Mary met his gaze somewhere over the top of a large pink flower. He understood and that knowledge alone increased her fondness for him. But to what avail? She returned her attention to her plate and ate a few more bites of food. It was actually quite delicious.
She especially liked the caramelized carrots and was just biting into one when Miss Townsend said, “It must be such a relief for you to receive my brother’s attentions after being absent from Society for as long as you have been, Miss Clemens. I suspect you must have lost hope on that front, yet here you are, the subject of every conversation he and I have shared since my arrival.”
Mary stared across at the young woman who’d seemed so harmless at first sight. She was definitely a few years younger than Mary, which meant she herself would be seeking a husband at present. “Relief is not exactly the word I would use,” Mary told her carefully. Whether Miss Townsend was being deliberately cruel or she was utterly clueless about appropriate conversation subjects had yet to be determined.
But then she smiled at Mr. Crawford as if no one else was in the room. Holding the expression, she turned her gaze on Mary, and although her eyes were warm, the words she spoke fell with every intention of causing pain. “While in London, I made some inquiries about the woman my brother had written to me about. I was staying with a family friend there during the Season, you see, and when I mentioned your name, Miss Clemens, there was almost no end to the news about you.”
“Please stop,” Mary said, since they were the only words screaming inside her head. She had no interest in revisiting her awful past with Mr. Townsend and his jealous sister as her guide.
But of course an end was too much to hope for when Mr. Townsend raised his glass and said, “You may rest assured that I do not blame you for what transpired. Indeed, I believe my sister’s investigative skills may be able to clear your name.”
“Many people told me that the rumors about you were fabricated nonsense put about by a man who thought you unworthy of his son.” Miss Townsend looked at everyone in turn as if she believed herself to be the most fascinating person in the world. “And in all fairness, even you must admit that aspiring to marry a peer was a bit of a stretch.”
“My family is one of the wealthiest families in England, Miss Townsend,” Mary seethed. “At the time, it did not seem unlikely at all!”
“Be that as it may, my dear,” Mr. Townsend said in a sickeningly soothing tone, “You are not titled, which pretty much excluded you from the running right from the start, though I dare say it did not prevent the blighter from stealing a kiss here and there.”
“If you ask me, he was a fool for not marrying her,” Mr. Crawford announced with a level tone that instantly brought Mary’s gaze back to him. He was watching her closely and with so much sympathy she felt like crying.
“His father wouldn’t have it,” Miss Townsend said.
“Nevertheless,” Mr. Crawford murmured. “He should have married her anyway.”
Confused by the underlying suggestiveness of his words and distraught by Miss Townsend’s relentless pursuit of the subject at hand, Mary stood. Remaining seated and keeping calm had become completely impossible.
“You may take some comfort in knowing they’re dead now,” Miss Townsend added.
“What?” Mary couldn’t even begin to unravel the inappropriateness of such a callous statement. And yet she had to know, “Who is dead?”
“The Duke of Camberly and his son. Both perished earlier in the year.”
Losing all strength in her legs, Mary sank back into her seat and slumped against the backrest. Lips parted in stunned disbelief, she stared across at Miss Townsend’s bland expression before shifting her gaze to Mr. Crawford, whose eyes now conveyed confounded horror.
8
George.
His own bloody brother!
Hewas the idiot who'd spurned Miss Clemens after leading her on.
Caleb clasped his wine glass and tried to breathe. Not an easy task after learning the woman he wanted would not only hate him for lying to her, despise him for belonging to a set she abhorred, but also loath him for being related to the man who'd cast her aside five years earlier, shattering her heart and sullying her name in the process.
Of all the men in the entire world...
“Are you all right, Mr. Crawford?” Miss Townsend asked. “You look a bit pale.”
“Do I?” Surely Miss Clemens looked worse with her vacant stare and trembling lips. If only he could reach out and offer her comfort. But there was a table between them, set with porcelain and crystal, and even if there weren't, what right did he have? He'd promised her nothing. Rather, he'd fought to resist her even as he shamelessly flirted with her, encouraging her to hope.
She was right to demand he stop. He ought to have left her alone from the start. Except doing so had been impossible, hadn't it? She'd tempted him just as easily as she must have tempted George.
Christ, what a mess!
It was only made worse by the sharp blade of envy slicing away at his heart. For while he hadn't even kissed her yet, George had. He'd known what Miss Clemens's lips felt like beneath his own, what her mouth tasted like and the sounds of pleasure she'd made while enjoying such an intimate embrace.
His grip on the wine glass tightened until a splintering sound pierced the air. Miss Clemens and Miss Townsend both gasped. Caleb stared down at the bleeding palm of his hand, now adorned by shimmering shards of crystal.
A napkin was thrust toward him by Mr. Townsend. “I fear you've upset our guests, Frederica.” He dropped the napkin in front of Caleb and turned to Miss Clemens. “Perhaps a cup of tea will restore your nerves?”
