Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Dorian’s emotions were in turmoil. He knew he should not pursue Lenora. After all, he was betrothed to Emma and had been all his life. But he and Lenora had been friends for as long as he could remember.

He had tried so hard to be good and to stay away from her, but it had been so difficult. He would think of something and want to share it. Or he would go out riding and recall how much Lenora enjoyed a daybreak gallop on her favourite horse.

Emma did not care for horses, preferring to ride in an enclosed carriage. Emma liked to sleep until the day was warm and bright, then take tea in the dining room. Emma did everything that was right and proper for a young lady to do. She had stitched an embroidery sampler with no fewer than fifty different stitches. She sang on key. Her watercolour paintings were delicate and refined. But none of these things replaced the way Lenora . . . what? The way she made him happy? Or the way she irritated him, riled him up, and made him think.

Should he tell her? Should he break off the engagement with Emma? He strode towards the library doors, trying to separate what he should do from what he wanted to do.

As he opened the library door, he saw Lord Whitchurch bending over Lenora, kissing her. This was what she wanted, what he had helped her to do … but he felt as if someone had hit him in the stomach with a sledgehammer. He had no right to be jealous, but rage swept over him.

August Temple and Charles Hooper came up behind him, unlit cigars in their hands just as Reuben straightened. Dorian’s heart sank within him. Any hope he’d had of pleading his case with Lenora was over. Done. If he tried, he would make her seem to be a lady of loose morals, playing the field and perhaps getting herself into trouble.

“Are you all right, Lenora?” he asked, noting that she looked pale, except for a hectic flush on her cheeks.

“I am fine,” Lenora said, standing up and putting aside the book. “I just stopped to rest a moment, and Reuben, that is, Lord Whitchurch, was thanking me for the care he received after his difficulty in the park.”

“Then I will leave you,” Dorian said, turning around, brushing past the other two gentlemen, and hurrying away.

Not quite running, Dorian hastened down the hall and out the front door. The footman standing beneath the overhang at the door hastened to shelter him with an umbrella.

“Never mind that,” Dorian said. “Have my carriage brought around.”

“At once, m’lord,” the footman said, handing Dorian the umbrella before sprinting away into the downpour.

Dorian was surprised when Lenora ran out the door and hastened to him. “Dorian! Dorian, please wait, and let me explain,” she called to him.

He turned to her, as she splashed up to him, rain plastering tendrils of hair to her face. Without thinking, he shifted the umbrella, so it was mostly over Lenora. “What are you doing? You will be soaked!” he admonished her.

“I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t know Reuben would be in the library. He didn’t ask me, he just kissed.”

“Lenora, isn’t this what you wanted? Dear friend, I just want you to be happy. If you are happy, then I will be happy, too.”

Lenora’s cheeks were wet. Dorian realized that it was not with rain but with tears.

“Tell me how you really feel,” she pleaded. “I need to know.”

“Oh, Lenora,” Dorian felt as if his heart was crumbling in his chest. “You know I love you, and I always will. But you know it won’t do. We’ll be at each other’s throats fifty times a day. You also know that I won’t be able to travel with you. I’m bound to the hospital and taking care of its needs. And I need a hostess who can manage board meetings and all that goes with them.”

“Dorian, please . . .”

Dorian did not give her a chance to say more. “Lenora, now that your brother has seen Reuben kiss you, he will insist on an engagement. For him to do otherwise is to expose you to a scandal. Really, letting you stand here and talk to me in the rain is to invite censure. Lenora, dearest friend,” he emphasized the word friend, “I would not for the world give the gossips more to talk about than they have already gleaned from the last few days.”

“Oh, bother the gossips!” Lenora said, turning her face from him for a moment.

“Lenora,” Dorian asked, “I want you to be happy, too. Is Reuben truly what you want? He can give you all those things that I cannot.”

Lenora looked away from him, then looked back. “Dorian, are you truly living the life you want? Are you happy? Why were you so angry with Mr Hooper earlier? I saw the look you gave him.”

Dorian sighed and looked away from her. He could see the footman walking back towards him, walking beside his team. “Charlie invited me to go to London with him to oversee the music for his new play. But I cannot just go running off.”

“Really? It seems to me that your uncle runs the hospital, and you mostly do the social meet and greet to collect money. Surely, there is someone else who could do that. Let your uncle do his own wooing of society.” Lenora’s eyes blazed with a fervour Dorian had never seen before — or at least not quite like this. “It is easy enough to see where your passion lies, and it is not in wheedling money out of society ladies.”

