Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

A ndrew rubbed one hand over his face, scowled, and slammed one fist down hard on the table.

Try as he might, he could not see a way to escape this. He had stayed up almost all night, thinking about a way to remove himself from Miss Hawick, a way to say that he was no longer going to court her, nor betrothe himself to her, but the more he thought of it, the more difficult it became. Time and again, his thoughts would return to what he had seen of her as she had stood at the door of the house, waiting for her carriage.

His heart had twisted and, even now, whenever it came to mind, it did the very same again.

She had not known that he had been there, of course, else he was sure that she would never have let herself be so free in her emotions. No doubt she would have stood there, resolute, until she had finally climbed into her carriage and left him behind. She had not, however, and Andrew had been able to see the full extent of her upset. She had crumpled into herself, her arms wrapping around her waist as though she were trying to seek out some sort of comfort, her head dropping forward and quiet, tiny sobs breaking from her lips. Andrew had no doubt that she had been crying, finding himself imagining the tears on her cheeks, the salt on her lips… and all because of him.

That had been – and still was – a painful truth to accept. His foolishness had been the reason for all of this, his determination to enjoy an assignation with Lady Faustine had become his one and only focus, to the point that he had lost all sense. He ought to have made certain that it was the lady in question who had come towards him, ought to have spoken her name at least before pulling her into his arms. Instead, he had acted on instinct and with desire, letting that pull him forward rather than choosing sense. The pain that he had obviously caused Miss Hawick cut deep into his soul, making him flood with guilt and frustration, mortified that he had behaved in such a way and, at the same time, angry with himself for what he would now have to endure.

A knock came at the door and Andrew growled for the butler to enter, only for Lord Glenfield to make his way into the room. His eyebrows lifted as he took in Andrew's expression, though he said nothing, simply walking across the room to pour them both a measure of brandy.

"It is almost time for you to step out into society again," he said, after settling himself into an overstuffed chair to the side of Andrew's desk. "The soiree this evening, yes? Lord Bannington's?"

"Yes, yes, I recall."

His friend tilted his head.

"You left the ball very early last evening, without any sort of explanation. Are you quite all right?"

Andrew considered his answer, wondering whether he should tell his friend all, only to realize that Lord Glenfield would discover the truth, whether it was spoken now or not. Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Last evening, I found myself betrothed to Miss Hawick." The silence was telling, and Andrew opened his eyes to see that his friend's mouth had fallen open, a glaze coming into his eyes as he stared at Andrew in utter shock. "I know, I know. It was not something that I planned, as I am sure you can understand."

"You… you are betrothed?"

Andrew sighed again, waving one hand vaguely.

"I must court her for a short time, so that the ton do not suspect that there has been something improper occur, but yes, I am to be betrothed very soon. Within a fortnight, I expect." Lord Glenfield blinked quickly and then threw back his brandy in two gulps before staring at Andrew again. "And yes, before you ask, it was entirely my own fault. The reason I left the ball and returned to the house was so that I might try to find a way to escape this betrothal but, as yet, I have come up with very little."

"How…" Lord Glenfield closed his eyes. "I must ask how such a thing is possible! How can it be that you are betrothed to a young lady? Andrew shook his head wordlessly, feeling shame bite down hard at him as he tried to find the words to explain. "You did something foolish, I presume?"

Nodding, Andrew swallowed hard and looked away, finding it difficult to explain to his friend what had happened without feeling overwhelmed with mortification.

"I thought she was Lady Faustine."

"Oh."

Closing his eyes, Andrew let out yet another sigh.

"Believing that, I captured her in my arms, only to be discovered by Miss Lillian Hawick, her sister, who then insisted that I do the honorable thing and betrothe myself to her sister."

Lord Glenfield nodded slowly.

"Which is quite right," he agreed, as Andrew scowled. "You cannot damage a lady's reputation in that way and expect nothing to come of it."

"Though, had she stepped back, had she pushed me away or fought me, then I would have known that I had made a mistake, and nothing would have come of it!" Andrew exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the table again. "I–"

"You are not about to blame the young lady herself for this, I hope?"

