But he was already walking away.
No sooner hadBrynne returned to the ballroom than she found herself besieged by Lady Crowley, almost as if the dowager countess had been lying in wait.
At the age of three and twenty, she no longer required a formal chaperone at events such as these, but the dowager countess remained both a friend and a wise confidante. Which was why, the instant Lady Crowley’s sharp blue gaze met hers, Brynne knew what she was going to say before she said it.
“I noticed a specific guest was in attendance tonight,” the dowager countess said archly. “I was of the mind that we’d seen the last of Lord Campbell.”
“What gave you that impression?” Stepping out of the way of a servant carrying a tray overflowing with an assortment of empty plates and glasses, she linked her hands together behind her back and adopted an expression of bland indifference. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. Not when her nerve endings continued to hum from Lachlan’s passionate kisses and her heart felt as if it were being torn in half. Unfortunately, Lady Crowley was not easily dissuaded, or set aside.
“A vain hope, I suppose.” The dowager countess was quiet for a moment. “I may be old, but I am not blind. I see the…appealof such a suitor. But he is not for you, Lady Brynne. He never was, and he never will be.”
As Lady Crowley’s thoughts echoed her own doubts, Brynne found it difficult to disagree. Guilt gnawed at her, as if she were betraying Lachlan in some way by not jumping into his arms and running away with him into the sunset. But if she did that without giving herself time to come to a decision on her own, then she’d be betraying herself.
Still, she wasn’t about to let anyone denigrate the man she loved.
Not even Lady Crowley.
“He understands me better than anyone else ever has,” she said, lifting her chin.
“He will never inherit a meaningful title, or an estate. Should you marry him, you would be required to rely uponearnedwealth.” Wrinkling her nose as if a particularly bad odor had just wafted in from the kitchens, Lady Crowley leaned heavily on the silver-tipped cane she’d taken to using after a fall down a slick step last winter. “Not to mention that your father would surely disapprove of such a match.”
“Given what little interest he has shown in my pursuits thus far, I sincerely doubt he would be bothered to notice.” Here, Brynne’s voice cooled. Only a fraction, but in addition to her sight, the dowager countess possessed excellent hearing.
“The Marquess of Dorchester has provided you and your brother with everything you could have ever asked for.”
Except for love, Brynne added silently.Affection. Acknowledgement.
Weston had responded to their father’s lack of attention by putting up an icy shield. As a man, her brother had the luxury of choosing to isolate himself without suffering repercussions. He could be hard without being thought of as mean. He could be arrogant without being considered overbearing. He could be callous without being accused of being cruel.
But as a woman, especially a woman in High Society whose reputation was constantly being scrutinized, Brynne’s choices were far more limited. Her actions were much more harshly judged. Which was why she’d taken to wearing a smile on the surface, and shivering with cold where no one could see.
Except for Lachlan.
“Our father has been exceedingly generous,” she acknowledged. “But I am not a girl anymore, in need of governesses and pretty dresses.”
Lady Crowley’s mouth thinned. “No, you are a woman rapidly approaching spinsterhood in need of a good husband.”
“Lord Campbell is a good man,” she said defensively.
“That may be true. But is he–will he–be a goodhusband? That is the question you need to ask yourself. Why, your children wouldn’t even betitled.” By the horrified inflection in the dowager countess’ tone, she might as well have said Lachlan and Brynne’s future offspring would be thrown to the wolves upon birth. “Where would you live? To the best of my knowledge, Lord Campbell does not have a permanent residence in London. Or even England, for that matter. How would you maintain your social standing?”
As Brynne felt her breathing begin to accelerate, she closed her eyes and counted to three. “Perhaps I wouldn’t. Perhaps I’d leave Society altogether. To be a wife to a man that loves me, and a mother to children who, while not titled, shall be adored beyond measure every day of their lives.” Her eyes opened. “Surely there are worse things than that.”
“If you marry Lord Campbell then all of your training and tutelage will have been wasted,” Lady Crowley said flatly. “Along with all of the sacrifices that your father has made. You must–”
“Hehas made?” Brynne had never–not once–interrupted Lady Crowley before, but she refused to let such a bold–and verifiably false–statement stand. “My father has had as much to do with my upbringing as Queen Victoria.”
“Your father has been through more hardship than you know.”
She threw out her arms in a rare display of uncontrolled emotion. “Because he won’ttellme! I barely see him, let alone speak with him about personal matters.”
“It is not a parent’s job to burden their child with their personal heartache.”
“I know that my parents were separated sooner than they could have ever anticipated, but I am not under any illusion that it was a love match.”
“I was not referring to the late marchioness,” Lady Crowley said evenly.
That took Brynne aback. “You’re…you’re not? But–”
