by Joyce Alec
Slamming his hand down repeatedly on the balcony rail, George lowered his head and stared at the floor, before sitting down into a slumped heap. Should anyone see him, they would most likely think him somewhat merry, but the truth was, he could not be more miserable if he tried.
How he felt about Lady Ellen could not be denied. There was more to what he felt than a simple fondness, more than just the first kindling of friendship. He did not want to believe that he had any kind of true affection for her, but the reality was that he would not feel such pain and such guilt over her if he did not. Of course, by now, it was much too late to admit such a thing, for he had now ruined any chance of happiness between himself and the lady. She would never forgive him. Their marriage would be one of toil and suffering. Mayhap they would end up living in separate homes as his own parents had done, clearly disinterested in one another’s lives.
Sighing, George hung his head. He would give Lady Ellen anything she wished, even if it meant an entire home of her own. After what he had done to her, he could not refuse her that.
A sudden movement caught his eye, and he watched Lady Ellen’s parents walk together slowly toward the door he had just come from. The countess wiped her eye delicately, and the earl patted her back gently, before coming to a stop outside the room.
Feeling as though he were intruding on a private moment, George watched as the earl gently lifted his wife’s chin, smiling at her and saying something that made her return his smile. With a delicate hand, he brushed the tears from her eyes, and as George watched, the countess ran one hand down the earl’s cheek, her expression soft.
It was clear that there was a deep affection between them both, and as they stepped into the room, George felt his heart grow sorrowful all over again.
It was not as though he had never thought to marry, for he had known that it would be a part of his future. He had to produce the heir at some point, he supposed, but that had simply been a formality as far as he had been concerned. He had once thought to find himself a wife who cared as little for him as he did for her. The heir and spare would be produced, and then he would continue his life in as similar a fashion as he could. A host of nannies and governesses would be employed for his offspring, with Eton beckoning for his heir in particular, and he would settle into his elder years with the knowledge that he had done all that was required of him. But now, in seeing the affection between the Earl and the Countess of Fancot, George found himself longing for something he had never thought to have before.
Did he really think he would be happy with a life where he would live apart from the lady he had promised himself to for the rest of his days? Especially when that lady, as he now knew, was to be Lady Ellen? The agony coursing through his veins told him that, no, he would no longer be content with such a picture, not when his wife was to be Lady Ellen. He could not simply have a child with her and then turn his back on her. That was no longer the kind of gentleman he wanted to be. He could not be so cruel hearted, so selfish and inconsiderate any longer.
The change he had pretended to take on was now so much a part of his being that George knew he could not easily return to the life he’d once had. As much as she might not believe him, George knew that Lady Ellen had been the one to bring about such a severe change of heart and mind within him. Had it not been for his desire for her, then the affection he now felt would never have become a part of him, and he would never have begun to leave the man he had been behind.
Putting his head in his hands, George groaned aloud again, the sound echoing off the walls behind him. He did not know what Lady Ellen would be saying to her parents, but he could tell that her father already despised him. It had been a difficult conversation to have with the man, and George had not held anything back. The only thing he had not told the earl was how Lady Ellen had reacted toward him, how she had been the one to kiss him first. That had been something of a surprise even to him, and as far as George was concerned, the Earl and Countess of Fancot did not need to think badly of their daughter. He wanted their anger, their frustration, their fury, to be entirely directed toward him. In fact, he welcomed it. It was his just punishment for what he had done and for the wonderful woman he was to gain.
Guilt rattled through him as he got to his feet, looking down at the swirl of guests. He did not want to return there and have to paste a smile on his face and pretend that all was well, but it was necessary for him to do so. There could be nothing but happiness on his features so that, when the announcement was read by the beau monde of his engagement to Lady Ellen, no one could suggest that he had been unhappy about it the evening before at the very ball where he had supposedly proposed to Lady Ellen. Straightening his shoulders, George lifted his chin and made his way purposefully down the stairs, trying his best to ignore how wooden his limbs felt and how dead his heart was within him.
Unfortunately, instead of putting on a cheery smile and greeting those around him with his usual affectionate manner, George’s gaze landed on Lord Morton.
His supposed friend was standing idly by the wall of the ballroom, his gaze roving over three particular young ladies just to his left. There was a slight leer on his face, his eyes dark and glittering. George did not need to guess what was on his friend’s mind.
“Morton!”
The anger coursing through his veins sent fire to his belly, his limbs heating up, as he stormed toward Lord Morton. The man turned to look at him in surprise, his face paling as George drew near.
“Now, hold up there for a moment,” Morton stammered, raising one arm as though to ward off blows. “You know I was just jesting.”
Aware that there were already people turning to look that them, George grasped his friend’s arm.
“Come with me, Morton,” he said, turning to the ladies and rolling his eyes. “You had best get home or, at the very least, get yourself to the card room. For heaven’s sake, you can barely stand up!”
Thankfully, the ladies turned around again, their interest waning, as George gave Morton a slight shove in the direction of the card room. Morton, thankfully choosing not to refuse George’s request, walked along to the stairs and began to descend. In a few minutes, they were both walking to the card room when George, his anger still burning furiously, rounded on his friend.
