Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03]

by What the Bride Wore

  “You fell in love.”

  She nodded. “I did. He looked at me as a woman, not a title. He made me laugh, and he bought me presents. Every day, there was something. They weren’t even expensive. A ribbon, a bauble, an ugly wooden bird he had tried to carve. He gave these things to me—little things—and he became the whole world to me.”

  Grant pulled back, his expression open, despite the fact that they were speaking of her first lover.

  “When we were together, he filled my days. There were endless stories about the sea. And when his throat grew tired from talking, he would whistle.”

  “Whistle?”

  “Yes, whistle. A tune. Or the call of a bird, though I think he made those up. He had traveled the world, so he could claim it was the call of a yellow songbird from China with a beak like a duck and the wingspan of an eagle. I would never know if it were true or just a story.”

  “A story, I would think. At least that one.”

  She smiled in memory. “Yes, that one was. But others, maybe not. It never mattered. He made me laugh, and when I was with him, I was full. Not just my belly, but my whole life.”

  “And when he was away?”

  “I counted the ticks of the clock. Only this time, it was an ormolu clock rather than an old wood clock from my grandmother.”

  “The waiting must have been interminable.”

  “Then he died. The news came as I was helping my father-in-law with his accounts. His eyes are failing him, and he needs help from someone he trusts. The messenger came from the boat. He told us they had been attacked by pirates, but Nate had marshaled a defense. They had fought them off, but he had been wounded during the fight. An infection set in, and he was dead soon after.”

  “I’m so sorry, Irene,” Grant breathed, the passion in his eyes shifting to sadness.

  She acknowledged his words with a nod, but she couldn’t focus on him. Not if she wanted to tell him everything. “Mama screamed and collapsed. Papa shuddered. I remember that. He just shuddered and then sat in his chair. The servants did everything then. They called for the doctor. Papa’s secretary handled all the arrangements.”

  “What did you do?” he asked. She could hear the regret in his voice, as if he didn’t want to hear her answer, but knew she needed to say it.

  “I took to my bed, Grant. And I stayed there for weeks just counting heartbeats. Or breaths. Or the taps of a branch. There was no reason to get out of bed. At least before my marriage, there had been some things to do. Food to buy, a dress to restitch, and always, the bill collectors to avoid. At school I had a few friends. Helaine, for one. But I’d lost my friends when I married a cit. And since my in-laws are wealthy, they had servants do the cooking and cleaning. They didn’t need me for anything.”

  “My God,” he breathed. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing at all.” She looked at him, trying to explain what was in her heart. “Don’t you see? I had everything I ever wanted—people who loved me, good food, beautiful clothes—but there was nothing to fill me. No husband, no children, no… nothing. I prayed for death, you know. Anything to bring an end to the tick of the clock.”

  “It’s a wonder you did not go insane.”

  “No, it’s a wonder that I could be so ridiculously stupid and not realize it.”

  He started, drawing back at the anger in her tone. “You were grieving.”

  “I was lazy and self-indulgent. Other women have their base needs taken care of. Other women have missing husbands. They occupy their time with charities or art. They spend hours helping at hospitals or supporting relatives who need an extra pair of hands. Even working at your mill, you gave thought to your mother and to the barn you’d burned down.”

  “Do not confuse thought with guilt.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I did none of that. I never have. I lay in bed and counted the ticks of the clock. Until the day Helaine came and offered me a job as her purchaser, I did nothing at all.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not the thing for the daughter of an earl to work. Even when charitable, it is for her to supply the goods, not carry the baskets.”

  She slammed her hands down in her lap, startled that she had made fists. “But that is exactly my point! I was raised to think that the ultimate life was one of ease—every need provided for, every desire already met. And any woman or gentleman who had those things and chose to work anyway was considered of the lowest mind-set. A woman is seen as less desirable, a man is despised as unfortunate. And neither are accepted in the highest levels of the ton.”

  He nodded, obviously knowing it was true.

  “But it is wrong. From the depths of my soul, I say to you, that is wrong thinking. I love setting my mind to a task. I adore finding fabrics that Helaine will fashion into the most beautiful of gowns. I don’t even keep the money I earn. I give it to St. Clement Church. The point is that I am working, and nothing has ever filled me so well.”

  “Then I am pleased that you have found it.”

  “Are you?” she challenged. “Are you truly? You are ashamed of your work. That tells me that deep in your heart, you despise the very thing that makes you valuable in mine. And the reverse. That you must naturally hate the one occupation in my life that… that is my life.”

  He took a deep breath. She studied his eyes, trying to read his expression or garner some clue to his thoughts. In the end, he looked away. A wood fire had been lit, and it was burning quietly, the logs more a glowing heat than a crackling flame.

  “Did you see my brother’s face when he spoke about the canal? He has been talking about building it since he was a boy. He has an engineering bent, you know. Always saw how things fit together. Not just mechanically—though he is good enough at that—but in people too. When there was a problem in the village or with a crofter, he knew how to adjust things to make them fit. He said once that discordant things bother him, and he lives to set them right.”

