“Allow me to send for a physician, sir,” the butler beseeched.
The footman produced towels from God knew where and offered them to Sam. Sam snatched them up and pressed one around his nose. It had worked. No one was looking oddly at Richard or behaving as if anything but a stupid accident had taken place.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Sam said, his voice as nasally as a man with a cold.
“Your carriage, then, sir? Allow me to have it brought round.”
Sam shook his head. “I walked. Please, I am quite all right. A molehill, gentlemen, truly.”
“But…” The butler was aghast, his gaze going down Sam’s ruined clothes. “But you cannot walk home in such a state, sir.”
“I can hail a hackney! By God, it is not the end of the world, man.” Sam huffed. He wanted them all out. Now.
“Very good, sir.” The butler bowed, though he obviously disapproved of Sam’s refusal to be coddled. “I shall collect your hat and cloak.”
Sam nodded from behind his towel as the butler and the footman went, one of them taking the broken footstool with him. The curious gentlemen in the corridor parted like the sea and went their separate ways, for it was clear by Sam’s tone that he was in no mood to tolerate them. Later he would no doubt be forced to tolerate a round of snide comments made on his clumsiness, but that was of no concern to him now.
Richard was still standing exactly where he had been. He was looking in Sam’s direction but appeared to see nothing. When he whispered, his voiced sounded hollow. “How could he do this to me?”
The angry, vengeful thoughts that had been running through Sam’s mind vanished at the sight Richard made. He was not crying or making a scene, but Sam knew what a broken heart looked like. It was misery and betrayal, and the realization that everything he had believed was a lie.
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, not thinking. “Did he lead you to believe that—”
“Get out.” Richard’s voice shook dangerously.
Sam was no fool. He knew a man on edge when he saw one, and contrary to the old adage, misery did not always love company. He turned away and left Richard standing in the middle of the breakfast room, hoping that he would conduct himself well enough until he was out of public.
When Sam reached the foyer, he snatched his hat and cane from the footmen, who were barely able to keep themselves from gawking, while the butler assisted with his greatcoat. The coat covered most of his ruined clothes and cravat. Covering his still-dripping nose with a fresh towel, he flew down the front steps.
He would walk until he spotted a hackney to hail or reached his door, whichever came first. His pace was fast and angry, for the rage building in his gut was now twofold. He hated Henry for what he had done to him so many years ago, and he hated him for doing it again to Lord Richard. Sam was not accustomed to feeling pity for men who despised him, so now he could hate Henry for that too!
Sam reached the corner and saw a hackney approaching, its lazy pace suggesting it was free. His hand was half-raised when a soft voice spoke behind him.
“Sam? What happened to you?”
Sam spun around to see Henry, who had just been walking toward the corner from the other direction. Sam barely noted the dark circles around Henry’s eyes and the pallid dryness of his skin. But all he really saw was a callous bastard going about his morning errands without a care in the world.
“What happened to me?” Sam said viciously. “Ask your future brother-in-law. If you run now, you just might see him before he leaves White’s.”
Henry choked out a startled cry. “Richard? You saw him? He…he did this to you?”
“Oh, yes.” Sam sneered, his laugh like acid. “I had the misfortune of mentioning his sister and her engagement announcement. Of course, he only realized I wasn’t lying
after
he had planted me a facer and I threw the bloody announcement in his face. Are you proud of yourself? No, I suppose not. I don’t think you care enough to be proud or ashamed, or anything else. Did he at least entertain you for a while before you decided that he no longer suited your whims, or was even the exquisite Lord Richard not up to your exacting standards?”
Henry winced and shook his head. “You don’t understand. Sam, I never—”
“I understand completely!” Sam was close enough now that his whispers must have sounded like thunder in Henry’s ears. “I understand that you don’t care about anyone but yourself. I only wonder, do you enjoy making men love you before you throw them away, or is that merely a result you don’t think much about? Pray that Avery was at least able to pull himself together long enough to get out of the club, because he was hardly fit for speaking when I left him. Enjoy your bride,
my lord
. She will have my eternal pity.”
