Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (56 page)

“I see.” Pennington leaned across the desk. “Then it is as I suspected, Mrs. Warren is the one.”

Carter ignored Pennington’s assumption. The idea he would speak his wishes to the woman did not alarm him as much as he thought it might. His only qualm came with the realization Mrs. Warren might refuse. “May I ask a question?”

Pennington offered no argument.

Carter chose his word carefully. “If the former duchess had come to you when you were five and twenty and had agreed to become your wife, which would you have chosen: Rosabel Crowden or your position with the Realm? Knowing what you know now, would you have risked your opportunities?”

“In a heartbeat,” Pennington answered without forethought. “I am attempting to recapture a lifetime of lost memories. Just think, I could have returned home each evening to the welcoming arms of my wife and children. I could have known the comfort of Bel’s body lining my chest every night. Now, all I pray is Lord Damon will permit to play the role of grandfather to his children. Yet, as wonderful as that would be, it will never be perfect because Adrian Murdoch’s children will hold not one drop of my blood in their veins. They will always belong to Lawrence Murdoch; I will forever be the outsider. Do not mimic my mistakes, Lowery. I should have fought harder for Bel.”

However, despite Pennington’s emotional advice, Carter had not called on Mrs. Warren. Stubbornness filled his body with unyielding tension. He made excuse after excuse until the time had slipped by, and then he knew he was too late the moment he had entered the hall at Carlton House and had seen her holding court, surrounded by a bevy of English gentlemen.

Lucinda knew Sir Carter had come before the prince’s herald had announced his name and station. His family surrounded him, and she could not completely conceal the look of longing crossing her countenance. She wished to rush to Lady Hellsman’s side–to hear Bella’s friendly chatter–to discover the reason Sir Carter had turned from her, but Lucinda’s pride would not permit her to do so. Instead, she focused on Viscount Lerhman’s story of his hunting dogs, plastering a welcoming smile upon her lips. She expected tears at the knowledge she had lost the baronet forever, but none threatened. Perhaps she had shed her last regret. She stood amiably with the viscount and the Barons Clarkson and Lavelle. All three men were sons of Lord Charleton’s closest acquaintances, and her uncle had carefully orchestrated the men’s attentions to display her in a flattering light.

Since her first appearance at a
ton
event, the gentlemen had called upon her regularly, along with a half dozen others who were equally devoted to her dowry. Her uncle had let it be known he intended to present her husband with a substantial settlement, and as Charleton had predicted, many of the
ton
had turned their heads from the scandal and sought her acquaintance. In fact, Lucinda’s drawing room held many hopefuls, but not one man who set her blood afire. Sir Carter Lowery held that position in his solitary grasp.

She looked up from Lord Lerhman’s smiling countenance just as Arabella and Lawrence Lowery offered her a bow of respect. “Lady Hellsman,” she said politely. “I am so pleased to find you in health.” She noted how Arabella Lowery had chosen a bell-shaped gown, one that concealed her blossoming figure. Women of the
ton
were generally sequestered away from prying eyes once their pregnancies became evident. Obviously, only an invitation from a prince would have induced Lady Hellsman to make an appearance in public.

“As happy as ever,” Bella bubbled with excitement, and Lucinda knew a moment of envy. “You will join us for supper?”

Lucinda shook off the suggestion. “I am to remain as part of my uncle’s party.” Immediately, she regretted the lie. While at Blake’s Run, Lucinda had wanted Bella as her dearest friend. Now she pushed Lady Hellsman away because Lucinda’s foolish heart had fallen in love with the lady’s brother in marriage.

Lord Hellsman caught his wife’s arm; he stiffly said, “We should leave you with your company, Ma’am.” Arabella nodded her agreement, but Lucinda
noted the flash of disenchantment in her friend’s eyes. The Hellsmans presented Lucinda a brief bow before withdrawing. Rather than returning immediately to her suitors, she watched them as they conversed with other couples in the crowd. She realized belatedly she had not even thought to ask of Baron Blakehell’s health or of the baroness’s plans for the lying in of her daughters. Essentially, Lucinda had become one of the women she had always despised: self-centered and without empathy, and it was all Sir Carter’s fault.

His mother nattered on about finally having the acquaintance of the Prince Regent, but Carter had studied the interplay between Lucinda Warren, Law, and Lady Arabella. He forced the disapproval from his countenance. The encounter had not gone well. Carter recognized the irritation held tightly in the slant of his brother’s shoulders. At that particular moment, he had despised how his relationship with Mrs. Warren had affected the lady’s response to Arabella’s overtures of friendship. Could Lucinda Warren not see how much it grieved him to withdraw from her? Could she not separate
their
relationship from the one Arabella offered? He was miserable, and now Arabella suffered also, and it was all Lucinda Warren’s fault.

