“You’ve told me so,” he corrected gently, also loathing the weight of everyone’s hopes on him.
All those who knew the old Torrie wanted him to recall the facets of his past, the man he’d been, the life he’d led. They wanted him to be the same. But that could never be. He could no more heal his damaged mind than harness a cloud and ride it to the moon.
“Of course,” she said, her voice disappointed, expression crestfallen.
He despised that look, loathed knowing he was the source of her frustration. That something which was beyond his control and ken was ruling his life all this time after the brutal phaeton accident which had nearly claimed his life. It wasn’t enough that he had somehow lived. No, everyone wanted the man he’d been to return.
Chest heavy with dread, another sensation coiled within him like a snake about to strike, he led his mother to the morning room. When they were within, he waited for her to seat herself at her favored chair and then sat as well.
She appeared ruffled. Distracted. Upset.
“What has happened that requires an urgent audience with me when I’ve only just returned?” he asked, trying to keep his frustration from his voice.
“You are always so curt with me, Torrington,” she said, hurt in her tone. “As if I am an inconvenience to you. Nothing more than a stranger requesting your time and attention. Will you not call me Mama as you did before?”
He tried to form the word, to please her, but could not. The woman before him, who he could admit bore some resemblance to him, still felt like a stranger.
“I…” He hesitated, not wishing to cause further pain to her, and yet unable to claim a familial connection he didn’t feel. It was impossible to explain to others, but he felt as if he were an entirely different person. “I’m sorry,” he added stiffly.
Her face fell, but she nodded. “Of course. Forgive me for asking. I should not have done so. I don’t know what came over me. After the last time you refused, I promised myself I would be more understanding.”
The last time she had asked had been mere days ago. Her patience was perilously thin.
“You long for me to be him,” he said, feeling odd for referring to his former self as if he spoke of someone else, and yet that was precisely how it felt to him. The old Torrie was a stranger. Someone he had never met and didn’t know. A ghost who haunted him at every turn. “I wish I could be him, but I cannot.”
The viscountess sighed, the sound weary. “As do I, and never more so than now. I fear that you’ve made a grave mistake in marrying Miss Brooke.”
His mother had attempted to discuss the matter of his hasty nuptials with him prior to the wedding, but he hadn’t allowed it. He’d had no wish to delve into the sordid details of precisely how and why he’d ruined his new wife. Nor would the discussion have proven beneficial; he’d already accepted that he had to marry Bess. And now, he couldn’t say he was dismayed by the union. He was looking forward to consummating it as soon as she would allow.
“You needn’t concern yourself with my marriage,” he told the viscountess as gently as he was able.
Her meddling in his affairs was as tiresome as Monty’s inventive cursing.
“I’m afraid I must, because you do not see her as I do,” his mother continued, fretting with the fall of her morning gown, her white muslin cap vibrating in her agitation. “If only you remembered. Her Seasons were disastrous, and no man would have her.”
“You know her,” he said, the realization hitting him for the first time.
“I knowofher,” his mother said, her voice frosty. “I wouldn’t presume to know her. However, I do know how she grasped above herself, trying to make you notice her in the past. She failed, of course. She made a fool of herself over you, and now she has schemed and plotted to leave you with no choice but to enter this mesalliance.”
Bessknewhim? Torrie’s spine went stiff, the impact of his mother’s suggestion like a physical blow.
This was news. She’d said nothing of the past. Had given no indication that they had previously been acquainted.
“I don’t understand,” he forced out. “Please explain yourself, madam.”
“You cannot believe it was unplanned, her ruination. She is an avaricious jade who plotted her way out of a life as a governess and always wanted to marry you.” His mother paused, her lip curling as she continued her unkind assault on his new wife. “Oh, Torrington. Do you not recall? She threw herself at your feet at the Althorp ball, so great was her desperation.”
The Bess he knew was too prideful to throw herself at anyone’s feet, and least of all his. None of what his mother had said made one whit of sense. He inhaled deeply, struggling to dredge up any old memories he could, but it was futile. He had no recollection of that part of his past.
“I must insist you refrain from speaking poorly of my wife,” he said, striving for a politic tone he little felt. “Regardless of your opinion of her, or whatever past we may have shared, nothing can change what has been done. We are married, irrevocably so.”
His mother’s shoulders drew back, surprise evident in her expression. “You would defend her to me? I cannot believe it of you, Torrington.”
Why did his mother dislike his new wife so ferociously? And just how well did he and Bess know each other? Questions loomed, making his head ache.
“I’ve kept the true nature of her ruination from you out of regard for your sensibilities,” he explained to his mother. “But trust me when I tell you that the fault for this scandal and my ensuing marriage is all mine. Bess is innocent of any scheming. She couldn’t have known what would happen that night, and nor could anyone.”
Still, he couldn’t help but to wonder what had passed between them, the incidents to which his mother referred. The past and its indistinct memories taunted him, always beyond his reach. One matter, however, was abundantly clear.
