The Trouble with Love (Distinguished Rogues Book 8) Read online

  When he thought of love, he imagined laughter.

  Long pleasant walks, holding hands, making love in a starlit field on a warm summer’s night.

  Togetherness.

  He smiled at the memory of Whitney Crewe walking beside him through the woods of his estate, fingers entwined with his, smiling and laughing together. If they were married, they could sink to the earth and pledge their hearts and bodies to each other again and again.

  Alice’s intentions to merely do her duty to their marriage demolished any chance they could have a contented life together. He did not anticipate contentment with her now. He could not get his imagination past her ever being only his houseguest.

  That was why he was about to drive an immovable wedge between them and prove he was not worthy of her. She should marry a man who could love her, even if she didn’t understand that yet.

  Everett made himself known to his guests by stomping into the room. Caught unawares of his approach to the house, both Mrs. Quartermane and Alice appeared startled to see him, and very guilty as they glanced at each other.

  “My lord,” Alice exclaimed.

  He glanced between them and did not smile. “I hadn’t considered I’d ever want a wife and mistress both. I had hoped they would be one and the same to me.”

  Miss Quartermane gulped but quickly recovered. “I apologize if you overheard what should have been a private conversation.”

  “You are in the drawing room of my home. Many servants of the house pass through this chamber, too. They are not above gossiping.” He nodded. “Anything you wanted to know about me, you should have asked me directly.”

  He moved farther into the room, poured himself a drink, and then took a chair by the open doorway, basking in the swirling breeze and the sounds of the woods just beyond.

  “Anything?”

  “Anything,” he agreed. It was time to clear the air between them once and for all.

  Alice bit her lip, and there was clearly something she wanted to ask. After a moment of consideration, she squared her shoulders. “There is a rumor I heard in London. It is said that you caused trouble for Lord and Lady Taverham. That you may have tried to prevent her return to her marriage.”

  “That is a little stretched, but I certainly distrusted Miranda upon her return. I could not imagine why she would treat my friend so poorly as to abandon her marriage for so long.”

  “And the boy?”

  “Well, of course I distrusted her word that the boy was Taverham’s heir. He appeared out of nowhere, fully grown almost.”

  Her mother latched on to that. “Do you still disbelieve his claim? Was Miranda unfaithful to her husband?”

  “Of course not,” he protested. “I have the facts now, which Taverham rightly did not share with me in the beginning. I understand Miranda better now, too, and wish her every happiness in her marriage. We are on the way toward being friends, I hope.”

  “I am glad.”

  He raised a brow. “Those were questions about other people, though. What do you want to know about me? There must be something.”

  The skin of her face pinked brightly as she wet her lips. “Was it you who lost those breeches at the Fairmont Ball?”

  “Yes,” he admitted defiantly. “A tryst gone awry.”

  “A tryst?” Her mouth fell open as she stared at him. “That was the night before we met!”

  He shrugged, disguising any shame he might still feel about his state of mind that night with indifference. “I went to the ball, met a lady who captivated me, and the rest you can probably guess.”

  “A lady?”

  “Most definitely a lady—of very high principals, too. It was not her intention to embarrass me, I assure you. When she discovered my plans to marry, she rightly scolded me and ran off—accidentally taking my clothing with her.”

  Mrs. Quartermane covered her daughter’s ears. “Have you no shame, discussing such a scandalous subject with an innocent young woman?”

  Everett turned his attention to the older woman, noting Miss Quartermane was attempting to escape her mother’s censorship. “She asked, and I answered. Do you find honesty offensive, madam?”

  “I find your confession most disagreeable indeed,” she promised, as Miss Quartermane set herself free at last. “A gentleman should not behave in such a fashion.”

  “I will not wring my hands and beg forgiveness from a young woman I’d not even met at that time in my life,” he exclaimed. “And I would rather get these truths out in the open today, so perhaps you could be quiet and let your daughter speak for herself for once.”

  He turned his attention back to Miss Quartermane. She had paled a little at his tirade. “Do you have more questions?”

  That earned him a half smile of gratitude. “You said she scolded you. Why?”

  “She claimed I was unromantic and something of a scoundrel.” And he had been, too.

  “For flirting with her when you were to marry?”

  “For attending a bachelors ball while knowing I would pursue you for marriage the next day,” he corrected.

  “Did she know me?” Alice seemed so appalled at that possibility that, from this point on, Everett decided a little discretion was called for. It would save Whitney a world of distress later, should Alice prove to have loose lips.

  “No, but I described you. That was enough for her to brand me as a thoroughly unromantic man.”

  Miss Quartermane sank into a chair. “How exactly did you describe me to the stranger?”

  “Well-bred, innocent, and blessed with a generous dowry. Remember, we had not met, and I had only your father’s correspondence for my information about you at that time.”

  She raised her hand to her face, caressing her cheek with the tips of her glove. Her lips lifted in a smile. “How would you describe me now?”

  “Well-bred, innocent, and still blessed with a generous dowry. All of that remains true.”

  Her eyes lifted to his—disappointed. “But?”

  He frowned at the woman he’d given his word to make his wife. “But what?”

