Furious that exactly what she’d feared was happening, she lashed out at him. “Then, sir, you obviously have no idea what love is to allow this to dissuade you. If I had loved you in return, and your mother caused a scandal, I wouldn’t have let anything keep us apart. Fortunately, I do not, so I do not have to nurse a broken heart simply because you are too weak to ignore a few snickers.”
His head snapped back. “My mother? My mother would never comport herself in such a way.”
She curled her hands into fists at her sides, her frustration mounting. “No, of course she wouldn’t as I’m sure she controls what your father thinks and feels as well as you. I must say with the utmost sincerity, that I owe a debt of gratitude to my mother. If this had not occurred, I would have never known what a poor husband you would make.” She pointed to the door. “Now, if you would be so kind as to leave.”
The man’s face had reddened so much during her tirade, she wasn’t sure if he’d have apoplexy.
His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally made words come out. “You, my lady, are no lady.” Without another word, he strode for the doors as if the Calydonian boar of Artemis were upon his heels. Yet even as he stalked out, he closed the door softy behind him.
She collapsed upon the settee, her head falling back upon its top as a profound relief filled her. It was all over. Everything.
“Dory?” Lady Northwick sat down next to her. “How are you feeling?”
She turned her head as it lay back to look at her teacher and mentor. As she tried to put into words the array of emotions filling her, she giggled. “I believe I’m happy.” At the look the duchess gave her, she began to chuckle until she laughed out loud, finally sitting up. She held up her hand as she tried to control her laughter. “Do not think me bound for Bedlam until I explain.”
Lady Northwick gave her an understanding smile. “To be truthful, if you were hurt by that man, then I would think you needed to be there.”
That caused another laugh. She found herself drying her eyes with the handkerchief Lady Northwick produced. “I know it may seem odd, but I am relieved that I no longer need worry. I didn’t realize how much I had worried. How many years I had worried, until this very moment.”
“Do you mean about marrying?”
“Yes, and much more. I worried about marrying, my mother, and finally about Lord Leighhall. But now it’s over. I will never marry. My mother has done the unthinkable, and Lord Leighhall, who had sworn to ruin me, has done so in the most creative of ways. Now, I no longer have any choices or need to make them. I am at fate’s whim, if you will. I simply await whatmy father determines for me.” The relief was profound after years of torment, fighting to somehow make it all right, and controlling what could not be controlled. Now, she found herself feeling sleepy. Unfortunately, the happiness that came with her relief floated by like a leaf on a stream, leaving behind only the cold, clear, and lonely water. With the worry gone, she was left with only the pain of her tortured heart.
“You know you are welcome to remain at the school as long as you wish.”
She leaned over and gave her teacher a hug. Releasing the duchess, she stood. “I appreciate that very much. I have always felt more at home here than anywhere. I imagine my father will not remember me for months as he handles my mother’s actions, so I am pleased to stay at school. Now, I think I will lie down. Would you let Rose and Lissette know?”
Lady Northwick stood as well and took her hands. “Of course I will. I’m very proud of you, Dory.”
Warmth filled her chest, dispelling a bit of the cold. “I wish I could do more to deserve your judgement.”
“No, you could not do more. You are a rare gem that is truly precious. I will have Cook make strawberry ice cream for you to celebrate your freedom from such a man. Now, go rest.”
At least her love of strawberry ice cream was well-known. Nodding, she released the duchess’s hands and left the study. The lightness in her belly was a strange feeling that she doubted would last, but she would be content while she could. For now, she was in a safe place and need not worry about anything but healing her heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
Felton raced upthe grand drive of Silver Meadows, barely waiting for his horse to come to a stop before jumping off. Handing the reins of Nyx to the boy who’d run up, he took the ridiculously wide stairs two at a time. The door opened just before he reached the top. “I’m here to see my sister, Lady Rose Ambrose.”
The butler showed him to a parlor, and Felton immediately went to the front window to be sure his horse behaved. He’d had plenty of time to plan his strategy on the long ride from Denton Hall. He’d been halfway to Shefford to ask Lord Preston’s permission to marry Dory instead of Dearling when Mr. Taylour had met him on the road and told him what Leighhall had done. Even as he remembered the conversation, his hands curled into fists, his anger as much at Leighhall as himself for not anticipating the man’s cunning. Turning about on the road, he’d returned home before heading to Silver Meadows. He would marry Dory with or without her father’s permission,ifshe’d have him.
That gave him pause and had his heart skipping in his chest. Her wedding was on the morrow, so he only had today to convince her he was the best choice. And if she didn’t agree?
He wasn’t sure he could survive losing another woman he loved, especially because this time he wouldn’t be able to rail at fate. It would be purely his own fault.
With his horse having been walked out of view, he turned toward the room, only to have his breath taken away by a full-length painting of Belinda. She stood beneath a tree, one hand resting on the trunk as she looked out into the room. At her feet were three books, one open with a rabbit sitting on it as it stared adoringly up at her. She wore a pale-pink dress but no bonnet. Her dark-brown hair flowed down her back and about one shoulder, tied back by a matching ribbon.
He breathed in as he noticed a few strands of hair had come loose of the ribbon and fell about her eyebrow. This was the real Belinda. He walked closer, unable to resist staring into her lifelike gaze. It was as if the artist captured her very soul. Glancing at the signature at the bottom, the painting made sense. Belinda’s own sister had painted it, and with the wisdom of years, Lady Sommerset had captured Belinda as she truly had been.
He moved his gaze up again to the books, the image triggering a memory. Yes, she had been forever leaving books about, much to her sister Joanna’s consternation. Belinda had also allowed many an animal into the house, which had caused one of her maids to quit. As he studied the painting further, he noticed dirt on the hand that lay against the tree. He’d forgotten how much she’d enjoyed working in the soil with her wildflowers, the Mabry gardener allowing her a space, despite the fact he had to consistently weed out those same flowers from the formal garden.
How had he forgotten such endearing quirks? Had his loss created a saint from the woman he’d loved, erasing all her humanity, which was what had called to him from the start?
“It’s a wonderful painting, isn’t it?” Rose’s voice had him turning to face her.
“It is. It captures who she truly was.”
Rose sat on a chair, still looking at the painting behind him. “I was so young, I don’t remember her like this. Instead, I remember feelings like warm, kind, caring, and comforting.” She moved her gaze to his and smiled.
