Never Say Never to an Earl (Heart of Enquiry Book 5)

by Grace Callaway

  “Actually, Carlisle let me do half the driving.” Violet grinned at their combined reflections in the mirror. A lithe brunette, Vi had always been a pretty hoyden, but since her marriage, she’d gained a maturity that tempered her golden aura without sacrificing its unique energy.

  “What doesn’t he allow you to do?” Em observed. “The man indulges you to no end.”

  “He just likes to pick his battles,” Vi said blithely. “But never mind me—our Polly is the one getting married today. Gadzooks, look at you! Our baby sister all grown up.”

  “You do make a beautiful bride, dear.” As Thea added ivory rosebuds to Polly’s hair, she said dreamily, “I hope your day is every bit as special as mine was.”

  Polly managed a smile, even as the knot of doubt tightened in her stomach. The uncertainty had been there for the entire week, and it wasn’t over her own feelings. She was certain she wanted to marry Sinjin: it was why she’d agreed to wear his ring… and why she’d given him her maidenhead.

  She didn’t regret what she’d done. Experiencing the bright intensity of his passion had been like touching an electrifying machine. He’d sparked an elemental response in her, a desire every bit as strong as his. There on the balcony, she’d known that she wasn’t falling in love with him: she was already there. She loved him. And, because she was a Kent, she did so in a head-over-slippers, wholehearted, and forever sort of way.

  What she was far less certain about was his feelings for her. His odd, distant behavior during the past week had only ratcheted up her fears. Was he regretting what they’d done? Had his mind changed about wanting to marry her? For her, their lovemaking had been the most pleasurable experience of her life… but what did she know? She didn’t have his experience. What if she didn’t measure up to his previous lovers or disappointed him in some way—

  “What is the matter, dear?”

  Finding herself under Em’s scrutiny, she tried to drag herself out of the vortex of panic. “Um, nothing’s the matter. Nothing at all.”

  Given the scandalous reason for her hasty nuptials, she knew that her siblings had reservations about Sinjin. She’d tried to explain that it had been as much her fault as his—that she’d been just as carried away by the moment—but that didn’t overcome her family’s doubts entirely. The last thing she wanted was to give them any more reason not to welcome him into the fold.

  “Then why are you as pale as a sheet? And if you gnaw on your lip any more, there’ll be none of it left.” Em placed her hands on Polly’s shoulders. “I may not have your acuity, dear, but I have known you all your life. You can talk about whatever is troubling you, you know.”

  Faced with those maternal brown eyes, Polly could bear it no longer. She burst into tears.

  Em held her until the storm passed. Afterward, she sat on the bed, surrounded by her sisters, and spoke haltingly of her fears.

  “He d-didn’t even c-come see me for three days,” she sniffled into the handkerchief that Thea had handed her. “And when h-he did, he was so… s-somber.” At the memory of the darkness shrouding him, fear skated through her. She’d never seen him look so grim.

  “Did you ask him what the matter was?” Em said, frowning.

  Nodding, she said, “He apologized profusely for what happened. For his, um, lack of self-control.” His remorse and disgust at himself had been evident, but there had been more to his gloomy aura… a despair that she didn’t understand. “He denied that anything else was wrong, but I could see that wasn’t true. Why wouldn’t he tell me what was truly bothering him? Unless what he’s upset about has to do with…”—her hand balled the linen—“me?”

  “I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion,” Emma said prosaically. “You mustn’t forget that the day after the ball, he sent you that note explaining why he didn’t come straightaway. That he was busy making arrangements for the special license.”

  That was true.

  “And he did send you tokens of his esteem every day.” Thea gestured to the extravagant bouquets that perfumed Polly’s room.

  “Thunder and turf, I’d call that king’s ransom she’s wearing more than a token,” Vi put in.

  Polly brushed her fingertips over the diamond and aquamarine bracelet and earbobs that he’d sent. The jewels had been accompanied by a brief message.

  Kitten,

  To match the ring and necklace but never your peerless eyes.

  —S.