Lord Glenfield's voice had taken on a darker tone and, embarrassed, Andrew dropped his head and shook it.

"No, I suppose that I should not."

"You most certainly should not!" Lord Glenfield exclaimed, getting up to pour himself another brandy. "You did not see that it was not Lady Faustine?"

Andrew shook his head.

"It was dark and I, being a little frustrated that she had not arrived – Lady Faustine, that is – stepped out of the room to return to the ballroom, only to see the figure of a lady approaching."

"Whom you then assumed was Lady Faustine."

"Yes."

Lord Glenfield nodded slowly, meandering back towards his chair.

"You left the ballroom a little early, simply because you wanted to escape the difficulty you faced? Because you did not want to go to speak to Lord Morton, you decided to return home, and see if you could find a way to break the connection between yourself and Miss Hawick?"

Shrugging, Andrew looked away again, hearing the hint of disappointment in his friend's voice.

"I am a rogue, after all. I do not want to take responsibility for this, I do not want to marry her."

"That matters not. All that matters is that you are to wed her," his friend told him, unequivocally. "You cannot escape from this, not after what you have done. So might I suggest that you prepare yourself, come to the soiree and, if Lord Morton is there, speak to him directly."

Letting out a low groan, Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for the wave of frustration to fade away.

"I do not want to do any of that."

His friend snorted.

"You shall, though."

With another groan, Andrew lifted his brandy to his lips and took a sip, waiting for it to improve his spirits but, instead, it only sank them lower. His shoulders dropped, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to relinquish all hope of ever being free of this, of being free of her.

"I suppose that there is every chance that Viscount Morton will refuse me. That must give me some hope, at least."

His friend snorted.

"Very little hope, I am afraid. You are aware that you are a Marquess and she, the daughter of a Viscount? Why ever would a gentleman of that standing refuse a gentleman of your standing?"

Andrew scowled and pushed himself to rise.

"Then I shall remind myself that, should he accept my request to court Miss Hawick, nothing really needs to change. I can continue on just as I am, albeit with a little more discretion." He grinned at Lord Glenfield, expecting his friend to laugh and smile in response but Lord Glenfield only frowned, not even the smallest hint of laughter on his face.

"You would continue to pursue other ladies, even though you have a wife?" he asked, as Andrew considered the question, aware of the tug of conscience in his mind, aware that there was a slight flicker of guilt in his heart even at considering it.

"I can see no reason not to." His friend's eyebrows lifted. "There are many married gentlemen who are just as they have always been," Andrew protested, hearing his words but feeling them to be a little weak. "I did not choose this. I did not choose her ! So therefore, I cannot see why–"

"I will pray that such a view will change, in time," his friend shot back, a little quickly. "Now, are you to attend the soiree or not?" He cast a sharp glance towards Andrew. "For if you are, you will have to change."

Andrew glanced down at his shirt, seeing the crumpled lines and the slight stains from where he had splashed his brandy earlier in the afternoon. It was a very good reason not to attend, he told himself, for he could simply state that he was not at all prepared and had no desire to go, and all would be well.

But then I should be a coward, he reminded himself, scowling. I know what I must do and hiding here will not remove the need to do it.

"Yes, I shall attend," he muttered, a little unwilling still. "If you wish to depart without me, I shall find you there once I arrive."

A small hint of a smile danced about Lord Glenfield's lips.

"Then I shall wait, I think."

"Oh?"

His friend laughed and sat back in his chair, stretching out his legs in front of him and crossing them at the ankle.

"Why, it is to make certain that you are not going to turn around and decide not to attend after all," he said, making Andrew grimace. "I should not like you to change your mind, you see, so I think I shall wait until you are quite ready so that we might depart together, as we intended."

There was nothing for Andrew to do but walk out of his study and make his way to his bed-chamber, ringing for his valet the moment he arrived. His thoughts and considerations had come to nothing, and were worth nothing. At the end of it all, he was still tied to Miss Hawick, still forced into a position that he had never desired to be in, but now could not escape from.

