“There was someone else, after your mother. A young woman your father loved dearly.”
Brynne was stunned. Her father, the epitome of frigid reserve, inlove? It was all but impossible to fathom.
“Who was she? What happened? Where is she now?”
“That is not my story to share.” Lady Crowley tapped her cane on the floor. “I wouldn’t even say this much, but I feel it is my duty to impart whatever knowledge I can to prevent you from repeating past family mistakes. Your mother and father were an excellent match. One of the best thetonhas ever had the fortune to witness. Because your father had the good sense to follow hisheadinstead of his heart. Had the marchioness lived, I am certain they would hold the most celebrated positions in High Society to this day.
“By the contrary, the woman whom the marquess fancied himself in love with after your mother died was wrong from the start. Had he married her, they’d have risked alienation that would have also affected you, and your brother.”
“If he loved her, whydidn’the marry her?”
“I’ve no doubt he would have, if given the opportunity. Thankfully, she had the common sense to return to where she’d come from, and aside from a small scandal, no permanent damage was sustained.”
“No permanent damage,” Brynne said quietly.
Except that the Marquess of Dorchester was all but a ghost, preferring to spend his time in his remote hunting cabin or traveling across Europe or setting sail for weeks at a time. Anything other than remaining in England where he’d be forced to interact with his children.
Was this woman–the one who he had loved and then lost–the reason for his absence? Surely the two were somehow connected. At the very least, it helped shed some light on his prevailing bitterness that she could always sense, even as a child, but could never quite pinpoint the cause of.
“Lachlan would never leave me.” She squared her shoulders. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
“I should hope not, or else what would you do? Trapped in a foreign country, isolated from your family and friends. Shunned by those who once admired you. Pitied by those who expected such great things from you.” Lady Crowley gave her an appraising look, then clucked her tongue. “But at least you will have followed your heart. I shall pray that will be a comfort, when nothing else is.”
When the dowager countess made a slow, stiff departure, Brynne remained behind to oversee the final waltz. There was nothing she wanted more than to seek her bed, but duty and obligation demanded she stay until the last guest had quit the ballroom.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a responsibility she had to undertake alone.
“Everything all right?” asked Weston as he joined her, the cigar smoke clinging to his clothes indicating he’d come straight from the terrace. “You look…unsettled.”
“Tired,” she said, mustering a wan smile. “Only tired.”
“It has been a long night. A long month, at that. I’ll be glad to watch the carriages leave in the morning.” He loosened his cravat. “I saw that Lord Campbell decided to finally make an appearance.”
“And I saw you dancing with Lady Martha Smethwick,” she said in a deft attempt to change to subject, as she didn’t want to discuss Lachlan any further tonight. Shecouldn’t. Not until she had a chance to sit by herself, and wrap her head around everything she’d learned…and all that she’d been offered. After all, it wasn’t every day that a girl received a wedding proposal ten years in the makingandwas subtly threatened not to accept it.
Fortunately, her maneuver worked.
“What do you think of her?” Weston asked. “Lady Martha.”
Taller than his sister by six inches, the Earl of Hawkridge had the lean build of a blueblood thoroughbred. His dark hair and gray eyes were the opposite of Brynne’s fair coloring (he took after their father), but the twins shared the same straight nose and stubborn chin.
“I think she would be a fine wife for the Earl of Hawkridge.”
“But?” He gave her a tiny bump with his elbow. “Go on, I can hear it in your voice.”
“But what about a wife for Weston? Do you love her?”
He started to chuckle. Stopped when she didn’t join him. “Oh. You’re serious.”
“I do not understand why that is not a requirement when deciding with whom to spend the rest of your life with,” she said with an agitated stomp of her heel.
“Because…it isn’t important?” he ventured.
“Not important. Notimportant.So much is said of titles, and wealth, and estates. But no one ever says anything about love, or commitment, or–orpassion. Aren’t those things themostimportant?”
Weston regarded her suspiciously. “Have you nipped into the brandy?”
On a sigh, she dropped her head back to gaze at a chandelier. The candles, over three hundred of them, had all but sputtered out. Those that didn’t extinguish on their own would be doused by a servant, and the entire thing would be taken down on the morrow for a good cleaning, along with the rest of the manor once all of their houseguests had departed.
