A hole had opened in his stomach. And before he had been able to form an argument, Georgie had turned on her heel and strode gracefully out of the parlor. If he forgot about her eyes, the only sign she was under distress was the invisible iron rod that appeared to be holding her spine erect.
Bloody hellhounds!
He’d practiced his proposal until he’d got all the words right. He’d even gone down on one knee—that had been anything but helpful. Reminded of his position, he rose. Not an hour before he’d received permission from her father to address her. He had carefully set forth to her all the advantages of being Viscountess Turley and reminded her how much they had in common and that they enjoyed each other’s company.
Gavin raked his fingers through his perfectly brushed hair. A motion he’d seen other men make, but for which he had never understood the reason. Until now. His valet was going to be “very disappointed.” Although the man would never say the words.
Why the devil did love matter so much? His sister had insisted on it before she’d married. Well actually—now that Gavin thought of it—she hadn’t demanded to hear the words and had, subsequently, made poor Harrington’s life hell until he’d uttered them. Even Dorie Exeter, a vastly sensible lady, had wanted a love match. Last Season, Gavin had pitied Exeter having to go through working out how he felt. A trickle of dread crept up Gavin’s neck. No man should have to expose his inner self so. He straightened his jacket and sleeves.
Still, he should have known. The fact that Viscount Featherton had refused Gavin’s request to arrange a match with his daughter ought to have given him a clue that something more than mere social compatibility was required. After all, Georgie was a viscount’s daughter. With their lineage her family could look higher than another viscount. But he had been so pleased with his lordship’s acceptance of his suit he had considered the war won.
That had been another miscalculation.
Yet, love was an emotion in which Gavin could not afford to indulge. His parents had been a love match and look how that had turned out. After his mother’s death his father had recused himself from the world. Papa had left Gavin to run around after him trying to stop the depredations to the viscounty his father’s lack of care threatened to cause. Then he’d had to listen as his father criticized everything he did. His sister—not even out of the schoolroom—had been expected to run the household and care for their dependents. Eventually, his father’s sense of loss had led to an early death.
For the sake of all those who depended on him Gavin could not allow that to happen to him. Love was too dangerous an emotion. Even when it went well—there was no doubting his parents had loved each other—it caused destruction. He could not permit himself to love a woman so deeply that he lost himself when she died. He could not, and would not allow Rivercrest, his main estate, or indeed any of the properties to go to wrack and ruin because of love. Or rob his children of an opportunity to grow into their roles rather than being thrust into them with little knowledge or experience.
Gavin made his way out of the parlor and into the hall where he collected his hat and cane from the Featherton butler. He was glad the older man’s countenance did not display even a hint that the servant knew what had occurred. Although, obviously, the man was well aware that all had not gone well.
He strode through the door as if nothing was amiss, walked down the shallow stairs, and stopped at the pavement. Now what was he to do? This year’s crop of young ladies just came out, and some who had been out for a while had been picked over. It had been a busy Season at St. George’s on Hanover Square. Not to mention that no lady other than Georgie had captured his attention either last spring or this autumn.
Now that he considered it, from the first moment he’d seen her he had been so intent on courting Georgie, he had not even truly considered another lady. He blew out a frustrated breath. And now she wouldn’t have him because of this ridiculous idea of love matches. Damn that lady author and all the other novel writers who put ideas into the heads of perfectly sensible ladies. Or rather ladies who would be perfectly sensible if only they hadn’t decided to make fiction a reality.
Gavin heaved a sigh. It didn’t help that his best friends had fallen in love. He wondered what would happen when their marriages fell apart. He supposed he’d be expected to help them pick up the pieces. He turned right toward Curzon Street and headed to Brooks’s. His closest friend, Littleton, wouldn’t be there. Now that he had married Adeline, who didn’t like Town any more than he did, he’d probably never come to London again unless he had to. But Exeter might be found. A brandy was definitely in order, but Gavin didn’t like to drink alone.
He climbed the steps to Brooks’s and the door opened.
“Good day, my lord.” One of the footmen bowed.
“Good day, Johns. Have you seen Lord Exeter?”
“Aye, my lord. He’s in the reading room. Just got back from Paris from what I heard and wanted to find out what has been going on here during his absence.” The servant took Gavin’s hat and cane. “Told he me had an excellent time.”
Well he would, wouldn’t he? He’d been on his honeymoon. “Thank you.”
“Pleasure, my lord.”
Gavin walked through the hall and down to the reading room where he found Exeter with a stack of newspapers next to him. “Finally back, I see.”
“Turley!” The man stood, knocking over some of the newssheets. “Well met.” Exeter looked happier than Gavin had ever seen him. His friend grabbed his hand and shook it.
Eying the newssheets, Gavin said, “I see you are making sure you didn’t miss anything that happened when you were gone.”
“Dorie”—his friend’s face took on a happily distracted look at the mention of his wife—“and I ventured away from Paris where there was no news from England to be found. When it was time to depart, rather than returning to Paris we headed straight to Calais and back home.” Exeter grinned. “She had ordered all the newspapers to be delivered to the house and is no doubt going through them as we speak. But I thought I might discover additional information here.” He stared at Gavin for a moment, and his brows drew down. “Is everything all right?”
“I need a brandy.” Or the whole bottle.
“That bad.” Exeter put down the paper he’d been holding. “Let’s go to the dining room. It must be almost time for luncheon.” They went to the corner table their little group had claimed as their own last Season. “What has occurred? Your sister and her family are still well? Nothing has ensued since we saw them last month, has it?”
“There is no need for concern on that front. Elizabeth, Harrington, and their daughter thrive. I received a letter from her that she is expecting their next addition in the spring.” Gavin debated telling his friend what was troubling him and decided he needed advice as well as someone with whom to share a drink. He took a breath. “I offered for Miss Featherton, and she refused me.”
“Really?” Exeter’s eyes widened as if in shock, and his jaw dropped for a second before he recovered himself. “I mean that is unexpected.”
Why was he so astonished? Or perhaps the question should be what had Gavin missed? “I feel as if you know something I do not.”