Chapter Eighteen

At the rate he was going, Michael was certain he would have to replace the rug soon. His feet were soon to wear a hole into it since he could not stop pacing back and forth. His hair stood on end from constantly raking his fingers through it. He had drunk half a new bottle of whiskey in the half hour he’d spent pacing in his study. And he was no closer to settling his erratic thoughts.

“Perhaps we should leave him alone.”

Michael didn’t glance over at Clarissa at the suggestion. He wasn’t even sure why she—or his aunt and uncle for that matter —were there. Due to his slip, the ball had ended early and they’d found him in here, yet said nothing. They only watched in silence as he drove himself insane.

“Michael,” Beatrice spoke at last. “Why don’t you have a seat so that we may discuss this?”

“There is nothing to discuss,” he said, a bit harsher than he had intended.

“On the contrary,” Henry spoke up. “I think there is a lot to discuss. Your aunt had to end the ball early because of your actions.”

“No one asked her to do that.”

“You did not give her much of a choice,” Henry spoke calmly, though there was no denying his frustration with the matter. “How do you expect us to continue when all anyone will be able to talk about is the fact that you were fondling an unmarried lady out on the terrace? Goodness, it was almost as if you wanted to get caught.”

“I’m sure he did not mean for that to happen,” Clarissa chimed in, her worry evident in her voice.

“Of course, I did not mean for that to happen!” Michael snapped. Needing to chase away the ugly feelings creeping over him, he made for the whiskey again.

“I think you have had enough, Michael,” Beatrice said gently.

“I decide when I have had enough.”

“Michael!”

He downed the glass in one go, then set the glass down with such force, it was a wonder it didn’t shatter. “I do not need your judgment right now, Aunt Beatrice. I am well aware of my wrongdoings tonight.”

“Oh, I know you are aware,” Beatrice shot back. This was more like her. Michael didn’t know her to be so gentle when angry. Shouting was far more normal for her to do. “Your pacing a hole in the floor and getting drunk in less than an hour clearly indicates your awareness of the matter. What I am not certain of is whether you understand what you need to do to fix it.”

“I do not wish to hear it.”

“I am going to say it all the same.” Beatrice advanced on him. “You must ask Lady Elaine for her hand in marriage.”

Michael gritted his teeth, hands opening and closing at his side.

“You have no choice in the matter, Michael,” Beatrice went on. “You must either marry her or risk the Viscount of Abney challenging you to a duel.”

“And what is so wrong with that?” he grumbled.

“What is so wrong with—” Beatrice broke off in disbelief. “You may die! That is what’s wrong!”

“Michael,” Clarissa chimed in, her voice soft. “Are you so opposed to the idea of marrying Lady Elaine? You two have grown to be friends, have you not?”

It was more than that. Far more than he cared to admit. Far more than he thought himself capable of. The idea of marrying her did not come with enough abhorrence as it should have and that scared the living daylights out of him.

“What about your plan?” Henry spoke up. “This would be a perfect opportunity for you to get what you want.”

“What plan?” Beatrice asked.

No one answered her. She looked around at them all and then threw her hands up in frustration. “If no one intends on telling me anything then I may as well take my leave since clearly I am not needed.”

“Aunt Beatrice—” Clarissa began but Beatrice stormed out of the parlour before anyone could stop her.

A heavy silence hung in her wake. Michael began to pace again. He couldn’t help himself. When he thought of Elaine’s big, green eyes staring up at him with such love and innocence, when he remembered the way her lips felt against his and how perfect the world had become at that moment, he hated himself.

Henry broke the silence first. “What do you intend on doing, Michael?”

“You heard Aunt Beatrice,” Michael snapped. “I have no choice, do I?”

“You do not seem very happy about it.”

“Oh, no, this is perfect . My initial intention was to get closer to her in order to tear her family down, was it not? If she becomes my wife, that is as close as I will ever be able to get. I will be able to infiltrate her family and use the information I have to rid of what little prestige and pride they have left.” Michael didn’t realise he had made for the bottle of whiskey until it was at his lips. “My plan is going swimmingly, in fact.”

