all seemed now. He couldn’t deny his feelings for her had been strong, couldn’t deny he had imagined a life with her that was no longer possible. Yet the thought did not weaken his knees.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I had been led to believe your attachment was great, but then . . . there is another?”
It was too much to speak of now. Benjamin would have questions, and Graham was not certain he had answers. He did not know when it had started. He did not know how it had begun. He did not know if it was Dinah’s experiment or something else. He only knew one thing.
“There is . . . hope,” he said. And hope was a wondrous thing.
* * *
D.,
As you can imagine, the house is still in chaos. I thank the Lord nightly for your sister Alice, as well as for our dear friend Mr. Robert Crawford, both of whom have engaged themselves in assisting us.
I am to understand that we are still to have the annual Belle fete at Woodbury in a few months’ time. With your permission, I hope we may continue the conversation that began between us four years ago, as its resolution is, I hope, a foregone conclusion.
G.
Chapter Seven
Fourth annual Belle birthday crush
July 2, 1820
Woodbury, England
Robert and Alice had come up with a very simple plan to distract everyone from their mourning: an excessive amount of manual labor disguised as acts of charity and community. Graham had wondered as to the wisdom of such a plan. Sera was already so bone thin, it seemed ill-advised that she take on physical activity, but she—and the rest of them—had clung to the chance to be useful, to do something.
The past few days had been filled with backbreaking work in the berry fields, neglected as the harvest turned to the more profitable wheat. Graham had plucked and plucked until his fingers were dyed blue. When the body was occupied, the mind was not as free to roam.
Unfortunately, all that was in the past. The Belle sisters’ birthdays dawned, and there was little to be done except hold still as his man tied his cravat.
The house was still in mourning, appropriately so, and therefore, instead of festive colors, the guests and servants were in black. Instead of an exotic menu with tasty morsels spanning the best of global cuisine that Dominic Belle had experienced during his life, there was a light soup and the barest of libations—sparkling wine, not champagne from France—and a simple musical trio instead of the usual orchestra.
With the quiet, both of mind and body, his thoughts turned back to how he should approach Dinah. Her father had only arrived earlier that day and was worried sick about Sera. A completely inappropriate time to approach a man about his intentions toward one of his other daughters.
Assuming Graham had intentions. Which he did, did he not?
His father and brother were dead. Lily was married. He couldn’t go the rest of his life alone, and he thought well of Dinah. More than well. He thought of her always.
“Well done,” he said to his valet as he finished dressing. He stared at his reflection in the glass. Graham knew he was no Lord Savage, but he had been told his looks were pleasing. He was from a good family. Surely that would be enough to persuade Dinah?
Though, it had not been enough for Lily.
But Dinah was no Lily.
She was practical. Intelligent. But also not convinced she needed to marry.
Damn. He was overthinking it. He turned from the looking glass and stalked downstairs to find Benjamin. While no one could approximate Dinah’s total sense and intelligence, Benjamin came closest. He found his brother in the library flipping through a copy of Pride and Prejudice—a strange choice, but he knew that grief did strange things. He knocked on the doorway, steeling himself for the conversation ahead.
Benjamin glanced up and snapped the book closed. “Good, it’s you. I have something important to announce, but I wanted to tell you first.”
Never mind that Graham had his own agenda. He raised a brow. “An announcement with the aura of a pronouncement? Go on.”
“I have yet to approach her father, but I intend to seek the hand of Miss Bridget Belle and for us to be married before Christmas.”
Graham raised both brows. He’d always felt Benjamin and Bridget were ill matched. As ill matched as he and Dinah, he supposed. Still, Benjamin had shared his intention to ask for Bridget’s hand when they were at their father’s funeral, but he had indicated it would come after a respectable period of mourning. “Oh. That is soon.”
“It is,” Benjamin agreed.
And it was as simple as that, apparently. Benjamin was to be married. Granted, he would be forgiven the timing as the Duke of Rivington. But still, it meant that Graham need not torture himself over his own decision or how it reflected on his past affection for Lily. He held out his hand. “I cannot imagine her father would object, so I suppose congratulations are in order.” They shook, and Benjamin smiled. It was an unfamiliar expression to see on his brother. “Hmm . . . I’m not sure I like the smile on your face. It’s . . . disconcerting.”
“Was I smiling?” Benjamin asked.
“Like a lunatic. Stop. You’re frightening me.” Graham shuddered.
“I’m frightening myself,” Benjamin admitted. “Was there something you wanted?”
There could never be too much good news. Still, he wondered if Benjamin would appreciate Graham’s overtures clashing with Benjamin’s own intentions. Perhaps it was best to wait. Waiting did not mean Graham couldn’t speak to Dinah.
Benjamin was the eldest, the duke. It should be his prerogative to command the news of the day.
“Nothing in particular,” Graham said.
* * *
Dinah had always disregarded the reports of her cold personality, which reached her so often she wondered if people actually enjoyed delivering such personal blows. She had always reasoned that others simply did not have the capacity to understand her emotional state.
But some part of the rumors of her cold-heartedness must have been true. Because even though she was worried sick over Sera’s relentless grief, which left her near insensible, and even though Dinah felt a pinch of grief whenever she thought too long about never seeing Tom again, she was lifted, buoyed, and overflowing with hope from Graham’s letter.
Fortunately, this positive attitude was also tempered by the rational if unpleasant idea that perhaps she was losing her mind. And when one was not certain of one’s mind, there was only one place to go: the library.
It was empty, which was quite unusual during the annual birthday fete that saw every nook, corner, and cranny of Woodbury Hall filled to excess. However, this year’s celebration was not one of excess but of quiet solemnity. There were no out-of-town guests, save for a few close friends, so the guest list consisted of mostly family and the local townsfolk. So she found herself alone, shelves of towering books looming overhead.
She knew the exact spot—fourth shelf, third bookcase—where
the medical journals were lined up. She yanked them down and pored through them. Her fingers made fast work of the pages and pages of diagrams and heady prose, detailing everything from syrupy concoctions for a cough to strategies for field surgery during wartime. She found a series of anatomical drawings with colorful lines drawn from the head to the feet until she settled upon the ankle. She could almost feel it tingle again, as if Graham’s hand were clasped around it once more.
Dinah sat on a tufted chaise and pulled the heavy volume onto her lap. Her finger traced the line over the ankle and all the way up to the heart.
Was that when it had started? That first night in the cottage?
Surely not. She had spent the better part of the year—perhaps two—thinking ill of Graham. Not in his entirety, of course. She had always found him well-mannered, kind, and loving in regards to his family, but he was an imbecile for wanting someone he could not have.
But now she understood how little choice one had in the matter of the direction of one’s thoughts and feelings. She did not understand why she pined constantly for Graham all of a sudden. Wasn’t he the same man he’d always been?
Yet, before that night when he had touched her ankle, she had never really paid him much mind, unless he was trying to be funny or charming in order to be noticed. Today, however, the instant he entered the ballroom and engaged Mr. Crawford in conversation, she’d been aware of the way even the curtains swayed behind him.
Her thoughts turned to the inevitable. What had he meant by their conversations having a foregone conclusion?
And why did her imagination run to marriage, want it to mean marriage?
It was a heady thought, one that whirled around her, effervescent as champagne.
There had been little opportunity to speak to him since her arrival at Woodbury. Alice had kept all of them busy over the past few days, working in the village and on the estate in an effort to keep Sera occupied, but Dinah was desperate to speak with Graham. She was nearly clawing at the walls, as though something gnawed at her from within. It was so unlike her, so illogical, and she didn’t like it.