Sam left Henry in much the same state in which he had left Richard, paralyzed and staring. Though Sam did not believe for a moment that Henry’s morbid silence had anything to do with a broken heart. Henry Cortland did not have a heart.
HENRY’S PLAN TO take his breakfast at White’s was instantly forgotten. He turned and fled, walking as quickly as he could without launching into a full run. The numbness was gone now. The sweet numbness that had kept him breathing and smiling and talking for two days had abandoned him. In its place was an ache that threatened to reach his eyes, forcing him to use every bit of composure he had not to break down right there on the street.
When he reached home, he flew past the butler and footmen without shedding his coat and hat. He managed a gruff order over his shoulder that he was not to be disturbed for any reason. As soon as he reached his bedchamber, he bolted the door and collapsed onto the settee before the fireplace. Humiliating sobs racked him.
I’m so sorry, Richard!
Henry was disgusted with himself, and not just because he was weeping like a child; he had hopelessly convinced himself that Richard would not be terribly hurt by what he had done. In the midst of his short-lived numbness, he had told himself that while Richard’s pride would be wounded and he would be angry at being thwarted, his heart would not really play into it. He would get over it and find another man soon enough. Such lies! Even if Sam had not just informed Henry of Richard’s reaction to the engagement announcement—a scene it tormented him to imagine—he knew Richard’s heart
was
wounded. As was his.
“We will have to be sure to make love during the day.”
Make love…
Oh, yes. There was no doubt that Richard’s heart was involved. And could Henry honestly deny that his own was not breaking? He had called Richard his love. The word had slipped out just as he had neared the height of his release, and he knew it was true. Richard was Henry’s love; he did love him. All his denying talk of them not knowing each other from Adam didn’t mean anything. He knew enough, and he felt more than enough.
But it was too late now! Henry had grown terrified after Richard had started talking about their future with casual certainty, as if it was already decided. He had allowed Richard to leave him at Tattersalls with the belief that Henry would end his courtship of Lady Anne. And what had Henry done instead? He had escorted Lady Anne and her friend Miss Cayson to the concert and had heard sweet endearments and words of anticipation escape his lips as if someone else were speaking them. Lady Anne had been delighted and flattered to the point of bashfulness, until he had told her that he could not wait another day, another hour!
Culfrey had been home when Henry returned with Lady Anne and the duchess, and Henry had requested a private audience with all the false eagerness and bated breath of a seasoned actor. If Culfrey and the duchess had been put out by the late hour and breach of decorum—for what man asks a lady for her hand at half past midnight?—they showed no sign at all. Lady Anne’s reply, when Henry finally met her alone in the drawing room, had been flustered and quick, but all he remembered was that it had been a yes.
And here he was, betrothed to the sister of the man who occupied his every waking thought and half his dreams. What had he done? Dear God, what had he done!
It can’t be changed now, and I have a duty to my title to fulfill. I’ll forget Richard soon enough. It will just take time.
He wanted to bash his head in to stop the lies.
After he had cried himself to the point of exhaustion and self-disgust, he rolled to a seated position and held his throbbing head in his hands. He was not so unfair to himself as to accept everything Sam had said to him, but more than enough of it was true. He
had
hurt people for his own ends, had he not? Did it really matter if his ends, so to speak, were fear and panic? He had abandoned Sam and treated him cruelly because he had been afraid, and now he had done much the same to Richard for the exact same reason.
But was there not a third too? Was he not about to hurt Lady Anne to suit his own ends?
No. No, that would not happen. He would see to it! Most marriages in the ton were contracts of convenience anyway, and he had never told Lady Anne that he loved her or felt anything for her beyond a fondness, which was true. He would be a good husband. He would never give her any reason to believe that she did not please him, and maybe, after they had been married long enough, he would even come to love her like a close friend and helpmate. It was the right thing to do, and it was the only thing he could do. It was done now. The announcement had been placed in the papers, and a gentleman could not end an engagement. Not only was it dishonorable, it was cruel. A jilted woman always became an object of gossip and speculation, for
why
would a man feel the need to do something so rash unless there was something wrong with the lady? And so on. He could not do that to her. He could not add yet one more victim to his list.