No one spoke for a long moment. Michael brought the bottle with him to the window, staring out into the blackness.

At last, Clarissa said, “I hope you do not truly believe that, Michael. Elaine loves you. That much is obvious. And after seeing you two tonight, I thought you loved her too.”

“You thought wrong.”

“That is apparent.”

Michael listened to their departure. He waited until the door closed, until the silence closed in on him, to truly let go. He did not cry. He did not shout or throw the bottle of whiskey across the room as he longed to. He simply let the guilt consume him, until he was nothing but a husk of his former self, until he had diminished all his self-worth and had questioned everything he’d done since returning to London.

By the end of it, his mind was made up, but his heart was still torn.

***

Elaine drew in a deep breath, letting it out past her lips. She patted her cheeks and prayed that the rose water she’d washed her face with had helped in lessening the redness of her complexion, due largely to the fact that she’d spent all night—and most of the morning—crying her eyes out. She’d styled her hair, put on one of her nicest dresses, and dabbed a bit of perfume behind her ears and on her collarbone. All because, one hour ago, Lorna had come to tell her that the Duke of Ryewood was here to see her.

Elaine had prayed for this. Then she’d hated herself for praying, hated the hope she still harboured despite the fact that she knew what would happen. But now that he was here, she couldn’t stop that hope from blooming again.

She brushed her sweaty palms against the front of her dress and steeled herself before opening the door. Her eyes immediately fell on Michael. He stood upon her entrance, a troubled expression written across his face. She didn’t know what to make of it so she turned her attention to the others in the room.

James sat across from Michael, his overwhelming anger still taking over everything in the room. Next to him was Lorna, who seemed to be the only one bringing warm hope to the tense atmosphere. She smiled, reaching a hand out to Elaine and Elaine was happy to go to her side.

Elaine couldn’t meet Michael’s eyes. She took the spot next to Lorna, eyes remaining on the floor.

“Will Lord Suthenshire be joining us?” Michael asked, breaking the silence.

“He is resting,” Lorna told him. “He is in no position to partake in this conversation.”

“I will simply have to do,” James said, the threat in his voice evident.

Elaine’s heart skipped a beat. That hope began to dwindle and the hostility between the two men didn’t help.

“Why have you requested to see us, Your Grace?” Lorna asked.

For a long, tense moment, there was silence. And then, “I have come to make things right.”

“To make things right?” James scoffed. He shot to his feet. “We shall make things right at this very moment. Fetch your pistol and meet me at Putney Heath so that you shall understand the error of your ways.”

“I do not want to duel with you,” Michael stated in a firm voice. “That was not my intention.”

“No, your intention was to compromise my cousin and ruin any of her future prospects!”

“James,” Elaine cut in. “I am as much at fault as anyone—”

“Hush now, my darling,” Lorna chimed in. “Let the men have their row so that they may get it out of the way and begin to think logically.”

“I am thinking logically, Mother,” James snapped, though he hadn’t taken his glare off Michael for a moment. “And the only logical thing for me to do is to make sure His Grace understands the error of his ways.”

Slowly, Michael stood. Despite her best efforts, Elaine could not keep her eyes off him for long. He was imposing, calm, furious, yet completely in control. It was as mesmerising as it was terrifying.

“I am well aware of my faults, Lord Abney,” he said slowly. “And that is why I have come to ask for Lady Elaine’s hand in marriage.”

The world spun around her. Elaine eye’s immediately filled with tears. She’d been hoping to hear those words for so long but now that she had, she couldn’t help but feel nothing but sadness.

He was not doing it because he loved her, after all. He did it because he made a bad decision and was trying to make up for it. She should be happy. Even if he did not love her, this was what she wanted. Marriage to a wealthy gentleman so that she could help her family escape destitution. In the end, she was achieving exactly what she’d hoped for. And yet…

James crossed his arms. Elaine half expected him to turn the proposal down, simply because he wanted to work out his rage, but then he said, “That is the smartest thing you have said since you’ve walked in this room, Your Grace.”

“I do pride myself on my intellect,” Michael said wryly.

