Page 86 of A Duchess Bound
Gerard was gone. He did not love her. It was for the best.
If Dorothy told herself that enough, she could maybe—just maybe—make herself wholeheartedly believe that the thoughts were true.
CHAPTER 30
Gerard stared morosely at his glass of brandy. He could not recall if it was his third or fourth glass, and he could not decide if he ought to be bothered by the revelation. The fact that having lost count still concerned him was proof enough that he cared too much.
It didn’t help that the brandy’s golden-brown color reminded him of Dorothy’s hair, and the bite of the drink conjured forth memories of her biting tongue and sharp wit.
“You do not usually drink so much,” Pontoun noted.
Gerard shrugged. “It is excellent brandy.”
“It is the usual brandy,” Pontoun said.
They were at their favorite club. Despite the genteel setting, however, Pontoun remained frustratingly sober, and Gerard’s tolerance seemed unusually strong on that particular evening.
He had not spent the entire week since his last encounter with Dorothy in his cups; that was the one respectable thing that he would say about himself. Gerard had mostly refrained from drinking himself sick, but cold sobriety did not seem to be of much use either, for Dorothy’s face haunted him.
Worse, her distressed expression haunted him. He had not even been able to force himself to attend any of the Season’s recent events for concerns that he might encounter her and be forced to confront the source of his agony.
“What are you trying to hide from?” Pontoun asked softly. “Is there some new scandal involving you? Or did a sensible young miss finally reject you?”
Gerard could not even muster a smile for the remark, although he had once boasted that no woman had ever rejected him, unlike his poor friend, for whom rejection seemed to follow like a plague.
“I do not feel inclined to jest this evening,” Gerard said.
“Nor any evening this week,” Pontoun said, his voice losing its usual levity. “If I were to guess, I would say that you have taken to some melancholic mood, although I cannot imagine what might be the source. Tell me. Perhaps, there is some guidance I can offer.”
Gerard forced a smile. Pontoun would offer guidance on matters of the heart? The man who was unable to find a suitable wife of his own, despite ample efforts? If Dorothy had not beensuch a persistent presence in Gerard’s thoughts, he might have found the situation almost humorous; their roles had changed so quickly! Now, Gerard was the lovesick man, languishing for want of Dorothy, and Pontoun was unruffled and unaffected.
“I do not believe that there is anything that can be done,” Gerard said.
“Why not?”
Gerard sighed and shook his head. “I do not truly wish to discuss the matter.”
Pontoun nodded slowly. He poured a glass of brandy from the decanter, as though he was steeling himself for the conversation, and took a small sip from it. “If that is true, you likely need to discuss the matter,” Pontoun said. “Brooding over your brandy will not change anything for the better. Tell me what it is that ails you, my friend.”
Gerard clenched his jaw and finished his glass. He eyed the amber liquid in the crystal decanter and considered pouring himself another. Truly, he ought to stop, for he had already consumed more of the spirit than he usually did. Even that internal note was framed with the weary revelation that he did not truly care, though.
Consequences seemed to matter little when he had lost Dorothy, a woman whom he strongly suspected that he might have loved. Certainly, she had affected him more than any woman ever had. He had desired her more than any other woman, had delightedin her company more than any other, and her absence had left a profound emptiness within him.
“It is about a woman,” Gerard said at last.
“As expected,” Pontoun said. “It always is when it comes to you. But I have never seen you appear this morose because of one. Has she been unkind to you?”
Far from it!Gerard laughed at the absurdity of the query, which Pontoun had delivered with such a degree of seriousness that it was difficult to take in good faith. Sometimes, Pontoun was a little too kind, and it awakened a tangle of emotions in Gerard that were best left dormant.
“Is she blackmailing you?” Pontoun asked suddenly. “Is she trying to entrap you?”
Gerard sighed and shook his head. “No. I wish it were something as simple as that.”
Pontoun’s eyes widened. “I can think of many men who would disagree with that,” he said. “I should think that being blackmailed or entrapped would be quite a terrible fate.”
“I am certain that it would be, but at least, I could…” Gerard trailed off. “At least, I would have reason to hate the lady if she had wronged me in some dreadful way.”
A new understanding crossed Pontoun’s face. “Does the wrong lie with you, then?” he asked gently. “Please, tell me what has upset you! I have never seen you behave so morosely over a woman.”
