“You say that you behaved poorly?”
Sighing, Marcus nodded.
“It is not something which I enjoy admitting to, but I was so angry, I made it quite clear that I did not believe him. I wanted him to prove, right then and there, that he was telling the truth, and thus demanded that he answer a question about the most recent bouquet… but Lady Almeria would not have it.” Recalling her flashing eyes and the clear embarrassment in her warm cheeks, he winced. “She stated that no other gentleman had come forward as yet and, given that she had been waiting for some two days, therefore she did not require my aid in this matter.”
“And had you thought to tell her yourself?”
“Except now that Lord Penforth has spoken first, I believe that Lady Almeria is convinced that he is the one who has sent her those flowers.”
Lord Trevelyan scowled.
“Then you must continue to send them.” Speaking quickly, Lord Trevelyan rose from his chair. “You must continue to send her flowers, as you have done before, without any note or any explanation as to whom they are from.”
Not understanding this, Marcus frowned and watched his friend drop back into his chair.
“What would be the purpose of that?”
His friend spread out both hands, his brandy slopping from one side of his glass to the other.
“Because then she will wonder where they are coming from, if not from Lord Penforth.”
Marcus’ shoulders slumped.
“But would he not continue to do the same?” he suggested. “Might not Lord Penforth continue to tell her thatheis the one sending these flowers, doing so simply to continue in the same fashion as he had done to deepen their connection?”
“He might do,” Lord Trevelyan agreed. “Or his excuses and his explanations might wear thin, and Lady Almeria might find herself doubting his truthfulness. Would that not be a satisfactory outcome?”
Considering this for a few moments, Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh.
“But it is a path also fraught with difficulties. She might very well end up believing Lord Penforth, regardless.”
Lord Trevelyan shook his head.
“Try as I might, I cannot believe that.” He tilted his head. “You know Lady Almeria very well indeed. Why not use what you know of her to your advantage?” He sat a little further forward in his chair and pinned Marcus with a look. “From my perspective, you have two choices. Either you tell Lady Almeria the truth – that you are the one who sent her the bouquets, and that Lord Penforth is lying – and she will thereafter decide for herself how she is to respond. Or you do not… and risk Lord Penforth capturing her heart.”
“But by telling her I might ruin our friendship entirely. She might be angry with me for never previously telling her the truth, for continuing with our simple friendship, when I felt something more.”
Lord Trevelyan shrugged.
“An unfortunate consequence, perhaps, but yes. On the other hand, if you remain entirely silent and hope that she finds out the truth about Lord Penforth herself – or with aid from you, albeit without her knowledge, there is a great risk.... if she does discover that truth herself, then you have your opportunity, but if she does not….”
The weight of his unfinished sentence landed squarely on Marcus’ shoulders. He nodded, rubbing one hand over his eyes.
“This is all my own doing,” he muttered, growing angry with himself for his lack of haste. “I have lacked the courage required to be honest with her about my feelings, and now look where I am. I am worse off than I was before. At least, before this, I still had hope.”
“You still do,” his friend responded quickly. “But you must act with all speed.”
Marcus shook his head.
“Lady Almeria wants to marry for love.” Grimacing, he looked away. “Of course, I would be willing to confess how ardently I love her, but I believe that she wants to love the gentleman in return. If she falls in love with Lord Penforth, then I must accept it. After all, she and I have known each other for long enough for her to have examined her heart. If there are no feelings at present, then perhaps, there will never be.” He and Lord Trevelyan fell into silence and Marcus’ shoulders slumped. There was no easy answer, no promise of a secure outcome, no matter what he did or said. With another long breath, he sat back in his chair and swirled his brandy around the glass. “Do you know what is truly terrible in all of this? What is the heaviest burden to bear?” he asked, staring at his brandy rather than at his friend. “It is the acknowledgment that this is all my own fault.”
* * *
“Penforth.”
Whether or not it was a good idea to speak to Lord Penforth directly, Marcus could not say for certain. However, his anger had pushed him to act, and regardless, he had every intention of speaking directly to Lord Penforth about what he had done.
“Good evening, old chap.”
