Page 3 of Regency in Color

He opened his eyes, rotated his head on the pillow, and took in the petite woman perched in a chair next to his bed. She glowered at him. Her frigid eyes, as clear as a cloudless blue sky, assessed him in the critical way of a disappointed parental figure.

Even at the age of one and sixty, it was clear to see why his grandfather had snatched her off the marriage mart only two weeks into her first season and made her Lady Herstshire. Her delicate, classically beautiful features made her the envy of most women and the desire of most men. Features she’d passed on to Colin’s mother, who had passed them on to him. Ones he took advantage of at every opportunity. He had no qualms admitting to anyone who asked that his reputation as one of the biggest rakes in London was well deserved.

Lady Herstshire stood, placed her sewing in her vacated chair, and came to sit on the edge of his bed. She flicked the bridge of his nose, right between the eyes, sending a new explosion of pain shooting through his skull. She positioned her hand to do it again, but Colin quickly blocked his face from her assault.

“Ow! Would you stop that?”

“If you wish to act like a child, I will punish you like one.”

“Hamon punished me well enough last night. I can assure you of that.”

“That is true enough.” She gently ran a finger around the wounded area of his face, her expression softening. “You’ve been asleep for so long, I almost feared he’d hit you too hard.” Then as if it had only been a fleeting figment of his imagination, the tenderness vanished. She straightened and folded her hands primly in her lap, her glower back in place. “Though it is a shame that you needed to be struck in the first place to get you home.”

The dip in her inflection and the thin layer of censure underlying her words were so well done that if he were a different man, he’d feel shame—quite possibly even some remorse—for his behavior. As it were, he was not that sort of man, and the monsters haunting his every waking moment made it hard for him to want to be.

“You may no longer speak of Hamon,” Colin brooded. “His roles as my best friend and your pseudo-grandson are terminated henceforth. The insidious bas—fiend is no longer welcome in my presence.”

Lady Herstshire shook her head, casting her eyes up to the heavens. “Give me strength.” She met his gaze again, her eyes a wall of steely determination. “My daughter, your mother, suffered in agony to bring you into this world. For what? So you could squander your life on drinking, chasing skirts, and evading your responsibilities?”

Colin laced his fingers over his stomach, an unbothered smirk forming on his lips, making him look every bit the smug, uncaring cad. “You know, the more you use that particular tactic to invoke guilt in me, the less effective it becomes. Besides, I have it on good account that my coming into the world was a rather smooth affair.”

A streak of pink blossomed over Lady Herstshire’s cheeks. “Oh, hush now. It’s not proper to discuss such things with your grandmother.”

“As you wish,” he said, raising a shoulder dispassionately. “Although, I can’t let this moment pass without reminding you that we wouldn’t be discussing it if you’d give up your campaign to sway me with guilt. It will never work.”

“Then tell me how I can get through to you.” She fumed, an undercurrent of frustration and distress in her voice.

Her hands balled into fists, then relaxed. She released a long, weary exhale, her posture hunching and her forehead wrinkling, making her appear as unsure and out of control as Colin felt.

He wanted to reach out and place a hand over hers in comfort but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hated being the source of so much vexation in her life. Although she was tough on him, he never doubted she did everything out of love. But exercising his self-control, and presenting himself as a moderately decent gentleman, was becoming a more grueling feat of strength each day.

She placed her hand over his, her gaze boring into his, pleading for understanding. “I worry about you as any grandmother would. Within the span of a year, you’ve come back from war, lost your father and brother, and inherited a title and the burden of responsibilities you were never meant to shoulder. That is a lot for any man to deal with.”

“Yes, it is,” he whispered.

“And I’ve barely seen you shed a tear, let alone properly grieve. All you do is drink, gamble, and keep company with women of questionable moral character. I’m afraid that one of these days, your pain will drag you into darkness you can’t escape from.”

Colin said nothing. He slumped farther into the pillows. Her words struck a secret chord in his heart that he tried his best to avoid. She was right about the darkness, although it had possibly already ensnared him in a mental prison he’d never escape from.

Either way, the truth in her words was something he did not wish to face.

He slipped his hand from beneath hers and donned his best imitation of an unencumbered smile. “I promise I will try and do better.”

This act must not have been as effective as he’d hoped. She silently searched his face, probably hoping to find something that would make her believe his vow. After a moment, she nodded, short and without much conviction.

“Yes, well, your first step toward that end can be making sure you are dressed and in attendance at Lady Devonford’s ball this evening. You’ve slept through the night and most of today, so you should be more than recovered from your night of debauchery. If not, I will have Cook whip up one of her concoctions to help you mend faster.”

Colin pulled a disgusted face. “I will never be so foxed as to need one of those ever again. Drinking that vile brew once was more than enough, I assure you.”

“If that is your choice, so be it. Either way, you are to be there this evening.” Her warm palm cupped the side of his face. “It is time to put away your juvenile antics and act like the respected member of society that you’re supposed to be. You are no longer a second son. You are the Duke of Herstshire, and with that comes specific obligations.”

“You are right. I will be there. I swear it.”

“Thank you. Well, I must be going. I’ll be visiting with Lady Chamberson if you are in need of me.”

“Have a lovely time. And make sure to save some gossip for another day.”

She straightened, smoothing her hands over her dress. “A lady never gossips. She merely informs her friends of things they should be aware of. For their protection, of course.”