Page 74 of Making of a Scandal
“I understand if this has changed your opinion of me. I can do nothing but offer my sincerest regrets for having involved you in any of it.”
“I am willing to forgive you and forget it ever happened, if you can assure me that it is over. I understand that sometimes a woman can become confused, and her judgment clouded as a result. I cannot fault you for it, when I know Mr. Burke to be a man without scruples.”
The words to defend Dominick rose up in her throat, but she swallowed them down. “It is over, and I have no intention of repeating such an error.”
Martin pinched his lips, avoiding her gaze. “There is something else I must ask you, but I don’t wish to embarrass you further.”
Her stomach twisted as she gathered his meaning, her palms breaking out in a sweat. Of course, he wanted to know if she had done the unforgivable and surrendered her virtue.
Raising her chin, she stared right at him and told the truth. There was no use hiding it, as he would know for himself once they arrived at their wedding night.
“I have lain with him.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he refused to look at her, tension radiating from him with accusing force. “I see. Well, I must inform you that I am not coming into this marriage a virgin, either, so I suppose I cannot condemn you.”
Her head jerked back in surprise, but she remained silent, waiting for him to continue. It was obvious he had more to say. His gaze finally met hers, and despite his declaration, his eyes radiated betrayal and disappointment.
“As you know, I have need of a bride with a large dowry or inheritance. I will admit that when Hastings mentioned your wealth, it was the thing that drew me to you … at first. I came to like you, Calliope, and thought you felt the same.”
“I did … I do.”
“Very well. We ought to announce an engagement as soon as possible to take the edge off the gossip. I have no desire to begin anew with someone else, and wish to be wed at the earliest convenience. If you can assure me that your association with Mr. Burke will come to an immediate end, I believe we can have an amiable union. After the wedding, we will quit London for a time, ensuring most of the talk has died down before we return. As well, I must ask you to inform me should you discover that your blunder has resulted in a more … permanent consequence.”
It hadn’t occurred to her to think of the possibility of a child, but Martin’s words struck dread in her. Her heart could heal, and life could go on as before … but only if she weren’t forced to face the evidence of her one night with Nick every day.
“Is all this agreeable to you?”
He stared intently at her, waiting for her response. She nearly laughed at the tragedy of it all. Here she stood about to accept her second marriage proposal within a week. There was no romance or gentle wooing, no declarations, no man on one knee gazing up at her with adoration in his eyes. Cold, impersonal, practical … exactly what was necessary for her continued survival.
“Yes.”
Martin sagged as if relieved, and she realized he’d been nervous, even knowing he was proposing to a fallen woman. He must be more desperate for her funds than she thought. But, she didn’t care. Her inheritance in exchange for respectability and stability. It wasn’t grand passion or great love, but it would do.
“I will inform your father,” he said as he made his way to the door.
He paused when he neared her, tentatively bending his head. She held her breath and braced for a kiss, but was relieved when his mouth merely grazed her cheek. Someday, she would come to make herself accept his affection and offer her own in return. Just now, she was too numb to do anything more than stand there and endure the intimacy.
He exited without another word, leaving her alone with her regrets. She feared that even a respectable marriage would never be enough to erase them.
Dominick slouchedin his chair at Paul’s bedside, viciously ripping apart the copy ofThe London Gossiphe’d just finished reading. He didn’t know why he tortured himself this way, but had been desperate for any hint that the rumor of Calliope’s engagement to Martin Lewes was true. It had just been confirmed that Viscount Barrington had announced the betrothal during dinner one night at his house party, and the first of the banns were to be called soon. Apparently, Lewes had wasted no time swooping in to take advantage of Calliope’s vulnerability. It was difficult not to be angry withher, as well, for accepting the other man’s suit. Nick understood her reasons, even if acknowledging them hurt like nothing ever had. Fear had guided her choice, and the need to hold fast to propriety was a strong enticement against the truth of what he’d been when they had first met. He’d been so eager to have her, so desperate to move on with his life that he forgot about the finer details—like the possibility that one of his former lovers could accost him at any time, or how his fiancée of all of one day might feel about that.
A week had passed since his return to London, and he felt as if his entire world had begun to fall down around him in that time. He spent much of his time staring off into space and trying to figure out exactly when everything had gone to hell.
She had been his. For the span of one day and one night she had been completely, entirely his … and now she wasn’t.
“I think … it is dead now.”
Dominick glanced up to find that his uncle was awake, a witness to his fury. He glanced down at the shreds of paper dusting his lap and scattered on the floor.
“I have a few letters you can assault next if you … need something else to destroy,” he added, his words pushed out between labored breaths.
“Quiet, old man,” Nick murmured with affection, taking up the bit of toweling resting in a bowl of cool water and using it to bathe his uncle’s brow. “You should be conserving your strength.”
He’d spent much of the past week here, leaving long enough to wash, change his linen, eat, and receive the news from Thorpe that Calliope was set to return to London engaged to another man. Caring for his uncle was the only thing that brought him levity, and Nick didn’t know what he’d do once Paul had taken his last breath. He was empty and wrung dry, turned inside out and left grappling with the acute agony of two great losses—one already gone, and one soon to come.
“I shan’t bother,” Paul grumbled. “Won’t be … long now. I’d rather … talk to you. We aren’t alone often.”
His family came and went from the room throughout the day to spend time with Paul. Nick had passed two nights in this chair, unable to do anything other than wallow in his grief.
