Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

A fter supper and port, James led the men to his billiard table. Mr. Dove, David Dove, and Lord Montefeltro were keen to shoot a few rounds. They quickly concocted a small wager, each of them convinced they would be victor.

Much to the disappointment of all involved, Rothes had chosen to follow them to the gaming room. It would be impolite to send him to the parlor, but only because James didn’t want to burden the women with the constant barrage of insults.

The duke disliked everything and everyone, never appreciative of the sacrifices made on his behalf. Supper had been delicious, but Rothes had found fault with each course, lamenting being stuck at Granville House instead of partaking in a meal prepared by his French chef. Rothes had declared the meal barely edible, which was an insult James refused to accept. The ensuing argument had created an uncomfortable atmosphere for everyone in attendance.

As the party entered the gaming room, his complaints resumed. “What am I to do, watch the lot of you enjoying the game while I sit in the corner, out of your way? Then again, that seems to be the way of things with you, Bailey. Tucking me away in darkened spaces while you accept praise from everyone.”

With a long-suffering sigh, James stepped over to a plush armchair and removed the cushion. He tried to control his temper, but he was at the end of his nerves. It would not be long before he told Rothes to shut his mouth, which he was certain would only cause more issues between them.

James motioned for the valet to lift Rothes from the chair, then he situated the cushion so it would give Rothes the height he needed to participate in the game. He didn’t wait for an expression of gratitude, knowing Rothes had never thanked anyone for anything since the day of his birth. Instead, James cheerfully smiled as though there wasn’t an insult in the world that could mar this moment. “You are welcome.”

James stood against the wall, watching as Montefeltro and Rothes began the first game. He had refilled Mr. Dove’s glass with port, finding himself and the elder man secluded from the rest while David Dove watched the game from a closer vantage point.

“Sir, might I request a moment of your time?” There wasn’t a more perfect moment than this to ask for Mr. Dove’s blessing, unless it was in the privacy of his den. But he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, especially since he hadn’t yet spoken with Lord Montefeltro.

Mr. Dove swallowed the contents of his glass. He placed it on the table nearby, avoiding James’s question until it was far too rude not to respond. “I already know what you would like to ask, Mr. Bailey, and I cannot in good conscience give any consideration to such a request.”

“Sir?”

“Eleanor is engaged to Lord Montefeltro. She will have castles, manor houses, enough pin money to buy bonnets, slippers, and frocks in the newest fashions. She will have a title. You would be selfish to request her hand in marriage, taking endless opportunities away from her.”

James stood his ground refusing to accept this first rejection. “Does she love Montefeltro?”

Mr. Dove shook his head. “The young seem to have misguided notions of courtship and marriage. Love is not necessary for a couple to be successful.”

“What, in your opinion, is important? Wealth? Multiple estates?”

“Selflessness.” Mr. Dove picked up his empty glass, and as the host he was, James refilled it. “Eleanor will do well in a marriage of convenience because she is the least selfish of anyone I have ever known. She has put aside her desires for love and made a wise choice in a husband. Do not take this opportunity away from her.”

“Mr. Dove, do you not think your daughter deserves to have a husband who not only respects her, but one who loves her with every part of his soul? A man who would care for her with the tenderness she deserves, because she is the one person he cannot live without?”

Mr. Dove pushed away from the wall. “We are most thankful for your hospitality, Mr. Bailey. Please do not make me regret bringing my family in from the freezing weather by pursuing this course of action. You will refrain from speaking with Eleanor unless her mother and I are present.”

James chose not to participate in the gaiety of billiards—or their wager. Instead, he spent the evening brooding in his den. Mr. Dove was right. Montefeltro could provide financial security far beyond James’s coffers. He wasn’t poor, but he also wasn’t the wealthiest in the village. He certainly didn’t have a portfolio of estates throughout England and on the Continent. He had Granville House, and even though it was old and some of the rooms were drafty, he loved his estate and all the struggles that came with it.

James paced the length of his bedchamber three times before stopping at the window to look out upon the snowy landscape. “How long must you continue to punish me?”

He wasn’t speaking to the snow, not truly, although he blamed it for everything that had happened in his life since the moment Eleanor Dove had once again crossed the boundary of Emerald Falls. It was more precise to say he had started a prayer while on his knees and then taken to pacing while trying to get the words to form. What was God doing to him? Was it possible for a man to spend the whole of his existence repenting for one dastardly deed, only to discover he would forever be punished? Constantly making a muddle of his life, due to one youthful indiscretion ?

