Edith Layton (12 page)
Authors: The Choice
D
rum
! She almost reached out to touch him. But didn’t, not only because he wasn’t there, but because she’d never dared touch him except by accident.
There couldn’t be two more different men in shape and appearance than Damon and Drum. Damon was classically handsome, disarmingly so. Drum had character and intelligence alone to recommend his face. Drum was lanky, Damon had the sort of body men ought to have, at least if the ancient Greeks were to be believed. But the thought of Drum was enough to set her heart fluttering. And yet Damon’s touch made her pulses race.
What’s the matter with me
? she groaned. Was she no better than the easy females she’d always disdained?
But she cared for them both, too. They both made her laugh. Both made her feel better about herself than she’d any right to, Damon by telling her how good she was, Drum by mocking her fears and doubts. But who could calm them now?
Not Damon. And Drum had been only too glad to hand her over to another man. A tear fell on her painstakingly written invitation to Lord Wycoff. That, too, she thought miserably, hurrying to pick up a blotter to save the Y in his name from becoming a blurred X. Was her forgetting to invite that adulterous nobleman a more sinister thing than she knew? Was she divided against herself as well as divided in her emotions?
Because she oughtn’t to have forgotten him. Whatever his state of grace, she genuinely liked Lord Wycoff and the game they always played when they met. She’d thought it was only a game of wits. But was Damon right? Was it really the pleasure of playing with fire? Was she just a flirt? She grimaced at the thought. She thought she was above that kind of thing.
She admired Wycoff, too, in a grudging way. He was a wily creature, as all hunters had to be. He knew women and the darker side of their hearts and minds. A confessed unhappily married man, he was always seeking diversions—and finding them. He never stayed with any of his women long. But he was never alone long either. Gilly liked his wry humor, but also had an almost supernatural respect for him. Had she purposely left him off the wedding invitation list because she was afraid he’d see the truth in her not-so-pure heart when she turned her eyes to her new husband?
Oh, damn, damn, damn
, she thought, holding her
aching head. Drum always told her to beware her impulsive starts. And look what happened the moment he left her!
She’d agreed to marry Damon because of his impulsive attempt to save her reputation. She’d agreed on an impulse, too. But what else could she do? Wait for Drum until he married someone else? Which he would—which he had to do. Take a lesser man than Damon to wed instead? But maybe it
wasn’t
fair to Damon, no matter her determination to be a good wife to him. How could a wife who only gave half a heart be good? What if it was not only selfish of her, but cruel to him? It wasn’t too late….
“Miss Gilly? Are you all right?” the butler asked from the doorway.
“Oh.” She lifted her head. “Yes, Wilkins, I am. It’s just these dratted invitations. See? I smudged another. And I know they cost the earth to print. I’m a frugal creature, it goes against the grain to see waste. But how can I send out a card that looks like it was in a hurricane?” She laughed and tore up the innocent card.
He smiled at her. Miss Gilly was a favorite of the servants. A charming young woman, agreeable enough with them to put them at their ease, just lofty enough to show she was well bred.
“The others look very well, miss. Are they ready for me to send out?”
“Not yet. I have to write some more.”
And think some more
, she thought. “And I want to show them to my lady to see if there’s anyone we’ve forgotten. What’s that you have there?”
“A letter for you, miss. It just came and I know how
you like for me to bring them soon as they arrive.”
A
letter from
D
rum
! Gilly jumped from her chair and took the letter off the silver tray the butler offered.
“Thank you! The very thing, I was getting tired of scribbling, to tell the truth,” she said, blushing with excitement.
A
letter from
D
rum
! She held it tight as she sank back in her chair and Wilkins, smiling, left her to her treat.
Now here’s an end to the nonsense at last
! H
e’s thought about it and come to his senses
, she thought with relief. She carefully unfolded the letter, trying not to tear it in her haste. He’d tell her to postpone the thing until he returned, she thought excitedly. He couldn’t offer her more than advice, of course, and wouldn’t think to. But he’d want to look Damon over. That would buy her time. Of course she shouldn’t wed at a moment’s notice! Of course that was why the thing never felt quite right, no matter how charming Damon was. The world seemed to be spinning back to normal again for her. Drum wouldn’t let her take such a rash step for the sake of propriety. Not Drum.
