Page 26 of A Lady of Conscience

The same nothing he’d felt on every other occasion he’d conversed with her, or danced with her, or taken her for a turn in a moonlit garden. She may be perfect for him on paper, but in reality, she fell entirely short of the mark.

He left the ball not long after dancing with her and Miss Paley, returning to his parents’ townhouse in Grosvenor Square. He helped himself to a large glass of brandy in the drawing room and downed it one swallow. After pouring himself another, he sank down in a wingchair by the cavernous fireplace, staring into the dwindling flames. He was still there, several hours—and several glasses of brandy—later, when his mother quietly entered the room.

She was wearing her flannel dressing gown, her thick mink hair arranged in its nighttime plait.

“What are you doing sitting here alone in the dark?” she asked.

“Drinking myself into a stupor,” he answered flatly.

“Brooding, more like.” Her slippered feet were silent on the thick carpet as she came to the fireplace. She stood over him a moment, her dark brows sunk in a measuring frown. “I’ve scarcely seen you since you arrived. You’ve spent every minute boxing, crossing foils with your fencing master, or dining at your club.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been more attentive.”

“I require no apology. I’d prefer an explanation.”

“Father hasn’t confided in you?” James huffed into his empty glass. “I’m amazed.”

“Don’t be impertinent,” his mother said sternly. “You’re not too old for me to box your ears.” She drew closer to him. “Of course he’s told me about Miss Heywood rejecting you. And about your belief that her refusal has saved you from making a grievous mistake.”

James had forgotten he’d said that. Thinking of it now, he recognized the sentiment for what it was. Doubtless his father had recognized it too. It had been the very definition of sour grapes.

“What puzzles me is why you’re behaving this way,” his mother said. “You should be celebrating your happy escape, not pummeling hapless fellows at a boxing saloon.”

“Not only boxing. I was at a ball this evening. It was at the Marquess of Deane’s residence.”

“I presume you saw Lady Augusta?”

“I did.”

“After which you appear more despondent than ever.” She studied his face. “Why, James?”

James gave his mother a bleak look. “I’m unhappy.”

Her expression softened. “Oh, my poor love.” She smoothed a rumpled lock of hair from his brow. “I know you are. But it’s an unhappiness of your own making.”

“Because I’ve fixed my heart on the wrong girl.”

“Your heart,” she murmured. “So, it is engaged?”

“What does it matter? She’s not right for me.”

His mother touched his cheek. “Right for you? Rubbish. Do you imagine your father was right for me?”

“You and father are soulmates. You’ve always said so.”

“Yes, we are, but we made no sense otherwise. Not when we were your age. Our situations were too different and there were countless obstacles in our way. We had to fight to be together. Surely, I raised you to do the same.” She tipped his chin up, compelling him to look her in the eye. “If you want her, my dear, fight for her.”

“To what end? She doesn’t want me.”

“Is that what she said?”

James cast his mind back to those crushing moments after he’d proposed. I do not wish to marry you, she’d told him.

But that wasn’t all she’d said.

Recalling the words Hannah had uttered as he’d turned to leave the room, James felt the faintest glimmer of hope.

“There,” his mother said. “You see?” Bending over him, she pressed a brisk kiss to his forehead. “I’m going back to bed before your father comes searching for me. If you plan on setting off at first light, I’d advise you to do the same.”