He lowered his eyebrows, his expression somehow probing and menacing all at the same time.
She wasn’t a coward, but the words froze on her lips. She fought to free them. He made to speak. “I eloped with a gentleman,” she said on a rush. Humiliated shame set her body ablaze with heated color.
His body went taut. He said nothing.
She continued before her courage completely deserted her. “Last spring. It was a colossal mistake and it is therefore in the best interest of your children, and you to avoid being seen in my presence.” A sob worked its way up her throat and she disguised it as a cough. Her vision blurred by tears, she glanced down at the hole in the snow left by her now empty glass of muscadine ice. She bent and retrieved the delicate piece. Before he could utter another word, she fled, all the while wishing she’d made very different decisions in life.
CHAPTER 8
Smith pulled the doors open and Patrina stepped inside. Her snow-drenched skirts left a trail of moisture upon the marble floor of the foyer. She shrugged out of her cloak, awkwardly moving the crystal glass she’d fled Hyde Park with to her other hand.
The butler took the garment. “My—”
Patrina held a finger to her lips and implored the old, faithful servant with her eyes.
“Where have you been?”
She winced. Too late. Through the years, Mother possessed an uncanny sense of knowing just when her children were up to something they shouldn’t be. Such motherly intuitiveness seemed heightened after Patrina’s grand folly. The countess hurried down the stairs, a glare fixed on the crystal glass in Patrina’s hands.
Patrina swallowed hard and managed a forgiving smile for the regretful Smith. “Mother,” she said with forced cheer.
Mother stopped at the base of the stairs. She jabbed a finger at her eldest daughter. “To your brother’s office.” After all, Patrina’s scandalous act had reminded Mother that not all her servants were entirely loyal.
Patrina glanced down at her damp skirts. “Might I first…?”
“No you may not. Now, Patrina.”
She bristled with insult at her mother’s sharp command better suited for scolding a small child and not a woman grown. Of course, she’d lost all right to be truly indignant. With a reluctant step, she followed behind her mother feeling more like one of the queen’s terriers. They climbed the stairs and walked briskly on to Jonathan’s office.
Mother didn’t even knock. She tossed the door open and pointed her finger inside the room. Patrina sighed and entered in front of her mother.
Her brother stood with a hip propped on the corner of his desk, arms folded across his chest. “Trina,” he drawled.
She feigned a bright smile and tucked the crystal glass into the folds of her skirts in a futile attempt to keep it from his sight. “Jonathan. How are you—?”
“Enough of the pleasantries,” their mother snapped. “Where were you?”
She wet her lips, resenting the lack of trust but certainty understanding it. “Where was I?” She searched for an appropriate response.
Mother continued her barrage. “And what is that glass in your hand?”
Patrina blinked, her mind racing. “What glass?” She angled the crystal in a way that her skirts buried the damning piece of evidence.
Jonathan coughed into his hand. “I believe Mother refers to that particular one.” He gestured lazily. “The one you’ve hidden in your skirts.”
Her cheeks burned. “Oh. This glass.”
His lips twitched. “That is the one.”
“Er…” The crystal warmed in her hand as she remembered her meeting a short while ago with the marquess. Except there was nothing to say. How could she explain the urge to see a gentleman who’d first been a frowning bear of a man to the man who’d carried a crystal glass of muscadine ice beside the frozen river?
“Say something, Jonathan,” Mother snapped.
“Excuse us, Mother.”
Mother’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened and closed, giving her the look of a trout floundering outside of water.
Patrina pressed her lips into a firm line to bury a smile that wouldn’t be at all appreciated. That had clearly not been the “something” Mother had been expecting. Nor Patrina for that matter.
With a glower for her son, their mother turned on her heel and stormed from the room.
Jonathan scrubbed a hand over his cheek. “You do know she’s going to be a good deal less than pleased with me?”
She sidled over to the vacant seat in front of his desk and sank into the chair. “I’m certain her displeasure with me will far outweigh any annoyance she might feel toward you.”
He didn’t disagree. Instead, he tipped his chin toward the damning glass. “Who is he?”
If his tone was harsh and disapproving she thought she might not answer. As it was, she’d brought too much disappointment to her brother. She sighed and glanced down at her hands. “I know what I’m doing, Jonathan. Which is nothing,” she said on a rush when he lowered his black eyebrows. “There was a little girl who’d become lost from her nursemaid and I helped deliver her home.”
Perhaps it was because her brother had been something of a rogue through the years, before his wife had properly reformed him, but he eyed her warily—a man who recognized there was more to the story, information she withheld. He glanced beyond her shoulder. “You know I can never forgive myself for having failed you as I did, Patrina.”
She closed her eyes. “Not you, too, Jonathan.” Mother, Juliet, Jonathan. Everyone blamed themselves for her actions. It grew tiresome dwelling amongst people who existed in a perpetual state of guilt. After all, she had a sufficient amount of guilt for the whole Tidemore clan combined.
He went on as a though she’d not spoken. “I didn’t pay enough attention to the gentlemen striving for your attention.”
Probably because there’d not really been any gentlemen desiring her attention.
“And as a result, Marshville took advantage of…of…” he cleared his throat.
“My naiveté? My foolishness?” she said in a self-deprecating tone. My desperation.
“Your innocence.” He squared his jaw. “And I’ll not have you make the same mistake again.”
“I can’t really make the same mistake, though, can I Jonathan?” She gently reminded him. After all, once ruined, forever ruined. The risk she danced with every time she met Weston further jeopardized her sisters’ future hopes of a respectable match. That in itself should compel her to stay well-clear of the marquess.
It appeared she was the same selfish ninny she’d been nine months ago. Logic should keep her from the marquess, yet a desire to know more of him kept drawing her back to him.
Jonathan drummed his fingers on his desk. “I’m going to ask you the question I should have asked you more than nine months ago. The question that would have saved you from yourself.” That she appreciated. His assigning her responsibility for her own actions. “Who is he?” he asked with a bluntness that made her wince.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll not see him again.” Sadness pulled at her heart. Foolishly, she wished to see him again. She enjoyed his company. Welcomed that he was the only one to speak freely with her and didn’t look on her with pity or scorn as the rest of Society did, family included.