“Why do you not speak to the lady?” Kerrington asked. As was their way, Carter, his associates, and their ladies had sought one another’s company during the supper hour. Even Pennington and Crowden’s Aunt Bel had joined them. Mrs. Warren, her uncle, several of the lady’s suitors, and Crowden’s other aunt, Rosalía, Viscountess Gibbons, who according to Mrs. Pennington had a longstanding acquaintance with the earl, had chosen a table across the crowded room, and despite his best efforts, Carter’s eyes drifted to where she sat.

“There is nothing to say,” he repeated stubbornly. Both Swenton and Kimbolt had asked variations of the same question previously, and each time, Carter had given the same response.

Lady Worthing’s brow knitted in disapproval. “You could ask of the lady’s health or that of the boy,” she suggested.

“Or of the horse she rode in the park this morning. Aidan says it was a fine mare,” Mercy Kimbolt added.

“Or you could speak of your obvious infatuation,” Grace Crowden declared.

His good humor evaporating, Carter’s façade of indifference transformed to one of controlled ire. “I hold no fascination for the lady,” he insisted through tight lips. “I am only concerned for the scandal dogging Mrs. Warren’s steps. The lady has experienced enough drama for one lifetime.”

Unfortunately, the women ignored his protestations. “Nonsense,” Crowden’s bride said dismissively. “I would venture to say Mrs. Warren is stronger because of her trials.”

“And as I am fond of saying,” Crowden said as he kissed the back of his wife’s hand, “it takes a woman with sense, as well as sensibility, to find contentment with men of our ilk.”

Kimbolt agreed, “When a woman comes meekly into the marriage, there is no basis upon which to build a relationship. Challenges faced together are the foundation for future bliss. A woman must exercise her choices.”

Carter groaned. “I suppose it is foolish to declare my disinterest.”

Swenton lifted his wine glass in a salute. “Although I know nothing of the contentment the others describe, I would be blind not to recognize you are besotted with the woman.”

“Enough!” Carter said sharply. He prayed his response betrayed little but his insistence. “It is my life and my mistake to make. I appreciate your concern, but I must follow my original inclinations.”

Lucinda worked hard to keep her countenance absent of the emotions coursing through her. The evening was more than half over, and Sir Carter had yet to join her even for the briefest of moments. In fact, he had not crossed an invisible line, which separated the room. Earlier, she had assumed he might seek a dance, or, at least, address his well wishes to her uncle. His parents had spent several minutes with the earl, but the baronet had ignored their previous connection.

“I understand you hold an acquaintance with my nephew,” Lady Gibbons said quietly. Uncle Gerhard had claimed the woman’s attentions throughout the
evening. The viscountess’s late husband had been the earl’s long-time friend, and her uncle and the viscountess shared many acquaintances. The impish spark in Lady Gibbons’ pale eyes spoke of the woman’s quick mind. She was as petite as Lucinda and the perfect complement to Lord Charleton’s boxed frame, and Lucinda had noted her uncle’s tender care of the woman.

Lucinda leaned closer to keep their conversation private. “I am, Viscountess. Lord Godown assisted Uncle Gerhard in my rescue from Cyrus Woodstone.”

“And his wife?” Lady Gibbons thankfully ignored the opportunity to speak of the scandal.

Lucinda glanced to the table where Sir Carter kept company with his associates. She had once dreamed of being accepted by the other men’s wives. “I fear not, Lady Gibbons, but I have had the acquaintance of both Lady Worthing and the Duchess of Thornhill. I attended their joint Come Out ball as the guest of His Grace.”

The viscountess’s eyebrow rose in amusement. “I cannot imagine the current duchess looked upon Thornhill’s bestowing his attentions elsewhere very kindly.”

Lucinda thought of the duchess’s venomous attack at Huntingborne Abbey. “I would agree,” she said simply.

Lady Gibbons’ snort of contempt surprised Lucinda. “The girl is all that is insecure. She used my nephew to turn His Grace toward jealousy–although I am certain Godown participated in the ruse of his own free will. In some ways, I suppose we, the marquis’s family, are fortunate: The woman would have bored Godown within a week. Likely, my nephew meant to taunt young Fowler. He and the duke have had an ongoing ‘competition’ since their days at university. Now that I think on it, Thornhill and the duchess are a perfect match. The lady requires constant reassurance of her beauty and her worth, and the duke holds a compulsion to prove himself as a daunting knight, who rights the wrongs of ladies in distress. Perhaps when they both mature, they will find they have little in common.”

Lucinda held few good thoughts of the duchess, but the duke was a different story. “His Grace has served me well over the years, even when I knew him upon the Peninsular front.”