“What in heaven’s name were you thinking, Morton?”
His friend, his eyes a little glazed, gave a slight shrug. “What? I do not understand what the matter is!”
Seeing a slight alcove, George shoved Lord Morton toward it. “You have got me married off to Lady Ellen, that is the problem!”
Lord Morton turned toward him, goggling at him. “You have agreed to marry her?”
“What else could I do?” George hissed, his hands slowly curling into fists, as he realized just how much of an imbecile Lord Morton was. “You had me over a barrel.”
Lord Morton gaped at him for a moment, his jaw slack.
“Why on earth were you following me?”
“To win the bet,” Morton replied with a frown.
“Then why make our presence known to the other guests?” George asked, his low voice harsh and grating as a vision of him slamming his fist into Lord Morton’s face overtook him. “What possessed you to call out in such a way? The lady’s reputation is now perilously in danger of ruination thanks to you.”
Slowly, Lord Morton’s face grew pale, as he suddenly seemed to realize just how angry George really was.
“I did not think anything would come of it,” he mumbled, looking away. “It was just a bit of a laugh. Why would you mind if there was dirt clinging to a lady’s name anyway? It is not as though you have ever cared about your own reputation, nor for anyone else’s before now.”
Closing his eyes, George let out a long breath and tried to shake some of the tension from his body. What Lord Morton said was quite true, and the thought of it made him sick. Lord Morton had assumed that this was something George would be able to laugh off, that he would not care if the lady in qu
estion would be, somehow, tainted by his presence and effect on her – and had he been the man of only a few weeks ago, then that would have been entirely true.
For the first time, George saw himself in the light of how others must see him. There was filth clinging to his name, filth that he had never cared much for before now. How much Lady Ellen must despise him. How much he despised himself!
“You are not to breathe a word of this, Morton, do you understand?” George hissed, leaning closer to the man. “If you say a word about Lady Ellen to anyone, then I shall have your head.”
Lord Morton blinked, the last traces of good humor sliding from his face.
“We are no longer friends,” George finished, his anger burning like a slow, heated fire. “I will not even consider you an acquaintance, Morton. After what you have done, how can I consider you a companion of mine?”
Frowning, Lord Morton’s eyes glazed with confusion. “I do not understand,” he muttered, passing one hand over his eyes. “This is all much too puzzling.”
George drew in a deep breath, desperate to turn away from Lord Morton before he did something he would regret. “I am to be wed, Morton,” he said calmly. “I am to marry Lady Ellen, and you are to keep your silence about what went on in the gardens, or else I shall call you out for damaging my wife’s reputation. Do you understand?”
Lord Morton’s eyes widened, and he gave a jerky nod as George continued to glare at him.
“Good,” George said, firmly. “Now, do excuse me. I do not think I have anything more to say to you.”
Turning on his heel, George stormed away from Lord Morton, anger and shame burning at his very soul. It was little wonder than Lady Ellen thought so poorly of him.
As he left the ballroom, his mortification hanging on him like a cloak, George realized that he did not think so very highly of himself either, for he was not a decent man. He was a cruel, foolish, selfish man, who was now to marry a lady who was, in all ways, better than he. His wife would be the sweet, kind, and now entirely broken Lady Ellen.
13
Ellen spent the next three days in a state of mourning. Her mother and father could not get through to her, for she did not want either their company nor their conversation. She took all meals in her room and did not so much as change into her day dress. The silence and heartache were all the companions she required.
Lord Hartley had not yet come to call upon her, although a note had arrived the day after the ball informing her that the notice of their engagement would be in the paper that very afternoon. Ellen had cried great gasping tears over the whole situation, until there had been nothing left in her. She had taken to her bed for the rest of the day, and even her mother had been unable to rouse her spirits. Her once bright future was now broken into tiny pieces, with her heart and soul shattered within her. There was nothing but despondency and desolation for her.
How foolish she had been to ever feel something for Lord Hartley. She had acted in a manner that was entirely worthy of reproach, and she could not, even now, bring herself to tell her mother that it had been she who had acted inappropriately. Whilst Lord Hartley had kissed her soundly, it had been her actions that had prompted him to do it. She had brushed her lips against his for a moment, looking up at him with such a hope in her heart that her very soul had seemed to come alive with expectation and longing.
A hope she had driven away the moment Lord Morton opened his mouth and she had seen the shame in Lord Hartley’s eyes. There was no true reformation of his character. There was no determination to cast aside his rakish ways. There had been nothing but lies and deceit, and she had fallen directly into his trap.
“Ellen?”
Without waiting for Ellen to reply, her mother stepped inside, and looking at her daughter for a moment, she put her hands on her hips.
“Now,” she said firmly, coming to stand by Ellen. “This is quite enough wallowing from you.”
Hearing the sternness in her mother’s tone, Ellen looked up at her in surprise. Apparently, her mother’s sympathy and compassion for her plight had suddenly dried up.
