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Her words had ultimately been only that—words.
Ben realized now that being the Earl of Winton, the suitor with the highest title, had played into her decision and her words. As a result, he’d learned that words were not to be trusted. Neither were emotions when one was caught up in the passion of the moment.
“Have my horse readied,” he said to Hawkins, who nodded to a young footman, who then dashed off. Hawkins obviously sensed Ben’s mood, as he rather tentatively handed Ben his hat, which Ben took and placed on his head, glancing just long enough in the nearby mirror to see the hat and the surly face beneath it that glared back at him.
Hawkins then hurried to the doors to open them the moment Ben gave him the signal.
“Leave off, Hawkins,” he said. “I am fit enough to open a door for myself when the need arises. I’m sure you have more important duties than to attend to a door.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Hawkins said with a respectful bow.
Ben felt like a cad. “Blast it, Hawkins, I don’t mean to take out my ire on you. Forgive me; I’m out of sorts at the moment.”
“Sorry to hear it, my lord. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Ben replied. He could see the footman and Peter Snow returning with his horse. “Good afternoon, Hawkins,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord,” Hawkins said with another bow.
Ben opened the door, much to the apparent surprise of the two young men outside who undoubtedly expected to see typical etiquette, and strode over to them, taking the reins from Peter and mounting the horse in one swift movement.
He wouldnotbe returning straight home. He needed to ride.
He loathed how his marriage to Gemma had destroyed his trust in women, how her words and her feelings for him had changed from day to day. When she’d finally expressed boredom and homesickness, it had seemed easy enough to remedy and had given him hope. But even that hope had been short-lived upon her return to Winton Court.
And so, Ben had found himself at Winton Court with his new bride and no one to guide him through the labyrinthian maze of female tears and tantrums and complaints and locked doors and accusations. He had tried to converse with her, had explained himself over and over again, had even humbled himself enough to plead with her. Those attempts at understanding and reconciliation had worked for a while, only for her to fall back into the same patterns of crying and complaining and refusing to speak to him.
His marriage had been exhausting.
He doubted all marriages were like theirs had been, his parents’ marriage being the first and obvious example of cordiality and respect and affection, even if it hadn’t precisely been a love match.
Ben, however, had longed for love, and he’d thought he’d found it. But he’d been wrong, and the consequences had been disastrous.
For just one moment, when Rebecca had said she loved him, his heart had soared—and then had stopped cold. It had been easy for Gemma to say the words—words she had never meant. Rebecca wasn’t Gemma, but that didn’t mean he could simply take what she’d said at face value. Not when she was young and had been responding to his kisses with such passion.
And how could Rebecca Jennings possibly love him? She hardly knew him. She’d undoubtedly developed an emotional attachment to him because she’d had little company since her injury, that was all.
His horse was beginning to blow, so he slowed down, cursing himself for disregarding the poor beast. He brought his mount to a halt. He was far from his house, far from Alderwood. Frankly, he wasn’t sure where he was. He was, in fact, lost.
In more ways than one.
