Chapter Nineteen

M irella stood talking with Lord Morrow. Rather, she stood and smiled, occasionally nodding her head without speaking. The earl was actually carrying on a one-sided conversation with himself. He was wrapped up in describing things about his estate. His family. A hunt he had participated in last autumn. He switched topics rapidly and randomly, so quickly that she could not get in a word to graciously excuse herself and move on. He did ask her questions—which he then proceeded to answer for her. Lord Morris merely rambled on. And on. And on.

Never had she been so bored or so miserable.

The Season, which she had looked forward to her entire life, had turned out to be most dismal. Yes, overall, she was enjoying the various events and activities. The music played at each ball was wonderful, and she danced as many of the dances as she could in her new, beautiful ball gowns. She had also attended events beyond balls. As Mama had assured her, Mirella really had fun at these other social affairs, as well.

But there was a yawning emptiness inside her that grew each day. That emptiness was where Lord Bridgewater should be in her heart.

It had cut Mirella to the quick when he had informed her that he would be marrying Miss Bowles. She would not wish that woman upon anyone, especially the man she loved.

She had pushed these feelings of love for him deep inside her, telling no one of them. Her heart yearned for a man she could never have, which was utterly foolish. Her situation was similar to Aunt Matty’s, in that Mirella loved a man and would never be able to wed him. The biggest different was that Aunt Matty’s lieutenant had left for a new continent and a good reason, while Lord Bridgewater would remain in England to vex her. Mirella had no idea how she would be able to go on, Season by Season, seeing the marquess and his marchioness at events night after night in the years to come.

The only thing which comforted her was that she believed, he, too, would be as unhappy as she was, which was a very selfish thought to have. She had no idea why the marquess was wedding his neighbor, but she had a good idea that he knew exactly what he was in for by doing so. Without a doubt, it would be a typical ton marriage, one in which the husband and wife led vastly different—and separate—lives from one another.

Effie had joked about being the Aunt Matty of the Strong family, traveling from household to household to see and spoil all the nieces and nephews. Mirella could now see herself in that role because she could not envision herself wed to anyone but Lord Bridgewater.

Still, she had to give the gentlemen of this Season a chance. That was why she stood here, listening to the tedious monotone of Lord Morrow. She also allowed any number of suitors to visit with her every afternoon. She listened to them. Sympathized with them. Smiled at them. Even flirted a little with them.

All the while, her heart cried out for a man who had done her terribly wrong, and yet he was the only one Mirella feared she might ever love.

She doubted she would find love again, much less so quickly. That meant another Season and most likely, more hopes dashed. It was as if her life stretched out as endlessly as this conversation, and Mirella wondered if she should simply remain in the country come next spring. They actually had some nice neighbors near Shadowcrest. Perhaps she might find she had something in common with one of them and make a quiet marriage in Kent.

Her heart told her that would not be the case. She sighed, wondering how she could escape Lord Morrow’s monologue.

Suddenly, her body tingled, a familiar awareness settling over her that gave her a moment of hope. She glanced up and saw Lord Bridgewater had joined them.

“I hate to interrupt your conversation, but Lady Mathilda has asked to speak with her niece immediately,” the marquess informed the couple.

Mirella knew this was a rescue mission on Lord Bridgewater’s part and decided to play her role in the escapade.

“Oh, I hope it is not the headache. Aunt Matty felt one coming on in the carriage on our way here. If that is the case, we must leave the garden party.” She turned to Lord Morrow. “If you will excuse me, my lord?”

“Of course, Lady Mirella,” he said, immediately turning away to look for a new audience.

Seconds later, he joined two ladies who were speaking to one another, and Mirella could only hope they would not be stuck with Lord Morrow as long as she had been.

She turned to Lord Bridgewater, who had a twinkle in his eyes. He offered her his arm, and she placed her fingers upon his sleeve, feeling the electricity between them as she did so.

“This way, my lady,” he said, steering her up the steps of the terrace and through the French doors so they were once more inside the house.

She looked about, seeing a few scattered tables had been set up, with mostly elderly guests seated at them. He guided her to a table in the corner, far away from the other occupied ones, and seated her.

Taking the seat next to her, Lord Bridgewater said, “I guess you surmised by now that your aunt is not in not great need of you.” His lips twitched in amusement.

“The last time you interrupted me and took me away, I was most angry with you.” Mirella paused. “This time, however, I must express my extreme gratitude to you, my lord. I thought I might never escape Lord Morris.”

“I was passing and saw you trapped by him,” he shared. “He is known for dominating every conversation he is a part of.”

She laughed, relaxing for the first time in weeks. “I could not get in a word edgewise,” she confided. “Lord Morrow was full of himself, spouting opinions and giving me his life history. I am thankful you came to my rescue, my lord.”

They sat for a moment, drinking in one another, and then Mirella thought nothing had changed. He was still unavailable to her. He had only helped her because he must have seen how miserable she had been in Lord Morrow’s company.

Pasting on a smile, she asked, “When will your betrothal be announced, my lord?”

“No announcement will be forthcoming. At least not to Miss Bowles.”

Mirella felt herself grow faint. The blood rushed to her ears, and she gripped her hands, which lay in her lap.

“Miss Bowles and you... decided against a marriage?” she asked.

“I believe that you tried to warn me before, Lady Mirella.”

“Warn you? How?”

“You tried to let me know just how unsuitable Miss Bowles was for me. I chose to ignore your advice because of a sense of duty.”

He was making no sense at all. “Duty? To whom?”

