Page 66 of This Marquess of Mine

“Well, I suppose I had best get myself dressed,” Lady Keswick said, interrupting his thoughts. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

Griffin gave her a smile. “I’m ready for them.”

His mother gave his evening attire the once-over and nodded her approval. “You look very well,” she said. “And more like your father every day, it seems.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” he said. “Though, I must admit, I hardly remember what he looks like anymore.”

He hardly remembered his father at all anymore. Just a handful of memories remained, an ephemeral sense of what the man had been like. That was all he was left with now.

“You were so young when your father died,” Lady Keswick said, her smile dimming. “Just a little boy, only ten years old. I often wonder if…” She trailed off, her brows knit with uncertainty.

“If what?”

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with sorrow. “You loved your father so much,” she said softly. “You idolized him. And when we lost him…” She drew in a deep breath, her mouth grim. “I didn’t know what to do with you, Griffin. You were so sad, so lost. The only thing I could think to do was send you to Eton. I hoped the change would distract you from your grief.”

Griffin’s chest tightened as memories and feelings from that time assailed him.

“It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, sending you away like that,” she said. “And I’ve often wondered if it was the right decision.”

Her eyes searched his, and he could see regret there, and vulnerability, too.

He took her hands in his and squeezed. “It was, Mother. It was.”

He hadn’t thought so at the time, though. His mother’s decision had confused him greatly and hurt him deeply. He realized many years ago, however, that it was the best thing she could have done for him. He’d found solace in the distraction of new surroundings, new friends, learning new things. And it had been good to leave his home for a time, the home where he’d spent so many happy years with his father, who was gone now, never to walk the corridors of Keswick Hall again.

He hadn’t considered before now just how difficult it must have been for his mother after his father died, being alone with two small children, trying to help them with their grief when her own must have been nearly unbearable.

“That must have been a difficult time for you,” he said, the words woefully insufficient. “Caring for me and Emmy while trying to cope with your own grief. How did you manage it?”

Lady Keswick shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. That first year after his death…” She shook her head. “I did not think I would survive it. I couldn’t understand how he was there one moment and gone the next, or why God had given him to me, only to take him away. I couldn’t understand what I had done to deserve that. I almost wished I had never—”

She broke off, her voice wavering, and Griffin held his breath as he waited for the rest of those words to fall.

I almost wished I had never met him.

But Lady Keswick only shook her head again, as if clearing the memories from her mind and then she clapped her hands together with forced cheer and said, “But never mind all that. We have a dinner to host, and I still need to get dressed.”

She gave him a bright smile that was a touch too tight to be believable, and then she turned and headed for the door.

Griffin watched her leave, absently following the muted clip of her footsteps in the corridor as his mind filled with memories of those months after his father died—the black wreath on the front door, the mirrors covered in crepe. The unnatural silence that seemed to smother every inch of the house.

With a curse, he raked his hand through his hair. His mother regretted knowing his father.

The realization soured his stomach, and he swallowed the knot of unease thickening his throat. Why was he so upset? He shouldn’t be. Her words were hardly a surprise. He knew how much his father’s death had hurt her, how much it haunted her now, even twenty years later.

Her admission only confirmed what he’d always known but had allowed himself to forget. Marriage was a risk. A necessary one, yes, but a risk all the same, and one best handled with care and caution. Of course, he wasn’t ready for marriage, so he needn’t worry about it now. Any thoughts he might have had on the subject were only that. Thoughts, nothing more.

Still, he thought, as he headed for the door, there was no sense in courting complications. He liked Olivia—liked her more than he would have thought possible—but it could go no further than that.

He must keep her at arm’s length, at least until after she was married.

Better safe than sorry.

Olivia had always lovedLady Keswick’s dinner parties. The marchioness was a natural hostess, and spared no expense, spoiling her guests with decadent dishes and fine wines. Even her decorations were a delight for the senses, and this evening was no exception.

The drawing room, where the guests had gathered after dinner, was warm and cozy with a cheerful fire burning in the hearth and frothy swathes of green and blue lace draped across the doors and windows. Candles burned everywhere, bathing the room in a soft, dreamy glow.

It was lovely, and yet, Olivia had barely spared the room a glance.