  “You don’t love me, do you?”

  “Not in the slightest,” he informed her. It may be cruel now to be so honest, but he’d rather not be married for his title alone, or chosen based on false assumptions about the state of his heart. “By that token, you don’t love me either, I suspect. I asked you once why you agreed to marry me, and your answer was anything but romantic.”

  Her brow wrinkled, and then she reached for her mother’s hand to hold. “I don’t love you.”

  “And we have never so much as shared a kiss, have we?”

  “Is that important to you now?” she asked, frowning.

  “Not so much now, but it is very telling that I never have. I suspect you have kept your parents close so you did not have to be alone with me.”

  “That is not true!”

  “But that is exactly what has happened. Even this private conversation has been shared with one of your parents. Do you think we might have both made a mistake?”

  “You, my lord, have an agreement to marry my daughter,” Mrs. Quartermane boomed in a voice too loud and forthright to be ignored.

  “I never intended not to keep my word,” he said, as he stared at Alice. “I am a gentleman. No matter what I feel, or cannot, I will honor my promise to marry you, Miss Quartermane.”

  Lack of love on his part was no reason to terminate a contract to marry, and they all knew it. He had no power in this situation unless he wished to suffer Lord Carrington’s fate. Being snubbed by society would be uncomfortable, but he’d survive it somehow. Whether or not Miss Quartermane felt that lack of feeling on his part was enough to end their engagement, remained to be seen.

  He cleared his throat. “Many couples marry without love and do very well—coming together to make children but living vastly separate lives.”

  She stared at him.

  “You’ve made it clear over the past weeks that you prefer Town to the
country, while I feel the opposite. So, after the wedding, after my heir has been conceived, there is no reason why you cannot live in London as much as you like.”

  “You don’t want me living here?”

  “There is a situation I’ve not felt comfortable discussing with many people as yet, but it cannot wait another day.” He glanced at Mrs. Quartermane with an apologetic smile and saw her fanning herself as if she was about to faint. “It concerns my sister.”

  The older woman breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh yes, Lady Brighthurst. Such a well-regarded lady ought to be here by now. She would never condone your behavior or this scandalous discussion.”

  Emily was hardly in a position to criticize him after what she’d done.

  “You hardly speak of Lady Brighthurst,” Miss Quartermane accused. “When is she due to arrive for the wedding?”

  He shook his head firmly. “Unfortunately, my sister has for some time been unwell, and cannot attend.”

  “I am so sorry to hear that,” Alice murmured. “Please convey my hope for a speedy recovery in your next letter to her.”

  He shook his head again. “Writing is not necessary when Emily lives on the estate, not far from here. I visit her every night, and most days, too, to sit by her bedside and entertain her. She has no notion of current events in my life.”

  “Every day you sit at her bedside? Why have you never said a word about it?” Alice’s eyes widened in shock, and then she stared at him in horror. “What is wrong with Lady Brighthurst that you could not tell us before today?”

  He would not discuss Emily’s obsessive love for Taverham and the distressing things she threatened to do if ever released from Rose Cottage. He would keep the shame of her madness private forevermore. Only the loyal servants tending her had any idea of her confused state of mind, and of course, Whitney Crewe, had discovered it on her own.

  “Emily has consumption.”

  Miss Quartermane shot to her feet, jerking Mrs. Quartermane up, too. “Consumption?” The pair huddled together. “But…that cannot be right. You said she was eager to meet me.”

  “I am afraid I did lie to you on that score.”

  Both Mrs. Quartermane and daughter gaped at him. Only Alice found her voice. “She doesn’t know we are to marry, does she?”

  “No. Her physician suggested that any sort of emotional upheaval might prove too unsettling and speed her decline.” He glanced between his guests, wondering if they were really as afraid as they seemed. “The only way you could ever meet to speak with her is at her sickbed, and even then, I would ask that you not say anything about our marriage.”

  When he had told Miss Crewe of his sister’s situation, he had sensed shock and a brief moment of fear that had quickly faded. Miss Quartermane’s reaction was quite different. She looked at him now through narrowed eyes. Accusing eyes. “Are you ashamed to marry me?”

  Now that was a ridiculous suggestion. “Of course not. I gave my word and cannot go back on it.” He stood and took a step toward the pair, hands outstretched. “Emily suffers in seclusion, and I was told she would not have very long. However, she tenaciously clings to life. I always considered her headstrong, but I do not know how long she has left. I wish to remain at her side until the end comes, and perhaps it would be prudent to delay the wedding until she has passed.”

  “Weeks of illness?”

  “Perhaps longer. I am unsure of when she first began her decline.”

  “All the time we have been here?” Mrs. Quartermane whispered, blanching and clutching her daughter’s hand to her chest as he nodded. “And you have slipped away to visit her every night without ever a warning hint to anyone.”

  “My staff and tenants nearest the cottage know the situation well enough to keep a distance. Sometimes I have been recalled to her side more than once a day, especially lately, as her fevers grow more frequent. When her temperature rises too high, she becomes confused and needs me to calm her.”