“We are expecting Lord Hartley to call this afternoon,” her mother continued, when Ellen said nothing. “So, you will need to wash and dress. I have called for a bath to be drawn, and you will ensure that you are pressed and dressed for his visit.”
Just as she finished speaking, the door opened behind her and a few maids began to trail in one after the other. They opened the door to Ellen’s dressing room, and Ellen heard the sound of the fire being built in the grate.
“The footmen will bring in the tub shortly, and your bath will be filled,” the countess continued, with a small smile. “Now, Ellen, I know that you are still feeling very upset about all that has occurred, and whilst I understand your grief, I must tell you that I expect you to continue on regardless. There is to be no more of this shutting yourself away and mourning the loss of your freedom. What is done is done, and it is best for us all if you simply accept that.”
Ellen was lost for words, her throat suddenly aching, as she tried her best to stop herself from bursting into fresh tears. Her mother, whilst practical, was causing her yet more pain, and Ellen was not quite sure she would be able to do what her mother expected.
Her mother put one gentle hand on her shoulder. “I am still not quite sure about what went on in those gardens, Ellen, but I need not know all the details. Whatever happened, you are now to wed Lord Hartley. You know that. The scandal would be too great. I can tell that you are finding the whole idea very difficult, and I am sorry for that, but there is nothing to be done. Lord Hartley will be a good husband to you, Ellen—”
“How can you say that, Mama?” Ellen exclaimed, her hands clenching into fists. “How can you say that after what he has done? He has pretended to be a gentleman in order to lure me to the garden, and now I am to marry him!”
Her mother let out a long sigh, her expression calm. “He will be a good husband, Ellen, have no doubt about that. Lord Hartley did not have to marry you, for he could have easily shouldered the scandal without too much difficulty, but he is considerate enough to refuse to allow your name to be tainted. He did not hesitate, but rushed to speak to your father so that the engagement could be announced the very day after the ball. Does that speak to you of a man who is entirely selfish and coldhearted?” As Ellen’s gaze drifted away, her mind thinking about what her mother had said, she heard her mother sigh again. “Your father and I will be watching Lord Hartley’s behavior with a very careful eye, have no doubt,” she finished, stepping away from Ellen. “The man will treat you well, Ellen, I promise.”
“Oh, Mama,” Ellen whispered, shaking her head. “I do not want to marry him.”
“But you must,” her mother said firmly. “Now, wipe your eyes and go and bathe. I will expect you down in the drawing room by two o’clock.”
That gave her two hours with which to prepare, and it was clear to Ellen that she did not have a choice in the matter. She would have to prepare herself to meet Lord Hartley again this afternoon, although she had very little idea of what to say. As discontent and as sorrowful as she was, Ellen got to her feet and went to do as her mother bid her, finally accepting that her future was now entirely set and that no amount of tears would change it.
She would be Lady Hartley by the Season’s end.
“Very nice,” her mother murmured, as Ellen came into the drawing room. “you have chosen that color well.”
“The maid chose it,” Ellen replied, with a slight shrug. “When do we expect Lord Hartley?”
Her mother opened her mouth to reply, only for there to come a scratch at the door.
“This very moment, it would seem,” her mother replied, getting to her feet. “Now, Ellen, do not be difficult, I pray you. It will make it easier for everyone.”
Ellen did hear her mother’s words, her heart slamming wildly about her chest as the door opened. She did not know where to look, finding it impossible to look at Lord Hartley d
irectly. Hearing him come in, she gave a small curtsy but kept her gaze low, looking steadily at the ground.
“Thank you for allowing me to call on you, Lady Ellen,” she heard him say, after greeting her mother. “It is good to see you again.”
Making a meal of sitting down and smoothing her skirts, Ellen managed not to reply, her palms growing sweaty, as she tried to calm her fractious mind.
“Ellen has been looking forward to talking with you about the wedding,” her mother replied, making Ellen look up sharply. “Do excuse me for a moment. I forgot that I had something important to share with my husband.”
To Ellen’s horror, her mother got up from her chair and quickly left the room, leaving the door ajar. It was now just Lord Hartley and herself sitting in the drawing room, and Ellen could sense the tension rising almost immediately.
“Might I call you ‘Ellen’?”
“No,” Ellen replied sharply. “You may not. I am still to be Lady Ellen to you.”
“But we are engaged,” Lord Hartley stated, in a calm voice. “Might we not be allowed some intimacies? You may refer to me as ‘Hartley’, or even ‘George’ if you wish.”
There was something of a warmth to his tone, a warmth that brought Ellen nothing but frustration.
“We may be engaged, Lord Hartley, but I assure you that it is not a state I am particularly happy about,” she replied, finally managing to look into his eyes. “Until I am more comfortable with the situation, I would appreciate it if you would continue to use my correct title.” Holding her gaze steadily, she saw the way he swallowed, the uncomfortable way he shifted in his seat.
“Very good, my lady,” he mumbled, dropping his head for a moment. “I do apologize.”
“For that, or for the entire situation we now find ourselves in?” Ellen asked, her anger steadily mounting. “Believe me, Lord Hartley, I am not in any way inclined to accept your apology and offer you my forgiveness.”