3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

James

I was decidedly not over being jilted.

Gravel crunched beneath my boots as I descended the stairs to the carriageway and made my way around the house toward the stables. My skin prickled with heat and severe agitation. I thought my heart had healed, but one look was all it had taken to stab a hole through that fa?ade. Then the anger set in. It was one thing to suffer Sabrina's company, but to have been ambushed by means of betrayal from Gregory ignited a fury within me I hadn't known I possessed.

Why had he invited her?

One thing was certain: I would not be staying at Fallborn with the duchess here.

I instructed a stablehand to ready my horses and carriage. If I left in the next half hour, I could make it to the nearest inn before nightfall. The animals deserved to rest, but I simply could not stay within the same walls as that woman.

"James!"

At the sound of Gregory's voice, my irritation sparked anew. I stepped into the stables, uncertain what to do with myself but desperate to evade my friend.

Former friend.

I could hardly call him such after what he'd done.

"James, please wait." Gregory jogged next to me between the stalls, breathing heavily, but I did not spare him the effort by lessening my pace .

"I am leaving," I said coldly. "Nothing you say will convince me otherwise."

There was more I wished to say, accusations I wanted to lay bare, but I held them back. Part of me still hoped Gregory had a reasonable excuse for his traitorous actions.

"I am the worst sort of friend." Gregory's voice came out a plea. "Allow me to explain, I beg of you."

My feet halted, and I glared at him. "What is there to explain? You brought Sabrina here despite knowing…" I swallowed. Gregory was well aware of the pain the duchess had caused, of the mess she had left me in. I did not need to say it, nor did I want to. Speaking words gave them power, and I would not hand any vulnerability back to the woman on a platter.

"I know," said Gregory. "Believe me, bringing her here—tricking you—was not done willingly." Gregory's shoulders deflated. "Well, perhaps willingly, but only because I had no other choice."

"What do you mean?"

Gregory sighed and leaned against the post of an empty stall. "Since my father died, I have been a bit…careless in my spending."

"If you mean for me to be shocked by this confession, you will be disappointed," I said. "The whole of the ton is likely aware of your gambling habits."

Gregory winced. "Indeed, that is the truth of it. And the problem. Luck has not been on my side as of late."

I lifted a brow. "How much did you lose?"

The pale shade of his face filled me with concern. Gregory often gambled, but the man usually knew to quit when his fortune lacked. Usually. This loss was severe.

"Everything," Gregory whispered. "I have lost everything, James. If I do not pay the man, I will end up in debtor's prison. I confess I've been the fool and deserve to rot in gaol for it, but my mother…she does not deserve this."

Much to my annoyance, my heart pinched for the man's circumstances. I had known him my entire life, and while Gregory had his problems, he was a good man at heart. A bit lost, perhaps, but good .

Still, I did not understand what any of it had to do with the duchess. "How did your losing everything result in persuading me to attend a house party with Sabrina?"

Gregory ran a hand through his hair. "It was Mr. Perry who benefited from my losses. The man offered me a deal. If I were to host a month-long party and convince you to attend for the entirety, my debts would be forgiven."

"Forgiven? Just like that? What has Mr. Perry to gain from you hosting a house party?"

Gregory shook his head, his gaze distant. "I assume his offer came at the request of the duchess. He sought me out for cards, as if for the sole purpose of forcing my hand."

I swore. I had been blind to the woman's scheming during our courtship but my eyes were no longer veiled by adoration and love. Sabrina wanting me here could only mean one thing—she wished to rekindle our relationship. Why she would want or need to remained a mystery, but it did not matter. I would never consider the woman as a potential wife again.

"You needn't court her or marry her," said Gregory. "I would never ask that of you. The condition stated you need only stay at the party for a month. I suppose Her Grace believes that enough time to win you over."

Then Her Grace severely underestimated my resolve. "I cannot stay here with her. I will go mad."

Gregory grinned. "I recall you saying she has already driven you mad. A little more shan't hurt."

