Page 78 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
When they returned to Pembroke’s mansion, Drew did not go in but held back at the foot of the steps. ‘Stay with your parents and pack your things. I will collect you at five. My curricle should be back at the stables by then.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have things to arrange.’ He set his expression in a smile. He was too angry to be natural.
‘To arrange…?’ Her eyebrows lifted, and her expression asked more questions.
‘I have debts to pay, Mary.’ He tapped her under the chin. ‘I will collect you at five.’
‘At five then.’ She nodded, her expression suspicious.
He thought about kissing her but remembered the kiss she turned away from at the church and did not attempt it.
He walked away without a word to her family. But he did glance back and smile at Mary.
She was clasping the iron railing and watching him with a look of doubt.
Before he paid his debts, he would go to his boxing club and knock six bells out of someone, no matter that his rib hurt like hades.
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Mary watched him walk away, his arms swinging in time with his long strides.
Her fingers clung to the iron railing to stop her knees from giving way. Within an hour of their marriage, he had taken her money and left. He had said he would come back but her belief in him had been slaughtered.
‘Where has he gone?’ Her father’s consoling touch rubbed her arm.
‘To fetch his curricle,’ she lied, but she could hardly tell her father he had gone to pay his debts with her dowry. ‘He said he will collect me here at five. I shall pack my trunk.’
Her mother smiled sympathetically.
Mary walked into the house. She had no idea where her new home was, she had never asked Andrew where he lived.I will make the best of this.If she continued to love Andrew, perhaps he would learn to genuinely love her.
Her mother called for the maids to help her pack. They emptied wardrobes and drawers, her mother and one of the maids hastily folding and layering everything into trunks; ball gowns, and dresses for the day, for travelling and walking, and for afternoon parties, as well as underwear and outerwear.
Mary filled her travelling bag with personal items. She opened her jewellery box before packing it, remembering the moments each gift had been given to her, by her father or John.
She put her writing desk on top of one of the full trunks, tears clouding her gaze.
‘Mary.’
She turned and faced her mother, blinking away her tears.
‘When we return to Berkshire, I shall have the maids pack your winter clothes and send them to you too. But your pianoforte… shall I write and ask for that to be sent to you now?’
The tears brimmed over.
Her mother looked at the maids. ‘Thank you, we have nearly finished, you may go.’
They bobbed quick curtsies and disappeared swiftly and quietly via the door to the narrow servants’ stairs.
Her mother held Mary’s hand, led her to the bed, sat down by her side and embraced her. Mary could not expect more; it was the only comfort her mother could offer, she did not know Andrew, and he had not given them any reassurance that he cared for her.
After a while, when her tears stopped, her mother passed Mary her lace-edged handkerchief. Mary wiped her eyes and blew her nose. ‘Please do not tell Papa I cried. It will make him angrier.’ She did not want to regret eloping, but in this moment she did.
‘Would you like to take one of the maids with you? I know your father would agree to it.’
‘I should leave such decisions to Andrew.’ She had no idea if there would be space for a lady’s maid.