I will have to marry her, he thought to himself, scowling. My life, as I know it, has come completely to an end – and it is all my own fault.

"Good evening." Andrew inclined his head to his host, mumbled a thank you to him for the invitation, and then made his way a little further into the room, just as he usually did. There was no confidence about him this time, however, no sense of expectancy that he would find some wonderful connections present this evening, and might have some enjoyment of his own with them. Instead, he felt himself a little fearful and, hating that sensation, scowled hard and lifted his chin, setting his shoulders straight as he looked about the room.

"She is not here as yet, though she and her family have accepted the invitations to attend," said a voice in his ear as Andrew glanced back at his friend, seeing Lord Glenfield smile. "Yes, you may wonder how I discovered this, but know that it was through speaking quietly to one of the footmen. Now," he continued, "you need to stop looking so fearful. It is quite clear to me that you are concerned about what will be said and done this evening, but worrying about it is of no purpose."

Andrew snorted.

"That is easy enough for you to say, my friend. You are not the one who must seek out the lady's father and beg for her hand, even when you do not truly wish to do so."

His friend shrugged.

"I am afraid that you will not find me with any sympathy. I think you foolish for what you did, and the consequences are quite fair, though I do hope that the young lady herself is quite contented with it."

Andrew's jaw tightened as the memory of seeing Miss Hawick in tears threw itself back at him.

"Miss Hawick is not at all delighted with our betrothal. Her sister is, however."

"Her sister?"

Andrew nodded.

"It was she who determined that I had to become betrothed to Miss Charlotte Hawick. I do believe that Miss Charlotte would have been more than contented to step away from me, to leave things just as they were."

"As you would have been also."

Andrew nodded.

"Precisely." Again, the image of the lady crying as she waited for her carriage hit him and he licked his lips. "However, thanks to Miss Lillian Hawick's insistence, I now must court the lady. I must consider betrothal and matrimony."

"It may be that she cares for her sister and wants what is best for her," Lord Glenfield replied, a little gently. "I know that you are upset, and frustrated that this has all come about, but I can see the purpose in Miss Lillian's actions." His gaze went over Andrew's shoulder. "Ah, I can see that they have now all arrived."

"They have?" Andrew spun around, only to turn back again just as swiftly as he caught Miss Charlotte Hawick's eye. "Goodness, so she has." His heart slammed hard into his chest. "And I am going to have to go and speak with her father very soon."

"No doubt either the lady herself, or her sister, has spoken to him on your behalf already," his friend remarked, tilting his head just a little. "I must say, Miss Lillian Hawick is rather pretty this evening, is she not?"

Groaning, Andrew closed his eyes.

"Please, do not make such remarks as that! I am well aware that Miss Hawick – both of the Misses Hawick, in fact – are very pretty, but that does not make me feel any better. I think–"

"Do excuse me, will you?"

Andrew blinked in surprise, his eyes following his friend as Lord Glenfield made his way directly towards Miss Lillian Hawick, taking her aside from her mother and speaking warmly to her, making the lady smile. Andrew did not know what to think, utterly astonished that not only had Lord Glenfield found Miss Lillian Hawick pretty enough to go and speak with directly, but that he had also willingly abandoned Andrew, apparently without so much as a thought! It was as though Andrew's present circumstances were not of any real consideration and that, in itself, frustrated Andrew more than a little.

His stomach clenching, Andrew made his way directly towards Lord Morton, his chin lifting as he fought to steady both his gaze and his heart. It was clamoring furiously, knowing that with these next few words, he would be determining his future without any ability to step aside.

"Lord Morton." Andrew cleared his throat as he bowed his head, tension rippling through him. "I am afraid we have not been introduced but–"

"You must be Lord Kentmore!" Much to Andrew's surprise, the gentleman beamed at him as though he were some long-lost friend and, thereafter, clapped Andrew on the shoulder. "You are the gentleman who is interested in courting Charlotte, I believe?"