The grand clock in the corridor chimed twice for the hour. Henry rose and went to his dressing room to throw some cold water on his face. When he entered, McLaren almost jumped out of his skin and just as nearly dropped the fine coat he was brushing.
“My lord.” McLaren bowed his head and turned his eyes back to his task, after glancing at Henry warily. It was obvious that the man knew he had been crying. Probably McLaren had heard him too. Henry swallowed his humiliation and the anger that accompanied it and went to the basin. He scrubbed his face with lye soap until his cheeks were raw.
Hearing a pregnant silence behind him, he turned as he patted his face dry with a towel. “What is it, Clary?”
McLaren cleared his throat. “Will you be preferring the blue evening coat, my lord, or some other?”
Henry frowned. “Evening coat. For what?”
McLaren shifted his eyes. “The Hoffland ball tonight. ’Tis to be your first formal engagement with the Lady Anne as your betrothed…is what you said this morning, my lord.”
Henry closed his eyes. What else had he said and forgotten while he was near out of his mind? “Yes. Right. The blue is fine. Did I by chance tell you where I was planning to eat dinner?” His lips twisted into a rueful kind of smile.
“Eh, yes. You’re to take dinner with His Grace at Avery House and then proceed to the Hoffland’s ball. As I understand it,” McLaren added meekly. He was never meek, and it added to Henry’s humiliation. What must his old retainer think of him, a master who cried like an infant and couldn’t remember his own social calendar?
“Good. I’ll be in my study until it is time to dress.”
As he headed down the stairs with his chin up, daring so much as one footman to look at him askance, he knew he had no reason to worry about having dinner at Avery House. He doubted—no, was certain that Richard would not be there.
* * * *
“You are very somber, Emily. Aren’t you happy for me?” Anne said finally, for she could not take it any longer.
Miss Emily Cayson stared into her teacup and shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Certainly, Anne. Any lady would be pleased to become a countess, I’m sure.”
This response did not please Anne at all. She had been hoping when she made her way to the Caysons’ house that morning with her maid that Emily would be as exuberant as she always was. Anne had even fortified herself for an expected onslaught of talk regarding the wedding, the reception, what clothes she would order for her bridal clothes, and every other overwhelming detail. But Emily had mentioned none of it.
“It isn’t just that, Emily. I assure you, I don’t even think of that. Lord Brenleigh is a fine man, is he not?”
“Fine, yes. Pretty as a picture. Cuts quite a dash on horseback, so I’m told. Do you enjoy the hunt? I suppose you had better learn to.” Emily sniffed and turned a biscuit over on her plate.
“Why, what on earth do you mean by that?” Anne said, her spirits sinking. “Is Lord Brenleigh quite an avid hunter?”
“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know, but that sort of thing always appeals to men of less, well, intellectual leanings.” Emily sniffed again. “I dare say you should disregard any ideas you might have about discussing poetry or any of the new literature with him. Dashing men are often so empty, you know.”
Anne was struck speechless, for she was at a loss to explain her friend’s behavior. Emily was usually the first among them to comment favorably on a handsome man riding in the park or dancing elegantly at a function. The way she was speaking now made her sound like some insufferable old bluestocking, looking down her bespectacled nose at anyone too pretty to be intelligent.
“Why, Emily, you are being quite unfair!” Anne finally managed through her distress. “It is wrong of you to say Lord Brenleigh is empty. You have hardly exchanged half a dozen words with him.”
“You are right. Whereas I have not said more than half a dozen words to Lord Brenleigh and so don’t know him at all, you must have shared at least a dozen or two words with him, which must mean you know him quite well enough.”
Well! Anne had never heard her friend speak in such a derisive tone before. She was beginning to have the uncomfortable impression that Emily was upset with her about something, even offended, yet she could not for the life of her think what it could be. Oh, how she had been hoping that Emily would be all smiles and excitement today! For, if Anne was honest with herself, she was not feeling nearly as elated as she knew she should be. Lord Brenleigh was a catch, perhaps the finest catch of the whole Season, and there were any number of other young ladies who would be turning green with envy this morning. Still, she could not help but feel out of place.