Page 2 of The Reclusive Earl's Scandal
I have plenty of cause,Edward thought, keeping his response to himself. He had learned enough over the years thathis mother could use every sharp-tongued word in the book, yet the moment that sharpness was turned back onto her she would not endure it.
He reached for a piece of toast and the platter of butter to stall for time to answer her.
“You can ignore me but you cannot ignore the fact of the matter that you must let go of this foolish notion that you do not need to marry.”
Edward had bitten into his toast, and the bite got stuck in his throat.
“Marriage?” He choked out. He forced a mouthful of hot tea past the lump. “I thought we were discussing Elena.”
“You are the Earl of Thornshire,” his mother interrupted. She buttered her own toast with hard strokes of impatience. “I will not have you unwed for another Season. You are four and twenty, Edward, and still relatively young, indeed, but your father was much younger upon marrying me. You have no legitimate heir, no wife, and you squander in this countryside manor thinking you can shut out the world.” Her hand hit the table firmly. “You cannot. Do you understand me?”
Edward stared out at her, aware of his sister’s watchful gaze. Elena often took a neutral stance, never showing loyalty to one or the other of them. It was loyalty to their mother when it suited her, and honoring her older brother as his rank demanded in other moments. Still, he knew his mother was right.
No matter what he chose for himself he had failed Elena. She didn’t deserve to suffer the consequences of his choices.
“I understand,” he said tightly.
“You miss your father, I understand that, Edward, Ido. I am a hard woman, but not an unkind, heartless one. But even widows in love have had shorter mourning periods. You are pushing the understanding and compassion of theton. I pleadwith you to return to London’s social scene this Season and search for a bride.”
Search, he thought,as if I am a hunting dog, as if my future wife is right there for the plucking.
He despised the concept.
“You have no excuse anymore.” Elena’s voice was delicate and hesitant, as if she didn’t want to displease him, but still agreed with their mother. “We both lost Papa.”
Her words dragged through him, heavy and filling him with guilt.
You are selfish, he thought she was saying.You are selfish for drowning in your grief while I continue what is expected of me. You may have that choice as a high-ranked male, but I do not.
Yet Edward didn’t anymore, either.
However, the mere thought of walking into a ballroom, the wide spaces packed wall-to-wall with guests, women in their silk dresses and men in their tailcoats, the dance sets required, the music that never seemed to stop. The lights; too many lights, too many eyes, too muchwhispering.Perhaps it was a normal gentry’s love to be in such a place, but not for Edward. For Edward, it was a nightmare destined to send him into a bout of panic. He couldn’t explain his fits of anxiety when he had been among people. Those days after his father’s death, the short weeks he had endured in London before eventually moving to Thornshire Hall, had been difficult and sickly. His stomach had clenched, and there had been a restlessness beneath his skin like a tune out of place, a melody clunked on the wrong keys, something just terriblyoff.
A dread had pulled every limb down until Edward had been dead weight, unable to pull himself from a room to prepare getting ready. The very thought of it made him lose control.
Yet he could not explain that to his mother or sister in a way they would understand, so Edward paused, fought back his reluctance, and nodded.
“Fine,” he eventually said when his mother’s stare didn’t relent, clearly wanting a verbal agreement. “Fine. I shall return to Thornshire House with you in London. When are we going to depart?”
“After breakfast.” His mother’s swift response said enough about her planning this all for him. “We will depart swiftly. I do not trust you to follow after us alone.”
“Thank you for that trust, Mother,” he muttered, looking away. “I need more time. The day. The afternoon, even. I must have time to pack, to...”To say goodbye to my freedom. To leave the only place that makes me feel comfortable in my own skin and life.“To just… prepare.”
The dowager countess looked ready to protest, but after a moment, something softer crossed her face and she only nodded. Did she recall the moment they found out they had lost Edward’s father? That awful, heart-wrenching moment as Edward himself had watched his father’s life leave his eyes?
The unexpectedness of it; one moment, laughing and eating, and gone the next.
Was she remembering what it was like to be that widow in love and mourning she had mentioned, even if she no longer classed herself in love, or in mourning?
Edward lowered his gaze back to his breakfast, and the family continued eating in silence.
***
After breakfast, his mother muttered about speaking with the housekeeper to arrange for Edward’s belongings to be packed as quickly as possible while he prepared in whatever way he pleased.
Elena lingered at his side, walking with him through the empty halls.
“It must have gotten lonely here.” She looked around, and Edward followed her gaze, eyeing up the portraits lining the walls, and the busts of old heroes that he had begun to collect over the last year. He had gotten into mythology and legends, finding them from all over the world.
