The blighter had left his mother the shell of a woman she once was—a woman who’d lost touch with segments of reality. An eccentric. A shut-in.
No. Marriage must be entered into for reasons far more substantial than emotion.
If one married at all.
Not that Westerley wouldn’t find great happiness with his new countess. He and his little American redhead seemed to have fallen into an extraordinary sort of love—an anomaly of sorts. And although Westerley had married her after hardly a month’s acquaintance, Chase knew his friend wouldn’t have entered the institution lightly.
A few nights after the engagement had been announced, late one evening over billiards, Westerly had confessed he’d experienced a moment when everything became crystal clear. He’d said that he knew— beyond a shadow of a doubt—that Charlotte Jackson wasthe one, that she was the other half of himself he’d not known existed for most of his life. He’d compared it to being struck by lightning or some such nonsense.
Chase would avoid all threatening thunderstorms in the near and distant future.
He chuckled at his own thoughts and then paused to attend to his cigar.
It wasn’t that theideaof romantic love repulsed him, per se, but it would be naïve to imagine himself ever being faithful to one woman for a lifetime. If, God forbid, he married for love, when he eventually became enthralled with some woman other than his wife,as he inevitably would,he’d require himself to practice denial and self-control. Because, regarding marriages based upon love, devotion and all that, he didn’t believe in infidelity. Not after witnessing the results of his own father’s cavalier faithlessness.
It was cruel and heartless when one participant of such marriages transferred their affections to someone who was not their enamored spouse.
Now, if the marriage was an arranged one—a loveless one—that was an entirely different beast. No emotions to muck things up.
It was the only kind he would consider.
Chase squinted into the dark. Yes. There it was, the gazebo and then the bench. It wasn’t light enough to read his timepiece so he would simply make himself comfortable and wait, finishing his cigar in the interim.
Music from the Willoughbys’ ballroom drifted from the house, making the alcove rather peaceful. Just him and a most excellent smoke.
He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him, and puffed until finally allowing the last embers to die. Rolling the tip on the flagstone at his feet, he relished in the anticipation of a satisfying romp.
She ought to be along any moment. He glanced around and then pounded on the wood of the bench. They could be creative enough right here. Best not arrange to meet her at her home, and no chance in hell he would bring her back to his. No, they could experience a good deal of pleasure in this darkly private niche.
He imagined various scenarios they might attempt. For all the gossip of Lady Starling’s tendency to cling to her most recent lover, Chase had to admit she made it worthwhile.
He squinted down at his watch. The music no longer played, leaving sounds of the murmuring guests to float outside. If guests were partaking of supper, it was surely past midnight already.
Oh,but it was dim outside. With no moon and only a few lanterns burning, the ambiance all but demanded romantic trysts. Bethany dashed onto the path that she was ninety-nine percent certain led to the folly.
However, nearly complete blackness surrounded her after she’d taken no less than ten steps into the various shrubs and trees. She slowed and narrowed her eyes.
Her certainty fell to ninety-eight percent when she stumbled past an unfamiliar ornamental fountain. Drat, she ought to have snatched up one of those lanterns.
Too late now.
Her apprehensions doubled when she arrived at a fork in the trail, causing her to again reconsider going back for a torch. But time was running out. Should she go left or right?
She closed her eyes, doing her best to remember the occasion when she and Felicity had explored these gardens a few years ago. Felicity had wanted to avoid a particularly relentless suitor so the two of them had stolen outside where the besotted gentleman wouldn’t find her.
Left.
Holding her hands out in front of her, she crept slowly along the dirt path. Had she passed this copse of elder trees already? Dear Lord, was she going in circles? Panic set in when the music that had been floating from the manor silenced.
Supper was being served!
She was on the verge of turning back when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the distant roofline of the folly. Was she too late? In a panic, she increased her pace. When a prickly bush caught the sleeve of her gown and tore, she didn’t take the time to stop and untangle it.
And then a low-hanging branch did the same to her coiffure.
Drat and fiddlesticks and so many other words that she wished she could utter out loud!
Her only consolation was that she didn’t sense any goings-on of a scandalous nature in the area up ahead. All she needed to do to succeed in her endeavor was to beat Rachel Somerset there.
