To Love and to Loathe (The Regency Vows #2)(41)
But it had been his grandmother who had pulled him out of that hole, who had presented herself at his door day after day, who had drawn him out of his dark well of grief, and for that he was eternally grateful—which was why he now stood quietly, drink in hand, allowing her to say her piece.
“However, there is a limit to what even my affection for you will allow.” Her voice had become steely. “This is behavior that is unfitting of the man I know you to be.”
He forced out a light laugh, but it sounded strained even to his own ears. “I think this is behavior exactly fitting the man I am.” Or the man he had become, ever since his brother’s death. Jeremy had always been rather rakish—certainly more irresponsible than his elder brother, who had borne the burden of the title he was to inherit. But it was only after David died that Jeremy had gotten up to the worst of his exploits, almost as though he were thumbing his nose at the brother who had left him with this title and responsibility he had never wanted.
Who had left him here, alone.
His grandmother was having none of it. “That is where you are wrong, my boy.” He had the distinct impression that, had his grandmother had a fan in her hand at that precise moment, she would have rapped his knuckles with it. “This is not who you are—sneaking out of ladies’ bedchambers at all hours of the evening, fighting duels at dawn, showing up in my drawing room at four in the afternoon, still foxed from the night before. Ending a liaison in such a ham-handed fashion that the lady has cause to complain to her mother, of all people.” Who had then, presumably, complained to her mother, who had then relayed the entire sordid tale to Jeremy’s grandmother. Christ, what a mess. He made a mental note to check the family tree of all future bed partners to ensure that their grandmothers shared no more than a nodding acquaintance with his own.
Though, knowing the dowager marchioness’s ability to sniff out scandal, even that might be too dangerous. Perhaps he should turn his attentions beyond London for his entertainments. Was Scotland removed enough from his grandmother’s all-seeing eye?
Or Peru? It was still the dry season in Peru.
“This is why it has become even more evident that it is high time you were married,” the dowager marchioness said decisively, drawing Jeremy rather abruptly out of his ruminations.
“Yes, you’ve made your thoughts on this abundantly clear,” he said, affecting a bored tone that he vehemently hoped would discourage this line of conversation.
Unsurprisingly, his grandmother was not so easily deterred. “How convenient, then, that Lady Helen Courtenay is here, so eagerly putting herself forward as a prime matrimonial candidate.”
Jeremy had to laugh at that. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am deadly serious, Jeremy,” his grandmother said, her tone unusually stern. “If marriage is what it takes to stop you from sending respectable society wives weeping into their mothers’ arms with tales of bedroom misbehavior, then I would be perfectly happy to see you settle down with the butcher’s daughter. So please understand me when I say that an earl’s sister seems like a very appealing option to me at the moment.”
“You won’t be able to enjoy your victory for long if I fling myself out a window a fortnight into the marriage,” Jeremy said darkly.
The dowager marchioness tutted. “You young people. So certain that you’re different, that you’ll evade the parson’s mousetrap, or that you’ll find a love match.”
“Who said anything about a love match?” Jeremy objected indignantly. “I’m not averse to marrying Lady Helen because I’m holding out for love; I’m averse to the idea because I’d like to not be leg-shackled to someone who would lead me to stab myself with a toasting fork.”
His grandmother rolled her eyes. “So dramatic, Jeremy, it’s most unseemly.” She paused, a crafty expression crossing her face. “Unless,” she said slowly, “you object to the idea because your affections are otherwise engaged?” She paused expectantly, giving him a shrewd look that implied she saw right through him. It was unsettling.
Like everything else about this conversation, in fact. “No,” he said firmly, determinedly not thinking of Diana, awaiting him in her bedchamber at that very moment. Because whatever sentiments their arrangement involved, affection was not one of them.
“Good,” his grandmother said, not seeming the slightest bit deterred by this reply. “Then I look forward to seeing many more happy, intimate moments between yourself and Lady Helen.” Before Jeremy could offer a rejoinder—really, this conversation would go on all night at this rate—she gave an enormous, patently false yawn, and rose to her feet.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, my dear boy, I must find my way to bed.” She produced a faint tremble of the lips, and raised a slightly shaking hand to pat his cheek affectionately. Jeremy stared at her, unmoved. “It would be such a comfort, in my twilight years, to see you properly settled,” she offered by way of a parting shot as she made her way feebly from the room at half her normal speed.
Jeremy sighed and downed the rest of his brandy. He really should go back to his bedroom and allow his valet to undress him, splash his face, and just take a moment to be alone. To think.
However, he didn’t want to do any of those things. He just wanted to see Diana, and perhaps it was his exhaustion, but he wasted no time fighting the impulse. He strode purposefully toward her room, where he softly knocked on her door.