Still rather stunned, it took Andrew a few moments to answer, his throat rasping as he nodded.

"Yes, that is so."

"Capital! I know that we have not been formally introduced, but I do not believe that it is needed," the gentleman said, grasping Andrew's hand and shaking it firmly. "My daughter has told me all about you, telling me that I need not fear your reputation, for you are quite determined to turn your back upon all of that now. To think that a gentleman such as yourself would find yourself so caught up with Charlotte is quite remarkable, I must say!" He finally released Andrew's hand, his eyes still bright and his smile wide. "Of course you have my consent, Lord Kentmore! I could think of nothing better for Charlotte, I assure you."

A small wave of guilt rose up in Andrew's soul, only to break down over him.

"I am not quite certain that I am the very best sort of gentleman," he said, surprised at how much feeling rose up within him as he spoke, as though to rebel against what he knew to be the truth. "But I shall do my best as regards Miss Hawick."

The gentleman's smile – which had never faded – grew larger still.

"I am certain you shall. My goodness, what a delight this is to me! To know that you have been quite captured by the beauty and the nature of my daughter is quite remarkable, I must say, especially given that she can be so very quiet and reserved."

"What is that I hear?"

A voice that Andrew did not recognize came from behind him and, glancing over his shoulder, he saw a lady coming to stand beside Miss Charlotte Hawick and Lady Morton.

"Oh, it is just that the Marquess of Kentmore has sought out my husband's permission to court Charlotte," Lady Morton answered, as the other lady gasped in evident surprise. "My husband has given his consent, so now Lord Kentmore shall be courting my daughter! Is that not wonderful?"

"It is indeed!" the other lady replied, pressing Lady Morton's arm before turning and, as Andrew watched, scurrying across the room to spread the news.

His heart sank. Yes, he knew that this was what had been expected of him, what he'd had no choice but to do, but all the same, the reluctance within him grew steadily. He did not want to become betrothed to Miss Hawick, did not want to spend every day with her by his side. All he wanted was to free himself from her, but now, with the news spreading through the room, that seemed nothing but impossible.

"You will wish to spend time with her this evening, I am sure."

Andrew turned back to give his attention to Lord Morton, who was still beaming at him, his whole face wreathed in smiles.

"Spend time with Miss Hawick?"

"Yes," Lord Morton answered, a slight dimming of his smile following. "I presume that you–"

Andrew cleared his throat.

"Yes, yes of course." Forcing a smile, he turned to the lady who was still standing by her mother, her face a little pale. "Miss Hawick," he began, hating every word that came out of his mouth. "Might you wish to take a turn about the room?"

Miss Hawick closed her eyes, a slight tremble about her lips.

"No, I do not think that it would be proper to do so."

The answer made Andrew recoil, taking a slight step back as he regarded the lady. He had not expected her to refuse him, had thought that she would see that there was nothing for them to do but to accept what was now before them, and to act as it required.

Her mother, clearly a little shocked, blinked quickly, then trilled a laugh.

"My dear, you must not think that there is any sort of concern here about propriety or the like! So long as you do not leave the room, you are permitted to walk with Lord Kentmore for a time, without a chaperone."

Miss Hawick looked to her mother as though she were desperately trying to get her to read her thoughts, but Lady Morton merely lifted an eyebrow. With a small sigh, and not even the smallest, flickering smile on her face, Miss Hawick stepped forward and looked up at him.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and a heavy weight dropped into Andrew's stomach.

"Very well, Lord Kentmore," she said, her voice dull. "A walk around the room it shall be."

Andrew offered her his arm without saying anything further but, much to his surprise, the moment she took it, he was filled with a flush of heat, as though he were secretly delighted to have her so near him. That in itself was foolishness, he told himself and, as they walked away from Lord and Lady Morton, Andrew's heart began to sink all the lower. There was naught but tension, strain, and upset here, and he had not even a single hope that there would ever be any sort of happiness between them. Not today, not tomorrow, and certainly not in their future.