Elaine stood, blinking her tears away. She braced herself for a moment and then she turned to face Michael. “Would you like to go for a walk in the garden?”

Michael searched her face. She tried to wipe it clean of any sadness but didn’t know how well she fared. Slowly, he nodded. “I would love to.”

Lorna stood as well. “I shall—”

“Alone,” Elaine pressed gently. “If we are to be married, I’m sure it will not be such an issue. Especially since we have shocked the Ton enough already.”

Lorna must have heard the underlying despair in Elaine’s voice because her expression softened. She touched Elaine softly on the arm as she nodded. “You’re right. And James does not mind either.”

“You do not speak for me, Mother,” James grumbled.

“In this instance, I do. Go on, my darling.”

Elaine nodded. She ignored the arm Michael began to offer her and turned towards the exit. But she listened as he fell in step behind her. She pulled her shoulders back, reminding herself that she needed to be strong. If not for her, then for her father, for her brother, and for the future of her family.

They said nothing to each other as they made it out to the gardens. Elaine didn’t know how to broach the topic. She could cry about her situation later. For now, she had to bear her responsibility like she always did.

“I wish to ask a favour of you, Michael,” she said at last.

“Anything.”

Another piece of her heart splintered off at that. He wasn’t making this any easier on her. Somehow, she managed to keep herself together.

“My father,” she began. “You know the fragile state he is in. You have seen it for yourself.”

“I have.”

“I do not wish to add any additional strain on him. As such, I would be much obliged if we were to keep the circumstances of our betrothal a secret.”

He was quiet for a moment. Long enough for her to look up at him with a frown. But he was staring dead ahead, a troubled frown on his face.

What reason did he have to be troubled? Was he so perturbed by the thought of them joining families that he could not stand the thought of their future marriage?

Elaine gritted her teeth, chastising herself for having such thoughts in the first place. She had to come to terms with her position soon before it ate her alive.

“Michael?” she broached again when he did not respond in time. “Will you not honour my request?”

“I shall.” He came to a halt. “But I believe the time for you to give your father an explanation will come sooner rather than later.”

“What do you mean?” she inquired, looking up at him. He didn’t look back at her, thinning his lips, eyes trained over her head. With a frown, Elaine turned and her heart skipped a beat.

Her father stood on the balcony of his bedchamber, his frail hands gripping the railings. Despite the distance, Elaine could see his expression very clearly, one that tore her to pieces. He looked horrified. She could only imagine what he must be seeing on her face.

Elaine turned back to face Michael, her heart skipping a beat once more when she saw that he was already staring at her. The intensity of his eyes made her falter, made her forget what she intended to say. She looked away, shaking her head as if that would be enough to shake off the effects of his heavy eyes.

“I know this is not what you intended for your future, Michael,” she said, eyes boring into the white stones beneath their feet. “But I thank you all the same. Had you not made this decision, my future would have been ruined.”

“Had I not lost control last night, it would have remained intact.”

She didn’t try to decipher his tone, didn’t dare look up. Her heart could not handle it.

“I thank you all the same.” She managed a curtsy. “Good day, Your Grace.”

“Elaine—” He caught her wrist before she could leave. She made the mistake of looking up at him. But he said nothing, looking tortured.

With a soft sigh, Elaine pulled her wrist free and walked away, hating herself for how much she wished he could come after her.

***

The last thing Michael wanted to do was walk away. And because of that, he’d forced himself. He’d watched Elaine leave him behind and he’d quelled the overwhelming urge to run after her and beg for her forgiveness.

Beg? He had no reason to beg. He was doing this for his family, to finally lay to rest the false judgment that had been placed on his father and the dukedom. It didn’t matter that a silly lady got hurt in the process. It shouldn’t.

And yet, as he stared into the empty brandy decanter, he couldn’t help but feel the complete opposite.

“At this rate, you will drink us dry, Michael.” Henry sank into the armchair across from him, crossing his legs. Michael ignored him.

The only reason he had come to his uncle’s residence to wallow in his recent decisions and not his own was simply because Henry had called him over. Otherwise, Michael would have been locked up in his office, drapes drawn, drinking his own sideboard dry.