The letter
was
an apology! Her hands shook.
D
ear
G
illy, my friend
,
Wrong of me to send such a hasty, careless note last week. You of all people deserve better of me. The news of your coming marriage rocked me to my toes, but you must know that
.
She did, but now so did he, and so everything would be all right. She might as well tear up
all
the invitations
now! Or put them aside until he returned to give her his good counsel. She ran a hand under her eye to catch a foolish tear that blurred her vision for a moment, and then read on, smiling tremulously.
My dear little friend getting married! It didn’t seem possible. Not only did it make me feel ancient, but I had this instantaneous vision of you as you looked when I first met you—as you’ll always look in my mind’s eye. A starveling whey-faced youth wearing a ghastly old oversized jacket, scarred thick-soled boots, and those breeches! So clever to wear mud-colored ones so no one knew if they were clean or not. A length of rope as a belt around nonexistent hips and a drooping, slouched, and totally disreputable hat almost but not quite hiding those glowering yellow eyes of yours
.
Thus my sudden vision of you, dressed the same, in the same dirt and with the same swagger—strolling up the aisle in front of all the ton to join hands with the Catch of the Season, standing beaming at you like a mooncalf. It was so vivid and so ludicrous. Thank you, my child, for providing me with the best laugh I’ve had all month
!
She read on, too impatient to be amused at his recollections.
And I needed some humor, let me tell you
.
Her heart raced. Was he ill?
Cupid hasn’t been idle here either, my friend. I’ve met a charming young woman. She’s from London, here visiting an aunt. A lovely creature of the kind that always caught
my eye, buxom, with dark eyes and inky curls—but respectable, I assure you, you wretch! A widow whose gallant husband fell at Waterloo. We walked out together. I had the highest expectations. But we quarreled over a trifle. I’ve been sulking, at least until I got your good news. It made me try my luck again. And so now my dark lady and I speak again, at least. The rest? We shall see
.
Gilly stopped breathing. She didn’t realize it. Her eyes raced down the page.
So I won’t be able to be back in time for your wedding, Chick, and I’m sorry for it. But I can’t leave until I know my fate. I know it’s Ewen who should give you away, but I’d have liked being part of the wedding party, too. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Perhaps you can be part of mine when I return
.
Until then, my duck, be good, be kind, and pray manage not to slay anyone…But I don’t have to say that anymore, do I? Now you’ve got your Catch of a groom to tell you that. I wanted to send a gift with this letter but am still searching for the exact one. Something rare and memorable as yourself is not easy to find. Wish me well and wish me luck, and know I wish the same for you
.
Y
our devoted friend
,
D
rum
Gilly put the letter down. Then raised it up and read it once more. Then she put it down precisely on the desk, and didn’t look at it again. Instead, she picked up an invitation and dipped her pen in ink. What an idiot she’d been. She began writing so she wouldn’t keep
thinking, because otherwise at the rate those infuriating tears were falling, she’d waste every last one of the invitations.
“Wilkins said there’d been a letter from Drum,” Bridget said at tea that afternoon. “What does he say?”
“That he wishes me well,” Gilly said, trying to sound bored and amused as she hid her expression behind a raised teacup, “and that there’s a certain female who’s caught his eye. She’s his usual type, plush and dark. But he’s having unusual problems. She’s giving him difficulties. He says he’s serious about her. A worthy widow, he says, so this time it might be true.”
“Indeed?” Ewen said. “That
is
news. When is he coming back to show her to us?”
“He didn’t say. It sounds like she’s hard to persuade.”
“Then he’s serious about something else and isn’t asking the question you thought he was, depend on it,” Ewen said. “And if she is worthy, the difficulties probably have more to do with her good sense about her good name than with his offer. Which while undoubtedly generous, probably doesn’t include a wedding ring.
