There was that word again—happy. He rose, unable to sit still any longer, and walked to the tall window to stare out atthe sloping lawn that ended in forest. “Iwashappy. With Lady Belinda, I found happiness. She was perfect in every way.”
“Son, I do not know how it feels to lose the one you love, but I do know you cannot go through life looking for another Lady Belinda.”
When his father paused, he turned to see his parent contemplating the teacup. “I’m well aware of that, which is why I’m not.
“Are you sure?” His father studied him. “There is no other Lady Belinda. She was unique. Just like your mother is unique, though she is far from perfect.”
Felton snorted but didn’t respond. How his father lived with the woman was beyond his comprehension.
“If you search for perfection, you will go to your grave alone. You would do better to seek out someone who is different from Lady Belinda. Someone whose own uniqueness can make you happy. That, my son, is why I married your mother.”
He tried and failed to picture his father courting his mother. First, his father rarely expended effort on anything unless it was very important and then it was a slow process. Second, his mother never stopped moving, jumping from one project, one event, one guest to the next without stopping. But judging by the soft smile that played about his father’s lips, he spoke the truth. It was a revelation he planned to cogitate on at some later date.
His father rose and brushed the crumbs from his waistcoat. “I will expect you to return to Sunnydale for the ball this evening. It is the culmination of your mother’s efforts, and you will be there out of respect for her. If you wish to arrive earlier, that is your decision.” The tone, so different from a moment ago, brooked no argument.
With no choice in the matter, he gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” His father strolled toward the entryway but stopped short and turned. “It will make my wife veryhappy.” Then, without another word, he strode out.
He shook his head at his father’s retreating form. The man’s expectations were far simpler than his own. But he was right about Belinda. There would never be another woman as perfect as she. His gaze moved to his desk, knowing the miniature portrait of her lay safely in the top drawer. As much as he would like to spend time reminiscing about her, he had a ball to prepare for and an overnight at least.
Striding out of his library, he forced himself to ascend the grand stair and give instructions to his valet to pack once more. Then he returned downstairs to walk the path through his own wild garden. There was no order to the array of flowers and shrubs, his gardeners having strict orders to allow the plants to ramble as they would, trimming them to keep them healthy. He had sworn long ago that he would never light them at night, as he enjoyed them perfectly well during the day. Their lack of order made him think of Dory’s thoughts and his step slowed.
He needed a plan to navigate the evening. Obviously, avoiding Dory was paramount. He could spend very little time with his mother, but there was no hope for it but that he must dance attendance on the other ladies. That would allow the men interested in Dory to keep her entertained. It was just a ball, after all.
Except Leighhall. Dearling may be weak, Manning arrogant, and Retfield too patient, but Leighhall was dangerous. He would keep his eye on the man. That Dory did not seem happy with the man’s attentions showed her intelligence, but she had much to occupy her. He would make sure the man did nothing untoward. That was one gentleman he wouldn’t mind laying flat out with his fist.
Coming to the end of his garden, he turned and strode back through. He would find out from Sommerset how the week had progressed and if there were any other men to dissuade from pursuing Dory. While his opinion of all of them was not particularly high, each was a good match socially for her in the eyes of her parents. Hopefully, her mother would continue to be careful until next season was underway. There had to be better men to choose from with the new season. Though he could not be near, he would stand as her protector until she was safely married, not only for the school’s reputation, but for Dory. She deserved to find the happiness she sought.
Walking into the house, he called his butler and had his coach brought. The sooner he arrived at Sunnydale, the sooner he could talk to Sommerset in private.
Within a few hours, he arrived at his parents’ home once again. Preferring his mother, who was resting, not know of his presence, he had a servant bring Sommerset to him in the library. He poured himself a whisky and brought the glass through the open doors on to the terrace and examined the liquid. His father always had the best scotch whisky. A light afternoon breeze caressed his face, reminding him of the softness of Dory’s skin. Just being back at Sunnydale, he could almost smell her lemon scent.
Taking a gulp of the copper-colored liquid, he focused on the smooth burn as it traveled down his throat.
“You’re back.”
He turned as Sommerset closed the door to the library and strode forward. “Do we have something to celebrate?” He nodded to the drink.
“Perhaps.”
Sommerset moved to the sideboard and poured himself a glass before joining him on the terrace. “I’m glad you’ve returned. It has been delightfully entertaining without you. Ineeded your dark thoughts upon our daily activities to dampen the festivities.”
Sometimes Sommerset took their penchant for dressing in opposite colors, Sommerset in light and himself in dark, a bit too far.
“My thoughts are not dark. They are simply observant.”
“Call it what you will, but your company was greatly missed. I’m also a few pounds lighter in my pockets without your counsel.”
“There was betting?” Disappointed he hadn’t had the chance to join, he frowned.
“Yes, there was. Much of it our hostess did not know about.” Sommerset smirked. “Most was on cards and billiards, but there were a few odd ones too. We actually bet on the theme Lady Enderly would choose for the ball.” The man shook his head. “I bet on butterflies, but it’s night faeries.”
“Yes, I could have saved you that loss. Are there any bets still on the table? Perhaps I can make up for my absence.”
“As it would happen, there are still two bets waiting to be settled. The first is whether our hostess will serve trifle or syllabub for dessert tonight. There seems to be differing views on what would be fitting.”
“Now that is one I cannot bet upon, as I already know the menu. My mother shares far too much with Rose and me when she has these damned parties.” There were many a detail he’d prefer to forget.
