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“For you, of course.” With his insult, her fists tightened by her side. “Because you are going to put me in that drawer labelled ‘Entertainment’. I’m good only for this in your view,” she fired back. Anger made her breathe hard.
“It would give us the chance for a more comfortable arrangement.” His convenience was all he could contemplate by the looks of it.
“You do not get it, do you?” Her expression became disbelieving. “And what happens when you find a flawless debutante to marry? Are you going to cast me aside like an old toy?”
“Certainly not.” Surprise covered his denial as if he had not thought through the ‘arrangement’.
“Oh, so you are suggesting that besides being a mistress, I become one to a married man.”
“I am not married and will not be for a while.”
The deflecting answer said it all. Said he would make sure to keep things as they were because he wanted it. And because he could. Said he would make no sacrifices, or give up anything for he was comfortable with things as they were. It said he did not understand her predicament.
She scoffed anew. “How typical.”
“Come home, Otilia,” he said as though she had no other choice. “We will sort these issues when they arise.”
This deserved no answer, and she gave none. “Stay away from me!” Her stare held the power to bore a hole in him. “You titled snobs think you are so entitled. I profoundly despise the lot of you,” her tone dribbled contempt.
Edmund looked at her seeming to realise only now she meant everything she said. His hands raked his hair before he nodded briskly.
She turned to walk in the direction of her destination.
“Take the carriage,” he offered. “It can drop you off and return to London.”
Her torso twisted to him still in fury. “I want nothing from you.” She would walk to America if need be. “Neither your filthy title, nor your bleeding carriage.” This came in spitting fire mode.
Her back to him, she resumed the single-minded walk.
The next coaching inn lay a few miles ahead, and the coachman had left her things in the innkeeper’s care. She merely needed to wait for the next mail coach. It was a small price to pay for her disentangling from this situation once and for all.
A
Filthy indeed. Otilia’s words echoed in his memory as Edmund rode at a sedate pace back to London. His unseeing eyes staring ahead.
In the end, she refused him, title or not.
Drained of energy, that was how he felt. As if he lost something enormous, something important, and did not come near to retrieving it. What this might be he did not fathom. Perhaps he became upset with Otilia not obeying his directions. Which would lead him to think his pride had been hurt. It sounded like a lie though. His male pride had been hurt by Coraline, he saw at that instant.
A whole new game took place here, he must admit. More abysmal, wider, more vital. If he only identified what it was. Or regarded it for what it had really meant.
But this bottomless emptiness filled his mind, preventing him from trying too hard. He had been raging mad to realise she left London. That she undertook employment, broke away from him and what they had done together. The ire came from the frustration for her absence; from the certainty he would be away from her, from the severing of their scalding…interaction.
That lay on the surface though. Deeper down, where there were no secrets to be kept, a jumble of feelings, memories, images swirled like a tempest. It felt a lot like loss. A thousand-fold worse than anything he ever experienced. His story with Coraline could be likened to child’s play in comparison. It must have been. Because what roiled inside right at this moment was more poignant, sharper. Much more difficult to dismiss. Forget. Deal with. He had not the slightest idea how to, by the way.
He might drink himself into oblivion. But drinking sounded overrated. And he would be back into this entangled precipice as soon as the alcohol wore off his body. What would be the use?
The thought of transforming her into what she accused him of never crossed his mind. It had not been his intention. He only sought control, a manner of limiting this volatile passion that would not come to an end. He meant no insult. Sooner or later they would have to face the whole damned thing and give it a definition. What other solution was there, anyway?
Clearly, she did not share in this concept. Not having asked her opinion brought him to this. He saw it, and saw that if he had done it, the result would have been the same. She would not accept his suggestion.
In town, he jumped head first into work, club, fencing and social functions, in a useless attempt to stop his mind, his body, his guts from craving the woman. The more he tried, the less it worked. So, he lived his days vacuously, expecting it to wear out in a short time.
A
“My dear Miss Kendall.” The dowager came to her, cane in hand. “Welcome to Bentley Manor.” The old Duke and Duchess of Bentley had gone out on visi
ting hours.
