Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception. Marguerite KayeЧитать онлайн книгу.
their way out, and Katrina wouldn’t have to pretend her heart wasn’t shattered into countless pieces as they spoke to the other guests.
As they entered the hedgerow Katrina bumped into the large form of Lord Boreham. Sarah caught her by the elbow before she tumbled to the ground.
‘Forgive me, Miss Vandenberg,’ he mumbled, looking flustered after their accident. ‘I was not aware you ladies were in here.’
Katrina rubbed the back of her neck. ‘And we were not aware you were walking this pathway. I fear we are all to blame.’
He appeared to be grasping for something to say. She had no interest in prolonging an encounter with the man and thought it best to spare him the misery.
‘Well, do enjoy your time here, my lord. The fountain is lovely.’ She curtsied and edged around him, pulling Sarah with her.
He mumbled his goodbye just after they had turned the first corner on their journey out of the maze.
* * *
Julian stepped into what he assumed was the centre of the maze and was surprised to see Lord Boreham on the opposite side of a Grecian fountain, bent over with his bottom raised to the sky.
‘You present an interesting sight, Boreham,’ Hart called out over the splashing water.
Lord Boreham jerked his body into a standing position, his face flushed bright red. In his hand he held something white. As they strolled around the fountain and stepped closer to him Julian could see that the slip of white was a delicate silk glove with a line of blue flowers trailing down its length. Where had he seen it before?
His heart flipped over when he realised why it looked familiar, and he snatched it out of Lord Boreham’s hand. ‘Where did you get this?’ he demanded.
Lord Boreham went to take it back. ‘Miss Vandenberg must have dropped it.’
Her name felt like a kick to the chest. ‘And how would you know this is Miss Vandenberg’s?’ he asked, holding the glove out of Lord Boreham’s reach.
‘Because she was just here.’ He reached for it again.
‘I shall return it to her.’ Julian knew Hart was watching him. He didn’t care. This was all he would have left of Katrina, and he was not letting anyone take it from him.
* * *
The next night when Julian arrived home from Parliament he took off his tail coat, grabbed a bottle of brandy, and entered the portrait gallery to find some reassurance from the men who had come before him. He walked from painting to painting, studying the men staring down at him, as he drank from the bottle. They were all very good at appearing to be intimidating and grand, but they did look like a miserable lot. Had any of them been happy?
If anyone had ever understood the heavy weight of being the Duke of Lyonsdale it had been these men. They had known that life entailed sacrifice. They had known that their wants and desires did not matter. Every decision they had made had been made with the consideration of how it would impact their legacy. His father had understood this.
Julian took a long drink. The brandy burned all the way down.
He knew nothing of the women these men had married. Portraits of the duchesses hung in his various estates. He had never had any interest in looking at them before. Now he wondered about the women who had spent their lives alongside these men. Had any of them had the fire and charm of Katrina?
He pulled the flimsy white glove from his waistcoat pocket and touched the raised stitching of the forget-me-nots. He laughed to himself over the irony. He would never forget her, but he wondered if she thought about him at all—even for a fleeting moment each day. Did she feel the heavy weight of their parting? Did she long to hear his voice as much as he longed to hear hers?
The glove held faint traces of her lemon scent. Some day soon he would no longer have even that small reminder of the woman who had come to mean so much to him. He raised the glove to his nose and took a deep breath—holding her scent in for as long as he could.
‘I’m surprised to find you here at such a late hour,’ his grandmother called from the doorway.
Julian shoved the glove back into its hiding place. Couldn’t a man find a bit of solitude in his own home!
‘I wasn’t aware there were restrictions upon when one might visit a room in one’s own home.’ He took another drink.
She walked slowly towards him, adjusting her shawl and glancing at the six candelabras that lined the room. ‘I don’t recall ever seeing this room lit with so many candles.’
‘The better to see my illustrious ancestors,’ he said, waving the bottle towards the portraits. ‘I didn’t think they would approve of me skulking around in the dark.’
She eyed the bottle in his hand. ‘I see. And what have you noticed about them at one in the morning that you hadn’t noticed before?’
‘The Dukes of Lyonsdale are a bloody surly lot.’
‘I can’t speak for all of them, however, your grandfather was known to smile on occasion.’ She gestured towards the bottle. ‘What are you drinking?’
‘Brandy.’ He handed her the bottle.
She took a small sip.
Had any of the other duchesses drank brandy from a bottle?
Looking at these men, he doubted it. He walked over to the portrait of his grandfather and tilted his head. ‘What was he like?’
She followed him and looked fondly upon the man she had married. ‘He was a fine, just man who cared for the people who depended on him. He enjoyed country life more than coming to Town. And he loved his family deeply.’
‘Did he love you when he married you?’ He motioned for the bottle and she handed it to him.
‘No. We came to love each other in time.’
That was what he would do. He would fall in love with Lady Mary. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
He took a long drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
‘I hear you have been here for quite some time.’
He had almost forgotten his grandmother was standing next to him. She had been unusually quiet. Perhaps she was feeling poorly.
‘I’ve been here since I returned from session.’
‘Have you eaten anything at all? I’ve noticed you seem to have little appetite of late.’
Had he eaten? He must have, although he couldn’t recall. ‘I suppose I have.’
She threaded her arm through his. ‘Why don’t we call and have something brought up to my sitting room?’
They walked towards the doorway, past the blank wooden panel that should have housed the portrait of the Fifth Duke. Julian dragged his grandmother back to stop in front of it. He cocked his head and stared at the grains in the wood.
‘He wasn’t fit to hang with the others,’ he mused out loud.
‘That is what we have been told.’
‘Why?’
‘I do not know.’
He looked down at her and squinted till her image came into view. ‘But haven’t you ever wondered?’
He took another swig from the bottle. This brandy was exceptional!
‘I’d wager it was something dreadful,’ he said. ‘Or, worse yet...scandalous! That was it, wasn’t it? He did something scandalous.’
The floor dipped. He should mention that to Reynolds in the morning. They might need to fetch a carpenter.
He looked back at the empty panel. ‘Poor cove. I’d wager he fell in love with an unsuitable woman and married