Page 8 of The Marquis' Game of Seduction
Judith seemed to struggle not to roll her eyes. After a soft sigh, she continued. “It pains me to say this, Colin, but it’s terribly rude of you not to even introduce yourself. Of course, the girl won’t be gossiping about it around the city. The fact of your rudeness will become only a shadow across this house. And I dare say there’s been enough pain in the past months. Don’t you think?”
Colin pressed his lips together, struggling to find an appropriate response. Judith was also one of the only people in his life who actually told him the truth, who seemed to hold up a mirror to reflect back his actual actions and how they affected others. He both respected this and detested it. Sometimes, he daydreamed that he was all alone at the estate, able to live out his days without saying a single word to anyone.
“You’re saying I should interact with the girl, are you?” Colin said.
“Just a bit,” Judith said, arching her brow.
“That could be a struggle for me,” Colin said. He gave a slight shrug. “After all, you know I’ve fought long and hard to have as little contact with other humans as possible. I’ve forgotten how to behave around new people.”
Judith didn’t laugh at his bad joke. Rather, she furrowed her brows and said, “My lord, I know you want to run the estate as best as you can. You’re honoring your father in nearly everything you do, and I can do nothing but respect that. However… and excuse me if I’m speaking out of turn… even your father had a bit of fun every once in a while. He was able to communicate with friends, hike through the forest, laugh and drink and—“
Colin pressed his hands across the desk and matched her frown. He felt a strange stab of anger at the mention of his father. He normally loved being compared to the man, as he’d looked up to him like he was a kind of saint. How his father had been able to balance his Marquees position alongside his estate responsibilities alongside actual fun was beyond him.
“Please. Just consider it,” Judith whispered, dropping her eyes to the ground.
Colin allowed his shoulders to sag. Images of his father’s face flashed through his mind. His father, beaming down at a much younger Colin as he taught him how to saddle a horse. His father, sitting beside him and teaching him to read. His father, giving him his first beer as a young man, sitting with him and asking him genuine questions about his opinions and his life.
Colin glanced up at the portrait of his father on the far wall. He felt the old man’s eyes gazing almost through him, in that way he’d looked at him when he’d been younger and trying to get away with something. Colin could almost hear the words his father might say.
“Son. Welcome the girl to your home. There is so little kindness in this world. It’s up to you to make more of it.”
Finally, Colin formed a bitter smile across his face and bowed his head once more. “Very well, Judith. I dare say you’ve never led me too far astray. Perhaps it would serve us all if I spent a bit of time getting to know the new governess. Why don’t you ask Rose to dine with Duncan and I this evening? All good relations happen over a good meal. That’s something father taught me.”
“Very good, sir. I don’t believe you’ll regret it,” Judith said. She sprung up from her chair and turned toward the door, looking much more lithe and able than her forty-five years should have allowed. It seemed she was so content with his answer that she didn’t remember to say goodbye before she exited.
When Judith closed the door, Colin found himself in his normal state: alone with his thoughts. He reached for his quill and ink, his mind stirring with apprehension. He dotted the quill in the ink and drew out a fresh piece of paper. It helped him to unpack the chaotic nature of his mind, addressing his own thoughts.
She shouldn’t have left. Amelia, that is. Laurence was and is a wretched man, who abandoned England at a young age to create his own plantation business in the West Indies. Imagine it! Leaving this beautiful country, embarking out into the unknown—and then coming back to England to rob my sister and yank her back to the West Indies along with him. It’s almost too impossible to bear, and yet—it happened, and in that way, it changed the world forever.
Amelia was my greatest friend as a child. So whip-smart and clever, she often had me laughing until I cried. She had many suitors as a young woman, many of which Father approved of. Father didn’t speak of it with me, nor I with him, but I could always sense when one of them was an appropriate match for Amelia, especially in his eyes.
Then, there was Laurence. He was quite a bit older than she was, seven years, and seasoned and already rich. There was nothing spectacular about him, in my eyes, beyond this, of course: he seemed angry and volatile and sarcastic. I once overheard him berating my older sister until she wept outside the mansion.
When she appeared back in the estate her cheeks were glazed, but she forced a smile. She didn’t wish for Father nor I to understand the strength of her turmoil. But it seemed that she’d already made up her mind.
Regarding the boy. He seems to have very little of Laurence in him, although it isn’t certain that won’t come out later. He’s peculiar, certainly, but what young boy who’s honest with and curious about the world isn’t?
I pray that this new governess gives Duncan what he so requires in a friend and a mother figure. I pray that they need very little of me. I’ve grown accustomed to my solitude, and I have very little to offer….
Perhaps if Amelia had stayed, all would be different. I would have a far different relationship with Duncan, and with Amelia herself. I would know them as family, rather than strangers. Amelia and I only recently began correspondence again. And now, it seems that we might lose her….
Colin stopped speaking for a moment. He sniffed and glanced toward the door. His shoulders felt heavy. It was already approaching noon. As he sat at the edge of his chair, he heard footsteps—two pairs—clipping along the hallway outside. He concentrated, listening as Duncan’s voice rattled out some facts about, of all things, butterflies.
“That’s quite remarkable,” Rose said. She sounded genuine and alive, eager to hear more. “Perhaps you can tell your uncle more about that this evening.”
“Do you suppose he has any interest in butterflies at all?” Duncan asked.
There was a pause. Colin’s heart beat wildly. He wanted to rip it out of his chest, tell himself just how little it mattered what Duncan and Rose thought about him. Clearly, his body showed that he felt otherwise.
“I’m sure he’ll take an interest in whatever you teach him. He’s your uncle, and he must love you a great deal,” Rose affirmed.
Colin’s eyebrows crept together. Rose and Duncan padded down the hallway, toward the foyer. Their footsteps creaked up the wooden staircase. Colin splayed his hands over his face, trying to remember if he’d given any indication at all to Duncan that he loved him. He certainly felt nothing like “love,” whatever that was, for the boy.
He supposed there was a general feeling of niceness toward him, due to the fact that he’d very much loved his older sister as a younger child. However, that was all due to nostalgia and very little else. That meant it weighed very little, he supposed.
Chapter 4
An hour before dinner, Colin returned to his study and paced the floorboards, feeling the event of the night fast approaching. Just as he prepared himself to tell Judith to call the whole thing off, there was a rap at the doorway. Judith appeared in the crack to inform him that it was time for dinner. Her smile broadened. It felt to Colin that she could see all the way through him, see his anxious, squirming thoughts.
