Chapter Nine
June 22, 1817
Drew spent the past two days preparing to welcome a countess to Hadleigh Hall. In his mind it felt a touch odd, for his mother had held that spot for all the years that he’d been alive, but it was time to usher in a new era—his reign as the earl. For the first time he didn’t mind the need to make decisions regarding the household, for it meant Sarah would soon join him.
His for a lifetime, if only in a marriage of convenience of sorts.
Yet every minute he spent in her company revealed another facet to her personality. Yesterday when she’d played the flute for him, he’d been handed a huge surprise: the music had brought him a sense of calm. The longer she’d played, the lighter he’d felt. It was extraordinary, and he needed to explore it further.
And he would in mere days.
So he’d charged the housekeeper with creating a suite for a countess at the opposite end of the hall from his rooms. It had always been there, but his mother had never made use of it. In fact, the apartment was rarely used unless high born visitors came to the Hall. The collection of rooms contained a bedchamber, a sitting room, and a dressing lounge—the floorplan a mirror of his, but he’d personally chose the colors for the décor. The ivory and ivy-stamped striped wallpaper would remain, for it was whimsical and peaceful, so it had been only logical to fit the rooms out with shades of green.
Drew nodded at the handiwork completed so far. He hoped Sarah would enjoy the color scheme, for when they’d gone to the village yesterday and she’d selected a gown for the ceremony, she’d gravitated to one of emerald silk. The suite would give her somewhere to go when—if—she tired of his company or couldn’t stomach his flaws.
Perhaps that was inevitable.
By increments, his chest tightened with familiar anxiety as he inspected the quilted brocade counterpane in swirls of green paisley shot with gold thread. How the devil did he think the upcoming union would work if he couldn’t pass a day without falling victim to this horrible, weighted feeling that stole his breath and wished to see him dead? To say nothing of the anger that robbed him of the ability to think clearly.
I must try, for he suspected marrying Sarah was his last chance for salvation. If she gave up on him, he’d lose himself to emotions he couldn’t control.
With a final nod, he left the countess’ suite. Perhaps this gesture of goodwill would inspire her to make the best from the situation so she might accept him, befriend him, and enjoy his company.
For his own sake.
When he exited her rooms, he strode down the hall and made a quick stop in his chambers. “Barton, I don’t think this cravat particularly works today.” He must look his best, for he planned to surprise Sarah today. It was Sunday, her one day off from her post, and he wished to reassure himself that she wouldn’t back out of their betrothal.
The valet came out of the dressing room with a pristine length of cotton in one hand. “What the devil is wrong with it? I tied it according to your preference.”
“I’m not certain. Perhaps we should try again, this time with a more understated knot?” He glanced into the cheval mirror and frowned. “The stickpin isn’t that visible with this one.”
“I see.” Barton closed the distance. In a thrice he’d removed the ruby pin, the collar, as well as the cravat and replaced the length of fabric. This time he created a more elegant knot that wasn’t as fussy as the first. Once a new collar had been put into place, the stickpin was reinserted. “Remember, my lord, practicing charm can only help your cause.” He arranged the folds of the cravat so the ruby winked better from its folds.
“You assume I’m surly by nature?” Perhaps he was—now. This life had been thrust upon him without waiting to see if he’d been ready.
The valet snorted. “You’ve grown complacent with the status quo because it’s easier even if it’s killing you.” Barton handed him his gloves and top hat. “However, you can change.”
“I’m rather old to start over, don’t you think?” he asked through the squeezing of his chest. What would it even feel like to be free of everything that brought him concern?
“I think you might attempt it for your bride’s sake.” Barton winked. “No doubt she’ll appreciate the effort and might be dazzled by your winning personality.”
“Ha!” Drew scoffed. “Sarah is too practical for dazzlement. Besides, she’d see right through me if I tried such gammon on her.” Drew tugged on his gloves as he strode to the door. “Regardless, I’ll strive to keep my temper in check.” He set his hat upon his head, but when his fingers touched the door latch, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Why are you so interested in my wooing Miss Copeland?”
The valet shrugged. “I want to see you happy, my lord. You haven’t been that for many years. Don’t you think it’s time you let go of old resentments and walk into your future without regret?”
“No, I haven’t been happy, have I?” Those emotions crawled up to tighten his throat. “I can’t blame that on taking the title, can I?”
“You cannot. And I’m…” Barton’s words trailed away as concern clouded his eyes.
“Yes?” Drew cocked an eyebrow.
“I’m worried about you.” The valet straightened his spine. “Those attacks of yours are growing worse and coming closer together.”
“They are.” His hand on the door hand shook. “I don’t know how to stop them.” Only when Sarah played her flute did he feel halfway normal, as if he weren’t going to break apart with one more responsibility. When she’d sat with him on that boulder and held his hand in silence, he’d had a glimpse of what life could be… if only he wasn’t a growling beast most of the time.
A ghost of a smile spread over Barton’s face. “Then, go be charming when you see Miss Coleman. Perhaps every answer you seek starts with her.”
“Perhaps.” Drew fled before another attack could take hold, but he was more confused now than before.