“Shall we all return to the drawing room and salvage this party?” Lord Yardley sounded almost jovial.
Rhys felt anything but. “Bella? Spare me one more moment.”
Lord Yardley nodded at his daughter, patted her hand, and headed down the hall toward the drawing room.
Being left alone with her was exactly what he’d wanted, but everything he thought he wanted to say was gone. The only thought in his head was that she looked lovely and entirely unhappy. He missed the mischievous twinkle in her eye that he’d seen every day when they were young.
“You were about to tell me something before Hammersley interrupted.” He yearned to reach for her, to somehow bridge the distance that had opened up between them over the years.
“The viscount is gone or soon will be. That hardly matters now.”
She didn’t trust him. Until this moment, he’d never realized how much he’d missed being someone that Bella Prescott entrusted with her private worries.
“I don’t want to disappoint my mother,” she said in her unconvincing I-must-do-my-duty tone that he’d never been able to master because he’d never given a whit about duty.
“We’ll never talk easily again, will we? Like we used to.”
For a moment, she looked at him with the same kind of openness as when they were young. Like a girl who liked him, trusted him, believed in him. Then it all shuttered and she turned as cool as the gossip rags claimed she was.
“No,” she said in a soft firm voice. “I don’t think we ever will.”
Chapter Nine
Bella shifted on her mattress, pushed at her pillow, and told herself for the hundredth time to go to sleep. She often struggled to quiet her mind before rest would come. Puzzles filled her head when she closed her eyes, and she’d see the end like the center of a maze and have to wend her way back to the start. Or she’d conceive an idea and have to work out every step.
Tonight there were no ideas. Just memories. Voices played over and over in her head. She heard Rhys asking in a raw tone if they’d ever confide in each other again. Hammersley blustering that she’d be ruined in the eyes of society for consorting with the infamous Duke of Claremont. Papa’s voice echoed in her mind too. He spoke earnestly of happiness, urging it upon her with an eagerness that stirred a flutter of panic in her chest. Panic at the thought of being trapped in a loveless but practical marriage.
As an only child, she’d always felt her parents’ desires for her keenly. She’d collected accomplishments and done her best to learn her lessons, and she’d always intended to fulfill their hope that she’d marry well.
But marriage was far different from a deft hand at watercolors or having a clever eye for embroidery.
Marriage was a contract binding two people. Forever.
Just the thought made her shiver. The only men who’d ever offered for her were the sort with whom she could never imagine spending every day of the rest of her life. Or every night.
She’d only entertained those thoughts about one man. He’d treated her as no one ever had, not as a child to be coddled and doted on but as if she was intelligent and capable. She’d imagined his affection for her might grow into deeper feelings, and it had, but only in her heart.
Never again would she be foolish enough to give her heart where her feelings weren’t returned. If only she’d adopted her new practical mindset back then.
Slipping out from under the covers, she lit a lamp and went to the long table where she’d laid out page designs for her book. This was practical. This made sense. The way she’d organized the drawings and notations fit together like its own enormous puzzle and it soothed her. But still there was a nagging sense in the back of her mind, as if she’d left something important unfinished.
The house party had gone unlike any social event her mother had ever coordinated. Bella couldn’t deny her relief.
In the morning, Hammersley would depart. As Rhys had pointed out, it was the only way for the viscount to salvage his pride. Nix would go too. Which left only Lord Wentworth, and Bella suspected the awkwardness of being the only gentleman remaining would drive him back to London too.
And then?
What had she truly won? Her mother had mentioned another Season. Bella’s stomach tumbled at the thought of more balls and dinners and whispers about her coldness.
One of the pages she’d designed and pinned to her sitting room wall caught her eye. A matching game with various ladies and gentlemen drawn in a grid of squares. She’d written a riddle to accompany the game. The answer to the puzzle was marriage.
Someone rapped softly at her bedchamber door. She crossed the room but before she could turn the latch Louisa slipped in and said quietly, “It’s me, Bell.”
“You’re up far too late.”
“Or far too early. Sun will be up soon, but I couldn’t sleep. I heard you moving about and knew you couldn’t either.” Louisa took one of the stuffed chairs near the fireplace and tucked her feet underneath her, as if she planned to stay awhile.
Bella tugged a blanket from her bed, pulled a chair next to Louisa’s, and spread the blanket between them. “What’s keeping you awake?”
Louisa glanced at her and then shifted her gaze down, running her fingers over the crisscross design of the blanket as if its knitted pattern fascinated her. “You first,” she finally said. “I’d think chasing Lord Hammersley away would put your mind at ease.”
“Lord Wentworth is still here.” Bella had her suspicions about the man and Louisa’s interest in him, but the way she shifted uncomfortably on her chair told Bella her speculations weren’t unfounded. “You like him.”
“He likes me,” Louisa said defensively. Then, less certain, “I think he does anyway.”
“I’m sure he does. He’s been very attentive to you.”
“And you.” Toying with the braid at her shoulder, Louisa shrugged. “He’s said nothing certain, but he is rather quiet in general.”
“Very quiet. Perhaps he’s simply thoughtful and isn’t one to bluster.” Bella didn’t dislike the man, and if he had an interest in Louisa, she could at least concede that he had good taste.
“You have no wish to marry him, then?” Louisa lifted one sandy blond brow, but the teasing twinkle in her eyes indicated she knew what Bella’s answer would be.
“None at all.” Bella stood and pressed her hands to the small of her back, stretching and wishing the sun had risen enough for her to take a walk across the fields. “I’ve no interest in any of them.”
“What about the Duke of Claremont?” Louisa asked in a mock-serious tone.
Bella choked midway through a deep breath and coughed. She assessed her cousin with a narrowed gaze. Louisa was up to something. She was familiar enough with Rhys to call him by his given name, and she knew one other crucial fact too.
“I could never marry him.”
“Why not?” Louisa’s brows tented as if she was truly perplexed. “He’s a duke. The finest catch in the county. And you did want to once, didn’t you?”
Bella willed her cheeks not to redden but she couldn’t find her tongue fast enough to reply before Louisa spoke again.