For a long moment, there came nothing but silence. Lord Surrey’s eyebrows were pulled together, lines on his forehead, and pulling between them also. His jaw remained tight, working hard as he rubbed one hand over his chin. Beatrice waited breathlessly, the crowd around them fading to a dull noise and nothing more, desperate to hear his response. His eyes met hers and her heart lurched, seeing pain shattering in his eyes. Surely now, there was something more to be said, some explanation to be given to her!
He did not offer one.
“I think I should take my leave.” Without warning, he looked at her, then bowed his head. “Do excuse me.”
Beatrice said nothing, watching him as he walked away from her whilst she, with slow steps continued to follow after Lady Norah, who was busy laughing and smiling at whatever it was Lord Yarmouth was saying. It was more than apparent that Lord Surrey was setting himself far back from her, making sure that she had no thought of anything more between them and that society would never eventhinkof a connection between them.
The only question she had, however, was why he was doing such a thing? He had not spoken to her of it, had not shown even a momentary hesitation when it came to denying her any further knowledge of what it was. Did she believe that he had been true in his statement that he had not lied to her at that Christmas ball? That his intentions had been genuine and that something else had pulled him from her? Her lips twisting, Beatrice’s heart clung to that possibility, refusing to let her step back from it, if it was true that hehadmeant all he’d said, if hehadspoken of love, then was there not still even a tiny possibility that he still felt the same? That the love that had been in his heart then, small and frail as it might have been, still lingered?
And if it does,she thought to herself, fully aware that her own feelings were returning to her with a swiftness she had not expected,then what am I to do about it all?
5
George closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. It was nearly time for him to take his leave and make his way to the house of another, to a gentleman and his family with whom he was soon to be very closely acquainted indeed.
He did not want to go.
Forcing himself to walk out of the door and towards his carriage, George curled his fingers tightly into his palms so that there came a slight bite of pain from where his nails dug in. This was what his father had expected, what he had demanded from George, and, given that it was his duty to protect his family line, there was nothing more he could do but obey.
Sitting down in the carriage, George recalled the moment he had opened the letter from his father the day after he had kissed Miss Williams at the Christmas ball. His heart had been filled with hope and expectation, thinking of the future he might share with her, delighting in all that he felt… but it had all been taken away from him in a single moment. His father had informed him that his business in London had taken an unexpected turn and that George would have to be the one to repair the damage his great-grandparents had done. That in itself had been confusing,but the documents his father had enclosed had been all the more perplexing. At first, he had been doubtful about the whole thing, quite convinced that there was something amiss with the letter, the documents, and the entire situation. He had been determined to speak with his father at length about it all.
That had not been what fate had for him. Instead of sitting down and having his father explain all, George had been met with a note from the butler in London, informing him that his father had taken very unwell. By the time George had reached London, it had been too late. He had arrived at the house to be informed that not only had his father breathed his last but that he now bore the title.
That had put an end to every intention George had about understanding the documents and the expected duty settled upon his shoulders. There had been his mourning period thereafter and, with it, time to go through all that his father had been responsible for, and yet, still, those documents weighed heavily on his mind. They were the reason he had not been able to return to Miss Williams – wouldneverbe able to return to her, no matter how much his heart longed for her. It was to be his burden to bear, but bear it, he would. His responsibility was to his family, to his estate, and to his duty, and certainlynotto his own heart.
With a rap on the roof, George waited for the carriage to roll on down the road, his heart knotting painfully and his mind screaming at him to turn around. Perhaps this gentleman knew nothing about these documents; mayhap hecoulddo as he pleased, without any concern whatsoever! Letting out a hiss of breath through his teeth, George closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his chest tight.
If only she had not come to speak with me.
The way Miss Williams had quietly demanded an explanation of him had made his heart yearn to be truthful withher about it all, as if, somehow, that might make a way for her to solve his present difficulty.
He knew it would not. Instead, his explanation would bring her the very same pain that he endured, knowing that the lady he wanted to pursue, he had to stay away from. The way she had looked into his eyes had him begging silently to give way to his own feelings and to kiss her soundly, to the point that he had been forced to turn away without explanation. He had not answered her question, had not told her the truth about why he had not been able to return to her, for if he had dared, if he had lingered, then his resolve might have fallen away completely.
And I need my strength,he reminded himself.I need it to stay away from Miss Williams for this coming conversation.
Quite how long the carriage drive took, George did not know, but it felt like an age. When it finally drew up, it took every ounce of inner strength he had to step out, looking up at the door and wishing he could walk away from it.
It opened for him without him even walking to the top of the steps, as if someone within had been watching and waiting for him.
Mayhap they have been,George thought to himself, his jaw setting tight as he climbed the steps to the door.After all, they have been waiting for many months for this.
“Lord Surrey, good afternoon.” The butler, evidently aware of exactly who George was, took his hat and then his gloves from him. Handing them to a footman, he gestured down to his left. “Lord Turnhill is waiting to speak with you in the drawing room. If you might come with me?”
George did not say a word but nodded, following the butler through the house. He had sent word some days ago to Lord Turnhill, and thus, the gentleman was now expecting him. They had never been formally acquainted, having written through letters only, but all the same, they were bound together. Georgesteeled himself as he was directed into the drawing room, his stomach clenching as he bowed, coming face to face with the gentleman who would dictate his future.
“Viscount Turnhill, good afternoon.”
The gentleman returned George’s bow, looking back at him with a steady gaze, although George did not much like the gleam that he saw in the man’s eyes. He could not think too poorly of such a thing, however, fully aware that this situation went in Lord Turnhill’s favor.
“And so, we meet at last.” Lord Turnhill put out one hand to shake George’s, his grip firm and strong. “I have only ever been acquainted with your father, and I must say, there is a strong family resemblance between you both.”
George released his grip and tried to smile. “I thank you.” Lord Turnhill was not a tall, broad-shouldered man but a thin, wiry sort of fellow with very little grey hair left on his head, though he did sport a well-trimmed moustache and beard. There was a quickness to the way he spoke, his words often hurried as if he could not wait for the general remarks to be finished so the conversation might move to the matter at hand.
“I was heartily sorry to hear of his passing,” Lord Turnhill said, directing George to sit down in a chair. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
“It was,” George replied, his heart squeezing with a sharp pain at the mention of his father. “We did not get the chance to discuss the matter at hand before he died, for which I am very sorry. I should have liked to have understood the situation – and the documents he left me – a good deal better.”
Lord Turnhill sat down, tilted his head, and searched George’s face. “What is there to understand?”
