Marquesses at the Masquerade(41)
He measured his words. His father had died a few months before, and he watched now, powerless, as his wife struggled with her first pregnancy. He had real concerns that truly mattered, concerns that this silly girl with her lovesick tantrums would know nothing about. He returned the handkerchief to his pocket and took another sip of brandy. “I never thought your manners and conduct were good enough for him… or any gentleman in proper society, for that matter.”
“You are wrong. My father may not be titled, but he is a gentleman.”
“It is immaterial if your father is a gentleman. You decided not to behave as a gentlewoman. You thought it clever to steal a gardener’s wheelbarrow and have your friends push it about the park at the fashionable hour. You think it’s proper to play scandalous parlor games in respectable homes.”
One of her favorite tricks was to ask a gentleman for a handkerchief at a ball and then hide it from him, making him search the vases and furniture drawers while she giggled at his discomfort. Once, at a dinner party, she proposed that the young people sneak away to another room and play a game she devised where one person was blindfolded and had to guess who kissed them on the cheek or hand or such. However, Miss Van Der Keer kissed Patrick on the lips, scandalizing the other poor guests she had dragged into the game.
“You make your affections for Patrick wildly known by chasing him about with singular determination, following him about, making a spectacle of yourself to receive his attention, including lifting your skirts in public to repeatedly tie your slippers and pretending a column at the Royal Theatre was Patrick and suggestively kissing it.”
“It was a dare.”
“One you foolishly took. Have you not seen the crude cartoons of yourself in the papers this week? Have you not read your name disparaged in the Society columns? Do you not see the people avoiding you in the streets?”
She turned silent.
“My sentiments of you echo those of the Duchess of Brysessy when she warned her granddaughters away from you. You are an ignorant girl with no idea of proper behavior or gentle manners.” He was almost yelling. All the worry about his wife’s condition and father’s death funneled into his annoyance at Miss Van Der Keer. He took another sip of brandy to calm himself.
“I don’t care,” she declared. “The Duchess of Brysessy is a gossipy old harpy who finds pleasure in creating drama wherever she goes.”
“I know you feel this way about your better, as does the rest of Society, for you made your sentiments about the duchess known aloud on Rotten Row. Tell me, Miss Van Der Keer, do you give no thought to the consequences of your actions?”
She didn’t reply.
“If I did influence Patrick, it was to show him the facts of the matter. Your wild behavior would have dire repercussions on his station and future. I’m sorry your feelings have been hurt. But you’re young, and I’m sure in a month’s time, your heart will have sufficiently repaired to fall violently in love again with some other poor fellow.”
“Don’t patronize me! What—what do you know of love? You’re a marquess. You marry according to a Debrett’s entry—a heartless, cynical affair.”
The wrath he had tried to hold back surged forth. Had this girl no restraint on her tongue? It was a joke among his old friends that he was overly protective of his wife. But in her weakened condition due to carrying his child, that primitive urge to protect compounded. “Don’t you dare make assumptions about me and my affections for my cherished wife,” he barked. “I love her with a depth that you will never understand.”
She winced as though his words inflicted a wasp-like sting. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to say those words. I didn’t mean…” She pressed her hands to her face, and her body trembled with her sobs.
Again, he felt that annoying prick of compassion for her. What quality about this addled, reckless girl cut close to his bones? It wasn’t attraction—how could he be attracted to another woman when he was married to the most beautiful, most gentle creature in all of England? What about Miss Van Der Keer seemed to amplify whatever feeling passed through him? A mystery he didn’t care to explore. She had taken up too much of his valuable time.
He gestured to the door. “I shall have a footman accompany you to make sure you get home safely. I shan’t breathe a word of this to your uncle, although I should. Coming here was as reckless as it was improper. Should you be found out, your already severely impaired reputation would be beyond redemption, if it isn’t already so.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “My uncle is sending me away. He says I have shamed him because you have cut his family.”
“I have in no way cut his family because I don’t approve of a match between you and Patrick. It is no reflection upon your uncle that you require another year or two, or a dozen, in the schoolroom to mature. Good night, Miss Van Der Keer.”
“But I love Patrick.” She didn’t budge, but gripped her gown in her balled hands. “He has to come back. You can’t do this.”
“What you are feeling is adolescent infatuation. Nothing more. It’s not real love.”
“I love him with every fiber of my being. You say that I couldn’t understand the profound love that you have for your wife. But I do. I love Patrick that way. I will always love him. I am steadfast in my affections.” Her eyes pleaded, as if he possessed some kind of magic to undo her hurt and have Patrick return. Telling her how easily her lover had been persuaded to leave her would only hurt her more. And he doubted she would believe him. Best to let time or another man quell her obsession for Patrick. He drew in a breath. “One day, you will come to love another man more wisely and with more maturity than this frenzied infatuation for Patrick. You will look back upon this moment and thank me.”