  She’d slept with that note under her pillow all week. Still…

  “Why does his manner seem so distant?” she said miserably.

  “Maybe he’s trying to keep up appearances,” Vi suggested. “Crumpets, Polly, he compromised you on a balcony. I’m sure he doesn’t want to give the tongues more to wag about by showing up daily on your doorstep like an overeager bridegroom.”

  Heat bloomed in Polly’s cheeks… but embarrassment felt better than despair.

  “Despite Vi’s indelicate way of putting it,”—Em aimed an exasperated look at Vi, who responded with an unrepentant grin—“she does have a point. Revelstoke probably wanted to observe the proprieties and forestall any further gossip.” She paused, then muttered as if she couldn’t help herself, “Bit late to shut the barn doors, if you ask me.”

  “There may be other reasons for his distance as well.” Thea patted Polly’s hand. “Before Tremont and I got married, he was behaving in a similar fashion, and I, too, interpreted it as a sign that he was having second thoughts about me. In fact, I believe I felt much as you are feeling right now.”

  “You did? What made you feel better?”

  “Tremont and I talked,” Thea said simply. “He made me understand that his aloofness wasn’t about me but his past. His uncertainty had to with himself, the sort of husband he’d make. Might that be true of Revelstoke?”

  Polly thought about it. He had told her that he wasn’t an easy man to live with. He’d said that he disliked intimacy because, in his experience, it had led to disappointment. From what she’d learned about his family, she could understand his feelings. After all, he’d lost his brother and mama, the two people he’d been closest to.

  And it was sadly telling that his other family members would not be in attendance at the wedding ceremony. She’d persuaded Sinjin to send invitations to the Actons, and he’d done so with clear reluctance. They’d sent terse regrets.

  Given his history, would it be surprising if Sinjin felt uneasy committing his future to another’s? With a blaze of insight, she saw how similar they were. How, from the very beginning, his loneliness had resonated with her own. Whilst she undoubtedly had the advantage of a loving family, her affliction had taught her what it was like to be an outsider. To be rejected and abandoned.

  Although Sinjin had been mobbed by adoring hordes, he himself had said that he’d only been sought after for his money and title, a night’s distraction. He’d never felt valued for himself—for who he truly was. For the intelligent, passionate, and honorable man Polly knew him to be.

  “Sinjin is so popular and self-assured that sometimes I forget that he might have uncertainties, too,” she said with remorse. “That he is as human as I am.”

  “Gracious, you’re every bit as good as the earl,” Em said tartly. “Your trouble is that you’ve always underestimated your own worth. Indeed, if you have any doubts about him, Polly, it’s time to speak now.” Worried eyes searched her face. “I know you’re marrying under exigent circumstances, but if you’ve changed your mind, we’ll support—”

  “I want to marry him.” Polly said quickly. “I’m sure of it.”

  A knock sounded on the door, and she was relieved for the interruption. Vi went to open it, and Rosie entered. Polly’s heart beat in a rapid staccato at the sight of her sister, who was wearing a pretty white muslin and an uncertain expression.

  “Polly… may I have a word?” Rosie said.

  She nodded.

  “We’ll let you two girls chat in private,” Thea said with a smile.

 
After the others left, silence descended. As Polly wracked her brain for what to say, Rosie blurted, “I’m sorry, Polly. I’ve been the most awful person ever. I’ve wanted to apologize for days, but I was so ashamed of my behavior and—”

  Polly ran over and hugged her. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said and was fiercely glad when her sister hugged her back. “I hurt you and—”

  “You didn’t do it on purpose. I know that. But I was just so angry and frustrated at my own situation that I took it out on you. I envied your happiness when, in reality, it was never at the expense of my own. That’s how petty I was being.” Pulling back, Rosie said tearfully, “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Relief made her throat swell. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “There is. I’ve been absolutely horrid to you. I ought to have been there for you, to listen or talk things over or just to share in your joy. No, don’t you start crying, too.” Rosie dabbed at Polly’s cheeks with her own handkerchief and then steered her back in front of the looking glass. “It’s the most important day of your life, and you must look your absolute best. Bosom chums and sisters do not allow each other to get married with red eyes and a runny nose.”

