Page 80 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
Her father kissed her and let her go.
There was no need to hurry. Andrew was merely prodding her father’s anger again.
‘You will always be my daughter, and you will always be welcome at home,’ he said in a voice that ensured Andrew heard.
Mary kissed his cheek. ‘I know, Papa. I love you.’
She looked at her mother. ‘I love you too, Mama.’ Mary hugged her mother once more, ignoring Andrew’s impatience, then turned to John.
He came forward as Mary moved towards him. She hugged him too. ‘Kate and I will always be here for you too. We’ll be in town, the House of Lords is sitting for another few weeks. I’ll send for Kate and Paul tomorrow. If you need to come back, just come, you do not need to give us warning.’
‘Thank you.’ Mary kissed his cheek.
John could be misunderstood, because he appeared so stone-like, but she knew her half-brother. His fingers touched her cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping away a tear.
Andrew coughed.
Mary swallowed back more tears and turned to Andrew.
‘Marlow, Pembroke.’ He looked from one to the other, then at her mother. ‘Lady Marlow.’ He bowed his head.
She held her father’s handkerchief tighter. ‘We will call on you soon.’
Andrew held her hand. It meant his ring pressed into her finger within her glove. Her wedding ring was loose, it would probably fall off if she took off her glove.
She had looked at it upstairs, it had the initials T R inscribed on it, not Andrew’s initials. Perhaps he won it in a card game. That felt a little sordid – to have a wedding ring which meant so little. Like a marriage that meant little.
Her parents followed them outside. Andrew released her hand, lifted her bag and slid it under the seat.
Her mother smiled. Mary did too.
He helped her climb the awkward steps to the high seat. Then walked about the carriage to climb into the driver’s seat. John’s groom stepped away from the horses’ heads, Andrew flicked the reins and the horses walked on.
Mary waved goodbye to her parents.
Her parents waved too, tears running down her mother’s cheeks.
‘Youmay call on them.Wewill not,’ he said as he increased the horses’ pace to a trot. ‘And why are you weeping? Four days ago, you chose to leave them. You look as if you’ve been crying ever since I left you. I’m not sentencing you to life imprisonment. You can visit them whenever you want to.’
Anger pierced her chest. ‘You left me!’
* * *
‘I told you where I was going.’
And so the arguments began, barely five minutes from her parents’ door. But he had started this. He’d banked her brother’s and her father’s cheques and settled several of his most urgent debts with cheques of his own, including his rent, and after that he had gone to his boxing club and pounded the hell out of anyone daring to step into the ring with him, and the sharp pain in his side had only made him more violent. He then washed, changed and went to the stables to fetch his curricle. It had been ridden back by one of the inn’s grooms. His horses had been retrieved from the first inn by the stables he used. Before leaving, he had told them which inn he would leave the horses at and told them not to tell a soul. It felt good to see Hera and Athena again. Normal. He knew where he stood with his horses.
She said no more, staring ahead.
He guided his horses through the busy streets of St James and Mayfair in silence too.
Open carriages passed them, landaus and barouches. The people in them stared at the half-sister to the Duke of Pembroke – niece to quarter of the House of Lords – seated beside ‘that bastard’ Framlington – who sported a black eye. Her father would not need to publish the announcement. It had been made.
One woman even leaned from a carriage window as though she could not believe what she was seeing.
If Mary’s parents went to a ball tonight they would face a thousand questions.
He glanced at Mary, she sat straight-backed, her hands folded on her lap, ignoring the speculative stares.