"It may hurt a great deal should I ignore my sympathetic nature and pummel you as I ought."

Gregory pushed away from the stall, his expression sobering. "I'm begging you. I cannot afford this debt, James. I will lose everything. My mother will lose everything. This is no easy thing I ask of you, but I must, for her sake. Do it for her if not for me."

How the devil was I to say no to that? I cared too much for Mrs. Davis to subject her to the consequences of Gregory's mistakes.

Gregory seemed to sense this reflection and smiled sheepishly. "I will owe you, my friend."

"You shall, and I know what I want. If I am to agree to this, you will promise to put the gambling in the past."

The man' s smile faltered. "I…yes. I will lay the habit to rest."

My confidence that Gregory would remain true to his word was not high, but at least his conscience would be wrought with guilt should he break it. Perhaps enough so to elicit a change in behavior with time.

"And there will be no more surprises," I said. "If Sabrina has anything planned, you will tell me now."

Gregory shook his head. "She has not made me aware of anything."

I would have to be on constant vigil. If I'd learned anything about the duchess, it was that she could be conniving and deceitful, all while playing the part of an innocent lady. This was especially true with Miss Scott as her companion. The two of them were rarely seen apart in London. The woman practically worshiped Sabrina, doing her bidding at the snap of a finger, including the delivery of the letter that had ripped my heart asunder.

But her delivery of that paper had not been the final blow. No, it was the words Miss Scott had left me with—words that often frequented my thoughts. Sabrina is marrying a man more deserving of her.

"What of the others?" I asked, ignoring the familiar sting of the memory. "For what reason were Mr. Apsley and the younger woman invited?"

I'd known Rowe Apsley for a time and never had he given me the impression of being nefarious, but his connection to Miss Scott immediately roused my suspicions.

"They are harmless," said Gregory. "Apsley became the Scott sisters' guardian after their father passed. Her Grace instructed me to invite them simply to ensure Miss Scott would attend. The woman knows how to play her cards." He muttered the rest. "Unfortunately for me."

To ensure Miss Scott would attend … Why would Sabrina need to ensure it by devious means when she and Miss Scott were close friends? The notion struck me as odd.

Regardless, I would need to keep a close eye on all of them.

My valet, Marcus, stood behind me with a stoic expression, the only betrayal of his concentration the slight furrow of his brow as he trimmed my hair. The man had been under my employ for nearly a decade. We had been friends at Eton but lost contact after his family squandered their fortune. I'd met Marcus in London years later as he was searching for a way to support himself and immediately hired him on, first as a footman and then as my valet when my father's could no longer fulfill the role.

Despite our differences in station and circumstance, I still considered him a friend—I always would. He had certainly earned my trust with his continued loyalty.

"Thank you," I said when he'd finished the task.

"You're welcome, my lord."

I gave him a pointed glare. "You know how I hate for you to call me that. At least in private, you may address me as you always have."

Marcus's lips twitched. "So you've told me."

"Then why can you not heed the request?"

My valet sighed, grabbing some pomade to tame my hair. Traveling had done a number on it. "Because unlike you, most in your position would not appreciate the informality. I cannot allow myself to become comfortable in my address."

"Even if you are my friend?"

"Especially so," said Marcus. "You are an earl and I a lowly servant. You already give me more liberty than most in my position. That must suffice."

He was right, but that did not mean I cared for his logic.

Marcus stepped away and glanced over me. He gave a short nod, seemingly satisfied with his work. "Will that be all, my lord?"

"Yes. I can manage after dinner. Enjoy your evening, won't you?"

"Word has it there's already a bottle waiting for us below stairs."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Very good."

By the time I left my room, my improved mood had dispersed. I had agreed to stay—for Gregory and his mother's sake—but that did not mean I would enjoy myself. If my sour attitude offended the other guests, then all the better. Anything I could do to keep Sabrina at a distance would aid me in surviving the next month.

I reminded myself that I could leave at any moment. Fallborn would not become a new prison for me. But if staying kept Mrs. Davis out of poverty, and perhaps encouraged Gregory to evaluate his life choices, the sacrifice would be worth it.

