Chapter Fifteen

June 2, 1817

The Albany

"Well, Matey, our life has become much less satisfying."

The beagle huffed and continued to watch Peregrine from his basket.

To be fair, they'd had this same conversation many times over the last two days. Two damned days since he'd last seen Cora, when she'd chosen the widow and her position over a continuing courtship with him as well as a possible married life.

Because of that, his life was in tatters. How stupid could he have been to fall in love with the same woman twice and still hadn't managed to win her?

When he'd called at Bromington House two days ago and the widow had shoved everything to the breaking point, he'd truly thought Cora would have chosen him. Hadn't he shown her he would never leave, that he would choose her again and again? That everything he currently did in his life was to help the foundation for a future between them? Yet she had been apparently blinded by guilt-fueled responsibility and duty.

He couldn't blame her, of course, for everyone had their own views and feelings regarding family, especially when they were in financial gray areas, but why couldn't she understand that they could have met those issues as a united front, that everyone would be a little better if they'd done it together?

A rap on the front door proceeded the arrival of Viscount Maubrey.

"Why are you not ready to go?" he asked as he swept his gaze up and down Peregrine's form, which only consisted of evening breeches, hosiery, his lawn shirt, and the same silver satin waistcoat that he'd worn a couple of times before. "As it is, even if we leave now, we will arrive late to the Seacrests' rout."

"Does it matter?" The last thing he wanted to do was put himself into society, mingle, and act as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"Yes, of course it does." With a frown, Charles bounced his gaze between Peregrine and the dog. "You need to stop moping and move forward with your life. Especially since you have opened your shop. Drop a few hints tonight throughout the assemblage and hopefully you drive potential customers to the place."

In fact, he'd opened his shop yesterday… and then proceeded to sit behind his counter all day without one person coming in. "Everything has fallen apart, Charles. What I thought was easy has proved problematic. The shop is a failure, and quite frankly, so is my courtship of Cora." He shoved a hand through his hair. "I'm feeling a bit lost." To say nothing of how broken his heart was. In fact, that organ ached as if it had received a mortal blow.

"I understand, but you cannot let such things defeat you." The viscount came further into Peregrine's dressing room. He snagged the black tailcoat from where Peregrine's valet had left it on the back of a chair when he was dismissed. "You could always go after Miss Beaufort again. She remains unspoken for and from all accounts has developed a tendre for you." Then he held up the jacket and looked at him with an expression of expectation.

Peregrine sighed. Clearly, his friend wouldn't let him dissolve into obscurity. "I would rather pluck out my eye with a dull spoon." With nothing else to do, he shoved first one arm into a sleeve followed quickly by the next.

"Ah, so then you believe the answer to rejection is to bury yourself here with your dog or worse, spend all your time at the shop until you move into the rooms upstairs, eating warmed over soup, moldy cheese and stale bread." The viscount huffed as he smoothed the evening jacket over Peregrine's shoulders. "I should never see you again."

When put in those words, the future was bleak, indeed. "Do you take exception to Matey?"

The beagle cocked one eyebrow as if waiting on the answer.

"I do, for he is a dog, not the sort of companion a man needs for certain other things in life." He snickered when Matey whined. "For the love of heaven, he licks his own balls and has a tendency to eat waste found on the ground."

"True." Peregrine blew out his breath, for it felt as if he were caught in a vortex that was spiraling downward into an endless dark depression. "What the hell else do I have, Charles? At least Matey loves me without condition." He yanked the length of a silk cravat from the top of a bureau. "I'm retired from the navy. I don't have a ship or the sea any longer, and without Cora? Without knowing I'll hear her voice or cajole a smile from her?" He shrugged and, in some angst, began twisting the length of fabric about his neck, and doing a piss-poor job of it, truth be told.

The viscount shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you. At times, life doesn't go the way we hope it will."

"I am aware of that." He paused in trying to tie the cravat in order to don his cuffs. "For years while I was away, I thought of her on the loneliest nights." If he wasn't careful and in complete control of his emotions, he would suffer a breakdown in front of his friend. "When I came back to England disfigured, she was the only one who didn't mind the scars. Every other woman I'd met shied away from the mess I represent, but Cora and I connected like we'd never done in the past." His voice broke. "Then she threw me over out of fear, I suppose. As if nothing we'd shared mattered."

But to give her grace, he'd done the same first, out of fear.

