Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"What have you done?"

Dorian had expected to have some time to become accustomed to the estate once he had gotten back to it. He had not accepted any invitations to social events for the rest of the month on purpose. He had no intention of answering correspondence nor doing anything else during the first part of the mourning period. He wanted to do nothing other than acclimate himself into this next phase of his life. He did not see how that could be objectionable to any.

He had, in truth, rather expected that both his mother and his sister would have done the same.

Instead, he arrived back at the estate to a bustle of activity. If anything, he had more questions now than he had ever had before, and he wished to be alone. He could have dinner delivered up to his rooms. He still had all of Father's office to sort through. Now he had a bevy of fresh new thoughts to mull over.

Claire was still as beautiful as ever. If anything, she had only grown in her stunning beauty in the time that he had missed her. It was true that absence truly did make the heart grow fonder. Though, the matter of her daughter was also something suspect. She looked so familiar. It was as if he had seen her in a dream.

Dolores pulled her gloves from her hands and pushed in front of him the moment they returned to the estate. Mother, as expected, summoned a servant to fetch her some wine and headed straight up to her rooms. As she should. Dorian did not expect to see her again for a few days at the very least.

It was far too much to expect Dolores to have any semblance of tact. He had been foolishly optimistic about that.

"I asked you a question," Dorian repeated more firmly as Dolores seemed set on ignoring him. "Are you truly going to continue overstepping?"

She was already ordering servants about and asking for various reports. The table beside the entrance was filled with envelopes, and if he was not mistaken, they looked like ball invitations. But he did not know if they were answers instead.

"I know you have much to do, brother, so I have taken some of the household tasks upon myself. Do not be hard-headed about this. It is also to help out Mother. She's certainly not in any mental shape to be running this household," Dolores said, as if it ought to have been abundantly obvious to him.

He scoffed. "And I suppose you are only too happy to do so?"

"Who better than me?"

"Perhaps somebody with authority? I demand that you start explaining yourself at once or I shall have you confined to your rooms," Dorian snarled. He was not of a mood. Not now.

Dolores laughed bitterly and rounded on him. "You would do no such thing. I do not have time for idle threats. There is much to do before the ball, brother."

Though, as she turned to look at him, she seemed to realize that Dorian was not joking. If it meant she would stop overstepping her bounds and mind her own role, he would do exactly that. The family was expected to be in mourning. Was she truly so delusional that she would not see how inappropriate it would be to be engaging in social activities? Just how corrupted had she allowed her desperate need for power to make her?

"It is just a ball, brother. Just a teeny little ball," Dolores said softly.

She would likely slink around the house pouting for days now that he had raised his voice at her, at least until she felt he was sufficiently punished. He was not new to her manipulations. Of course, he had love in his heart for her, but at times like this, she made things incredibly difficult. She would not change. She would go right back to behaving exactly like this.

"It is inappropriate," Dorian said as he snatched the paper from her hand and started to peruse the contents. "Is this the menu that you have planned for this small ball? There are eight courses, Dolores! Just how many people are you planning to traipse through this house at such a sensitive time? Does your ambition have no bounds? This is disgusting!"

"We do not have the luxury of time," Dolores said by way of answer.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You are an earl now, brother. You have an obligation to find a wife."

"And you are the one who is going to find her for me?"

"Well, you have not seemed to have any interest in finding one for yourself. After seeing what I saw today, I have no faith that your self-control is at full capacity. I am only being a good sister to you!" Dolores answered with a pouty expression.

Dorian ripped the menu in his hands. "Enough, Dolores!"

"I have arranged that all of the eligible ladies of the ton are to arrive. Everyone is eager to offer their condolences to you in your time of need. I have already carefully narrowed down a list of women that I have deemed suitable for you, and they all get along famously with Mother. I shall expect you to choose one from that list," Dolores persisted stubbornly. "You cannot cancel now that everybody has already agreed to attend."

He could have set the whole room ablaze with how hot his temper burned inside of him.