“Oh, Lenora, you will be the death of me,” Dorian said, kissing the top of her head. “Go inside before you catch your death of cold.”

“Remember,” Lenora said. “Follow your heart. Don’t settle for second best.”

“Don’t you either,” Dorian said, handing the umbrella to the footman. He swung up into the carriage and thumped on the roof to let the driver know he was ready to go.

He felt tormented inside. Should he have left Lenora standing there in the rain? Should he have called someone to see that she got warm and dry?

She was right about one thing: he did not enjoy flirting, telling jokes, and wheedling money out of people. In fact, he hated it. His music was the one thing that gave him joy. Perhaps he should go to London.

But no, he had refused Charlie’s offer. Just as he had so many times before, he had passed up an opportunity to focus on the needs of others.

When he reached Clare Court, he looked in on Emma. She was sitting in the drawing room, reading a book that she hastily hid in the cushions of the sofa. Did Emma also have dreams that she was not free to indulge? Once again, he realized that no one had asked Miss Emma Holt if she wished to be wed to him or if she even wanted to be wed at all. Not wishing to intrude on her quiet indulgence, he went into the dining room and rang for tea.

When Charlie arrived, he was still sitting in the dining room, staring out the rain-slicked windows, cuddling a cup of cold tea in his hands.

“Brooding again?” Charlie asked.

Dorian, who had not heard his friend come in, started in surprise, then turned towards him. “Just thinking, that is all.”

Charles sat down and poured himself a cup of the cold tea. “Thinking, brooding, not much to choose between them. Tell your Uncle Charlie all about your troubles.” He took a sip of the tea. “This is awful! Let’s ring for a fresh pot, shall we?”

Dorian smiled at Charles, then reached over and tugged the bell rope. “If you would like one. I think I am nearly awash with tea after the party.”

After the niceties of requesting and receiving a fresh pot of tea were taken care of, Dorian said, “If you must know, I’m feeling a bit of ennui. Lenora has, indeed, caught the attention of Lord Whitchurch. I walked in upon them kissing in the library.”

“Aha! I knew it!” Charlie exclaimed. “Miss Temple has broken your heart. There is only one cure for it. You should come to London with me and oversee the music for my play. I am utterly worthless as a music director. You might have lost the girl, but it is not your last chance at happiness.”

“You know what?” Dorian said, “I think I’ll take you up on that. It certainly sounds better than wheedling old ladies out of their pocket change.”

“That’s the ticket,” Charles said, coming around the table and slapping Dorian on the back. “You should get packed. I want to leave in the morning.”

“Which, with you, means close to noontide.” Dorian laughed. “But I will go pack my bags and put my man on notice that we are about to travel.”

“I promise you, it will be early enough to suit even you. I have gleaned everything I can from Bath and am looking forward to returning to London. I am already packed. I have only to add my last notebook to my things — especially now that I have my music director in tow.”

“You were just waiting for me?” Dorian teased.

“Indeed, I was,” Charles said. “You are the best composer I have heard in years. Your talents are wasted pandering to old ladies and their flirtatious daughters. Really, I am doing you a supreme favour, and Miss Holt as well.”

Dorian felt a pang of remorse as he thought of Emma, quietly reading alone while he had been out flirting with ladies old enough to be his mother, if not his grandmother. “I should tell Emma,” he said.

“Tell her what? Goodbye?” Charles laughed. “Oh, perish the thought, my friend. Just come away. You will both be the better for it.”

Dorian was not quite so sure, but when he passed the drawing room, he saw that the candles were out and that it was only lit by the dying embers in the fireplace.

“I’ll leave a note,” he whispered to himself, knowing in his heart he would do no such thing. If truth be told, Emma had never been more than a concept, an idea, and an obligation. It was only until these last few weeks that he recognized that she was a real person. Not as colourful or flamboyant as Lenora, but still a human being with wants and desires.

“What a mess I am,” he murmured to his battered old portmanteau as he shoved shirts, crevasses, and small clothes into the bag with little regard for keeping them pressed. “Well, I will go to London and see what I can do with my musical talent. I could scarcely make a bigger mess of my life than I have already. And I am quite tired of being shunted aside and used to bring in money as if I have no more skill than a beggar with a tin cup.”

He shoved the last shirt into the bag and latched it shut. As an afterthought, he placed his medical bag beside it. After all, it never hurt to be prepared for possible emergencies.

Dorian sat for a moment, staring at the bag. He was not precisely proud of the idea of running away to London, but there was a certain aspect of it that was truly freeing, as if he had decided for himself for the first time.