He didn’t believe in the punishments of God, even though the local vicar had preached about it with vigor for as long as he could remember. But when everything had gone wrong with Eleanor, he’d had to acknowledge there were forces at play in the universe over which he had no control. Either that, or he was an absolute mess of a gentleman.

James buried his head in his hands as he leaned against the window. The frozen panes were a balm to the thoughts swirling in his head. Begging for forgiveness would do little good that night. There was no way for him to repent of something from his youth, especially when what had happened could not be undone.

There were two moments in his life that, if given the opportunity, he would change. The first involved the Duke of Rothes and his brother Harry. It was the moment he, Harry, and Rothes had decided to explore the caves down by the ocean. The second was the argument between himself and Eleanor. But the past was unchangeable, forever imprinted on his heart and mind like a battle scar waiting to flare up his guilt at every inconvenient moment.

Pacing his room would do little good. Lying in bed to toss and turn all night would be far worse. In light of his unsettled thoughts, James threw off his night clothes and rummaged through his wardrobe until he found the breeches and shirt he’d worn that day. He didn’t expect to find anyone wandering about thehouse, so there was little need for his waistcoat and frock coat. It had been a long day, and his mother and their guests had claimed exhaustion when they’d left for bed, but he certainly wouldn’t want to be found in his den dressed in his night clothes.

With a single candle in a drip tray, James left his bedchamber in search of something to help clear his mind. Thinking of Eleanor, her soft hazel eyes and enchanting smile, would simply drive him to madness. Mr. Dove’s refusal to grant his blessing for James to put a stop to Eleanor’s upcoming marriage to Montefeltro would be his undoing, he was certain of it.

James made his way down the darkened hallway to the stairs. As he stood at the top, he found a curious situation in the entryway below. Rothes sat in his Bath chair bundled in blankets with Miss Hartwell standing against the opposite wall .

It took very little time for him to close the distance, taking the stairs at a faster pace than he normally would in the dead of night. He approached his guests, neither of them noticing his presence until he was upon them.

“Are the rooms not to your level of comfort, Your Grace?”

Rothes snarled. He chose not to look at James. Rothes was not one to indulge others when his humor was sour, which was usually every moment of every day. As it was, he deigned to speak. “The weather has calmed. I wish to be home and in my own bed this night.”

“I agree, there is a break in the storm. But you cannot be certain it will stay this way as you travel. Wait until morning to ensure safe passage.”

Miss Hartwell quickly nodded. “I agree with Mr. Bailey. Please, Rothes, there is no need to rush from the warmth of our beds this night.”

A flash of irritation creased Rothes’s hardened features. “Very well, cousin. Get out of my sight.”

Miss Hartwell gingerly stepped away, each movement similar to that of a frightened creature wishing to escape captivity. James didn’t know why Miss Hartwell visited her cousin each year. She certainly didn’t seem to enjoy her time with Rothes.

She was nearly to the stairs when Rothes yelled, “Get out of here!”

At that final shout, Miss Hartwell nearly stumbled over her frightened feet as she scrambled up the stairs, her hand tightly upon the banister clutching it as though her life depended upon the connection.

James slowly handed the single candle and tin to Rothes before taking the initiative to push the Bath chair into the parlor. He pushed the chair up to the hearth, where the fire looked nearly done in for the night. With a bit of prodding, it flared back to life.

As he sat in the armchair Eleanor had occupied earlier that evening, James could still smell the peppermint oil she used in her hair, and dared he remember how her neck always seemed to smell of the delicious scent? Shaking away the memories, he met Rothes’s hardened glare.

“Miss Hartwell does not deserve your foul temper. If she vexes you so, why do you allow her to visit?”

Rothes turned away from him. “You always did have a way of prying into the lives of those around you. Your pert opinions are unwelcome.”

“Perhaps, Rothes, you might not be so miserable if you allowed a smile upon your face. It has been almost two decades since last you laughed.”

Rothes growled. “I laugh all the time.”

“I meant in amusement.”

“You would taunt me, Bailey. It was always your way.”

James held back the sigh threatening to escape. He might constantly repent of his errors of that awful day seventeen years previous, but he didn’t need Rothes to know of his eternal guilt. “Memories after so many years are usually faulty. Perhaps you should stop placing complete blame upon me.”

“You wish to blame me? The one who no longer has use of his legs? The one who must rely upon a servant to lift him from this chair each time I wish to sit upon a softer surface? I cannot bathe or dress myself without assistance, and you expect me to absolve you of your guilt?”