“My cousin the Earl of Drummond is prime marriage goods,” he told Damon. “Rich, titled, and charming. Silver-tongued, too. But elusive. Almost my age, and yet he hasn’t married. But he’s seldom alone long enough to attach a decent woman. All the other kind flock to him and he welcomes them with open arms—literally. But that and his purse is all that’s open to them. Not his heart, or his house. Rogue he may be, but he knows what’s due his name.”
“You’re too hard on him,” Bridget chided.
“You see?” Ewen laughed. “Otherwise sensible females dote on him. God knows why. The rascal’s not an oil painting by a long shot.”
“He’s not handsome, but he’s attractive, very much so,” Bridget said. “He’s got the most astonishing eyes. Blue as the summer sky, startling in such a harsh face. He dresses elegantly and looks regal. And unlike
some
persons I could name, he always pays attention to a person. When he stares down that long nose at you, you feel you’re the center of his universe. You don’t know whether to be flattered or run away. Why, when I first saw him I thought he was the most arrogant care-for-nothing. But within minutes I liked him.”
“Just as well he came straight to me afterward with news of meeting you that day, instead of staying to dally. Or we wouldn’t be here together right now, my dear,” Ewen said ruefully. “Lucky thing for me the rogue has a rudimentary sense of honor, at least.”
“And you think
this
rogue doesn’t?” Bridget asked with mock insult.
“All this because I forgot to pick up a packet of her favorite sweets at Gunters this morning. Beware,” he told Damon, “courtship doesn’t end at the altar. It never ends, it seems.”
“Which is how it should be,” Bridget said with satisfaction, “and I want two packets when you go there tomorrow.”
“I’ve heard so much about him from Gilly,” Damon said, “I’d like to meet him. Will he be home in time for the wedding, at least?”
“No,” Gilly said in a stifled voice, “it appears not.”
“That might not be so, after all. I got a letter today, too,” Ewen said, scowling. “I was just going to tell you all about it. I’m glad the invitations weren’t sent yet. We have to change the date again.”
“No!” Bridget said.
Gilly looked up. Damon frowned.
“The vicar wrote three sheets pleading for my understanding,” Ewen said in disgust. “What can we do but agree? It seems a certain female from the parish, of good family but bad judgment, needs her wedding day moved up—precipitously. The sooner the better for her eventual offspring. Bad enough it will be a six-month wonder, every week makes a difference at this point. The silly wench was afraid to tell anyone sooner. But her mama’s a seamstress and noticed that after all the fittings, suddenly the new dress the bride was going to wear for her wedding didn’t fit. At all. And likely won’t, at least not until after she whelps.”
“Not Sally Hedges!” Bridget gasped. “Well, I’m not surprised, we’ve had geese that were more clever. Poor Mrs. Hedges, so embarrassing. You were right, Gilly, it’s hard to hide anything in these styles.”
Damon looked at Gilly with interest. “I was only saying that men have an easier time of it in the fashions they can wear,” Gilly said defensively. “So, when is my wedding to be?”
“Set back yet another week,” Ewen said, “I know it’s hard. First a delay because of a death in the vicar’s family put his schedule back two weeks. Now this. We wanted a summer wedding, but that’s impossible now. It will have be early autumn. Unless, of course,” he told Damon, “you wish to marry here instead. We can send
for Betsy,” he told Gilly. “We’d have to. If we didn’t, she’d walk all the way.”
Damon gazed at Gilly. She didn’t say anything.
“For my part, no,” Damon said slowly. “I think we’d look like Sally Hedges and her beau if we did that at this point. I’ve told everyone where it will be—the when of it will just have to be changed. I’m disappointed, of course.” He paused. When Gilly didn’t speak to agree, he added slowly, “So be it. Maybe your cousin Drummond can return in time for the wedding, after all.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Gilly said.
“And so, what does matter to you?” Damon asked Gilly when she walked him to the door later.
He’d waited until the footman left them alone in the hall. Damon’s face was grim. Gilly was confused at his dark mood.
“I mean, Gilly,” he said, “I don’t mind marrying a girl who has reservations. It only means she’s a thinking creature. But I won’t marry one who has serious doubts. I begin to think you do. I can’t spend my life convincing you. Maybe I can. But I don’t want to. Because I begin to suspect those doubts are about me, not you or our suitability. So?”
