Chapter Fifteen
July 19, 1818
Royce rubbed a hand along the side of his face as he prowled through the empty townhouse that had once belonged to his father. Though filled with furniture, décor, and other trappings of wealth in accordance with an earl, there was no life there, no gaiety, nothing to look forward to or bring him comfort.
Twilight had given way to a lovely, clear evening, and as he allowed his valet to put the final touches on his toilette, he finally allowed the thoughts he’d denied to bubble to the surface of his mind. “I’m a damned fool, Vincent.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, Your Lordship,” the valet responded. He was a man of indeterminate age and had followed Royce over to the new townhouse.
Years ago, he’d been a patient at the clinic, a former solider, and when he’d healed, he’d found employment as a valet in a Mayfair household. But when that baron had died, Vincent was once more in need of a position. Royce snatched him up, and they’d been fast friends ever since.
“Well, I am.” He drew on a pair of fine kid gloves as he crossed the room. Isobel had sent a note ’round asking him to meet her at the Duke of Sussex’s annual summer ball. Even though she was in mourning as well as he, she’d said she needed stimulation and to remind herself that there was still life and happiness in the world. And, nodcock that he was, he’d agreed to the scheme, for he’d wanted one last night in her company. “I fear I’m about to make a rather large mistake.”
Not only did he wish to see her again, but he intended to break off their affair. He couldn’t continue to take the risk and put his new title in the offing for the gossips.
“If you already know it’s a mistake, then logic would tell you not to make it in the first place.” One of the valet’s black eyebrows rose in question. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Heat crept up the back of his neck. “There are so many reasons I have to do this.” The last of which was that if he didn’t put a stop to his relationship with Isobel, he’d find himself too far gone over her and then where would he be? In a proper mess, that’s where. His father had been above reproach as the Earl of Worchester. How could he—Royce—be any less?
“Yet, does the one reason not to supersede all the rest? When he didn’t answer, Vincent moved across the room, his limp impeding his speed only slightly. “May I make the assumption that your current mental muddle centers around a woman?”
“You may.” Was he that easy to read, then, or did everyone think that when a man’s mind was in conflict, there was always a woman at the center?
“Perhaps you should sort your feelings for said woman away from your feelings regarding whatever might be keeping you back from making the correct decision.”
“That’s exactly the problem, Vincent. One decision will cause scandal and disgrace, and that same decision might bring with it the possibility of being happy for the remainder of my days if I could convince the lady in question to do it up properly.” And that was a huge complication on its own, for Isobel had stated more than one time that she’d never marry a man with a title. “While the other decision will protect the man I’ve had no choice to become, it will cause grief and anger for all parties.”
For long moments, the valet regarded him with speculation in his eyes. “And there is no hope of being happy or content if you might blend both choices?”
“I can’t see one at the moment, for the lady in question is quite adamant that she wants nothing to do with men high on the instep.”
“That is a rather big obstruction.”
“Yes, and a month ago, it was never there. Life was simple.” When he would have shoved a hand through his hair, the narrowed eyes of his valet kept his hand still. “I’m an earl, Vincent. That’s what society will know me as now instead of a doctor.” His chest tightened, for he couldn’t give up his chosen profession, but how to keep both? “The title demands respect and an adherence to the ton’s rules, no matter how strict or ridiculous, correct?”
Dear God, I miss you, Father. Would that you are here to give me counsel.Though his father had often and early trained him to take up the reins of the title in his stead when it was Royce’s turn, he’d made certain his children also had other interests in the world that didn’t revolve around position. Yes, it had been one of his father’s fondest wishes that his children marry well and find matches suitable to their stations, he hadn’t been so overbearing that he couldn’t compromise. Didn’t he eventually come around and see that Jane’s choice of marrying Finn was the best one for her?
Vincent snorted. “Those rules aren’t likely to grow lax any time soon.”
“No, I suppose they won’t.” In the back of his mind, he heard his father grousing about the number of men and women within the beau monde who had no respect for decorum or social standing, for the very traditions the whole of society had been built upon. “Father always told me to marry someone worthy of the title. I’m honor bound to find a lady who is above reproach, who won’t continually set tongues wagging from her improper behavior.”
“While I’m sure that is so, I wonder if your mother would have agreed. From snatches of stories I’ve heard, the countess had a mischievous streak.”
Royce nodded. “At times, I suppose, and she did chafe against the conventions upon occasion, yet she was everything proper.”
The valet chuckled. “I’ll wager my back teeth that wasn’t the reason your father married her.” He handed Royce a top hat. “Of course, there are loads of proper women throughout society. A man can’t throw a teacup without hitting one, but that doesn’t mean any of them provoke excitement or a zest for life. And isn’t that what a man truly wants when he takes one to wife? Otherwise, your existence would be quite long and dull.”
“Hmm.” Was that the reason his father delighted in stirring up trouble on the floor of the House of Lords, because there was no excitement in his marriage? That certainly put a different perspective on things. “That only adds to my confusion.”
“Then think harder, Your Lordship.”
An annoying ache had set up around his heart. Inconvenient to be sure, and perhaps it signified nothing. Royce shrugged. “I’m wondering if my first assessment was even correct. Perhaps I’m not in danger of falling in love with the lady. Indeed, it could quite possibly be that I became enamored with the idea of being with her throughout the course of our affair.” The more he thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea. “Attraction and desire are often mistaken for love, so when I end this relationship, there should be no feelings of ill-will. We’ve enjoyed each other quite splendidly, but deep down we both knew this wasn’t a lasting commitment.”
Devil take it, man, you’re doing nothing except fooling yourself.
Both of Vincent’s eyebrows soared into his hairline. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself to gather courage, then by all means run with it. However, might I remind you that men are very often wrong in these situations? Denial will gain you nothing, and heartbreak will meet you all the same.”
“I can’t think about that now.” He’d have this one last night with Isobel and then turn her loose. Because she’d never wished for marriage, she should understand the reasons for the termination of the affair. Yet, did he? With a sigh that seemed to come from his toes, Royce wrenched open the door to the dressing room. “I’ve tarried here long enough. Perhaps the right decision will come to me in the carriage ride over.”