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Chapter Thirteen
What manner of creature has my father promised me to?
Reginald paced across the ballroom of his father’s countryside estate and tried to put his thoughts in order. He knew that hehadto marry Lady Marcella if he wanted his title and money, which he did desperately desire. That situation wasn’t going to change no matter how much he desired it.
But does she have to be such a vexing creature?
“Vexing” was the kindest word he could summon for Lady Marcella. The word hewantedto use was “infuriating.” He was beginning to feel as though the lady actually tried to frustrate him with her contradictions, snooty looks, and biting words.
Reginald was quite sure Lady Marcella hadn’t always been such a terrible creature, but then, when he’d seen her last, she’d been but a girl. She’d changed a great deal since then. He’d changed, after all, so it had been really quite unreasonable of him to assume that Lady Marcella would’ve remained the same girl he remembered.
God, give me strength.
Reginald glanced at his pocket watch, silently hoping that he’d misread the time and that Lady Marcella wasnotset to arrive at any moment, but that was, of course, a foolish hope. It was ten minutes after the proposed time of their meeting. Perhaps Lady Marcella would not make an appearance at all. Reginald wouldn’t have minded her absence, not after that disastrous meeting scarcely a week before at the Countess’ gardens.
“My Lord?”
Reginald glanced over his shoulder and saw that a young maid stood at the ballroom entrance. He was fairly certain that her name was Anne.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Lady Marcella for you.”
Reginald hid his grimace behind his hand, as the lady emerged. For all her flaws, she was quite a beauty. He tried not to be a lecher; truly, he did. Reginald couldn’t resist looking at her just a little more than was strictly proper, though. Her blue gown gently swept over her slight body, leaving her curves just tantalizingly out of sight. He tried not to think about that body bared to his gaze, sprawled over the bed. As untoward as his thoughts were, he’d already imagined what she must look like—full, creamy breasts and a soft belly and thighs. It seemed somehow remarkably unfair that such a beautiful creature should be so frustrating.
There was something about her that Reginald couldn’t quite put his finger on, though. It was something compelling, which forced him to keep looking at Lady Marcella and taking her in pieces in his mind. What was she thinking at that very moment?
“Good afternoon,” Lady Marcella said.
The maid remained in the room, helping them maintain their image of propriety. There were others in the room, too. Maids worked to clean the floor, and the gardener outside was carefully plucking weeds from the rose bushes. Reginald’s valet was there, too, although Reginald hadn’t spoken much to him. His valet was a very quiet, proper young man, who Reginald suspected was secretly always irritated with him. It was all a bit like the bustle of London, so perpetually present that people only recognized it as being a sort of persistent noise in the back of one’s mind.
“Good afternoon, My Lady,” Reginald said.
Lady Marcella’s eyes swept over the ballroom. Was she remembering the last ball she’d attended there, the one where her own engagement had been announced to everyone in theton? It was difficult to say from her cold, impassive expression.
“I thought you might like to tour the estate,” Reginald said, trying to gather his bearings.
“For what purpose?” Lady Marcella asked. “It isn’t the Hurrow estate, which is where we’ll live together once we’re married.”
I know that all too well.
Reginald felt as if ice filled his veins, just thinking about his future marriage to Lady Marcella. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he left her at Hurrow and spent most of his time in London. That wasn’t the marriage he’d always imagined for himself, but that would certainly be preferable to having her consistently criticize him. He wondered if Lady Marcella’s neck hurt from her having her nose so high in the air all the time.
“My father lives here,” Reginald said, trying to gather the tattered scraps of his already thinning patience. “It is my hope that we shall visit often, so it might be to your benefit to familiarize yourself with the place. Of course, we might also begin considering how we will prepare our own estate once I have Hurrow.”
“And how does your cousin feel about leaving Hurrow?”
Reginald shook his head. “You need not worry. Both my aunt and dear cousin have been quite gracious in accepting their change in fortunes.”
In truth, Reginald hadn’t heard a word from Blaire or Simon since they’d all departed from London, but he assumed that they were best left alone. Even if his relatives were being so gracious at having lost the Marquisate, Reginald was sure that the change couldn’t have been easy for them.
“I see. Well, let’s get on with it, shall we?” Lady Marcella asked.
It seemed that Lady Marcella was not going to be terribly interested in Reginald’s ancestral home. He should’ve probably anticipated that, but being faced with the fact still stung as if it had been a physical blow to his pride.
“Of course,” he replied.
He really was not meant to be a gentleman. Reginald simply didn’t have the patience for it.