  The return of the old Rosie made happiness leap in Polly’s heart. As the blond girl fussed over her, she said with a pang, “I’ve missed you so. And I can’t believe… this is good-bye.” It struck her that after the wedding, she’d be leaving her old life behind and taking her new place with her husband.

  “It’s not as if you’re moving to the Outer Hebrides, silly. You’ll be a five minute carriage drive away.” Despite her teasing, there was a hitch to Rosie’s voice. “We’ll see each other all the time—even more, now that I’m finished acting like a spoilt brat. Don’t argue, dearest,” she said, forestalling Polly’s protest, “because it’s true. What’s also true is that we both have to grow up sometime. And maybe we have to do some of that growing up on our own.”

  The words hit like pinpricks on Polly’s heart. Because she knew they were true. As painful as her separation from Rosie had been, the time apart had also been a catalyst for her to carve out her own future.

  Rosie made a few more expert adjustments to the gown and stepped back. “And speaking of growing up, will you please explain why, after I nagged you forever to change your wardrobe, you do nothing, but when I don’t speak to you for a fortnight, you suddenly turn into a fashion plate?” She gestured at the looking glass.

  Obediently, Polly peered at her reflection. She’d chosen the cerulean blue silk because it reminded her of Sinjin’s eyes. Although Madame Rousseau had made the frock on a rush order, artistry was apparent in every detail. The gown flattered Polly’s figure, its jeweled belt emphasizing her narrow waist and V-shaped neckline displaying her high bosom. Fine blond lace trimmed the bodice, gigot sleeves, and tiered underskirt.

  “The time seemed right to try something different,” Polly murmured.

  “It’s because of Revelstoke, isn’t it? Because you love him?”

  She bit her lip, not wanting to open up wounds so recently healed.

  “You can tell me, Pols.” Rosie’s jade eyes were solemn. “I may have fancied him for his title and looks, but my heart wasn’t involved—you and I both know that. So not only do I hope you’ve found what I’m too shallow to look for, I want more than anything for you to be loved as you deserve.”

  “You’re not shallow. After everything you’ve been through, it makes perfect sense that you’d want a husband who can give you security.”

  “You see the best in everyone.” Her sister squeezed her hand. “Now we’ll see if you can do the same for yourself. So you love Revelstoke?”

  “Yes,” Polly whispered.

  “Does he love you?”

  She shook her head. “But it’s all right. He was honest about it from the start. He doesn’t believe in emotional entanglements—and that will be best, anyway, given that I…”

  “That you don’t plan on telling him about your ability?” her sister prodded gently.

  “My curse, you mean.” Sighing, Polly said, “Don’t look at me that way, Rosie. I’ve made up my mind about this.”

  “Is that why you turned down Papa’s offer to spend your wedding trip at the cottage?” Rosie said, proving yet again how astute she was.

  Ambrose and Marianne had suggested that Polly take a brief sojourn with Sinjin to the cozy cottage they maintained back in Chudleigh Crest. She’d declined politely, giving the excuse that she wanted to stay in Town until Sinjin’s case was solved. It wasn’t a lie—she and Sinjin had discussed the matter, preferring to postpone a honeymoon until Nicoletta’s accomplice was apprehended—but, as Rosie had surmised, it also wasn’t the full truth.

  “Sinjin thinks I’m beautiful. I don’t want him to see me… the way the villagers do.” Polly’s voice cracked a little. “I don’t want to be Peculiar Polly all over again.”

  “Oh, how I wish I could give those clodhoppers and busybodies a good tongue lashing!” Rosie fumed. “Listen to me, Polly—that was a long time ago. You cannot let the cruelty of children and ignorance of adults haunt you forever.”

  “It doesn’t… at least not the way it used to,” she said falteringly, “but that doesn’t mean I want to expose myself to ridicule or rejection. I just want to leave the past in the past. Please understand, Rosie.”

