He was pleased for them, but how long would they know happiness and contentment before the balance shifted? Where love existed, there was always the potential for something so much darker.
Innumerable hazards lurked in their world that might as well have been designed to shatter such precarious bliss. And with such an all-encompassing intimacy, the fate of one partner ultimately determined the fate of the other.
Such relationships confused the original incentives for marriage, which were economics, politics, and an unblemished succession. Companionship came in at a distant fourth.
If it came into play at all.
Greys shook off the last memory he had of his father and turned back to his cousin walking beside him.
“What of you, Violet? Are you still determined never to marry?”
She stumbled beside him and then made a choked laughing sound. “Foolish of you to imagine I’d marry at this stage of my life, Greys.”
“Not foolish. You aren’t that old, Violet. Furthermore, you’re a lady of excellent birth and reputation.” There were benefits to marriage that his cousin might enjoy. She wasn’t too old to have her own child, or children, if she’d like. Two well-matched partners in a marriage could form an excellent team—a synergy—without the trappings of romance.
Rational. Practical. The type of union Greys endeavored to have.
Violet waved her free hand through the air. “Foolishness.”
“You aren’t too hard on the eyes, either, if I’m allowed to say so as your cousin.” Greys twisted his mouth into a wry smile.
“I am quite content in my spinsterhood.” She’d gone somewhat stiff beside him. “I’ve rather embraced the freedoms I have without the encumbrances of a husband. Besides, I knew love once, and that was enough for me.”
She had been engaged for a short while when she had been ten and eight. Greys had been caught up in his own affairs, sowing his proverbial oats, and barely remembered the man who’d gone missing from his regiment. Rumors had run rampant that he’d left England altogether and married a French lady, but it was more likely he’d been killed.
However, Greys could, in fact, easily recall Violet’s devastation afterward.
Further incentive to marry for practical reasons. Best to leave all but one’s brain out of making such an important decision.
Even though Greys gave most of his attention to Violet, he kept his eyes on Diana and her companion strolling ahead. And so, he didn’t miss the moment Edgeworth made his move.
With one hand on Diana’s back, the blighter executed a similar maneuver to the one Stone Spencer had pulled off. Unlike Spencer, however, the captain was absconding with Miss Diana Jones—an innocent young lady who was not his wife and who he had no business hauling into the shadows.
Greys hurried his pace, his gaze pinned on the exact spot where the Captain and Diana had disappeared.
“Pardon me.” With Violet still on his arm, Greys edged around Westerley and his countess. “Excuse me,” he said as he stepped around the elder Miss Jones and Captain Gilcrest.
“Greys?” Violet hissed from behind him. “What is your hurry?”
He caught sight of Posy, escorted by Lord Major Cockfield—a man Greys trusted—and feigned that she was the reason for his urgency.
Violet nodded and then patted his arm. “You are a good guardian, Greys,”
He frowned, because he wasn’t, really.
He’d taken Miss Jones under his wing, and presently, she was nowhere to be seen. “Keep your eye on those two. I’ll return shortly.”
Greys ducked between two lilac bushes, noting recent footsteps. Yes, this was the direction Captain Edgeworth had taken her. A few feet in, and then Diana’s easily recognizable voice floated through the foliage.
“I’m afraid I cannot accept your invitation, Captain. I’ve already promised Lord Greystone I would go driving with him.”
“The marquess? Blasted shame, sweetheart. Tell me you have not promised to drive with any other impertinent fellows the day after?” The captain was persistent, a trait which, under certain circumstances, Greys considered admirable. Not, however, when imposed upon a lady he’d dragged away from the protection of her friends and family.
Greys had heard enough.
“Cockfield is looking for you, Edgeworth,” he called, stepping forward unapologetically. “I’ll ensure Miss Diana returns to the other guests safely.”
The captain quickly stepped back from where he had pinned Diana against the trunk of an old oak. With one hand flattened against the bark beside her face and the other resting on her hip, he’d effectively trapped her.
