Page 78 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

“I would like to continue the investigation.” It would be hard, being with him, having to see him, talk to him, knowing he was lost to her, but she might as well begin now. It would not get any easier by fleeing to refuge. There were many more years of this ahead of her. “I’ll go to London.”

Carlisle nodded, and Noelle’s spirits sank lower than she’d thought possible. She knew she would dissolve into tears if she stayed in this suddenly cold and suffocating room a moment longer, and she could not risk that. She would never be able to recapture their friendship if Carlisle thought her helplessly in love with him. He would probably stay away from her entirely if he thought his presence caused Noelle to suffer. And losing him entirely was the last thing she wanted.

She took a deep breath to steady her voice. “I’ll get ready for our trip, then.” She averted her eyes to hide her tears and hurried to the door to her bedroom. Though she needn’t have bothered—she glanced back as she shut the door and saw that Carlisle was not even watching her, but had turned away.

WELL, THAT HAD certainly not been what he expected. Carlisle sat down, bracing his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. In all his tangled thoughts about marrying Noelle, he had not considered that she would turn him down.

He’d thought she might worry and fuss a bit about scandal, and he would have to reassure her that any scandal would die down, and anyway he didn’t care what other people thought of him. It had never entered his mind that she would tell him she didn’t love him.

He had awakened this morning, happy with the world and looking forward to another day alone with Noelle. He’d even gotten out of bed with the goal of enticing her back into it. Now his world was turned upside down.

Damn Lady Lockwood. He should have guessed she would find a way to spoil everything. He should have pursued that point, reminding Noelle that Adeline’s mother delighted in ruining things, and she shouldn’t let the harridan ruin their happiness. He should have made reasoned arguments or kissed and cajoled her into changing her mind or...well, just about anything except suggesting marriage.

The words had jumped out of him without thinking. He’d been impulsive, as he never was, and it had clearly been a mistake. That look on her face—anger? horror?—would haunt him. And the way she had so flatly declared that marrying him was the last thing she wanted!

The last thing. The words kept resounding in his head. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, he supposed. He knew Noelle was romantic. She would never marry for practical reasons or for affection or passion, the sort of things he felt. Only a glorious love would do for her. The kind of love she had had with Adam.

Did she feel so little for him? He wasn’t asking for her to love him madly. He knew he was not the kind of man to inspire grand passion. He was too dull, too staid and unemotional. But surely she had some spark of feeling for him. There was so much love in her—for Adam, for Gil, even, he thought, for Adeline now. Was there nothing there for him?

He ached to go after her, to throw himself at her feet and tell her how much he could not bear to lose her. To beg her to stay with him, love him, marry him. But of course that was foolish. He could not force Noelle to love him, and it was pointless and cruel to make her feel guilty about hurting him.

He had to accept her decision. It was the way of the world, and Carlisle had long known it. People left, one way or another; one couldn’t hold on to other people, and it was pointless to cling. His only choice was to resume the shell of the relationship they had or go away. Carlisle wasn’t about to do that.

He would accept it. He would adjust. It might be difficult to regain his footing, but surely he could recapture the easy, friendly way that had existed before he ruined it with his desire.

THE CARRIAGE RIDE was dreadful, filled first with an empty silence and later with awkward conversation. Carlisle was remote and formal, and several times Noelle had to struggle to hold back tears. She had burst into sobs after she left Carlisle’s room, pressing her hand to her mouth to keep him from hearing. She refused to cry in front of him, but throughout the day, the ache in her chest seemed to expand, as if the effort to hide her sorrow was forcing it deeper into her body. It filled her up like ice in her soul until she wondered if she would ever be warm again.

It was a relief to reach London and be able to escape to her room. She did not go to dinner, sending down one of the maids with a note saying she was not hungry and, being tired from the long journey, she was retiring early. Carlisle sent up a tray of food for her, and his silent consideration brought the all-too-ready tears to her eyes.

Noelle barely picked at her food. She had been telling the truth about her lack of hunger. Nor had she lied about being tired, though she thought it was more heartsickness than weariness that weighed her down. However, sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, her brain unwilling to shut down. She hadn’t thought it would hurt this much. More than once, she heard Carlisle’s footsteps go down the hall, and she wanted to get up and go to him, tell him she’d been silly and wrong and hold him until her chest didn’t hurt anymore. But she restrained herself. She couldn’t go back. She had done the right thing.

The next morning, her sleepless, unhappy night showed in her face. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, her skin pale and dull, and her expression was desolate. It would not do. She must face up to the future and learn to live with Carlisle without either intimacy or their recent forced formality.

Pinching her cheeks to bring back a little color and setting her face into a determinedly pleasant expression, she went downstairs to breakfast. It cost her a pang to see Carlisle sitting there at the table, so much like always, but she managed a smile. They exchanged a few commonplace niceties. He made a wry remark, and Noelle chuckled. They would manage, she thought, no matter how heavy her chest was.

“I sent a note round to Freddie Penrose,” Carlisle told her. “He replied that he would see us this afternoon.”

“That long away?”

“Yes, it seems our Mr. Penrose is a late riser and takes a few hours to be presentable.”

The word presentable, Noelle realized a few hours later when Penrose sauntered forward to greet them, had a different meaning for the man than it did for her. Though he was presumably the age of Lord Drewsbury and the other original signers, his hair was a gold so bright it glinted under the lights, without a hint of gray, and he was dressed like a foppish young man, with collar points so high he could not completely turn his head, and a lavender jacket over a paisley-patterned waistcoat. His watch chain was weighed down by fobs and seals, and a gigantic posy adorned his lapel. From his stiff posture, Noelle suspected he had a girdle wrapped around his middle to control a burgeoning stomach.

He came forward with an amiable smile, saying, “So you’re Horace’s boy, eh? Imagine that. Come in. Sit, sit.” He waved them toward chairs. “Haven’t thought of Horace in years. ’Course I was never the chum with him that Drewsbury was. Too brainy by half for me. I didn’t attend their parties—always thought Belinda was a handsome woman, but I didn’t understand half of what she said. How is your mother, by the way?” Without waiting for a reply, he went on cheerfully, “But enough of that, you don’t want to hear an old man tell old stories, do you? Did you come about the horses?”

“Horses?” Carlisle repeated blankly. Noelle was beginning to understand why Lady Lockwood had called Freddie Penrose a “rattle.”

“The pair I have for sale. Thought you were here about them. Fine pair, matched grays. Bought ’em from Jeremy Harefield two years ago; you know what an eye he has for horseflesh. But...” He sighed, giving a shrug. “What’s one to do? Bought a new landau, you see, yellow, and, well, they just don’t make the show with it that they did with the black one. Pity.”

“Mr. Penrose,” Carlisle jumped in as the man paused for a breath. “We came because we spoke with Lord Haverstock, and—”

“Haverstock. Poor chap.” Penrose looked grave. “I hear he’s taken to the bottle since his son died last year. Terrible thing, that.”

“It is indeed. We were discussing the trust agreement you set up years ago with my father and the others.”

The other man’s eyebrows flew up. “The trust? Oh, you mean that tontine thing! My, I hadn’t thought about that in years. No reason to—never thought I’d have five girls, but there you are... Too bad, really. I understand the thing’s made a fortune.”

“It has?” Carlisle glanced over at Noelle.