And whether they were worth it.
Chapter 8
Viscount Oldfield’s nephew Reuben Medford both did and did not look like a man who had once been an infamous rakehell. On the one hand, he was impeccably tailored: a man who did not need a mirror to know he was one of the most well put-together gentlemen in the ballroom. On the other hand, Mr. Medford did not appear cognizant of the many admiring glances sent his way. One hundred percent of his attention was centered wholly on his wife.
Gladys Medford, for her part, was also an intriguing figure. She was not classically beautiful—if anything, her features and coloring should not have added up to anything better than merely “plain”—yet her graceful bearing and the confidence that exuded from every inch of her made her seem much larger than her diminutive size, and so beautiful she dazzled.
Tabitha approached with caution. She arrived almost within arm’s reach of the besotted couple before their gazes broke from each other to notice the interloper in their midst.
“Forgive me for approaching without a proper introduction,” Tabitha began. “I’m—”
“Lady Tabitha,” Mr. Medford finished with a welcoming grin. “Forgive me for not having orchestrated an introduction long before now.”
She stared at him. “Why would you have done?”
“For starters, because my father—may he rest in peace—forbade me from having any contact with your family. Which of course made an adolescent boy absolutely wild to make your acquaintance.”
“Then why didn’t you do so?” asked his wife.
“I was a budding rakehell,” he explained. “And Lady Tabitha seemed like a good girl. I didn’t wish to ruin her reputation by association.”
“You had no such compunction with me,” Mrs. Medford teased.
“I didn’t know you were you,” her husband protested. “Had I known…”
“You wouldn’t have compromised me?” she guessed dryly.
He kissed her cheek. “I would’ve presented myself to your father the very next morning.”
“Humph.” Mrs. Medford turned to Tabitha. “I hope you’re courted by a man who shows up when he says he will.”
“I’m not courted by anyone,” said Tabitha.
Mrs. Medford’s face showed her confusion. “Why on earth not? Have you some delightfully dreadful habit not currently visible to my eyes?”
“She has something dreadful, all right,” said Mr. Medford. “She’s betrothed to my uncle.”
Mrs. Medford gasped. “Not this young lady! You poor dear.” Her face flushed. “That is… er… Does this moment call for congratulations or condolences?”
Tabitha grinned despite herself. “A little of both, probably. I am disappointed not to have been given an opportunity to make a love match, but I am honored to know my impending marriage to the viscount will unite both our families and put paid to generations of acrimony.”
Mr. Medford paused. “Um… Will it?”
“Er… Won’t it?” It was Tabitha’s turn to be confused.
He made a face. “It’s just… When I was instructed never to speak to you, you by definition already existed, which means you were already betrothed to my uncle. If your union were to resolve all wounds, wouldn’t it have started then?”
“A betrothal is words, not action.” Tabitha wasn’t surprised a promise made before she was born hadn’t immediately ameliorated the bad blood between the two families. Both sides would be waiting to see what the other chose to do about it.
Mrs. Redford rapped her husband’s lapel with the back of her fingers. “Didn’t you tell me your father and grandfather were impossible to please? Besides, they’re gone, and have been for two years. The important part is the family you both have left.”
“All I have left is my father,” Tabitha said quietly. “And not for long.”
“And all I have left is my uncle,” said Mr. Medford. “Which is why I’m heir apparent to the viscountcy. Unless you give uncle some sons, of course. I’ll be honest: I won’t mind not inheriting. I like my life quite as it is.”
Tabitha was barely attending to his words. Her brain was stuck back on each of them only having one family member left. Relatives who, by all appearances, already got along like two peas in a pod. If there was no one left who was keeping the grudge alive, then was her sacrifice necessary at all?
“Forgive my husband for prattling on,” said Mrs. Medford. “Did you just want to meet us, or is there something we could help you with?”
