Not that any promises had been made, nor any declarations spoken. No, they had never gone beyond friendship and a wonderful flirtation.
Yet he had begun to want so much more with her toward the end, had even been ready to tell her of his feelings and begin courting her in earnest for all and sundry to see. And though he knew it was not the least bit beneficial or healthy, he could not help thinking on occasion that things might have turned out quite differently had his father not been so damned selfish, if he had not lost everything due to gambling, then concocted that false investment scheme that had left so many families on the verge of bankruptcy, ruining the Ramsleigh title in the process—and if Sebastian had not then been forced to liquidate everything not nailed down to pay for the sins of his father. If all that had not occurred, would he have declared his love for Miss Denby that very night of the ball when everything had instead fallen apart? Would she have returned his feelings and accepted his suit? And would he have spent the rest of his life with her, building a family with her, loving her…?
But no, he would not think of that any longer, he told himself brutally as he looked down into Miss Bridling’s startled features. This was his life now, forced to take a woman to wife who obviously had no wish to marry him, if the slight curl of distaste to her upper lip as she took in his gloved hand on her wrist was any indication. In an instant he released her, then just as quickly dropped any thoughts of Miss Denby from his mind. She was the past, a time he had best forget if he was to move forward. This woman before him was his future. No matter how painfully obvious it was that neither of them wanted that future.
“Miss Bridling,” he said, “forgive me. I acted without thinking. I merely wished for a moment with you before I go in to see your father.”
At once her face smoothed, any hint of emotion leaching from it. But there was the slightest tightening at the corners of her lips, as if she were annoyed. “Very well,” she replied, clasping her hands before her and looking at him in expectation. “What was it you wished to say?”
He opened his mouth to speak. But nothing emerged. What the devil did he want to say? Truly, he didn’t have a clue. There wasn’t much he could say. They both knew why he was here, and what would happen once he disappeared behind her father’s study door. And he was immensely sad, for both of them. For all the possibilities being stolen from them today, all for money, and status, and expectations.
But he couldn’t say any of that. Yet he had to say something, for she was looking at him in increasing impatience. Finally, just as she pressed her lips tight and made to turn for the study door again, he found his tongue.
“What is your favorite color?”
She gaped at him. “My what?”
“Your favorite color,” he replied lamely. As she continued to look on him with disbelief ripe on her face, he added, “so I might send you flowers. When this is all done.”
She blinked. “Oh. Purple. I love purple.” The faintest hint of humor lit her face before it disappeared altogether, leaving almost sadness behind. “Do you know, no one has ever asked me that before.”
Before he could make out what to say to that, she resolutely turned and opened the door.
“Father, His Grace is here to see you.”
And then Lord Cartmel’s gruff voice boomed out into the hall. “Thank you, Diane. Come in, Ramsleigh.”
Miss Bridling barely looked Sebastian’s way as she dipped into a graceful curtsy and hurried off. Leaving Sebastian alone with her father. Heaving a sigh, knowing he could not put it off a moment longer, Sebastian strode inside, closing the door behind him. Trying with all his might not to think of the sound as a death knell.
Cartmel sat behind his massive desk, neat piles of paper placed just so on the gleaming desktop, quills in precise lines, all showing the careful control the baron had over every aspect of his life. As Sebastian moved forward, the man stood and held out a hand.
“Ramsleigh,” he said, his voice like gravel beneath a boot. “Good to see you. Though I think we both know why you’re here. Shall we move to the chairs before the hearth so we might be more comfortable?”
Like father, like daughter in their no-nonsense manner. Cartmel was amazingly capable; knowing that the dukedom would have just such a capable duchess in the man’s daughter should have been a relief. Yet it made Sebastian feel as if he were in a runaway carriage with no way to escape it, no way to stop it.
Nevertheless he nodded and followed Cartmel to the chairs in question, sinking down into the one indicated as the man made his way to the sideboard.
“Brandy?”
“Yes, please.”
The baron turned to pour the drinks, the splash of liquor and the clink of crystal filling the air. “Though we both know why you’re here,” he said, making his way back to Sebastian, handing him one of the drinks and sitting across from him, “I do think we’d best do this the right way. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment, you see, and wish to savor it.”
If Sebastian had been a cat, he rather thought his hackles would have raised at such a remark. So the man wished him to dance like a marionette on a string, did he? Taking a deep draught of the brandy, focusing on the burn of it as it traveled down to his empty stomach, he turned his mind to Ramsleigh Castle, and the village surrounding it. Bernard Fenley’s children needed the thatched roof above their heads to be repaired so they did not need to fear another winter. And Hazel Munsbridge needed to know she would not be forced to sell her body to feed her sisters. And Charles Porrid’s flock needed to be expanded after the sickness that had wiped out nearly every one of his ewes the season before.
So many people counting on him. He could not allow his pride to cause them even a moment’s more suffering.
Clearing his expression so only pleasantness remained, he looked Cartmel in the eyes—eyes that held too much enjoyment in their crafty depths for Sebastian’s liking—and said, clearly and distinctly, “Lord Cartmel, I would be honored if you would accept my suit for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
The baron did not answer right away, instead gazing at Sebastian over the rim of his glass. Finally, when Sebastian thought his lips would crack from the strain of keeping them in a pleasant line, the man spoke.
“As you know, Ramsleigh, I have made it no secret that I abhor what your father did. He lied, and cheated, and stole, ruining so many lives with his hoax of an investment scheme. And many of the men he swindled, I consider dear friends.”
How Sebastian kept his composure he would never know. He was well aware that his father’s sins had not been forgotten by the ton. There had been too many seemingly innocuous comments made in passing, too many cold glances, too many calls not returned and invitations mislaid to be mere coincidence.
Yet he had never been attacked as directly as Lord Cartmel was doing just then. His fingers tightened about the glass in his hand until he thought the crystal would shatter; his teeth pressed so hard together he was certain they would turn to dust. But manage to remain calm he did, looking Cartmel in the eye until his own burned from the effort.
“Yes,” he replied softly. “I am aware of that. And you also must know that I do not, nor have I ever, condoned what my father did. Not only that, but I have done all in my power to rectify the mistakes he made.”