Page 7 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
That particular woman was looking at him right now, her face as smooth and impassive as ever, her lips ever-so-slightly curved in that barely-there smile that held not a hint of warmth in it. Miss Diane Bridling was nothing if not poised and proper.
Yet every now and then, Sebastian was certain he caught sight of something just a bit more in her gaze. Like now, as her lips hiked up ever so slightly, giving her an almost sardonic expression. “Your Grace,” she said in neutral tones, dropping into a curtsy that was neither too shallow nor too deep. “If you will follow me?”
At his nod, she turned about, leading the way deeper into the bowels of the house. Sebastian had the sudden insane feeling that he was being buried alive. He fought the urge to gasp for breath, but instead straightened his shoulders and tightened his hands into fists at his side. So focused was he on remaining in control, however, that he did not immediately realize he had not said a single word to his soon-to-be fiancée.
Dear God, was this how their life together would be? Polite indifference, barely speaking, never truly knowing one another? Of course, their entire courtship had been thus, with just the exact number of dances, the proper time together with the necessary chaperones, talking of the weather and not much else. He did not know whether she preferred champagne to wine, did not know if she would rather live in London or in the country. He did not even know what her favorite color was.
And just then, facing down his future, he felt the burning urge to learn all he could. Perhaps then he might be able to reconcile himself to such a life. If he knew something, anything personal about this woman who was to take him to her bed and bear his children, mayhap there was hope they could be, if not happy, at least fairly content. Or, rather, at least not miserable.
She stopped before a closed door and raised her hand to knock. Before Sebastian could think better of it, he gently captured that hand in his own and turned her to face him.
She gasped, brown eyes widening. They were lovely eyes, fringed with a generous number of curling lashes. Truthfully, she herself was immensely lovely, with her smooth skin and dark, wavy hair and delicate features. Yet try as he might to feel more for this woman, Sebastian only felt a hollowness.
No one can compare to that other one, the one who made your heart beat in the strangest manner and had you fairly trembling with need for her.
Sebastian nearly gasped and stumbled back. He had not thought of Miss Katrina Denby in more years than he could count. Well, he amended, that wasn’t necessarily true. He had thought of her, especially when he was alone at night. But those thoughts had been too painful to focus on for long, memories from thebefore-times, when life had been good and his future had seemed as bright and shiny as a new penny. When he’d not had to worry about debt and grief and helping those under his care to do something so basic as survive.
Damn it, he’d been a selfish bastard. But he’d learned soon enough that his life had been an illusion. His father had died unexpectedly, and Sebastian had been forced to leave London, to return home and begin the impossible job of digging his family and tenants free of the literal mountain of debt and scandal his father had buried them under. There had been no time to think of that girl who had captured his heart, and who could have been so much more to him had they been given more time.
Not that any promises had been made, nor any declarations spoken. No, they had never gone beyond friendship and a wonderful flirtation.
Yet he had begun to want so much more with her toward the end, had even been ready to tell her of his feelings and begin courting her in earnest for all and sundry to see. And though he knew it was not the least bit beneficial or healthy, he could not help thinking on occasion that things might have turned out quite differently had his father not been so damned selfish, if he had not lost everything due to gambling, then concocted that false investment scheme that had left so many families on the verge of bankruptcy, ruining the Ramsleigh title in the process—and if Sebastian had not then been forced to liquidate everything not nailed down to pay for the sins of his father. If all that had not occurred, would he have declared his love for Miss Denby that very night of the ball when everything had instead fallen apart? Would she have returned his feelings and accepted his suit? And would he have spent the rest of his life with her, building a family with her, loving her…?
But no, he would not think of that any longer, he told himself brutally as he looked down into Miss Bridling’s startled features. This was his life now, forced to take a woman to wife who obviously had no wish to marry him, if the slight curl of distaste to her upper lip as she took in his gloved hand on her wrist was any indication. In an instant he released her, then just as quickly dropped any thoughts of Miss Denby from his mind. She was the past, a time he had best forget if he was to move forward. This woman before him was his future. No matter how painfully obvious it was that neither of them wanted that future.
“Miss Bridling,” he said, “forgive me. I acted without thinking. I merely wished for a moment with you before I go in to see your father.”
At once her face smoothed, any hint of emotion leaching from it. But there was the slightest tightening at the corners of her lips, as if she were annoyed. “Very well,” she replied, clasping her hands before her and looking at him in expectation. “What was it you wished to say?”
He opened his mouth to speak. But nothing emerged. What the devil did he want to say? Truly, he didn’t have a clue. There wasn’t much he could say. They both knew why he was here, and what would happen once he disappeared behind her father’s study door. And he was immensely sad, for both of them. For all the possibilities being stolen from them today, all for money, and status, and expectations.
But he couldn’t say any of that. Yet he had to say something, for she was looking at him in increasing impatience. Finally, just as she pressed her lips tight and made to turn for the study door again, he found his tongue.
“What is your favorite color?”
She gaped at him. “My what?”
“Your favorite color,” he replied lamely. As she continued to look on him with disbelief ripe on her face, he added, “so I might send you flowers. When this is all done.”
She blinked. “Oh. Purple. I love purple.” The faintest hint of humor lit her face before it disappeared altogether, leaving almost sadness behind. “Do you know, no one has ever asked me that before.”
Before he could make out what to say to that, she resolutely turned and opened the door.
“Father, His Grace is here to see you.”
And then Lord Cartmel’s gruff voice boomed out into the hall. “Thank you, Diane. Come in, Ramsleigh.”
Miss Bridling barely looked Sebastian’s way as she dipped into a graceful curtsy and hurried off. Leaving Sebastian alone with her father. Heaving a sigh, knowing he could not put it off a moment longer, Sebastian strode inside, closing the door behind him. Trying with all his might not to think of the sound as a death knell.
Cartmel sat behind his massive desk, neat piles of paper placed just so on the gleaming desktop, quills in precise lines, all showing the careful control the baron had over every aspect of his life. As Sebastian moved forward, the man stood and held out a hand.
“Ramsleigh,” he said, his voice like gravel beneath a boot. “Good to see you. Though I think we both know why you’re here. Shall we move to the chairs before the hearth so we might be more comfortable?”
Like father, like daughter in their no-nonsense manner. Cartmel was amazingly capable; knowing that the dukedom would have just such a capable duchess in the man’s daughter should have been a relief. Yet it made Sebastian feel as if he were in a runaway carriage with no way to escape it, no way to stop it.
Nevertheless he nodded and followed Cartmel to the chairs in question, sinking down into the one indicated as the man made his way to the sideboard.
“Brandy?”