Henry cleared his throat, adjusting himself in the armchair. “Were you coming from Suthenshire House?”

“I was.”

“And I assume it went badly, judging from the dour look on your face.”

Michael shook his head. The slight movement showed him just how inebriated he had become in the short amount of time. Perhaps drinking his sorrows away was not the right decision after all.

“They accepted the proposal,” he told his uncle. “They really had no choice in the matter.”

“And yet, that is not what you wanted to do?” Henry probed.

Michael did not know how to answer that question, so he chose not to. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

“Because of this.” Henry held out a folded piece of paper.

Michael frowned as he took it. He unfolded the paper, realising that it was a letter from some Lord Blainey to Henry. “What is this?” he asked, skimming through the first few lines. It only spoke about plans to meet with each other for the Epsom Derby.

“It is a letter from a friend of mine, Lord Blainey,” Henry explained. “When you came by the other day to tell me about your recent revelations from your source, you mentioned The O. And it struck me as familiar, though I couldn’t fathom why. As it happened, that thought bothered me for quite some time after you left. So, I decided to go through my letters to see if anyone might have made mention of The O in one of them.”

“You keep all your letters?” Michael asked incredulously. “This is dated five years ago.”

“Deem me sentimental,” Henry said with a shrug. “It is a good thing that I do because, if you continue to read, you will see that Lord Blainey refers to The O.”

Michael did so and, just as Henry said, Lord Blainey made mention of The O near the end of the letter. It was done with much enmity, mocking the moniker. “But it does not say who The O is.”

“No, it does not,” Henry agreed. “Nor did it need to. You see, Lord Blainey is a good man. A likeable and passive man who did not have any enemies. There was only one gentleman in London Lord Blainey did not like and that was…”

Henry trailed off, raising a brow. Michael held back his groan of frustration.

“That was whom?” Michael pressed impatiently.

“The Marquess of Grovington,” Henry revealed at last.

Realization dawned instantly. “Oliver Hargrove.”

“The O,” Henry confirmed. “Of course, this is speculation. And Lord Blainey, rest his soul, is not able to tell us if there is any truth in our presumption. But I thought it was important enough for you to know, given the facts you have already revealed yourself.”

It was important. In fact, it made more sense than anything else Michael had thought of. Lord Grovington had benefitted greatly from his father’s conviction, but Michael had always thought it was a coincidence. If the most influential man in the House of Lords took an embarrassing fall from grace, then it only made sense for the second most influential man to take his spot, wouldn’t it? It didn’t mean the marquess had anything to do with it. He had no connection to the matter at all. During Michael’s four years of investigation, the marquess’ name had not come up once.

Not until now.

“This is a heavy accusation,” he said at last, staring at the letter.

“It is. And it has no evidence to stand on. I only offered it to you because I thought it might help.”

“It does. I had hit a wall but this may be exactly what I needed to point me to the truth.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

Michael gave his uncle a dubious look. “I thought you were against all of this.”

“I was against your plan of revenge and your involvement of an innocent lady,” Henry stated calmly. “But I wish for the truth to come to light as much as you do. Not to mention the fact that nothing I do or say will deter you from your path of vengeance, so I may as well help keep you off the wrong path.”

“I was on the wrong path from the moment I met her.”

“Pardon me?”

“It is nothing.” He stood, carefully tucking the letter into his waistcoat. “Thank you, Uncle Henry. This truly helps.”

Henry stood with him, putting a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “No matter what happens, Michael, your aunt and I stand with you.”

Again, he didn’t know what to say. For a moment, he nearly let his inner thoughts slip, nearly told Henry the mental turmoil that had been plaguing him for days now. But he held his tongue just in time and simply nodded.

As his carriage made its way to his house, Michael read over the letter again and again, until he’d almost committed its contents to memory. It served as a decent distraction for a while. Even as he locked himself in this office and began pouring over his evidence to see if he might have missed something, Michael did not think about Elaine once. For a few hours, he felt like himself again, like he was still being driven by a purpose.

But she was never far from his mind. She lingered there, waiting for him to slip. And as soon as he did, nothing else mattered.