Page 60 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Chapter Twenty
The morning after the soiree dawned crisp and cold. Ice formed on the outside of the window, and a layer of frost covered the lawn. Patrina lay in bed on her side, staring out of the window, and tried to work out what, exactly, she was going to do.
Neil had made it clear. He did not intend to put his feelings above the “right” thing to do, which was to put distance between them.
Because I am going to die, and you are going to live, and I must think of your future as well as my end. Don’t you understand?
She squeezed her eyes closed, covering her face with her hands.
He is going to die. How will I bear it? I’ve only just begun to know him. It isn’t fair.
There would be no wake-up call for Patrina that morning. The soiree had gone on late into the night, even though she had retired early. She had lain awake for hours, listening to the sound of happy guests far below, and thinking endlessly.
There must be some way to save my marriage. Some way to reconcile.
But if he’s made up his mind to keep me at a distance, how can I change it?
It was about nine o’ clock by the time Patrina finally rose. Considering that the soiree had gone on until the early hours of the morning, she doubted that anybody else would be awake.
She didn’t ring for Lucy. Instead, she stood at the window and stared down onto the frost-dusted ground, still unable to find a solution.
At last, she turned away with a sigh and dressed quickly by herself. Her hair she left loose, flowing around her shoulders and down her back. She threw a shawl around herself and headed downstairs. To the music room.
Patrina closed her eyes as she played, letting her fingers dance over the keys. It was a simple melody, an old one, one that she couldn’t even remember the name of, and it soothed her more than any amount of thinking could manage.
As the last notes faded away, she heard a creaking sound by the door, and her eyes flew open.
“Neil?” she heard herself say, unable to suppress the hope in her voice. She turned, and her heart sank.
Clayton stood there. He leaned against the doorway, arms folded, a wry smile on his face. Patrina’s hope faded away, leaving a cold, empty feeling in its wake. Clayton unfolded his arms and strode into the room. She shrank back despite herself.
“Very pretty,” he said, standing entirely too close.
“Thank you,” she responded automatically. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I thought the music room was far away enough from the bedchambers, so…”
“No, no, not at all. I’m an early riser, you see. May I?”
Before Patrina could say a word, Clayton sat down on the piano stool beside her. Itwaslarge enough for two – for a pair of players doing duets or something similar – but not comfortably so. Her immediate response was to leap to her feet, but something kept her frozen to the stool, only edging up to give him more space.
Clayton placed his hands on the keys and began to play, a loud and jaunty tune that Patrina did not recognize.
“I always liked the pianoforte,” he said, raising his voice over the music. “But gentlemen can’t be too occupied with such a thing. That was always the problem for me and Mother, youknow. We aren’t quite rich enough to live the way noble folks are meant to live. And while Neil is generous, he has made it clear he has no intention of supporting my lifestyle. Idoplay cards a little too much, it must be confessed. I’m not rich enough for the debt I have. Thatissomething that Neil said to me, once. No – not Neil, forgive me. His father, my esteemed uncle. The late Lord Morendale.Henever much liked me, you know.”
Patrina cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to hear that. Of course, I never knew him.”
“Hm. Well, it hardly matters. My mother always thought thatIwould be Lord Morendale one day, and brought me up as such.”
The hairs on the back of Patrina’s neck began to lift. “But she must have known that Neil would take the title.”
“Indeed, I thought so. But my mother helped me see that if one has a destiny, one mustseizeit. And now, tragic though all this is, it seems like that position of Lord Morendale will be mine. I hope you’ll forgive my speaking so callously of Neil’s health,” he added in an off-handed sort of way. “I’ve never seen the point of being nice about these things.”
“I don’t believe that Neil’s condition is terminal,” Patrina heard herself saying. Clayton was not looking at her, his attention focused on the keys, but he was close enough that she could feel the warmth coming off his body. “I believe that we have not exhausted our options.”
Clayton played a wrong note, the sound jarring through Patrina’s body. He let his hands slide off the keys and turned to face her. The smile still hung on his face, like a jacket hanging in a wardrobe.
“Your optimism is most commendable,” Clayton said, the smile hovering. “We can only hope. But I worry aboutyou, Patrina.”
She glanced sharply up at him. “About me?”