The marquess reached under the table and took one of her hands. Even though it was gloved, she could feel his tremendous heat through the material. Mirella’s eyes darted about the room, but only two tables were occupied now, and they were far from them.

He squeezed her fingers gently. “I listened on occasions too numerous to count to my father speaking of family. Father constantly lectured Dawson and me on family obligations, instilled in us how duty to family was the most important thing, above all else. I grew up with a sense of knowing I must give my all to my family because of the constant lectures he hammered into us. These thoughts were so drilled into me, that I never questioned them once.”

He fell silent a moment, but he held her gaze with those mesmerizing gray eyes.

“When I left for the army, I received more of the same, only now my family consisted of my fellow officers and the men serving under me. My duty was to them, along with king and country.

“Then I became the Marquess of Bridgewater—and all those memories of what family meant came flooding back, along with the numerous obligations which accompany the title. I did my best to learn about my new role in society and how to care for my land and its tenants.”

Understanding filled her, and Mirella said, “You had told me your father and Lord Hampton were very close to one another. And Miss Bowles is Lord Hampton’s daughter.”

He nodded. “You are beginning to understand. Although I knew Jacinda was entirely wrong for me, my father had wished for our families to be united through marriage. He betrothed my brother to her when she was but ten years of age. Dawson hated that the choice of a wife had been stolen from him. In a way, I suspect it is why he turned so wild in the years before his death.”

“He was rebelling because the choice had been removed from him,” she said. “But what of Miss Bowles? What did she think of this betrothal?”

“Miss Bowles had no idea the marriage settlements even existed. She was to be told when she came of age, during her come-out Season. When I returned from war and claimed my title, I met with my solicitor and asked Mr. Pilsbury about those very contracts. He told me they would be voided now, due to my brother’s death.”

She squeezed his hand. “But you felt a deep sense of obligation, didn’t you? You decided you must do what your father had wished. What your brother could not do. You would be the one to sacrifice your happiness and wed Miss Bowles.”

The marquess nodded solemnly. “Even though I knew it was a mistake, I still pursued that course of action,” he admitted. “I had the contracts drawn up.”

She tensed, knowing that a signed betrothal contract was almost as good as a marriage ceremony having already taken place. She tried to pull her hand from his, but he tightened his grip.

“Wait,” he said softly. “I must say the rest of this to you.”

He had already bared his soul to her, so she thought she might as well listen to what he had to say.

“Go ahead,” she encouraged.

“Those very contracts arrived at my residence just before I left to attend this garden party,” he shared. “I read over them, sinking deeper into the mire, knowing I was committed to a course of action my father would approve. My plan was to meet with Lord Hampton and sign these settlements in two days. Thankfully, that will not happen now.”

His words confused her—and yet gave Mirella hope.

“Something happened. Here. At this garden party this afternoon.”

He smiled wryly. “You are most astute, Lady Mirella. Yes, something did occur which changed the course I was set upon. It is allowing me to walk a new path. The one I preferred all along.”

Her mouth grew dry, and her heart slammed against her ribs painfully. “What happened?” she asked softly, almost afraid of his answer.

“I came across Miss Bowles kissing another gentleman in the gardens. I have been calling upon her each afternoon, trying to win her over or at least have her like me a bit. I wasn’t certain that would ever happen, but I had already made the arrangements with her brother. I knew Lord Hampton would honor the signed marriage contracts, and Miss Bowles would have no choice but to follow through.”

With his free hand, he raked his fingers through his hair, and Mirella itched to do the same to him.

“I informed her that the contracts had been drawn up and would be signed soon. While I do not like her in the slightest, I could see how, when I told her of the arrangements which had been made for her, that her heart was breaking—and that of the gentleman she was with. Suddenly, everything became clear to me. Either I could insist that the completed contracts be signed and be stuck in a loveless marriage with an angry wife for the next several decades.

“Or I could give Miss Bowles the freedom to marry this fellow.”

His gaze pinned hers. “And I could follow what my heart has been whispering to me all along.”

Tears filled Mirella’s eyes. She blinked several times and then said, “What are you saying to me, Lord Bridgewater?”

“That ever since we met, I have wanted to get to know you. I have wished to spend time with you. I know you seek a love match, Lady Mirella. What I am asking of you is your forgiveness. And not only that, I would like the chance to court you. Can you find it in your heart to give me yet another opportunity?”

Her heart was singing as she viewed him through watery eyes. Mirella already loved this man with her whole heart, but she did not think it appropriate to declare her feelings for him at this time.

At least, she had a chance with him now. A chance she had thought already passed her by.

“There is nothing to forgive, my lord,” she said. “You pursued what your father had wished for. What parents dream of for their children—and what their children desire—are often two very different things, however.” She smiled at him. “Yes, Lord Bridgewater. I would be happy to give you the opportunity to woo me this Season. I would understand, however, if you needed to take some time to heal emotionally from the trauma you have experienced. You saw a life with Miss Bowles. That dream has now dissipated.”

The resolve in his eyes took her aback. “No, my lady, I need no time to go and lick my wounds. I am committed to seeing if the two of us suit. And if love can grow between us, especially after what I have shared with you.”

Mirella already loved him. It would be up to this man to see if he might open his heart and love her in return. Only then, once he had voiced those feelings for her, would she be free to declare what was in her own heart.

She pulled her hands from his and rose. He followed suit.

“Perhaps you would care to come to tea tomorrow afternoon, Lord Bridgewater.”

“I will happily accept that invitation to tea, my, lady, but my question is this—will you allow me to engage you for the supper dance at tonight’s ball?”

Her heart sang as she said, “I would be happy to do so, Lord Bridgewater. Most happy, indeed.”