“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Haven stepped from around one of the trees, hand out. “We’d both best go back reeking of tobacco if the tale we tell is to stick.”
David reached into his pocket for another cheroot and handed it to his friend. “I appreciate your intervention. Thank you.”
“You’re a bloody fool.” Haven lit a match, lighting the tip of his cheroot. “Youwanther because sheisn’tBeatrice. No one gives a fig but you, and possibly the ghost of Horace, that Andromeda’s mother was once a lady’s companion; she’sstillthe daughter of a duke.”
A familiar chill clawed at David’s chest, nearly restricting his lungs. Haven didn’t understand. He couldn’t. “Breeding is of the utmost importance.”
Haven snorted. “You sound just like him. One wonders how you tolerate Estwood. Your father certainly didn’t.”
“Breedingalwaysshows, Haven. As evidenced by the fact she was willing to roll about in the grass with me. Didn’t even think twice about it. Beatrice would never have done that.” David cringed, hearing how condescending he sounded.
Haven’s gaze on him grew ugly. “I find it says more aboutyouthan Andromeda, you pompous ass. I don’t know what Horace did to you, Gran.”
“He did nothing but raise me to be the duke I am.” The words fell smoothly from his lips, but the usual duty he felt toward Granby was absent. He’d been thinking quite a bit about his father lately, also Andromeda’s fault. Things David had long avoided, he’d been examining too closely.
“I don’t claim to know what your upbringing was like being raised by that cruel prick. Or why you seem so determined to emulate him. You were never happier than when you were in Italy.”
David tossed down the cheroot, grinding the tip beneath his boot, wishing it were Haven. “I don’t wish to make the same mistakes Horace did. There are certain rules whichmustbe followed. My mother—”
“Has nothing to do with Andromeda. If you don’t want her bastard brother in your house because it offends your sensibilities, then don’t allow him to visit. You don’t need to drink scotch with Averell or have tea with the dowager duchess. Live at The Barrow and avoid the Barringtons if you can’t stomach their eccentricity.”
“What a polite way of putting it. You act as if I’m the only one who feels that way.”
Haven shook his head in disgust.
“And even if I could overlook the aspects of Andromeda which I find unappealing, there is an expectation in regard to Beatrice. A scandal is bound to erupt.”
“Are you some fragile milquetoast who can’t weather such talk?” Haven threw down his own cheroot in disgust. “You’re an idiot. Frankly, I hope Andromeda comes to her senses. She deserves better.”
Haven marched off without another word, coat flapping as he made his way back to where the guests were milling about the carriages being readied to leave.
A slender form made its way up the incline from the opposite side of the field. Andromeda’s steps were confident as she waved at her sister who came to greet her. Miss Waterstone joined them. There was nothing in her manner which would indicate how the world had shifted dramatically beneath her feet. And his.
David slowly made his way to the carriages, in no hurry to join his guests. The longing for Andromeda pierced him the closer he came, never once abating, not even when he assisted Lady Foxwood and Beatrice into the carriage, apologizing for his absence.
Cheroots, Lady Foxwood claimed, giving both David and Haven the benefit of her unsolicited opinion, were a dreadful habit.
Andromeda, in the carriage ahead of him, shimmered in the late afternoon sun, gleaming like a rare and precious jewel. The sound of her laughter filled the air, reflecting her amusement at something Miss Waterstone relayed to her.
David had never wanted anything so badly in his life.
18
Romy sipped her tea, watching as Daisy bustled about the room, packing the trunks to be loaded on the Averell coach for their departure tomorrow morning. The only items of clothing left out were her ensemble for tonight and the traveling dress she would wear back to London tomorrow.
The ball, finally putting an end to their intolerable stay at The Barrow, was tonight. A shame Romy couldn’t find it in her heart to enjoy all of Lady Molsin’s efforts, especially since four of the guests, including herself, would be wearing creations of Romy’s own design. One of those spectacular gowns would be draped over Lady Beatrice Howard as she eagerly anticipated a proposal from the Duke of Granby.
Sticking a finger into her tea, Romy stirred the liquid about in her cup, thinking of Granby and her feelings for him, all of which were destined to remain unresolved. She refused to regret one moment of their time together. Not the kiss by the stream and certainly not yesterday as she had climaxed with him looking down upon her.
Her finger trembled, and she pulled it abruptly out of the tepid tea.
Romy didn’t blame Granby for what happened. She’d wanted him to touch her. If such a thing made her unacceptable to him, so be it.
Lady Beatrice, on the other hand, was a perfect example of English womanhood. Sheneverwould have rolled about in the grass with Granby or allowed him to stick his hands up her skirt. The very thought would make her faint.
Her maid paused in her packing. “Are you well, my lady? Its nearly time to dress.”
“I’m quite well, Daisy. Just not looking forward to the journey back to London. I detest being confined to a coach for any length of time.”