Perhaps there was no point in talking about it or obsessing over it. She'd made her decision, and it had been quite final. Yet he knew himself, and it wouldn't be so easy to forget a woman like Cora. He forced a hard swallow into his throat, glanced between Matey and the door. What would happen if he ran away from London? If he put distance between him and his biggest failure, but where would he go?

"I would like to take advantage of your offer and retreat to your country estate for a bit." Removing to Kent would allow him the time and space to lick his wounds in private. And Matey could run to his heart's content there.

"Of course, I would enjoy having you there. In fact, I'm leaving for the country at the end of the month." His grin held a sad edge. "It will be like old times when we were aboard ship. Two bachelors on the prowl."

"Yes." And it would be a way to move on. "I suppose no one wins every battle they enter. Lords knows we didn't while on the sea." It was merely a matter of needing to pull himself together and try again.

Sometime.

Once his heart healed.

But how to do that when all he'd ever wanted was Cora?

Charles snorted. Clearly, he didn't believe any of it. "Then you intend to give up." It wasn't a question.

Even Matey whined and picked up his head to stare intently at Peregrine.

"I beg pardon?" His patience for this conversation was waning. One of the damned cuffs gave him trouble, and gritting his teeth, he finally manipulated it.

"Consider this. While in the navy you were fierce, ran your ship with an iron hand, refused to back down in the face of danger, even when you were injured and left for dead." Charles met his gaze, and there was nothing but earnestness in his expression. "You battled an infection, healed your injuries by willpower, fought off public opinion when you dared to go out in society with your scars on display, went on to perceiver, to win. You are still sought after as a speaker as well as a favorite guest at society functions." Then he shook his head. "Yet here you are, running up a white flag, presumably waiting for death."

Peregrine scoffed. "I rather think death is far off." No solace there. When Charles didn't answer, merely raised an eyebrow, he sighed. "Why should I try again with Cora? Hasn't she made it abundantly clear where I stand in her esteem?"

"Why?" The viscount rubbed a hand along his jaw. "Because, quite simply, you love her. Why the devil would you toss that away? I suspect she feels the same for you, regardless of what she told you."

"Ha." A snort of derision escaped him. Love was a waste of time. "If that were so, she wouldn't have given me up for a dragon."

Charles pulled a face. "Put yourself in her place, my friend. The woman is frightened and worried, pulled in two very different directions. She no doubt feels the walls are closing in on her because everything is shifting and changing in her life." He shrugged as he rested his gaze on Peregrine. "By the by, where is the older sister?"

"Apparently on her honeymoon in Ireland."

"Ah. Rumor holds that Wycliffe is a completely changed man now he's married. If that is so, then the eldest Miss Hasting must possess magic or is some sort of a witch." Though amusement danced in Charles' eyes, when Peregrine didn't laugh, he sobered and continued. "Miss Hasting's marriage was probably the straw that broke the camel's back so to speak. Your Miss Hasting undoubtedly feels trapped, as if she is the last line of defense for the family's woes since her sister essentially left, albeit temporarily." With a sigh, he came close and took up the task of winding the cravat cloth around Peregrine's neck.

"That is exactly what I said when I attempted to convince her…"

"Perhaps that power doesn't rest with you." The next few moments were spent in silence as Charles tied the fabric into an intricate knot that Peregrine had always admired. "Miss Hasting needs to decide for herself what her own destiny should look like."

"Whether that is with me or not?"

"Just so." He nodded. "Keep the faith, my friend, and hope fate isn't done with you."

"Bloody hell." The remainder of the joy faded from life as he spiraled farther and farther downward into despair. "And in the meantime?"

The viscount shrugged. "Keep yourself busy. Build your business and bring customers to your shop. Be the man I know you are when I pulled your sorry arse from the fire."

More than a grain of truth lay buried in those words. It both humbled and prodded him. "Why do you care so much what happens to me?"

"Besides being worried about my closest friend?" Charles shoved a hand through his hair, upsetting the carefully arranged blond waves. "Quite frankly, I cannot chase a romance of the ages like you almost have if I'm constantly concerned about you." When he flashed a grin, Peregrine's chest tightened with guilt. "I feel responsible for you after saving you. Don't try to dissuade me. That is how it is, and I want you to be happy."

"Right, but…" Peregrine scoffed. What else was there to say? "Romance is nothing but trouble. Women are certainly that." Even he heard the bitterness in his voice.

