Page 16 of The Marquis' Game of Seduction
It had been so long since he’d leaned on anyone except Judith (and sometimes, leaning on Judith grew tiresome—if only because she could offer nothing in return but her “mothering”). He knew that Judith loved the position, loved guiding him—hell, he knew that she looked forward to giving him advice and often prayed for greater understanding in the world to ensure that she could help him more.
But how marvelous would it be to have a kind of partner? A woman who loved him and dreamed of him and didn’t give him advice just because it was her duty, but rather because she longed for him to have a brighter tomorrow?
Now, Colin kicked this thought to the side. A shadow passed across the window and he strode toward it to gaze out across the moors, at the thickening clouds. It would soon be winter, and he would be trapped within this mansion—knowing that Rose was inching about above him, scarping about as she played with Duncan. How could he go so long, resisting her? How could he find such strength?
He simply had to. He felt it like a stone in his belly.
Colin stomped toward his desk and spread a piece of paper across the center. He then reached for a quill and a little pot of ink. His head stirred. Although normally, he was absolutely fine with living out the days of his life without anyone around, he currently ached with it—wishing that his former partner in crime could sit with him there at his desk and pore over the thoughts in his head.
Allan. Truthfully, Colin very rarely thought of the Viscount, Colin’s childhood friend who he ordinarily shared everything with. In their youth, Allan was the more outward and outspoken of the two of them, always digging him and Colin into wild escapades (sometimes so much so that Colin went crazy with fear, thinking that the escapades might get back to his father).
“You have to lighten up, Colin,” Allan said endlessly, over the years. “You look at life like it’s this enormous problem that you have to solve. But you have to let it pour over you like water. Think of it like sunlight when you stand out on the moor. All you have to do is turn your cheeks up to it, close your eyes, and really, truly feel.”
Always, when Allan dipped into this poetic mindset, Colin rolled his eyes. But now, it fell over him once more and he turned his eyes toward the ceiling and allowed—just one final time—his heart to fill with emotion for this brand-new governess.
Then, he swept out his coattails and he perched at the edge of his chair. He dotted his quill into the ink and prepared a letter to Allan, wishing nothing more than that the man was seated right there before him. “Don’t worry yourself so much, Colin!” Allan would surely say. “Whatever you put your head to, you will be successful. If you don’t wish to love this woman, then perhaps that’s all you need to know. Trust your instinct.”
Dearest Allan,
It pains me to write you now. I realised only yesterday that we haven’t seen one another all month. Every day, I think of you, and I feel the minutes pass and I know that we are just marking time toward our deaths. I imagine that will be one of the biggest quandaries when I grow older. I will ask myself just why on earth I didn’t spend more time with my beloved Allan, and I won’t have a single answer.
Allan, perhaps I noted to you last time I saw you that my sister has been ill. You know that Amelia and I have had our differences since she abandoned England and followed her husband Laurence to the West Indies. Our father was absolutely against it, and I always imagined that her departure affected him far more than it even affected me. I think it truly did lead to his demise, regardless of how wretched that sounds.
In the wake of Amelia’s illness, it became obvious that she couldn’t allow her young son, Duncan, to remain on at her estate. She inquired of me—almost begged, really, to accept the young boy and allow him to remain on here at the Kensington Estate.
If you know me at all, Allan, then you know how ridiculously difficult this was for me to answer. I wanted nothing more than to say no to Amelia. There is already far too much chaos in this life, surrounding me, than I know what to do with. And adding a young boy to my midst? I knew it might drive me wild.
However, Duncan was soon brought here and given a room. When he arrived, I greeted him—although I shouldn’t have; I should have known better than to craft any sort of bridge between the two of us. You know the first thing he said upon meeting me?
He said, “Uncle, wouldn’t you like to see my toy collection?” Imagine that! Being the Marquees of Kensington, and having to sit there and acknowledge the young boy’s toy collection! He informed me himself that much of the collection came straight from the West Indies, which, of course, reminded me yet again of the selfish act that Amelia conducted….
Regardless, here he was. In the Kensington Estate. Playing with his toys and asking me questions and generally… taking up space. I knew I had to do something. He’s a boy of ten, and he must be educated. At least, that’s something my father would want.
So then, it came time for me to find a suitable governess for him. Mother’s friend recommended a girl—a girl outside the bounds of our ordinary lives—called Rose. Rose Hollingsworth.
Even now, I shake a bit as I write that name. Rose.
Imagine having a child and having the gall to name her Rose. Roses—the most beautiful, most pure, most fleeting of all the flowers. How can they possibly encapsulate what a young girl is?
And yet, I assure you in this case, it’s very close to the truth.
At first, upon her arrival, I avoided Rose Hollingsworth like one might avoid the plague. I thought that now, finally, with the governess, I could return back to my ordinary pursuits and simply avoid Duncan and the governess altogether. I imagined that sometimes, I would even have to be reminded that Duncan was about.
I can almost hear what you might say to such a thing. You might say, “Oh, Colin, you old fool. You must always open up your mind to the strange possibilities that might reveal themselves.”
And to that, I would say that you’re probably right.
Judith is to blame for this reckless beating of my heart.
She informed me that I was being quite rude in all of this, keeping such distance between myself and the new governess. Rude? I wanted to tell her how silly it was to be called rude. I don’t care if I’m rude to anyone, and would much prefer to be latched away in a cave, never to see or hear from anybody again. But something in her words made me ponder what I appear to outsiders—and I requested that the new governess be invited to dinner.
Besides, I’d seen her on the moor previously that afternoon and…
My heart had ached with some kind of primal understanding. As I peered down from her from my horseback (for, it pains me to tell you this now, I did not remove myself from horseback to say hello), her eyes glowed up at me and seemed to understand and know me better than I can possibly describe.
People have spoken of this with regards to women previously. That, when you find the “correct” one, they look at you like they know all your secrets and will protect those secrets over their own lives.
I’d never understood this fully until now.
