Now Knight took another sip of his scotch and stared at the empty hearth. As much as he trusted the Chessmen, there were things he hadn’t told them, things he’d done that he couldn’t bring himself to voice aloud. Things of which he was guilty. Things he needed to make right. Hopefully tonight he’d taken a step toward making amends.
“You’re home early.”
Glancing to the side, he smiled at the silver-haired woman in her nightdress and wrapper. She was still too thin for his liking. “Good evening, Mother.” Setting his glass aside, he stood and began walking toward the sideboard. “Brandy?”
“Yes, please.”
By the time he’d finished pouring it, she was settled in the chair across from the one in which he’d been sitting. After handing her the glass, he returned to his place and took a swallow of his scotch, watching as she sipped on her brandy, a small smile of contentment playing at her lips. It brought him satisfaction that something so simple could bring her such joy.
“Back in my day,” she said, eyeing him mischievously, “balls did not end until long after midnight, sometimes not until dawn.”
“They’ve not changed. Tonight’s is still well under way, I’m sure.” He shrugged. “But my purpose in attending had been fulfilled.”
“What purpose would that be? If it is to gain a wife, I’d have thought you’d stay until the end.”
“Why are mothers always so anxious to see their children married off? You should accompany me some time.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been too long away from Society. Besides, I have no wish to encounter your father.”
“We do not attend the same affairs.”
“How do you avoid doing so?”
He took a long swallow of his scotch and then tapped a finger against the glass. “I send him a missive alerting him to the ones I’ll be attending.”
“He’s a duke. He’s expected to make an appearance.”
“Look around you, Mother. My London residence is larger and posher than his. My coffers are fuller. Do you not think my influence is greater?”
“I think he has made you hate him with a vehemence equal to my own, and I worry it is spurred by more than his treatment of me. I wish you’d tell me how you managed to secure my freedom from that awful place.”
That awful place. An insane asylum. Knight had been appalled to learn how easy it was to have someone, especially a woman, committed for the slightest unwelcomed behavior. Too quiet, too loud. Caught pleasuring herself. He had no idea what action his father had cited to necessitate removing her from society. Until a few years ago, he hadn’t even known she was still alive.
“My being released couldn’t have happened without his approval, for he is my husband still.”
“You shouldn’t concern yourself. It was a price I was willing to pay.” Although not at first. At first, he’d hesitated. He still harbored guilt for the hesitancy, for considering his own selfish wants and desires, and nearly placing them ahead of hers.
“Does it have anything to do with the reason you don’t stay long at balls?”
It had much to do with the reason he did a lot of things. “I didn’t liberate you from the other place simply to have you lock yourself away here.”
She gave him a little laugh. “Then you shouldn’t have made this place so comfy.”
It was a game they played. Each of them changingthe topic when they didn’t want to answer a particular question or address an uncomfortable subject. Secrets. They both harbored secrets.
Regina did as well, although he was fairly certain he’d figured out hers. Although she could have others hidden away.
Sipping his scotch, he settled deeper into the chair. He couldn’t deny he had comfortable furniture, that his residence was a bright spot, even if on occasion it felt somewhat lonely. As long as he owned it, the hallways would never ring with the laughter of children or a woman’s soft murmurings in the dark after he’d made love to her. He’d never bring a paramour here, because the memories of time spent within these walls with Regina had worked their way into the very fabric of the foundation. There were moments when he could swear he still caught a whiff of her fragrance in his bedchamber. Impossible to be sure. Linens were changed daily. Flowers were replaced, their scent strong until they wilted. Furniture was polished. Floors were scrubbed. Nothing of her could possibly remain after all these years.
Yet, he couldn’t enter a single room without thoughts of her greeting him. He wondered if Chidding would one day claim the same—if memories of her would encompass his life. Only he wouldn’t need to rely on memories because he’d have the reality of her. Her presence. Her passion. And perhaps even her love.
If Knight hadn’t irrevocably shattered her heart when he’d demonstrated a callous disregard he’d not felt. He’d hoped to make her angry enough, to fuela hatred for him that would allow her to survive the devastating pain of betrayal he’d been forced to inflict upon her.
“Are you Lord K?”
With his thoughts traversing along a path that brought Regina to the fore of his mind, he’d forgotten his mother was there. How often had he caught her staring off into the void—or what he’d believed to be the void? It occurred to him now that perhaps she’d simply been examining a kaleidoscope of memories, a journey that had brought her more happiness than her actual world. Her question, however, sent his reflections scattering like leaves caught up in a gust of wind. “What the devil do you know of Lord K?”
“I might not be making the rounds through Society, but I do keep up with it through the various gossip sheets and newspapers. Why just the other day, someone in a gossip column wrote, ‘Those who have known him intimately say it can be no other than the Earl of Knightly.’ The piece went on to say you were quite a notorious flirt some years back, known for breaking hearts. Your reputation makes it difficult to identify the author apparently. Then there’s the book, of course.”