"You poor, disillusioned sot." Charles clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Troublesome women, strong women who know their own minds, are the best kind. Don't ever discount them or their loyalty and capacity for love." His expression turned rueful. "Would that I could find the same."

What a load of gammon that was. "You can have Cora, and gladly." If he accumulated too much more bitterness, he would turn into Mrs. Bromington.

Perhaps Cora would take me back then, since that is obviously what she prefers.

"That is quite unlikely." The viscount snickered. "You would challenge me to a duel if I were to so much as dance with her again."

"True." Or at least he would have… before. A weak grin curved his lips. "I might be a nodcock, I'm bloody tip over tail for her, but it doesn't matter. She made her choice."

"Coward. You haven't died yet, so there is still hope." Playfully, he cuffed Peregrine's shoulder. "Stiff upper lip and all that, now let's go." He shoved Peregrine toward the door. "I'm told the brandy is of fine quality and there will be cards in the offing. You won't need to socialize, but I do want you to get out of here before you start stinking of dog."

Matey whined at that then lowered his head and put a paw over one eye.

"Perhaps you are correct." Peregrine nodded. "Thank you for the consideration. I shall remember your words when a woman stomps on your heart and you feel like shit."

"I rather doubt that will happen, for I have learned from your mistakes." But the joking in his friend's voice went a long way in lifting his own spirits.

*

A crush ofpeople milled about the drawing room as the rout got underway. He and Charles visited with a few other men they were acquainted with, but when the viscount decided to pop into the card room for a couple hands, Peregrine decided to linger a bit longer to watch the dancing.

When he'd completed a circuit of walking the perimeter of the room, his gaze accidentally alighted on Cora. How could he have missed her? Once more, she wore that yellow gown—clearly her reduced circumstances didn't allow for a new gown or two—but he didn't mind for she was uncommonly beautiful in that jonquil color, and she stood out from every other lady in the room. As he raised his gaze, it collided with hers.

Surprise jumped into her face. Two spots of color blazed in her cheeks, but she quickly looked away. Had she delivered him a cut direct? Swift hurt stabbed through his heart, for she had deliberately snubbed him. Of course, Mrs. Bromington wasn't far from her, prowling and even more fierce in her Bath chair as if she were the dragon he'd likened her to, and Cora was the gold she guarded, holding her by an invisible lead. It seemed she would continue to cling to the Drury Lane act she'd assumed a few days ago.

Damn. He should have remained at home.

"You have the look of someone who has lost his very last friend in the world."

The sound of a woman's voice behind him jerked him out of his musings. As he turned about, he frowned to find Miss Beaufort standing there, fresh-faced and lovely in a gown of moss green. "Good evening, Miss Beaufort. How are you?"

"A good lot better than you, apparently." Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at him while on the makeshift dance floor, couples were assembling for a country reel. "What troubles you?"

"It is nothing." His heart, his attention, simply wasn't engaged with this conversation as well as the lady.

"Surely, it is, for you seem as if you wish to flee far from here or perhaps toss yourself into the Serpentine." She dared to lay a hand on his arm, tugged him closer to the side and away from the movements on the dance floor. "You don't appear to wish to dance."

"I do not." Hell, he didn't want to do much of anything after Cora had summarily dismissed him as if she didn't know him. "In fact, I'm questioning why the devil I even came tonight."

"Perhaps to see a particular lady?" she asked in a lowered tone.

Damnation. It would seem he needed to put a halt to anything further once and for all. "My dear Miss Beaufort, I am certain you are a lovely person, but you and I will not suit, so your pursuit of me is for naught." This didn't make him think any better of himself or his satiation. "You see, my heart belongs to another." Even if it was currently shattered and lying forgotten on the floor.

"Ah." She nodded with a faint smile playing about her mouth. "Miss Hasting."

"Yes." Shock rolled through his chest. "You know?"

Tinkling laughter filled the ear. The joviality sparkled in her eyes. "How could I not?" She patted his arm. "You never look at me the way you look at her, as if you would do anything to see Miss Hasting smile, as if she is the center of your world."

Had he once thought that? Perhaps. He sighed, and once more fell into the spiral of despair. "Things have crumbled in that quarter, so such thinking is obviously not true." Again, bitterness had entered his voice, but this time it was tinged with sadness.

