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Hugh jolted and then faltered into stillness. The wind rolled down the mountains and plucked his hat from his head and tossed it below onto the sand. A wife…
Though his father had lovingly and harshly prepared him for the cruelty of the world he lived in, Hugh had still been caught unprepared for society’s derision when he had stepped into the limelight a few years ago in Edinburgh. Somehow because he was mute, they had inferred that to mean he was also deaf. All their harsh criticisms whispered behind fans and false smiles had reached his ears. There had been a young girl he’d thought would make him a lovely wife, for in their several walks and carriage rides she’d been good-natured and charming. It had all been a façade, and her words of derision were remembered with perfect clarity.
“I do not care if he will soon be in possession of the famed Winthrop wealth!”
“My dear sister, that wealth is rumored to be one hundred thousand pounds a year, with several estates in England, Scotland, and Greece. Why, imagine how lavish your life could be!”
“I’ll not marry a man as dumb as an ox! And I do mean that quite literally,” she’d said in her snotty English accent and had then descended into fits of horrified giggles with her sister as if she, too, had been astonished at her awareness.
The scathing words hadn’t hurt, but they had shown him a side of the young lady he hadn’t been exposed to before, and then he’d gained more clarity on why his father had been so ruthlessly exact in his upbringing.
“But he is so handsome, Emma!” the sister had exclaimed.
Emma had tossed her artfully coiffed blonde hair and pouted. “Yes, but can you imagine being in a marriage with a man who simply cannot talk back to you? Ghastly!” she’d said in an accent of loathing. “How will he ever be able to tell me how pretty I sing and dance, and do you suppose
his laugh sounds like someone is choking?”
The sisters had giggled, and how it had grated to hear it.
“I daresay his silence could be a blessing…then you’ll have no complaints from him when he gets the shopping bills!”
Hugh had thought their gossip nonsensical—worse, though he stood only a short distance, they truly believed he could not hear. He’d turned away, and then he had seen her…his mother, one of the reigning beauties of Edinburgh society. All the longings and pain he’d thought left behind had surged into his heart with the ferocity of a battering storm. He’d taken a halting step toward her, and she had paled, her delicate hand fluttering to her chest, her lovely features creased with dismay…or perhaps abhorrence.
While he had battled with his hopeful expectations and the truth of his reality, his mother turned away and had made a concentrated effort to ignore his presence for the night. The knife had cut deeply, and a wound he had thought long healed had been dug into, and the old scars had been brutally tugged apart. It had infuriated him that seeing her, all the pain of her abandoning him returned.
Such weakness was abhorrent. She did not deserve his pain or the lingering affections inside his heart. The memories of how she would sing to him and kiss his bruised knees had twisted through Hugh. The sweet scent of her perfume, how they would laugh and play the piano together. None of that had mattered to her. She had taken her love from him, abandoned him, never once looked back. That day, he had wrapped his sentiments in a deeper layer of indifference, burying the pain in a place inside that would never see it surface again.
When he’d left the ball, he’d seen the countess waiting outside, appearing almost anxious and regretful. She had stepped toward him, but Hugh hadn’t paused and had strode past as if she were an insubstantial shadow. The whisper of his name had curled on the air, but he hadn’t looked back.
He had returned to Glencairn Castle the following week, finally for the first time in his life ruminating that perhaps his father’s fear of him never finding a wife once he returned to England might have some bearing. It was a fear he had brushed off several times as an exaggeration from a man who ignored the delicate intricacies of society for too long. The old earl often planned Hugh’s return to England as if he were some exiled prince returning to conquer his land. Since his twelfth year, his father had impressed upon him that he belonged to the British peerage, and he would prepare him to stalwartly endure life within that society. He had prepared Hugh for England as if he would face a battalion across enemy lines instead of lord and ladies in the ton. Too often he had said, “Father, it is not a battlefield.”
To which his father would squint his eyes and say, “It is, my boy, it is.”
His father’s earnestness had amused him at times, but Hugh had obediently mastered all the lessons brought before him—the art of war, politics—a deep intensive study of the Whigs and Tories, their policies, weaknesses and strengths, literature, philosophy. His father had taught him about honor, friendship, how to think like a businessman, and even how to analyze cunningly, and of course, ballroom dancing.
The old earl had attempted to teach him the delicate art of wooing and courtship, but those many lessons had been about the treachery and duplicitous nature of a beautiful woman, and how to best avoid actually marrying anyone “too enchanting, bold, and too decided with her thoughts and opinions”—simply put, the opposite of Hugh’s mother.
“Did you hear me?” the old earl snapped, a hard edge to his tone. He shifted slightly and peered at him. “You are my son…and my heir, Caroline and William are my beloved children, and never shall we speak of this again.”
There was no shame in his father’s eyes. Only a fierce pride and such burning love that a lump formed in Hugh’s throat. He signed, “I will select a lady from the list, and I will marry her within the month.” This he could do for the man who had given up everything for him—even the fierce and unwavering pride of the Winthrops.
His father smiled, his first in days. “I am very pleased to hear that.”
That half smile slipped from his father’s lips and his dark green eyes grew distant. “Remember,” his father cautioned, “love has no place within a marriage. That useless, trite, and overly bothersome concept has been the downfall of many fine families. Including ours. Do not ever forget.”
“I am not likely to, considering how often you’ve mentioned it over the years.” Hugh once again looked toward the crashing waves against the cliffside.
His father wasted his breath in warning him that he must not love. Hugh truly had no expectations in regard to anyone. If the lady who was supposed to love him more than anything else had left to simply live a life as unfettered as possible, why would he have any expectations of love or loyalty from anyone? The entire notion was laughable and did not even merit a discussion.
Hugh was indifferent to the idea of such sentiments, never having sat down and yearned after the blasted thing. Despite his father’s many warnings over the years, Hugh possessed a very determined will, and if he truly wanted something, nothing could prevent him from seeking it. He suspected it was this that his father worried about, that one day he might want this love that had the power to ruin him. Rubbish. What sort of fool would he be to allow an intangible idea to inflict havoc with his life?
“Love has a way of creeping upon you when it is least expected,” the old earl said with a probing stare. “You must be on your guard at all times.”
“Truly? Based on your ramblings, I believe it can strike with the ferocity of lightning and thunder, and I’ve wondered why you’ve bothered to caution me against something that will come at me without warning,” he rejoined.
His father scowled.
It was difficult to explain to the man before him that he did not hunger for any particular connection. He wasn’t seeking love. Nor was he running from it. He was just not…interested. “I’ve far more important things to occupy my mind than an attachment with a lady…even the one I intend to marry.”
