Now, however, she was beginning to regret her acquiescence.
“You told him that I was ill with a lung infection,” she pointed out.
“To preserve your reputation,” Mater hastened to say. “Only think of how ruinous it would have been for you if word had begun to spread through London that Lady Rhiannon Northwick was running wild about England on her own. I daresay the earl would not have wanted to wed you after all.”
Rhiannon didn’t think such an outcome would have been a shame at all. “There is something I wish to discuss with you, Mater.”
Her mother frowned. “Does it concern the earl?”
“Yes. I fear that I cannot marry him.”
Mater looked aghast at her pronouncement. “Of course you can. My dear, my hopes are high for you, what with Whitby suddenly professing to be in love with that dreadful woman who is divorced from Lord Ammondale and intending to marry her himself.”
It was true that Rhys had fallen in love. It had happened for him during the house party. While Rhiannon had been falling deeper under Richford’s spell, her brother had been finding love of his own. But unlike Rhiannon, Rhys had found a love that was mutual, true, and ran deep. She had never seen her brother so happy. It was all quite new; he had only just declared himself to Lady Miranda, the former Countess of Ammondale, and she had accepted his proposal, but Rhiannon couldn’t be more pleased for her brother. He deserved love and happiness.
“Mater,” she warned her mother gently, “you must watch how you speak about Rhys’s future bride. I don’t think he would approve.”
Her mother made an irritated sound, puffing herself up like a hen who needed to fluff her feathers. “I do wish he would find someone appropriate. Someone suited to him. Someone who would make him a lovely duchess. There are so many debutantes who would make an excellent Duchess of Whitby.”
“I don’t think any machinations on your part will be well-received. His mind seems firmly made.”
Mater sighed. “No, I suppose not. He is a strong-headed, strong-willed man. But you see, dear girl, you are my only hope. Just think of what beautiful children you shall have with Lord Carnis. He is so very handsome.”
It was true that the earl was attractive. There had even been a time when Rhiannon had thought about having children with him. But that had been before, when her love for Aubrey had been from afar. There was no denying that everything had changed for her.
The notion of marrying at all left her feeling vaguely ill now. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stand at the altar with the Earl of Carnis and consent to love him and be his wife. Not after what she had shared with Aubrey, and not even if it had all been a lie.
“I don’t think I wish for children now,” she said.
“You will change your mind.”
“No,” she said more firmly. “I do not believe I will.”
“Think upon it, my dear. There is no need to make up your mind today.” Mater rose. “I think I shall return to my ferns.”
Rhiannon watched her mother take her leave before turning back to the book in her lap. It was yet open to the poem about Tithonus that Richford had quoted from to her.
Let me go: take back thy gift.
Oh, how those words resonated.
She wished Aubrey could take back the time he had given her. For it had only left her more broken than she had ever imagined possible.
“Sweet Christ,Richford, when was the last time you changed your shirt?”
Seated behind the desk in his study, Aubrey glared at the Duke of Kingham from across an open volume of poetry as he loomed over him.
“Go to the devil, King. No one invited you here.”
He was still in the country, rusticating as he had been for the last month. And he had no intention of returning to London any time soon. The farther he stayed away from Rhiannon, the better off he was. Indeed, the farther he stayed away from every bloody living and breathing person, the better off he was.
To that end, the servants followed him about like shadows, too afraid to speak to him directly. And no one was meant to pay calls upon him.
Least of all the smug, arrogant friend who was idly examining the contents of his writing desk now.
King held up a used fork and sniffed the end, making a moue of distaste. “Gads, is that a fish bone down there amongst your correspondence? You’re a complete beast, Richford. And if you must know, I invited myself, because you’ve been acting damned odd ever since the house party. Someone has to watch over you, poor stinking puppy that you are.”
He glared at his friend, wishing the study would hold still. It wasn’t that he was deeply in his cups. But his bottle of gin was half empty again. Eh, mayhap he was atrifledisguised.