  She thought back on the evening, focusing specifically on Will. She could see the quiet in him, built on a solid foundation of confidence. She remembered the satisfaction in his voice when he talked about an engineering problem that had been solved or the unrest in the village now at peace. And now, with Miss Powel by his side, Will had a good life ahead.

  “He’s happy. It’s an excellent thing.”

  Grant nodded without turning his head. “My father had it too. He was a genius with numbers. Got him into trouble sometimes, especially when gambling. But it set the odds in his favor. If any man could make it as a gambler, it would have been him.”

  Grant’s expression lightened. “He used to make this face when he was sorting through the odds. A tight pinch to his brows, like he had a pressure between his eyes. Then he’d snap his fingers.” Grant did the same, the sound a loud crack. “It was his idea to buy the mill, you know. He taught me how to calculate the profits and the losses. If he could have stayed with me instead of running back to London, I could have bought our land back two years ago.” He sighed and shook his head. “But he left, and I wasn’t half the man he was.”

  “I cannot express how violently I disagree with that statement,” she said.

  He turned to look at her, a brief smile on his features. The glow from the fire turned his skin a golden rose. But it did nothing to ease the tightness between his brows or prevent his smile from fading to sadness.

  “You have that look too. When you were negotiating with me in the inn. I saw the gleam in your eyes. You adore a bargain. The finding of it, the manipulation to get it, even when dancing with me, you were thinking of how to turn the situation to your advantage.”

  She felt her face heat. “I assure you, I was thinking of something decidedly more carnal.”

  “Maybe,” he answered. “But you had it just now too. You call it a reason to get up in the morning. You say it is your life.”

  She nodded. It was. Having now found usefulness, she would never go back to living empty.

  “I went to s
chool because that is what future earls do. I was decent at it, but not scholarly. Enjoyed it and my friends. Then the money ran out, and I went to London to try and moderate my father’s excesses. That, I was not so decent at, but it was my responsibility, and so I did what I could.”

  “Moderating a parent is never a child’s job.”

  He shrugged. “But it was my task, so I did it. Got distracted into my amusements, but that is inevitable for a young buck about town. I was never as good a gambler as my father. I just didn’t have the knack for numbers that he did.”

  She tilted her head, trying to understand what he was trying to say. She could not. All she could do was listen.

  “Then there was Diane’s wedding and the celebration to be paid for. It was father who saw the mill, Robert who made me work. I was the one who burned down the barn.”

  “But that was an accident.”

  He tilted his head as if listening to something she couldn’t hear. “It was a stupidity, and I got exactly what I deserved.”

  “But you went to work at the mill. You made it into a success. It is one of the best in the country now.”

  He stiffened, his brow arching. “One of the best? I beg to differ.”

  She smiled. “Very well then. The best wool in all of England. And the very best angora.”

  His expression softened, moving quickly from humor to reflection to an abiding sadness. “I have never worked so hard in my life, Irene. These last five years have been like gaol, and I was never so happy as when I was finally free of it. I will never go back there willingly. I cannot see how I managed it even now.”

  “But you did manage it. You did earn the money—”

  “Not enough.”

  She waved that aside. “It doesn’t matter. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

  He looked back at the fire. “I am. What I did taught me a great deal.”

  “So why do you hide it? Why do you despise it so very much?”

  “Because it was work, Irene. Hard, backbreaking, mind-numbing work. It wasn’t a reason to get up in the morning. It wasn’t a talent or a way of making things fit. It was simple, daily work of the kind that makes a man go mad.” He exhaled a heavy breath. “And I thank God every day that it is over.”

  She had no words for that. She still didn’t see his message. Then he turned, shifting on the settee until they were face to face.

  “Don’t you see, Irene? I’m not ashamed of the work you do. I’m envious. Of you, of my brother, even of my benighted father. You love every moment of the day, while I…” He shrugged in a sad gesture of hopelessness. “I hate it.”

  She swallowed, understanding at last the aching sadness she felt in him. The yawning hole that had once been her life was his still. “But that doesn’t explain why you keep it all a secret.”

  “Doesn’t it? If I had told my brother the truth of where I’d been, of what I’ve been doing, what would his reaction be?”

  She frowned. “I hope he would be pleased. He seems the kind of man to value hard work.”

  “Oh he is, most definitely.”

  “Then—”

  “He would expect me to continue, Irene. He would praise me to the skies, then be disappointed when I never went back to that place.”

  She frowned. “No—”

  “Irene, I worked because I had to, not because I wanted to. Frankly, I cannot imagine the desire to work every day and give the money away. I can think of nothing more wonderful than to sit and have my every need catered to.” He flashed a wistful grimace. “You and Will and even my father are cut from a different cloth. You enjoy what you do. I, on the other hand…”

  “Enjoy nothing?” she asked quietly.

  His smile turned lascivious. “There are things I enjoy, Irene. Things I enjoy a great deal.”

  “But it feels empty in the end, doesn’t it?” She touched his face, feeling a pain deep inside. “Even our night together.” The night that still had the power to move her. “That was nothing but… a distraction. A way to fill the void.”