"Oh, you poor man." Compassion shadowed her eyes as she laid a hand on his arm. "If I might give you some womanly advice?"

"It couldn't hurt. All is lost regardless." How soon could he leave this place?

She scooted closer to him until her form almost brushed his. "Most of us ladies are fearful of something; society puts much pressure on us to be one thing while our families don't help because they wish for us to be quite another thing." Truth lay stamped across her features. "Sometimes, none of those things are possible, for we are all different with wildly differing dreams."

He frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

"We all must believe in the secret wants in our heart—men and women—but we only need one person to believe in us that will help break those shackles not of our making."

"Oh?" In an odd way, her words helped.

"Yes." Miss Beaufort nodded. "For example, I want something entirely different from what society says I must, but I don't want to disappoint my parents, which means I cannot be myself. Not openly, anyway."

What the hell did that mean? Far too curious, he forgot to pity himself. Lowering his voice, he asked, "What do you want? To be married? Have a title, wealth? Turn London on its head?"

"It is lovely that you think such of me." One tiny wave of her hand dismissed all of them. "None of those lofty dreams, I'm afraid." If possible, Miss Beaufort drew closer. In a barely audible voice, she said, "I wish for a happy, peaceful life where I can live my truth, for I…" A blush went through her cheeks. "I want Deborah, Lord Davenport's eldest daughter."

For the second time that evening in her company, shock slammed through him. "But you chased me."

"I did." She shrugged and rested her rueful gaze on him. "I needed a shield, a cloak if you will, to hide my real feelings and intentions. I thought you would be a good candidate since you were in love with a woman you couldn't have. In the spirit of that, I thought you wouldn't mind wedding me because you'd given up the possibility of her." As she spoke, Miss Beaufort's cheeks continued to redden. "Don't do that, Captain Wetherford."

"Don't do what?" His mind whirled from the information he'd been given in a short span of time.

"Give up." She squeezed her fingers on his arm. "Please, no matter what else you do in life, go chase after that love no matter the obstacles or odds. When that emotion is true and you believe there is no one else for you than Miss Hasting, that is fate." With a nod, her eyes reflected encouragement. "You won't feel like that with another."

"I…" Another shock hit him squarely in the chest. "No, I don't suppose I will ever change my mind on what I feel for Miss Hasting." Was he daft to act so defeated? It warranted thought, if nothing else. "Thank you for that." Despite being in public, Peregrine bussed her cheek then whispered into her ear. "I sincerely hope you are able to find happiness with your love too. Should you need a private place to talk or remove yourselves from the public eye, drop by my shop. I promise to look the other way if you want to tour the upstairs apartment." When he pulled back, he peered into her eyes that welled with tears. "Lord knows everyone can use a helping hand in this world, and love shouldn't be thwarted merely because it isn't sanctioned."

"I appreciate that." She clung to his hand for longer than was necessary. "Planning for a future will prove tricky and scandalous, but I feel it will be worth it."

"Of course it will." As he cast a glance about, a slow grin took possession of his lips. "Is your lady love here tonight?"

"Yes." Immediately, her expression softened, and her eyes went starry, made even more so by the tears. "She is standing at the far window, dressed in navy. I fully believe she would fetch me the moon if I asked."

His heart squeezed for her predicament and the gauntlet she would need to run merely to be together to live her romance. "Indeed, she is quite handsome."

Miss Beaufort nodded. "I am trying to convince my father to take a holiday to the Continent and to invite Deborah's family to travel with us." A sigh escaped her. "Perhaps I won't come back directly…"

"I wish you good fortune." Then he stepped away from her.

"Thank you. I wish the same for you." For long moments, she looked at him with a tiny frown. "Love is both frightening and wonderful, but I wouldn't have it any other way."

In that moment, he and Miss Beaufort were in perfect harmony. "Neither would I. Thank you for putting things back into perspective for me."

"Fight for her, Captain. You can do no less, I think." Then she moved off as the dance ended, and she melded with the crowd.

Tracing his gloved fingertips along the side of his scarred cheek, Peregrine exited the drawing room and went directly to the card room where he proceeded to fill the next couple of hours by drinking entirely too much, gambling even more—where he won some coin and lost some coin—in an effort to keep himself from thinking. When he finally went home, he promptly cast up his accounts and fell into bed with a horrible, pounding headache and not many new answers to the questions that plagued him.

Women. Bah!