She shook her head. “You cannot take back the words. Just... leave me alone. I don’t want to see you again.”
*
The next day,Cormac returned to Mrs. Harding’s. Oh, he knew Miss Bartholomew was furious with him for what he’d said—and she was right to be angry with him. The words had been born of impulse and a desire to defend her, not an intention to reveal her secret. But he never should have disclosed her blindness. It was his fault, and he needed to atone for what he’d done.
Her confession about the auction was startling, but not entirely surprising. He’d already guessed that it had something to do with marriage. But it didn’t sit well with him that her family was prepared to auction her off—if that was, in fact, what they meant to do. The invitation he’d received had made a veiled reference to it, and he now understood why she was seeking her own escape. It was likely the reason she’d come to the School for Spinsters.
Cormac’s head was pounding, and the rattling of his carriage through the streets only made it worse. He’d brought an arrangement of flowers with him. They might not do any good, but he hoped she would enjoy the blossoms and might reconsider accepting his apology. The truth was, Miss Bartholomew was his best hope for finding a bride. And he couldn’t let her slip away because he’d spoken careless words.
He liked her, and she was the only woman in London who had truly talked with him for longer than a few moments. He liked the way she spoke her mind when she was with him, but he also sympathized with her difficulties. He knew exactly what it felt like to be an outsider—and how it was to be treated as less than a person. Absently, he rubbed the scar on his wrist.
Perhaps that was why she’d caught his interest. She was determined to be independent and didn’t want to accept help from anyone. It revealed an inner pride and strength.
But she’d missed out on so much of life—reading stories, playing cards, hunting. And he questioned whether there was a better way to offer an apology than with flowers. His mind spun off with ideas, darting from one to another. He wondered if there was a way for her to experience everything she’d missed out on.
The carriage lurched through the streets, and his stomach twisted with nausea. It made him question how much longer he truly had to live. Perhaps it was already too late to marry and sire an heir. A bleak sense of failure passed over him before he pushed the self-pity aside. It would do him no good to think about his own demise. Better to move forward and try to repair the damage he’d done.
When he arrived at Mrs. Harding’s school, the footman at the door informed him that Miss Bartholomew was not receiving.
“Is she ill?” Cormac inquired.
“She is otherwise occupied with lessons,” the man explained. He had already started to close the door when Cormac stopped him.
“Will you give these to her?” He held out the bouquet of lilies. “And if you don’t mind, I would like to wait until she is finished with her lessons. I need to speak with her.”
The footman took the flowers and paused. “Are you certain you wish to wait, my lord? It could be hours.”
“If you have a library, I can find something to read,” Cormac suggested.
The servant opened the door and said, “I will let Mrs. Harding and Mr. Gregor know you are here. The decision on whether you may stay rests with them.” He led Cormac down the hallway toward the library. “Would you care for tea or any refreshments?”
“I would like that very much, yes.”
The footman paused a moment and then nodded. “Someone will be with you shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable, my lord.”
After he closed the door, Cormac began searching through the book titles. He found a book of fairy stories that she might enjoy, and he got so caught up in perusing the titles that at some point, he realized a servant had brought tea. After he poured a cup, he realized it must have been there for a while since it had gone cold.
There came a knock at the door, and Cormac called for the person to enter. Instead of Miss Bartholomew, he saw Mr. Cedric Gregor, Mrs. Harding’s business partner.
“Good morning, Lord Dunmeath,” the man said. “I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“After I made a terrible mess of everything and offended Miss Bartholomew yesterday?” he asked. “Aye, I know.”
Mr. Gregor regarded him with a raised eyebrow and merely crossed his arms.
“You’re right,” Cormac said. “But I’m wanting to tell her how very sorry I am. I need to atone for what I said.”
“The lilies are a good start,” Mr. Gregor said, “but do you truly wish to court Miss Bartholomew? Or is it only pity?”
It wasn’t pity—not at all. But even though he had offered a proposal, she hadn’t believed him. Which, he supposed, was to be expected.
“I am wanting to court her,” he admitted. “But I’m also aware that she does not like me very much. I hurt her without intending to.”
“Mrs. Harding and I have discussed her lesson plans, and they have changed significantly. It is our belief that she may need far more time before she is ready to wed anyone.” Mr. Gregor’s gaze passed over him, and for a moment, it seemed as if the gentleman sensed Cormac’s illness.
“That may be,” he acceded. “But I do owe her an apology. And if it’s all the same to you, I’ll wait here.”
“So, you plan to apologize and then leave?”
