What had happened at the Wakefields’ home? George pondered that question throughout the long journey to his family’s seat and as he wandered the empty halls of Farleigh Manor. Going into the parlor, he dropped onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling.
What had he done?
Though able to recall all that he’d said, George couldn’t countenance his actions. He’d arrived at the Wakefields determined to take the first steps in securing Marian’s friendship once more, and that was well and good, but his plans were trampled under boot the moment he’d seen Mr. Highmore and Marian together.
Juliette had been a flirt. It was in her nature to flatter and fawn over others. It meant nothing, and George had paid it little heed. Not that he enjoyed seeing his wife behaving in such a manner, but it was no threat to their marriage: Juliette was an honorable woman, and even when their relationship had shifted from love match to partnership, George had never doubted she’d honored her marriage vows, just as he had.
His wife had given George far more reason to be disconcerted, yet her flirtations had never stirred a fraction of the desperate jealousy Marian’s timid attempts had. If Mr. Highmore had been any less amiable, George would’ve been tempted to call the man out right there when Marian touched the fellow.
Scrubbing at his face, George tugged loose his cravat and studied the stucco swirls on the ceiling. But there was no avoiding the truth: he had never been uncertain of Juliette’s affections, nor had he cared so much about winning her good opinion.
The past replayed in his thoughts, reminding him of those heady days of his youth in which he’d courted and won Juliette’s heart. He’d thought himself so enamored. So lost in the throes of love. So captivated by her. George had thought his feelings the pinnacle of adoration, but the manner in which his heart wrenched at the possibility of losing Marian to another only proved how weak his feelings for Juliette had been.
Attraction. To the fool’s heart, it felt the same as love, and only with age and experience had George realized how wrong he’d been. He’d adored Marian even then but had allowed it to be overshadowed by his schoolboy feelings for Juliette. And now that he felt both in heaping portions for Marian, the thought of those feelings being snatched away by Mr. Highmore and his passel of children had George’s insides twisting.
Rubbing his face, George groaned.
Friendship. That was supposed to be his focus during the visit, yet one flash of jealousy and he’d inserted himself between Marian and her potential swain, diverting Mr. Highmore’s attention away from her whenever it wandered from him. Friends did not do that to each other. Yet all was fair in love and war, as they said. What sort of suitor would George be if he cried defeat the moment an opponent entered the field of battle? Marian was too special a lady to let go without a fight.
Of course, he wasn’t a suitor at present. He could hardly claim her as a friend.
And so, George lay there like a lump, agonizing over all that had been and what could’ve been, none of which was of any value at present. All he could do was hope their next meeting fared better, but that didn’t stop him from replaying every moment again and again.
The parlor door swung open, and Evelyn’s head poked over the side of the sofa. “Have you seen Mama?”
George pinched his nose. “No.”
With a huff, Evelyn came around to stand before him. “Are you certain? I am missing my green pelisse, and I am certain she knows where it has gotten itself to.”
“Why would she?” muttered George.
With something akin to a harumph, Evelyn dropped onto the sofa opposite. “Mrs. Collins hasn’t seen it, and I cannot find it, but I simply must. I need to look my best.”
“And why is that?” From the corner of his eye, he saw Evelyn beam, and George straightened in his seat to get a better look at her.
“Mr. Townsend is taking me on a drive.” Her tone was everything a lovestruck young lady ought to sound like, all heaving sighs and longing. “After what happened, I despaired of him, but he sent a note not a quarter of an hour ago to beg me to join him.”
“What happened?”
Evelyn fiddled with the bracelet, turning it about her wrist. “Nothing of importance. Not anymore.”
Watching her with narrowed eyes, George stiffened and repeated his question. “What happened?”
With a casual flick of her hands, Evelyn waved the inquiry away. “He promised to call and did not show. But it was hardly worth noting.”
George studied her expression, though Evelyn did not meet his gaze, choosing instead to focus on straightening her skirts and playing with her bracelet. It was not difficult to see it had meant something to her and certainly had been noted. George frowned.
He’d heard plenty of Mr. Townsend, though most had been from his sister. Not having met the fellow, George had no opinion of the gentleman’s character, though the fact that he admired Evelyn was a mark in his favor. But even as George contemplated whether or not some action ought to be made on his sister’s behalf, he tossed the thought away. Who was he to judge another beau’s shortcomings? George’s list of sins was mighty indeed, and he had no right to cast the first stone. Especially as the fellow was taking steps to rectify his misstep.
“He is taking you on a drive alone?” George gave an even fiercer frown at that.
Evelyn leveled a narrowed look at him. “I recall you taking Juliette on quite a few drives alone when you were courting.”
“That is not the same…” But that objection sounded hollow, even to his ears.
His sister didn’t even remark upon it, choosing instead to shoot from her seat opposite to sit on the sofa beside her brother. “You will never believe what his cousin said to me!”
With brows raised in the appropriately curious manner that Evelyn’s eager tone demanded, George replied, “If you do not tell me, I cannot say whether or not I believe it.”