It was painful to not respond to her infuriating attitude in kind. All Dolores was doing was creating an even bigger mess that he now had to clean up. More trouble than she was presently worth. One way or another, he was going to make her see reason. She had been running amuck for too long.

"Well, then I suppose they shall have to be disappointed, sister, because we are not hosting a ball. That is final. And when we do, I promise that it shall be to find you a husband," Dorian said plainly, letting the threat hang in the air between them. "Since you are so marriage-minded, you certainly shall not have an issue with it. Shall you?"

Dolores was ready to spit nettles. "You shall do no such thing!"

"Keep pushing me, Dolores. You might have abused our father's poor health as an excuse to do as you pleased for far too long, and I will have order in this house. I suggest that you grow up ," Dorian said as calmly as possible.

"Me?" Dolores shouted as she stomped her foot. "Was it not you who I saw near your little childhood paramour? How dare you lecture me on maturity when you are no better!"

"I will not be taking a bride. You know perfectly well that my heart will only belong to one woman. I do not need your approval," Dorian said as he started toward the stairs that would lead him to his room. "I expect the ball to be canceled by morning. Do not push me further. You will not like it."

"You will never be with her. Society would damn you both! How would that look for you to come back after all of this time, pining after a widowed woman of questionable repute? She does not love you, Dorian! She never did!"

Sometimes, in his darker moments, he questioned if anyone in this family did either.

"Do not walk away from me! I have not finished speaking to you!" Dolores shouted as she followed after him. "You cannot have forgiven her! Is your heart truly so weak? Need I remind you of the hundreds of letters that you wrote to her—all of which went unanswered? Six months, you told her when you were sent away. You asked for her to wait for you for six months and her passions were so flighty that it was too much to bear!"

No. He could not accept that. None of her actions made any sense to him, it was true. He had not spent his entire life being in love with the same woman for her to be a stranger.

"You told Father that you were to marry her. You announced it, and she ran off with a clergyman in three months' time, Dorian! Do you truly think the memories of the esteemed ton are so short? You cannot do this! Do not ignore me! She is nothing! She was never worth it!" Dolores shouted as he moved into his room and slammed the door in her face.

He'd wanted to ask her about that today. Before she had touched him, he had planned to confront her. After all of this time, he felt at the very least he was owed some explanation. He needed something —a reason, a pretty lie, the truth, it mattered not. He had written her at least one letter a day for months and then monthly after that for years despite never hearing a single word of encouragement from her.

Why had she married so quickly? How had she thrown their love away so easily?

Today, she had looked at him with the same love and affection in her eyes as she always had. The Claire he had grown up knowing was still in there, so what had happened? It made his heart hurt and his mind feel dizzy.

He could not spend his time in speculation over what might or might not have happened. He desperately needed answers, but he knew he would not get them tonight.

No, for tonight he would mourn. He would allow himself this one night of privacy to wallow in the pain of what might have been—to move past the constant ache in his chest. Tomorrow would be a whole new day with its own set of problems to handle. He would be the person that he needed to be in order to endure it.

But in the privacy of his bedroom, he could remove the mask of control and indifference.

He only had to hope that his dreams would be merciful.

Dorian should have known better. Sleep would not find him at all. It eluded him entirely as the room around him filled with darkness. His mind was too busy and would not still long enough even to nap. He was both haunted and aroused by the last memory he had of Claire—the last good night they had shared. And now it would forever be tainted by the pain of this afternoon.

He did not truthfully know where even to begin with Dolores and her stubbornness. Canceling the ball would be no easy feat. He did not even know if it was possible to do such a thing on such short notice, not when it would be so important for their family's reputation to show that nothing was amiss and that he was fit for this role. He had been absent from the ton for such a long time. Showing his face in society again was important.

Though he had no desire to meet any of the women, and truthfully, he deeply resented Dolores for even suggesting such a thing. A wife? The notion was laughable.

One way or another, he would get the truth from Claire. He deserved it. He owed it to himself. And then, once he had closure, he would handle the rest of it. He would do what he must, just as he always had.