  “I do, of course.” Her sister huffed out a breath. “And seeing as how it is your wedding day, dearest, I’m not going to plague you further. Just promise me one thing, will you?”

  “Yes?” she said cautiously.

  Taking her hands, Rosie said, her eyes glimmering, “If you must leave me, do it for a good reason. Be happy, my dearest sister.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Polly’s heart welled with love—the same emotion she saw glowing around her bosom spirit. “As long as you promise to do the same.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Freshly bathed, Sinjin dismissed his valet and poured himself a scotch. Elation hummed inside him. This had to be the best day of his life. Not because it happened to be his birthday, an occasion he wasn’t accustomed to celebrating and didn’t care all that much about, but because, on the other side of the door, Polly was completing her evening ablutions in her bridal bower.

  Soon, he’d join her—his wife.

  I’ve done it. Polly’s mine.

  Somehow he’d managed not to bollix things up… although it’d been a close call.

  It was the nature of his devils to creep up on him. Not only did they pilfer his will, they could perform sneak-thievery upon his judgement and awareness. At the ball, he ought to have recognized the signs, but he’d attributed the euphoric feelings to Polly… which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Seeing her so radiant, brimming with sensual confidence, had aroused him immeasurably. In retrospect, however, it had also magnified the black demon’s seductive whispers to take what was his—to claim his mate.

  So he had. On a bloody balcony.

  God, she deserved so much more for her first time.

  The familiar remorse and self-recrimination tightened his gut. The last week had been a test of things to come. For after the high of the ball, he’d plunged immediately into the abyss. The blue monster had been relentless, filling his head with loathsome thoughts.

  You’re a bastard for ruining Polly. What will you do when she discovers how pathetic, how gutless you truly are? She’ll despise you. Leave you.

  He took another sip of whiskey to dispel the tendrils of his inner chill. His head was clear again, and, as unpleasant as the episode had been, he felt a spark of triumph because, through the worst of it, he hadn’t lost sight of what was important. For the first time, he’d had a purpose to anchor him: Polly. Thoughts of her had buoyed him through dark waters.

  The morning after the ball, despite his plummeting spirits, he’d dragged himself to the Archbishop of Canterbury to attain a special license. Next he’d made arrangements for flowers to be sent to Polly every
day. He’d written her a note, making an excuse for his absence; there was no way in hell she could see him in the state he was in. In a stroke of luck, he’d already had that set of jewels ready for her. He’d been waiting for the right moment to give her the remaining pieces. While he was curled up like a bastard in bed had seemed as good a time as any.

  The important thing, he told himself, was that the two of them had weathered his storm. After three days, when the worst of it was over and he was at least marginally fit for company, he’d gone to see her. He could tell she was hurt by his behavior, but she’d stayed the course with him.

  That was what counted.

  Gratitude and wonder warmed his chest. His new countess was loyal, would stick with him through thick and thin. She wouldn’t be like his family whose absence had been palpable at the intimate wedding ceremony and breakfast that followed. It was what he’d expected from them; he told himself it didn’t matter. With Polly, he finally had more than empty chairs in his future.

  Through the walls, he heard Polly’s maid biding her good night. His bride was alone now, waiting for him. Anticipation simmering, he paused in front of the chevalier glass.

  As his habit was to sleep in the buff, he wore nothing beneath his silk robe. He hesitated, wondering if he ought to don a nightshirt. Light-skirts might not blink at the scars on his back, and worldly ladies had found them titillating… but Polly fell in neither of those categories. She was no casual tumble. She was his wife, and this was their wedding night.

  In the reflection, his lips curled in self-derision. You are who you are. Unless he meant to hide his back from her forever, he might as well begin as he meant to go on. Besides, he thought dryly, of all the things he needed to keep from her, his back was a damned low priority.

  He’d neither hide nor bring attention to that part of himself; her reaction would be what it had to be. Setting down his empty glass, he tightened the belt on his dressing robe, went over to the door between their adjoining chambers. He gave a brisk knock.