“Well, I should hope we aren’t called to test this rule. But never you fear, I’ll come and tell you good-night so you may see my gown. Can I rely upon you to give me your honest opinion about which dress to wear? I wouldn’t want Bartholomew’s friends to think of me as a bumpkin.”
“We will help you, Lady Ryan!” declared little Sofie. “You will not look like a pumpkin.”
Ryan was less concerned about her appearance and more concerned aboutkeeping awayfrom the stables. Chatting over a formal dinner with strangers was hardly how she’d wanted to pass her wedding night, but it was as good an excuse as any. She would not,could not, see Gabriel—not an accidental encounter and certainly not (God forbid) a moment of weakness where she sought him out. Gabriel had rejected her for the last time. He’d married her in a beautiful show of natural splendor, and when Elise had suggested that the family return to Mayapple and Ryan remain in the forest for the night, he had refused. He’d gotten a strange look on his face, and said he didn’t think that would be prudent. He said he would help dismantle the wedding arch and put away chairs and return to Mayapple after dark.
The answer had doused the warm and festive glow of the ceremony in colors of gray. What choice had she but to attend the dinner? With strangers?On her wedding night?When a few hours alone with her new husband wasimprudent.
“Careful not to partake of anything too rich at the meal, my lady,” Agnes warned her a half hour later. The maid was helping her with the dress chosen by the Crewes girls. “Or undercooked. Or that hasn’t been properlydeboned.”
“Goodness, Agnes, you’ve begun to sound like the children’s nanny.” Ryan stood beside the maid as she mended the short sleeves on her borrowed gown. The silk was thick and difficult to sew, and Ryan held out her arm like a bird with a broken wing.
“I honestly don’t care what I eat, Agnes.” Ryan sighed. “I’d bow out of the dinner altogether if I could think of anything else to do.”
Meanwhile, Gabriel could do... whatever it was he did in the stables, or in the forest, or—
What difference did it make? She would ride away from him—possibly as soon as tomorrow, depending on the solicitor—and this bizarre chapter of her life would end.
Perhaps, she thought, Gabriel had known what was best all along. Perhaps itwasless complicated and easier to survive if there was no passionate wedding night or emotional final goodbyes. Her heart had already been broken, why lash it back together for one night only to have it painfully pulled apart another time?
“Your choice of the aquamarine came as a surprise, my lady,” Agnes said, whisking her hands down thefabric, brushing away lint and smoothing the line of the skirt.
Elise Crewes had given Ryantenof her former day dresses and evening gowns—an abundance of riches that Ryan couldn’t wait to share with her sisters. Agnes had altered most of them, and she could work her magic again, adjusting them for Diana’s curves or Charlotte’s slightness.
“It was Marie and Sofie’s choice you’ll recall,” Ryan said of the dress. “I’d never choose something so bold, but it will please them, I think.”
“I believe the bright colors suit you, my lady,” Agnes said. “How pretty you look.”
“It will do,” Ryan said simply, glancing in the mirror only long enough to see a blue-green blur, then hurrying to tell the Crewes children good-night.
An hour later, Ryan stood in the drawing room of Mayapple, nodding along to introductions of dinner party guests. Bartholomew’s classmate was a chatty, bookish boy called Dennis Stanhope. His father was Sir James Stanhope of Marlborough; thankfully the family lived close enough to pack into their own carriage at the end of the night and ride for home. Ryan could barely manage a dinner party; overnight guests would be a stretch.
Sir James was accompanied by his wife, a woman Ryan suspected was already drunk when she arrived; and his aging mother, Lady Glennis. Mrs. Stanhope trembled and twinkled in feathers and gemstones and the grandmother was relegated to a dark corner and covered in wool blankets.
There were also two unexpected guests to the party: an older brother to Dennis Stanhope and thatman’s friend. Both young men were also on school holiday—but not from Eton, these gentlemen were in their final year at Oxford. The addition of these two men forced a slight delay as the kitchen plated more of the first course and the seating was rearranged.
The Oxford men were introduced as Mr. Nevil Stanhope and Mr. Charles Fielding, and they exuded the sort of slick and cynical arrogance that Ryan associated with London dandies. They took in the furnishings and fittings of Mayapple’s entry hall and scrutinized Elise and Killian with thinly veiled judgment. It was appallingly rude, Ryan thought; not to mention misplaced for men so young. They were the most formally dressed of the night; upright and tight-necked in sculptural cravats, gleaming shoes, intricately woven waistcoats, and walking sticks.
