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CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Irene regarded Elizabeth for a moment before opening the door wider and stepping aside to let her in. Once Irene closed the door behind them, Elizabeth took her hands.
“Irene, I am gravely sorry. I wanted to see you and tell you that I did not mean to cause you any pain.” Now that Elizabeth was talking, she did not want to stop until she had explained everything to her sister. “I know you wanted to marry him, and I admit that I was not thinking when I committed the acts I did, but I love you, and I never—”
Irene drew her into her arms. “I love you too, Elizabeth, and I do not blame you.” She pulled away to look at her.
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide with surprise. “You truly do not blame me?”
Irene smiled and led her to sit on her bed. “No, I do not. I am relieved.”
“You mean…you did not want to marry Guildford?” Elizabeth did not think she would be any more surprised than she had been moments ago.
“No, I did not,” Irene sighed. “I intended to decline his offer if he had made it. Mama wants him for me, and although I did think him charming earlier, I realized we are not a good match.”
Elizabeth’s chest was flooded with relief. “Why did you not tell me this before?”
The corners of Irene’s mouth turned downward. “Forgive me for making you carry guilt you should not have. I left the morning room in haste because I did not want my true feelings to be betrayed. There was a scandal about you, and I wanted to be considerate.”
Puzzled, Elizabeth said, “But you seemed unhappy when I confessed in Guildford Castle.”
A guilty expression passed over her sister’s features. “I wanted to tell you that you did nothing wrong and encourage you then, but I could not because I was keeping a secret from you.” Irene pressed her lips briefly. “I met someone, and we did things we should not…I was afraid and too ashamed to tell you.”
Elizabeth embraced her. “You should not be ashamed of passion, Irene. Society makes us believe that indulging in our desires is lawless. Men are admired for their passions while we are condemned for it. Is that fair?”
“No, it is not.” Irene drew away and shook her head. “He made me feel wonderful and beautiful.”
“But you are beautiful, my dear.” Elizabeth brushed away a stray curl of blonde hair from Irene’s brow.
“Other gentlemen made me feel as if I were merely an object to be acquired and possessed. He made me feel more than that, worthy of respect.”
Elizabeth smiled. “This is what I have always wanted for you. A man who will love you and love your heart.”
Irene’s smile faltered. “I do not know if he will marry me. I think I am in love with him.”
“Have faith, my dear. If he made you feel as you have just told me, then I think he truly wants you.” Elizabeth hugged her again, glad there were no ill feelings between them. She was also curious about who the man her sister had fallen in love with was, but she did not ask her. More than anyone, she knew when someone wanted to keep something hidden, and until Irene decided to tell her, she would not ask.
At that moment, however, Elizabeth recalled the times she had seen Miles regard Irene with more familiarity than there should be between them, and she began to wonder. She remembered when he looked almost displeased watching Rhys and Irene. Could it be?
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Irene held her tightly. “I still do not know how to tell Mother and Father that I never wished to marry Guildford,” Irene said.
“I believe it will be easier now that I am marrying him,” Elizabeth murmured.
“I suppose you are right.” Irene pulled away and looked at her. “I am sorry you have to marry him because of a scandal. Do you know who might have discovered you and told?”
“I do not know.” Elizabeth shook her head. “It could be a servant in the castle. It is done, and we cannot change things now. He offered for me this morning.”
“Do you want to marry him?” Irene’s brows knit with worry.
Elizabeth had asked herself that question earlier, but she had not given herself the chance to answer it. If she were to follow her body’s wishes, then she would be elated to marry Rhys. She was certain that every day, he would take her on a sensual adventure, and she wanted that. They also had excellent conversations, and she longed to know more about him. She was quickly learning that she had misjudged him, and her list was inaccurate. The only problem between them was that she was not good enough to be the Marchioness he wanted. He might never accept her as she was, especially if he discovered her secret. This reason alone would have been enough to make her refuse to marry him, but she did not have that option.
“I think I do,” she answered at last, and Irene smiled.
“I hope you will be happy with him.”
“That is my hope, too.” They shared a look of understanding and commiseration, and Elizabeth felt less fear about the new life that awaited her.
* * *
