Page 20 of The Reclusive Earl's Scandal
They have been sold, she realized, but said nothing. Her father muttered something about rearranging the house, attempting to make it look as though both furniture items hadbeen relocated, but she saw the tightness in his face, the way he quickly strode away.
And despite Edward’s kind, nervous smile, Rebecca knew what she had to do, no matter what.
Chapter Seven
“What do you mean you are not attending?”
Edward met his sister’s hard scowl, and sighed. He pushed back from his desk, setting down the letter he had been trying to write despite his splitting headache.
“Exactly that,” he answered, exhausted. “I am not...”
“You cannot simply stay home from Lord and Lady Ashfordly’s ball!” Elena all but cried, clasping the base of her throat, as if he had proclaimed something deeply terrible. “It… it is not all right to do so. Especially not now.”
“Elena,” he said, softening his voice. “I may stay home if I wish.”
He had to stand his ground. He had to make it appear composed. He could not—would not—show them his weakness. That he’d barely slept for several nights, unable to stop thinking about yet another ball. Unable to stop thinking about Lady Catherine’s suspicion of insincerity, or Lady Mary’s eagerness to replicate the behaviors. He couldn’t stand to think about any of it, let alone live through it for one more evening.
“Mama!” Elena shouted, but, of course, their mother was never far, not when confrontations were happening in Thornshire House. “Mama, you must tell Edward he must attend tonight’s ball.”
His mother looked over at him, disappointed, but he saw the flicker of expectation in her eyes. That, perhaps more than Elena’s displeasure, or the weight of his own disappointment, hurt more than anything else. His mother smoothed down her gown, looking away. For once, her words didn’t come harshly when he expected them.
“Fine,” she said. The concede was a quiet front, faux. Fury flickered behind her eyes, but he was already wearing her down.He didn’t look away from her, searching her true thoughts behind the wall she hastily put up to make him feel worse. “At least you are being honest about it this time.”
Ah. She had found out he did not attend the Greenacre with Willoughby. It was bound to happen, and he’d been a fool to think otherwise. Maybe it had worked until Lord Billy had shouted about it at the Saltsboroughs’ ball, but Edward just swallowed his own shame, and finally looked back to Elena.
“Then it is concluded,” he muttered, pointingly returning to his letter. “I will chaperone you during the next one.”
“You will only get out of that one, too,” she whispered accusingly, drawing back. Hurt and annoyance welled in those green eyes of hers, green, like their father, and like her twin whom he couldn’t bring himself to ask if she remembered. He himself had inherited his mother’s sharp and cold blue eyes. “I cannot believe you are doing this tonight, Edward. Only yesterday Lady Catherine was saying how much she enjoyed your company! You could thwart the whole situation.”
Her voice broke, desperate, and he wished he knew why it meant so much to her for him to marry Lady Catherine.
Does she truly think my absence causes her that much of a disadvantage with her suitors? Do they speak about the family badly, and she is bearing the weight of it?
Guilt bit through him, almost strong enough to make him give in and agree to go, but his head ached, and his stomach clenched with the nauseous effects of the sleepless nights and being unable to stomach a great deal of food. He rarely got to the point of emptying his stomach with anxiety, but perhaps worse was the fact that he didn’t. The discomfort simply weighed on Edward for an undetermined time, until the pressure relieved.
“You are selfish,” Elena snapped, turning on her heel. “I cannot force you to go, of course, but do know I will not speak to you for the rest of the week!”
Edward flinched as she stormed out, gone in a whirl of skirts and dark hair. He slid his gaze onto a spot on his study wall, a painting of a raging, wild sea and a boat that tried to stay upright as it crested a wild wave. It was indeed one of his favorites, something he had brought with him from Thornshire Hall, but he mostly stared at it now to avoid his mother’s expression.
“You ought to be more thoughtful, Edward,” was all she said for a long moment, letting him chew over her words. “You may think you have time, even if you do not, but it is different for young ladies. Elena has good chances. Do not ruin them for her.”
With that, his mother left his study, leaving the door open. Her footsteps were slow as she walked away from him, likely to find his sister to comfort her. More guilt pinched at him. He stood, dragging his feet over to the door to shut it harder than he should. For a second, he just closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the warm wood.
In, out, he reminded himself with his breathing.Breathe through the stomach.
At least that was what he had been told by his father, the only man to ever really understand what Edward went through.
The first time the late earl had found Edward crouched in the garden, struggling to breathe, unable to face going to the Duke of Bancroft’s manor, Edward had expected anger. The mere thought of leaving his comfort zone, of not being able to easily return home without a true excuse, forcing his father to leave early, arising questions—it had all sent him spiraling. He’d tried to hide it, but very little had been hidden from his father.
The old earl had pulled Edward to his feet and led him to a bench in the garden, and simply breathed with him.In, out.Every man in our society carries a lot of weight, Edward.I do not know if that is what causes this stress, but your responsibilities will only grow. I want to help you handle these worries before you get to that point. We carry a lot, and wemust push a great deal of our feelings down in order to be what our families need. Dependable and wealthy, upstanding leaders. It is no wonder it crests over us at times like a giant, storm-fuelled wave.
“Some days we are merchant ships, big and wide and sturdy,” Edward whispered now, recalling his father’s words as he turned back to the painting. “But most days, the days people do not see firsthand, we are merely wooden fishing vessels and we will capsize easily.”
But how do we not capsize, Papa?Edward had asked, young and afraid.
His father had smiled, warm and friendly green eyes looking down upon his heir.Every boat often needs a rescue vessel, no? We find ours. We find somebody to lean on, to share such burdens with. For me, that is your mother. For you, perhaps it could be your sister until you are older and marry a woman who will care deeply for you.
It had all been terribly sentimental, and most men would laugh if they knew how the late earl had spoken to Edward, and even women would. Edward gazed at the stormy painting, and he couldn’t envision Lady Catherine being his rescue vessel.