As far as Ryan knew, Gabriel remained in the forest. Elise had not set a place for him. Together, Ryan and Elise had decided not to mention her marriage when she was introduced. None of them would ever meet again. It was simpler to identify her as an old family friend visiting from Guernsey and to use her former title of Lady Ryan. In truth, Ryan struggled to think of herself as Gabriel’s wife. And here was another way he’d done her the favor of guarding her heart. The wedding had almost seemed like a game of make-believe; too dreamlike to become part of her identity. She was as she’d always been. Among allies but without a companion, together but alone, Lady Ryan Daventry.
In the mad scramble to accommodate last-minute guests, Ryan found herself seated directly beside the two Oxford men. An effort to separate couples put Mr.Stanhope on her left; and her rank as the daughter of an earl saw the elderly Lady Glynnis on her right. Oh the irony; if she’d acknowledged her marriage to Gabriel, she would’ve been a princess and seated at the head of the table with Elise. If only.
When it was time to promenade to the dining room, Ryan told Mr. Stanhope, “Hello again,” and reached for his arm. Their position as tablemates meant he would escort her.
The young man made no reply. He was stiff and twitchy and made a sort of snickering noise—a half mumble, half snort—and refused to look at her. He held her arm like someone had balanced dead vermin across his wrist.
Confused by this overt rudeness, Ryan began to second-guess herself. Had she inadvertently offended him in some way? She looked about her, checking the progress of Elise on the arm of Sir James; of old Lady Glennis on Killian’s arm; of Bartholomew’s friend Dennis escorting his mother. There was no lapse in manners; the group was simply making their way to the dining table. Bartholomew led the way and the second Oxford man walked behind Ryan and her escort, muttering what sounded like a joke under his breath. Ryan couldn’t hear what he’d said, but he and her escort smothered a laugh, snorting to keep their merriment contained. Ryan glanced at the two young men, and that’s when it occurred to her: they were making fun.
With no warning, tears shot to her eyes. These young men—boys, really, who’d only just made her introduction—would hardly acknowledge her. They recoiled at the thought of walking beside her for thelength of ten yards, and now they made jokes at her expense? It wasn’t worth her tears, she was a grown woman, for God’s sake. And yet...
And yet the anticipation of leaving Mayapple, combined with Gabriel’s refusal to be alone with her after their wedding, meant she must navigate this evening with sharp pieces of her heart jostling around inside her chest.
Why, she wondered, blinking rapidly, could they not simplyoverlook her? Why must they also poke fun? Ryan knew herself to be well beneath the interest of men. She’d made peace with this long ago. Even Gabriel, who’d both chosen her and not chosen her, would neverridiculeher. Ryan was aware of her plainness and forgettability; but she’d not thought of herself as unseemly or unsightly or worthy of ridicule. Where was there humor in this? Save cruelty?
She didn’t know. In fact, the only thing she knew for sure was that she’d been mistaken about attending this dinner. It wasn’t a feasible distraction or a way to avoid her new husband. And she didn’t want to touch this brittle, acrid-smelling young man. Or make conversation with him. She also didn’t want to crawl alone into her bed at the end of the night, knowing Gabriel was alone in his bed but that he wouldn’t come to her—not tonight and not ever.
And now her mind was running mad. And she didn’t care. She blinked back tears. She’d fallen in love with Gabriel d’Orleans Rein. She’d actually managed to locate him in a deep, dark wood and then fallen in love with him. But he would not have her. He would leave her to these immature, hateful young men instead.
By the time they reached the dining room, Ryan’seyes were, to her mortification, swimming in tears. Her escort took her to her chair and retracted his arm. If he spoke a civil word, she did not hear it. If he pulled out her chair, she didn’t see it. A footman stepped up to cover the rudeness, and Ryan dropped into the seat, head bent over her bowl of steaming soup. She breathed in and out, trying to compose herself; willing the tears away, determined to see the meal through. She was being ridiculous. Nothing had been done to her—she was unharmed and, in fact, not even addressed. It was silly to cry. It was silly to have any reaction at all save boredom and endurance.