A spark of James’s temper flared, his chest tightening as he listened to Rothes lay bare the simplest of tasks that were a monumental mountain. Did James regret that day? With every ounce of his being he wished he could take it back, but constantly reliving those moments each time they were in the same room was more than he could bear. The little taunts from Rothes reminding him of his guilt at every social gathering were by far the worst part of staying in Emerald Falls. If he had homes and estates across England, as Rothes did, he would take up residence in one of them, if only to get away from Rothes and his accusations.

“You forget, Rothes, that Harry and I nearly lost our lives that day.”

“Yes, but you emerged unscathed. After a few weeks in bed, you rose again without even a scar. Mayhap it is because you did not lie in the cave for hours on end wondering if your corpse would ever be found. I laid there knowing my parents would mourn because they had lost an heir, not a child they loved. For they never loved me. Nor did the servants who were paid to care for me.”

James nodded. Rothes hadn’t been blessed with an easy life. He’d known that in his youth and had befriended Rothes out of pity. His tantrums, even before the accident, had deterred the other children in the village from accepting him as a friend. Rothes had been cursed with absentee parents who preferred the glamorous life afforded them by their titles and wealth to spending time with the child they had given life. He was an heir. They’d done their duty, and then they’d enjoyed themselves to excess, leaving him in the care of servants. But that was not James’s sin. He wasn’t responsible for all the pain and suffering in Rothes’s life.

“You are right. But do not forget, Harry and I were washed out to sea where we clung to a piece of driftwood until a ship found our nearly lifeless bodies.”

“Do not compare your suffering to mine,” Rothes yelled. He slammed his cane against the side of his chair. The sharp clap against the wood was one James had heard often enough, yet it always caused his nerves to find a bit more room for tightening. Rothes’s words were clipped, a palpable hatred seething from each, burning the air around them with the heat of the fire. “You put me in this chair. You, with your heathen idea to explore the caves.”

“We all wanted to discover the secrets of that cave. I was not alone in my desire.”

Rothes laughed, a strained sarcastic sound that might wake the house, that is if everyone was not already standing in the hall eavesdropping. “Well, it did not take you long to circle back and blame me for that day. As I recall it, you were the one who wanted to jump from one side to the other.”

“Clearly, you were an active participant.”

“Leave me alone, Bailey. I do not wish to hear your guilt-ridden accusations any longer.”

James stood. They were talking in circles, making absolutely no progress on the long-ago accident that had irrevocably changed both their lives. What he had hoped to accomplish with this conversation was left unsaid. Before he left, he pushed aside the handle that guided the front wheel. James leaned down, placing his hands on either side of the arm rests where he could feel Rothes’s seething breath upon his face.

“I have none but the deepest regret for that day. Even so, I choose in this moment not to let it destroy my happiness any longer. I wish for joy—for both you and me. Mayhap, you should let go of your distorted memories and find peace. That is my Christmastide wish for you in the upcoming year.”

Rothes’s hand came up, the cane lifting as though it were an appendage. As it whipped in the air, a breeze accompanying the stick, James lifted a hand and stopped it from colliding with the side of his head. The sting of impact spread like a burn upon his hand, but James kept his face impassive. He pulled the cane away from Rothes and threw it to the ground.

“Give it back.”

“I am not your servant, Your Grace.”

James stormed out of the room to find the hall dark and empty. He didn’t hesitate, knowing every inch of the house better than he knew his own mind. The much-needed reprieve from his thoughts he had sought earlier had yet to come. There would be no rest that night, not for him. Throwing open the doors that led out to the veranda, James bristled at the instant cold as he trudged out into the snow, ruining the sparkling untouched wintery scene before him.

The beauty of the night, now no longer harrowed up by a blizzard, meant nothing to him as he trudged forward without a greatcoat or boots. His house slippers were soaked through, snow taking up every free inch of space between his sockless feet and the material of the slippers. He cared little for the cold, knowing his temper would not quickly fade.

When he had walked far enough away from the house to not be heard, James bent down and gathered enough snow to form a ball. With the greatest of effort, he threw it, aiming for the trunk of a nearby tree and missing.

Undeterred, he bent down and picked up another handful of snow and hurled it once more. Even if he never hit the trunk of that tree, the force of his anger behind each throw was enough to aid in lifting a bit of the tension. The rage of moments before lessened, and now as he stood in the cold night air, he decided he should have at least grabbed a scarf from the entryway.