  He looked away, and she could see the truth in every line of his tense body. “I am envious of you, Irene. And that is the shame I will not confess to my brother. He already knows too much of my madness. To tell him that the world is an empty place of toil without joy…” He shook his head. “Don’t you think my family has burdens enough?”

  “That is why you kept saying you would give up the title. It is yet one more burden—one more expectation—that brings you no joy. Just more obligation. To marry, to bear children, and to maintain a crumbling castle. Give that all to him, and you would be free.”

  He nodded. “He can support the title much better than I. He is about to marry well, and they will be excellent parents for the next generation. Under his management, the wealth will grow, and the honor of the Crowles will be restored.”

  “And what will you do when you are free of all this obligation? What will fill your time then?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up from the fire. And in the silence, she heard the answer as clear as day. He would do nothing. Just like her in her bed, counting the ticks of a clock to no purpose.

  “I nearly died, Grant,” she whispered. “If Helaine hadn’t found me and given me something to do—something she desperately needed—I would have stayed in my bed, eating nothing and doing less. I would have died from doing nothing.”

  He nodded. A slight motion of his head, and it was in that moment she realized that was his plan all along. He had responsibilities and obligations. But when they were done, he would do as she had. He would simply fade away.

  “You cannot do that,” she said, horror in her voice. “You are needed in this world.”

  “The world needs souls who care, Irene. Who work as you do, who love as my brother does. They even need men like my father to see the mathematics in everything. What it absolutely does not need is another useless peer.”

  And with that, he pushed to his feet and held out his hand. “Do not look so terrified, my dear. I still have a great deal to do, you know. There is your mysterious pursuer. There is my brother’s wedding. And I have yet to make peace with my mother.”

  “And after that?”

  He flashed her a smile full of charm and mischief. If she hadn’t just listened to him confess his emptiness, she would have been taken in. She would believe him carefree and happy.

  “I don’t spare much time on thoughts of the future anymore. The last time I did, I worked myself to the bone for five years only to have my brother marry the land that I couldn’t buy.”

  “But—”

  “Hush,” he said as he pressed his finger to her lips. Then a hard light came into his eyes. Not cruel, just firm. “I am done talking. So we either put your lips to better use, or perhaps it is time to escort you home.”

  She had no answer for that. For either his emptiness or his mask of carefree insouciance. So she did the only thing she could. She gently pushed his hand away then she stretched to his mouth. Her kiss started out slow, almost tender, but as her mouth met his, anger bubbled up inside—a fury that he could not see possibility in his future. It burned through her blood and set her teeth on edge. What started as gentle became fiery. Tender became dominant, and she all but crushed him to her.

  He pulled back, his eyes widening in surprise. But she gave him no more respite than that. Slamming her hands on his shoulders, she shoved him toward the settee. All she did was rock him back on his heels.

  She wanted to say something then, but the anger was too hot to rationally form words. So she didn’t. She shoved him again, and this time he allowed himself to tumble backward. He landed hard on the settee as a slow smile stretched across his features.

  “Irene, you surprise me.”

  “Really?” she drawled. “Because I’ve only just begun.”

  Nineteen

  She was angry. Grant felt his eyes widen as Irene shoved him down on the settee then stood above him like an ave
nging fury. She was very angry, and he couldn’t really blame her. After all, he was rather annoyed with himself. He’d never thought of himself as a depressive, but it was clear that recent events had brought out a side he hadn’t visited in years.

  Aw, shut your gob! You’ve got a willing woman and a throb in your pants. Pay attention to her!

  He listened to his madness. Especially as Irene stood over him with her hands on her hips and her delectable skin flushed rosy.

  “Take off your coat,” she ordered, her tone husky.

  He nodded meekly, pulling off his coat as humor skated through his thoughts. If she thought he would be intimidated by a beautiful woman ordering him to disrobe, she had a surprise coming.

  “Cravat and shirt too. And that waistcoat is lovely, by the way, but I have no interest in looking at it either.”

  He nodded and continued to strip out of his attire. That necessitated shifting forward on the settee, and she backed up an appropriate distance as he did so. A moment later, he was leaning back, his torso bared for her inspection. Apparently, she enjoyed what she saw because she joined him on the couch, settling onto her knees as she stretched out a hand to his chest. Her lips were parted slightly as she touched him, and he closed his eyes to enjoy the simple pleasure.

  “It’s so soft.”

  His eyes opened on a frown. “Did you just call me soft?” he asked, his voice too thick to sound truly insulted.

  She smiled. “Your chest hair, silly.”

  “Oh.” He looked down at himself. “Is that… nice?”

  “Very nice,” she answered. Then her voice abruptly hardened. “And if you think you are going to just sit there, then you are very much mistaken. I am rather cross with you.”

  He grimaced. “Yes, I had noticed.”

  “I like you a great deal, and I shall be furious if you just… go away.”

  He sobered. “I’m not going anywhere. I believe I told you that.”

  She frowned, obviously frustrated. He knew what she was thinking. He knew what she feared: that he would do the unthinkable.