Page 43 of Lady Mary's May Day Mischief
“Still I hope I might be received. Very good to see you, Walters.”
His brown eyes sparkled in greeting. “Right this way, my lady. May I say,” he told her as they strode into the hall that shown serene in shades of palest blues, “you look well.”
“You are kind. Is Lord Bridges at home, I hope?”
“Do allow me to see if he can receive you.” Off he trotted with such good cheer, she worried he might be dismayed when Blake rejected her.
She distracted herself by considering the facial expressions of reliefs of tinyputtiwho pranced upon the plaster lintels and cornices. As children, she and Blake had made faces at them to entice them to respond.
Two men approached, their footfalls on the wooden floors announcing her imminent fate.
“My lady?” The velvet baritone was Blake’s.
“Good afternoon, my lord. I hope I might have a few minutes of your time?”
“Join me.” Casually attired in shirt and waistcoat, he looked tired and pensive as he stepped to one side. “The main salon. Will you have tea?”
“None.”
“Please.” He extended a hand toward the room.
Walters frowned at his master, then backed away to the far stairs.
She walked ahead, knowing well the way, her stick clicking on the age-old wooden floor.
“You’ve adopted your stick? A new affliction?” he asked, his tone impersonal, nigh unto cool.
“My old one. I thought it time I took it up. Claimed it as I should have long ago.”
He indicated the settee for her, while he took a post beside the wide white Adams mantel. “Do you visit Dalworthy?”
He meant her cousin. “Afterward, I will go.” She sank to the cushions. He did look weary, unsettled. That worried her, but she rushed onward. “My purpose is to talk with you and apologize. I should have sought you out immediately after that incident in the orangery at Courtland Hall but…to be honest, words failed me. It seems I have courage for much, but not the right things. I intend to change that. But in the meantime, I come here to say I am sorry for it all.”
“I bear my own regret for leaving you as I did,” he said with sadness. “I should have come to your rooms to talk, but I was shocked.”
“I understand.” Nerves eating her, she removed her gloves, finger by finger and clasped her hands together. “I have taken days to come to terms with my failures. Many of them over the years. I want you to know that I attempt to remedy them.”
“I am sorry for believing so badly of you. I was caught up with the problems of Miss Weaver and my friend, Langdon. I was wrong to blame you for the end of that relationship. You had a part, not all. They could have—should have—cured it themselves.”
Shocked at his confession, she dare not tell him she agreed with him lest she sound as if she pardoned herself.
But Blake continued, “I went to see Langdon yesterday and told him so.”
“I know.”
He startled. “How?”
“I visited him this morning and he told me you’d called.”
“Did he tell you he’s decided to visit Millicent?”
“Yes. It’s wonderful,” she said, but wanted wonders of her own to savor and feared there were none.
“They may have a future together.” His expression softened to what she dared to name as compassion.
But she had others to speak of how she’d failed them and herself. “Then there is the matter of what you heard from Fiona. It’s true that before she and I went to Courtland Hall, we did talk about her feigning an attraction to a man who would attend. She wished to show Esme and Northington that she had directed her affections elsewhere. Thinking of it now, I know she didn’t need to do that, but I encouraged her in the ruse. That was wrong, unnecessary.”
She paused at the part she hated but must admit. “I agreed to fake affection for a guest, as well. If Fifi thought that was what was happening between you and me, it was primarily because I’d never spoken of my affection for you. Not to anyone. My feelings for you were too…fond, too intimate to share with anyone. The only reason she believed I might feign my affection for you was my agreement. Not my actions with you there. I would never do that. Could not. Not to you.”