  Miss Quartermane pulled her mother back one step, and then another, until many yards separated them. “I am very sorry to hear of her situation, my lord, but I cannot…” Her eyes filled with tears, and he saw a decision about their marriage had been made, and made very decisively, even if she would not say so. “My mother is not well, and we simply cannot remain another moment longer.”

  “Of course,” he agreed. Everything about her demeanor reeked of fear. “By all means, retire to consider what the future holds for us. Let your father know I intend to remain in the countryside until the inevitable comes to pass, but I was warned she could be ill for many months more to come. I am afraid we won’t have a very jolly start to our marriage, so a delay is probably for the best.”

  And in that time, he hoped Alice Quartermane would find someone to love. He smiled apologetically, forcing away his anxiety about Emily’s uncertain future to deal with Alice. “I will look forward to speaking to you again at dinner.”

  “Yes, at dinner,” Alice agreed, all the while backing her mother from the room as if he were the one suffering from consumption instead of Emily.

  He let them go without another word, knowing he had been somewhat heartless to let them think he cared so little about their welfare and that they might have been callously exposed. It was a possibility, but he was confident he’d been careful enough around his guests, and he had not kissed Miss Quartermane at all.

  If he had become infected, the only person in the slightest bit of danger was Whitney Crewe. She was the only woman he’d almost kissed recently, and that was after she’d already learned about Emily’s situation.

  Left to his own devices for the afternoon, he poured himself another drink and sat in Emily’s favorite chair by the open window, listening to the birds in the woods and considering the difficult future immediately ahead of him. There would be talk of the delay in their marriage, and unfortunately there was nothing he could do to prevent some of the blame attaching to Alice Quartermane if she eventually released him from their engagement.

  It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t love her.

  He was already in love.

  The muffled rush of feet upon the upper floorboards proved something of a distraction for the next hour. When the note came, delivered by the Quartermanes’ stammering maid, he read it, hopeful of what it might say of his future.

  He sighed as he folded the note, and immediately sent word to cook that the formal dinner the Quartermanes had always enjoyed so much could be canceled for tonight. Dinner could be served on a tray for the Quartermanes that night instead.

  There was no mention of the marriage, or agreement for the delay he’d asked for.

  He was still unfortunately engaged.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Whitney held out her hands to the little girl and spun them around and around until they were both horribly dizzy. Little Mabel laughed and laughed when released.

  “Again. Again,” she begged as she rushed at Whitney.

  “Oh no,” Whitney said as she steadied herself against a low wall. “I think that is enough spinning for this morning. I need to sit down a moment.”

  Mabel hugged her legs tightly. “I want to stay with you.”

  “Let’s find a good spot in the shade, shall we.” Whitney smoothed the girl’s hair back from her hot face, collected her sketchbook, and looked around the garden. The Taverhams’ guests were spread everywhere in the formal gardens. Small groups of people had gathered together, taking advantage of the warm day, fine food, and comfortable chairs strewn about to talk or relax in the perfect weather.

  The children ran between them, playing their own games, grasping at crumbs of conversation thrown their way by the adults. But most of the children were more interested in each other than the adults. That was usually the way with children; however, today young Mabel had attached herself to Whitney and refused to be drawn away.

  Whitney did not mind the company, but choosing a place slightly away from the other guests was essential. Mabel was something of a cha
tterbox and was quite often warned to be quieter. Whitney liked her chatter, though. The girl was inquisitive about everything girls usually took no notice of. She had a fine mind that needed stimulation. The child reminded Whitney of herself at that age. Orphaned and eager.

  Whitney could draw well enough while the girl prattled on, and preferred privacy anyway to complete her sketches, of which Mabel was one subject.

  Tomorrow was the day she would leave her friends behind, and the thought of it made her momentarily sad, a feeling she quickly shook off. It was impossible to achieve her objectives if she allowed timidity or apprehension to slow her down.

  They found an empty square of blanket and sank to the ground under the shade of a tree. As soon as they’d chosen their place, a servant hurried over, tray of food, pitcher and two glasses in hand, and offered to bring anything else they required. Whitney requested two pillows—one for her back, and the other for Mabel to rest her head upon should she lie down.

  When the man returned, Whitney and Mabel settled in to a generous feast, washed down with Twilit Hill’s excellent mulberry wine and water for Mabel.

  Mabel all but sat in her lap after they’d eaten in her eagerness to be friendly. “Do you have a daughter?”

  Whitney smiled at the question and shifted the girl a bit farther away from her elbow. She set her sketchbook against her knees. “I don’t.”

  “Do you want one? She could be your friend too and you would never be lonely.”

  Whitney stroked the girl’s cheek with the back of her fingers. “I’m not lonely, my dear, but perhaps when I’m older I will want a child.”

  The girls face fell.

  Whitney hugged the girl to her side quickly. Mabel was a pretty little thing with a heart easily disappointed. “I have good reasons. I am not married, for one, and two, I don’t have a home.”

  Mabel gasped. “Are you an orphan?”

  “I suppose I am still,” she confessed. “My parents died when I was a little older than you. I only have one older cousin, and although he would prefer that I lived with him, I wish to travel.”

  “Where is your cousin?”