I took my time descending the stairs to the drawing room. Arriving early would give Sabrina the chance to corner me, assuming she knew of my decision to stay, so I'd planned to present myself five minutes late.

The plan, it seemed, had been a poor one.

When I entered, there was but one soul within: Miss Scott.

The muscles of my jaw tightened at the sight of her staring out the window, her expression contemplative. She had not changed since last I saw her in London—the same blonde curls tucked into a simple but elegant coiffure. The same curves hidden beneath a pale blue gown that gave her figure a less fashionable but no less handsome appearance.

Her features were the exact opposite of Sabrina's, whose dark hair and eyes had lured me in the moment our gazes locked across the ballroom. I'd pleaded with Gregory for an introduction that night and paid her a call every day thereafter. I had thought to have found a soulmate with the ease that existed between us.

I had been wrong.

And Miss Scott had not only witnessed the entire ordeal but had also played a hand in it.

I clenched and unclenched my fists. This would be a test of my patience, but if I could speak to Miss Scott without quitting the room, perhaps I might manage to endure Sabrina's company as well. True, I would make myself as scarce as possible over the next month, but complete avoidance could not be achieved. There would be meals and whatever activities Mrs. Davis concocted, all of which would put me and Sabrina in the same space.

I crossed the drawing room, and only when I had nearly reached her side did Miss Scott notice my approach. She started with a light gasp and then quickly moved away from the window to dip a curtsy. "Lord Emerson."

Surprise laced her tone, which I could not blame her for. I had stated, quite loudly and firmly, my intention to leave.

I bowed and forced my lips into a small smile. "Miss Scott."

She did not respond straight away, seeming to study me. "I hope you are well. I thought you had left."

There was a shyness to her tone, and I wondered if the cause was our last interaction. We had not parted with the kindest of words. By which I meant that I had ordered her to leave and she'd obliged without response.

"As well as can be expected given the circumstances," I said. "I will be staying for the foreseeable future, though not by preferable choice."

Rude or not, I would not give her or Sabrina any chance to mistake my reason for remaining at Fallborn. They would both understand the resentment I harbored. That feeling would never change.

Miss Scott met my gaze, and something in her eyes shifted. They held more emotion than I could decipher, chief among them sympathy. I'd witnessed the same glimmer of it when she delivered Sabrina's letter, but I would not be fooled by the falseness of the sentiment. Sabrina could pretend sympathy when she chose to as well, an act to better her standing or play out her schemes.

When Miss Scott spoke this time, it was with a hushed whisper. "I'm sorry. Not just for today, but for…"

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and looked away. I'd been determined not to believe her falsehoods, but despite the short apology, the gentleness in her words dug into my heart and pleaded for me to reconsider. In all honesty, I did not know the woman well, and I wondered how much my opinion of her was tainted simply by her association with Sabrina.

"I am sorry," she began again, her voice still quiet, "for all you have had to endure, and most especially that I played a part in your pain."

I could ask what she knew of my pain, but I knew the answer. Miss Scott had witnessed my heartache for herself. She had been present for my reaction when I learned that Sabrina had agreed to marry the Duke of Rochester, despite having accepted my offer the night before. It had been an unexpected blow, one that left me in confusion, misery, and anguish.

The memory of that moment haunted me. I could recall it in perfect detail. My body had gone stiff as I pored over the letter, and Miss Scott had stood in my foyer watching. Waiting. I'd never questioned why she had stayed, assuming she wished to report my reaction to Sabrina. Each second was permanently etched into my mind, perhaps in part because of how many times I had read those words. Because I carried the letter with me, even now, as a painful reminder .

I recalled the moment I sent Miss Scott away. Her blue eyes had glistened with the morning light seeping through the window. Glistened, I now realized, with unshed tears.

Had she felt guilty? Sorrow on my behalf? When my anger and hurt bloomed fresh, I would not have guessed either being the cause, but the passage of time often provided a man clarity.

