Page 31 of A Lady's Curves
My heart breaks for what she endured and my part in bringing that back to her. “I’m sorry. I only meant to get his permission as he is your father.”
“It’s of no real concern, my lord. I’ll be leaving in the morning.” She stands and returns to her packing.
“My name is Oscar.” When she only nods, I say, “Then you are refusing to marry me.”
The blue dress in her hands suffers as she fists the material. Slowly, she faces me. “As I was not consulted on the matter, I feel no regret in telling you that I will not marry you or anyone.”
Pride stung, a string of unpleasant words come to mind. I hold my tongue. “Very well then, Miss Wittman. I thought after what we shared, you would be happy to receive a proposal. Clearly, I was mistaken. I apologize for being the cause of such a malicious letter from your father. That was certainly not my intention.” I leave the room and close myself in the library while the picnic noise filters through the open windows.
Opening a bottle of brandy, I pour myself a glass and drink it in one gulp. How could I have been so mistaken about her feelings, when mine were so clear to me?
Bottle in one hand and glass in the other, I settle at my father’s desk and pour another drink. Maybe I can forget how Ann Wittman felt in my arms and how her lips felt on mine. With enough brandy, I might even forget the enjoyment of being in her presence and solving problems together.
There are a few more bottles in the cellar. I may need to fortify my supply to reach that level of oblivion.
It’s dark and the noise of revelry has subsided. The footsteps of staff going in and out of the house disturbed my drinking. With my head leaning on the arm of the settee, I turn it at the sound of the library door opening.
Honoria looks at me and the empty brandy bottle on the desk. She scans the open bottle on the table next to me. She crosses to the cart and takes a glass before sitting across the table and pouring herself a brandy. Sipping, she narrows her gaze. “What has happened? My maid tells me that Ann and I are to leave in the morning.”
“She said she didn’t want to marry me.” I mean to pour another, but Honoria keeps the bottle near her, and I haven’t the coordination l to get up and get it back.
“You proposed?” Those ever-watchful eyes of hers light up with excitement.
My chest tightens. “I never got the chance. She turned me down.”
Nose scrunched, Honoria stares. “Forgive me, my lord, but I don’t understand. If you didn’t propose, how could she turn youdown?”
“Her father beat me to it.” I throw my hands up, but the abrupt action makes me dizzy and I lie still.
“Good lord, her father. Is that where you went the other day? You ask her father’s permission to marry her? Why on earth would you do that?” It’s the first time I’ve heard Honoria raise her voice.
With much effort, I try to shake off some of the fog in my head and sit up. “It’s what a gentleman does when he wishes to wed a lady.”
Her expression softens. “I imagine Ann was put out by you consulting her estranged father before her on the matter of her future.”
“Furious.” I cringe as I say it louder than I’d planned.
Honoria finishes her brandy and puts the glass and bottle down. “Listen to me very carefully. Clearly, you’ve pickled yourself because you’re upset. However, you can still make this right.”
“She ruined it. Well, I ruined it.” I dig in my pocket. “I was going to propose today and give her this ring as a betrothal gift. I had it all planned for after the picnic. Now it’s over.” I drop the ring on the table.
There’s a long silence. “Oscar?”
I look at her stern yet sympathetic face.
“Do you love Ann?” Her eyebrows rise and the candlelight makes her look like a ghost come to haunt me.
Letting my head fall back on the arm of the settee, it bangs hard. I rub the spot. “I think I loved her from the first moment I saw her at Everton House. Now, I love her so much, I don’t know how I’m going to survive without her.”
Honoria stands up and plucks the ring from the table. She hands it to me. “Tell her. I’m willing to bet, you didn’t say all of that to her. If you had, my maid wouldn’t be upstairs packingmy trunk.” She pats me on the head, and saunters from the library.
Staring at the ring, I know I need to do something, but my eyes are blurry. Once I’m on my feet, I make my way to the kitchen.
Cook is tidying the work table when she sees me. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“I need your help.” I slump onto the chair against the wall.
She carries over a bucket. “First things first. Stick your finger down your throat and get what you can out of you. After that, we’ll see what can be done.”
