Why was she convinced she’d been a terrible wife? From all accounts, it sounded like Maxwell had been an awful husband, sending her off to the country soon after their wedding and never visiting. Meredith had never told Griffin that much, but Ash had. Maxwell had left Meredith alone in the country to rot. Just as her father had during her childhood.Finding herself in that position again must have been devastating for her.
Griffin understood why she cherished her freedom. Of course he did. But a husband who truly valued her, truly loved her, would never take away her freedom.Hewould never take away her freedom. Yet she still refused to contemplate such an arrangement. And she calledhimstubborn?
She’d been young when she married, perhaps too young, but she had to know not all marriages were like what she’d had with Maxwell. The old man had practically been a stranger to her when they wed.
Of course, Griffin hadn’t stayed around long enough to witness it. The day after Meredith informed him of her engagement, the day after they’darguedabout it—Griffin had gone off to war. He’d purchased a commission in His Majesty’s Army. After all, what else was the spare son good for? He’d stayed on the Continent for years. Long enough for Maxwell to die of old age.
But even after Griffin’s return, Meredith’s life with Maxwell was a subject she would never discuss, a barrier she would not let Griffin past. He knew there had always been something about her marriage that wasn’t right. Other than the obvious. After all, it was no secret that she’d never loved Maxwell. But there was something else. Something Meredith was ashamed of. And her reticence to discuss her marriage wasn’t just because Griffin had begged her not to marry the old man. There was something about her marriage she didn’t want Griffin to know. And every time Griffin thought about it, he had the same notion. If that son of a bitch, Maxwell, wasn’t already dead, Griffin would dig him up and beat him soundly for making her doubt herself for one moment, for causing her a second’s unhappiness.
It killed Griffin to think about it. Because he knew the reason she’d married Maxwell was his fault. At leastpartially. He hadn’t been able to stop her from going through with it. Because he hadn’t told her the truth. He hadn’t told her how desperately he loved her. And Griffin hated himself for that failure. Every single day. Telling her may not have made any difference, but at least she would have known the truth, and he wouldn’t be in this maddening situation now.
It had been a night much like last night. Spring air. A ballroom. A balcony. Meredith, eighteen years old and ravishing in pink silk, had come in search of Griffin. He’d been out near the balustrade…alone.
“There you are,”Meredith said when she found Griffin on the Billinghams’ verandah.
Griffin turned and gave her a huge smile. “Meredith.” His chest always felt less tight when she was near him. She was like standing next to a spring breeze. Fresh, beautiful, and always welcome.
“Still planning to go tomorrow?” she asked as she floated over to stand in front of him. “I cannot talk you out of it?” she teased.
“I’m going,” Griffin assured her. He’d planned to go on a tour of the Continent. For years his mother had been insisting upon it, but he’d never wanted to leave Meredith. Now that she was out in Society, she seemed perfectly happy, but he was still loath to leave her.
Only he needed to go. He needed to go and return before any would-be suitors asked her to marry them. Because next year, after he returned from the Continent, after Meredith had had a Season, at the Cartwrights’ Midsummer Night’s Ball, Griffin intended to ask Meredith himself. But first, he wanted her to enjoy her Season. As a debutante in London, she could be young and carefree. God knew she hadn’t had an idyllic childhood. She hadn’t had the chance to enjoy all the pleasures London had to offer. She deserved to have fun. She deserved the best of everything. And mostimportantly, she’d already promised him that she’d tell him immediately if anyone proposed.
Of course, there was no reason to hope she’d say yes tohisproposal. Not yet, at least. Meredith had always treated Griffin as a friend. Nothing more. But the timing had never been right. One didn’t simply declare oneself in love with one’s long-time friend. There were more subtle ways to handle such delicate affairs. And Griffin had a plan.
Once he returned, he intended to quietly court Meredith, slowly make her realize that they were more to each other than friends. It would take patience to win a woman as wonderful as Meredith. And he had patience in spades. He’d already waited all these years. What would one more hurt? He wanted to make her dream come true.
“I’m going to miss you terribly, you know,” Meredith said, snapping him from his thoughts.
Griffin returned her smile. “We can write. Every day if you like.”
“Of course I’ll write you, Griffin. But there’s something I must tell you before you go.” Her pretty face clouded over.
He stepped closer and searched her visage. Something was wrong. “What? What is it, Mere?”
Her words were barely a whisper. “I’m going to marry.”
A vise gripped his chest. What had she said? Marry? No. No. He must have heard her incorrectly. He cocked his head to the side, his heart thundering. “Pardon? You mean someone has proposed?”
“No. It’s more than that. Father told me last night. He’s already signed the marriage contract.”
That sounded like Meredith’s prick of a father, signing the contract first and informing his daughter of her impending marriage after the fact. But all Griffin could think of were two words. Two words that could not be true. Could not be real. Meredith…marry.
“What? Who?” he’d managed to choke out. This couldn’t behappening. One moment, he’d had all the time in the world to make things right with her, and now it was as if he were drowning, struggling for air, struggling for thoughts, let alone words.
“The Duke of Maxwell.” The words shot from her lips like bullets from a gun. And they might as well have pierced Griffin’s chest. They hurt so badly.
“Maxwell? You must be joking.” Meredith? Marry? No.
Meredith frowned at him. “He’s a duke,” she pointed out. “Father said it’s what Mama wanted.”
A memory had come to Griffin then. A memory of fourteen-year-old Meredith sitting next to him in the grass by the pond in Surrey. They were fishing. “Father says I’m to marry a duke,” she’d said all those years ago.
Damn it. Griffin hadn’t thought of that day in years. He’d assumed it had just been idle talk. Something a father told his young daughter offhandedly one day. Griffin had never actually believed Lord Trentham had meant it.
Griffin reached out and grabbed Meredith by the shoulders. His fear made his grip rougher than he’d intended. “You cannot marry Maxwell,” he ground out, shaking her slightly.
“What? Why?” Meredith’s face was a mask of confusion.