To ensure Miss Scott would attend …

Gregory's statement had niggled at me all evening. I wanted to know what he'd meant. His words opposed the one thing I'd known with surety—that Miss Scott and Sabrina were friends. The information would not be easily extracted, especially if the woman's loyalties still rested with the duchess.

"Thank you for the apology." I clasped my hands behind my back. "Mr. Davis informed me that you lost your father. I offer my condolences."

Her pale pink lips tugged upward, but only just. "Thank you. It has been a difficult year."

I nodded, though she'd yet to look at me again. "And Mr. Apsley? He is your guardian now?"

"Indeed. My cousin was always very close to my father. He was like a son. Because the estate is no longer entailed, Papa wished to pass it on to someone he believed could manage it. Knowing Rowe as he had, Papa believed his holdings would be well cared for and therefore left everything to him, including us, it seems."

She smiled fully at that, and I knew without doubt she harbored no ill will against her cousin for inheriting. Her father could have easily left the house and all his wealth to Mrs. Scott, but choosing Mr. Apsley was a strategic move that would benefit all the Scott ladies in the long run. The protection that came from having a guardian such as him would do them good in London.

"Your father must have trusted him greatly to leave the three of you in his hands."

"He did," said Miss Scott. "And so do I. Rowe is the best sort of man—kind, honest, and intelligent. We are most fortunate."

She stated Mr. Apsley's qualities so frankly. It was no surprise she would value those things in a man acting as her guardian, but what qualities would she prefer in a suitor? Were they the same, or did her list grow to include wealth and title, as was the case for most women of the gentry?

I shook the thought away. Of course she would care for those things. All women did.

Silence settled between us. I glanced at the clock. Where was everyone else?

"Dinner is not until six," said Miss Scott.

I looked at her, and she stared up at me, her expression so unassuming. So…freckled.

Had she always possessed freckles? I suppose she must have, but I had never noticed. The way they adorned her cheeks and nose, just enough of them for my mind to connect them into shapes like one would the stars, was thoroughly distracting.

"You were looking at the clock and seemed confused," she continued. "I thought perhaps you were wondering about dinner."

"I was, but Mr. Davis told me we were to meet at five, not six. Perhaps I misheard him."

Another smile brightened her expression. "You arrived late, by that information. It was well after five when you came in. I presume it was to avoid time with Sabrina."

I did not hide my surprise well given the amusement that twinkled in her eyes.

"It was not so difficult to determine, my lord. Your reaction upon seeing us in the foyer earlier left no room for doubt of your feelings for our presence at Fallborn."

" Our presence?"

Her cheeks tinted. "Yes. Your scowl was not reserved solely for Sabrina."

Ah. Connected as the two of them were in mind, I did not doubt her words. I likely had scowled at them both.

"Forgive me," I said. "My mood could have been better when you arrived. Mr. Davis had not warned me." What more could I say? To deny that I had been unhappy to see either woman would have been a lie, one Miss Scott would see through anyway.

"I quite understand the reason," she said.

The reserved nature of her response pricked at something inside me. Guilt, yes, but more than that. Something I could not pinpoint .

"If dinner is not until six, why are you here so early?" I asked, hoping to redirect the conversation to safer ground. I wanted Sabrina and Miss Scott to know where I stood—that I had no desire for either of their company—but our conversation had been surprisingly pleasant, and I still needed answers.

"For the same reason you came late. I am less likely to be found or face demands here." Miss Scott's eyes went wide, as if she regretted her quick response.

"What demands?"

"I…it is nothing. Forget I mentioned it." She turned away from me and shifted closer to the window to peer outside. "It appears as though a storm is blowing in."

I bit back my frustration at the change of subject. I would have no more luck drawing out information tonight. We fell into silence once more, and I spent the remaining minutes before dinner in an armchair across the room from her, reading.

Or trying to.

My mind was far too distracted. Miss Scott had asked me to forget her response, but forgetting was something I seemed incapable of doing when such a riddle lay before me.