Chapter Fourteen
July 10, 1817
Drew slapped his evening gloves against his thigh as he turned this way and that in front of the cheval glass. Was the ruby pin in his cravat visible enough? Did it matter any longer? After the talk he’d had with Sarah a week ago, some of the pent-up rage had lessened, but he hadn’t told her all his secrets, all his worries. Should he keep wearing the ruby regardless?
A soft clearing of a masculine throat yanked him from his musings. Barton stood behind him. “You must leave now to arrive on time, my lord.”
“Almost ready.” He tugged on the hem of his gold brocade waistcoat. Pearl buttons set in gold winked in the candlelight. Would Sarah like it? The garment had reposed in the back of his wardrobe for a few years, but Barton had finally convinced him to take a chance on wearing the elegant color instead of his usual black or gray.
The valet handed him a worn, flat leather box. “You have done well this week from all accounts. Only two attacks. How are you feeling this evening?”
How indeed? The past week had been nothing short of… eye opening. He and Sarah had come to an understanding the night of his mental break, but she hadn’t judged him. They’d begun their introduction and relationship again, and he had taken her words to heart. Each day brought its own struggles, but he’d found if he tackled it by pieces instead of attempting to swallow it in large chunks, he was more apt to control his temper as well as his anxiety.
“I rather think the path I’m on will last.”
At least, he hoped. Where it would lead, he didn’t yet know, but he was slowly learning to enjoy each day of the journey.
“Good.” Barton grinned, and it struck Drew that his friend had done that precious little of late. “That makes me happy to hear.”
It felt… nice to know that there were more people who cared about him than despised him. “Me, too.” Though he’d been solicitous and charming, and had spent copious amounts of time with Sarah, they hadn’t returned to physical relations.
Hell, he hadn’t tried to kiss her for fear he’d muck up the easy peace he’d suddenly found. Passing the time by taking dinner together, sharing the library for hours on end, taking long walks about the estate, or meeting with tenants and hearing about problems had gone well. No longer did it feel like an impossible task to assume the responsibilities of the earl.
But only if Sarah were with him.
Sometimes in the evening she’d play her flute for him, ask his opinion on different pieces or her playing style. He lived for those moments, for that was when he could forget all that he had to be and could work at being who he needed to be. There was a certain amount of freedom in that knowledge.
The few times he met with his estate foreman or dealt with correspondence from London, he suffered attacks of the crushing anxiety. But he practiced grounding himself to the moment like she’d told him, and they actually ended instead of rendering him unconscious.
Meeting and marrying Sarah had become his lifeline.
Belatedly, he held up the leather box in the same hand with his gloves. “I should collect the countess.”
“Indeed.” Barton nodded. “When you suffered your break, she was quite concerned about you. I would even go so far as to say she refused to give up on you.”
A trace of irritation went through him, but Drew tamped the urge to give it attention. Not everything needed a reaction. That he was also beginning to learn. “As much as I’d like to say she needn’t worry, I’m not certain what would have happened to me if she hadn’t come that night.” He’d been at the end of his patience, and if there had been something in that rose arbor that could have assisted in killing him, no doubt he would have utilized it.
Perhaps he was growing as a person now, thanks to her.
The valet met his gaze with a knowing light in his eye. “I think wedding her is providing you with more than fulfilling an obligation to the title. As it should, my lord.”
Heat crept up the back of his neck. He ignored that too. “I’m coming to enjoy our friendship. It’s rather pleasant to have someone who is determined to save me from myself.”
Barton snorted. “If you continue to act the charming earl, she might be convinced to love you.”
“Such gammon.” He rolled his eyes. “That was never part of the contract.”
“Life happens despite our best laid plans, my lord.” The valet’s eyes twinkled.
“Never say you’re playing matchmaker.” When his friend didn’t answer, Drew grinned with genuine humor. How long had it been since he’d felt free enough to do that? “I should turn you out.”
“Ah, but then I’d still come ‘round, for we’ve been friends too long now, and I do wish to see how the story ends.”
He’d met Barton ten years prior as a man of thirty during a game of faro, no less. Drew had the winning hand, was poised to take all a young lord’s vowels, which would have reduced the boy to nothing with pockets to let. But Drew had suffered his first bout of anxiety by worrying about the lad’s future after the ill-advised game. Before he could make a fool of himself in front of important members of the ton, Barton had sailed in, bought the vowels, and then challenged Drew to another game, thereby saving Andrew from public humiliation.
After that, they’d struck a fast friendship. Since Barton was the sixth child of a viscount and had no inclination to go into the church, when Drew offered him the position of valet, it was accepted with alacrity.
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth from the remembrance. “Bastard. Will you always act as my moral compass then?”