One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(14)

With a snort, she yanked the dress into place and turned to inspect herself in the mirror. Don't tell me you intend to be one of those widows who gives the barest due to the passing of a husband.

Patting her hair in place, she frowned at the gray serge. Somehow it didn't look much better than the black bombazine. Less severe, but still dismal. Sighing, she turned from the sight of herself and exited the room, taking comfort in this small defiance, a reclaiming of herself… if only in small measure.

She advanced down the corridor, intent on waking the girls, hesitating when she spied Chloris leaving what had once been Jane's bedroom. A ridiculous confection of feathers and ribbons sat atop Chloris's head, all the more obtrusive with her blunt, scowling features. Her pale gaze fell on Jane. "I see you've disregarded my wishes." Jane lifted her chin.

"I shall take the matter up with Desmond when he returns from his clubs," Chloris threatened, a feather quivering over her nose.

Jane fixed a brittle smile to her face. "No doubt you will have to wait. That could be some time from now. At his clubs again, you say?" She bit her cheek to keep from saying more, from suggesting that he was likely engaged in one of his aberrant pursuits.

"Yes," Chloris sniffed. "A good many connections among gentlemen are made at clubs. Desmond is ever the astute businessman. He's hoping to attain a political appointment in the next year. Perhaps Undersecretary of War."

"Indeed," Jane replied with a deliberately vague air, trying not to grimace at the idea of Desmond in a position of power. Moving to Bryony's door, she grasped the knob. "I'll wake the girls and see that they have their drive."

And try to enjoy myself in the process.

With a quick nod, she ordered herself to forget, to pretend, if only for one afternoon, that her life did not stretch before her in a long row of tiresome days until Matthew reached his majority. That she did not live the life of a servant ordered about and demoralized by her relations… with nothing to look forward to. And even less to look back on.





Chapter 8


"Isn't this… nice?" Seth murmured, forcing a cheerful ring to his voice as he glanced at his sister beside him. Outfitted in sprigged yellow muslin and matching bonnet, Julianne looked like a ray of sunshine—the only light in a gray, sunless day.

As he found himself the subject of fascinated stares, countless activities preferable to a carriage ride along Rotten Row crossed his mind. The speculation had already begun. The wide-eyed, calculating expressions, the heads bent toward one other in rapt discussion. He took special care not to look at any single individual lest they take that as an invitation to strike up a conversation. Although he had vowed to begin his wife hunt this day, he was not keen on idle chitchat… especially when everyone they passed examined his scarred face as if it were some specimen beneath a microscope.

He shifted uneasily, averting his gaze from one apple-cheeked matron who elbowed the girl beside her and jabbed a plump, bejeweled finger in his direction. He could guess at their conjecture. Seth Rutledge, second son, officer, man of little worth was now… somebody. A coveted commodity for the mamas of the ton.

The image of his golden Aurora rose like a flame in his mind. He had thought about her into the long hours of the night. Had wondered, despite his avowals of indifference, what had possessed him to ever let her go. It had been years since a woman had aroused feeling in him. And he had let her get away.

He should have pursued her, claimed her, possibly even set her up as his mistress. He could still taste her kiss, intoxicating and oddly tender, artless for the courtesans and experienced ladies that attended Fleur's galas.

"Nice doesn't describe it, Seth." Julianne's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "I cannot thank you enough for bringing me to Town with you."

He glanced at his sister. She stared straight ahead, eyes empty. Always empty. Her smile, however, eclipsed the glitter of the sun on the Mediterranean. And in that moment, he knew it was all worth it. A carriage ride, a name-only wife. Whatever the cost. He owed it to her.

"No thanks necessary. I've missed you. And how could I even consider choosing a bride without your vital assistance?"

"Oh, Seth." She frowned. Her eyes stared vacantly into the air beyond his shoulder. It was the blankness that got to him, dug a knife in his heart every time. No matter the years that had passed since the accident, he could never evade that particular wound to his heart. Could never view what happened as a mere accident. His conscience refused to let him. In the same way that his father had.

"Only you can know whom you should wed. The answer will lie within your heart. Not me." Seth grimaced. Such sentimentality. His sister was so innocent. Untarnished by the world, the ton in particular. It was one of the things he loved most about her. And that sweet innocence was the very thing he intended to protect. His marriage would be the first measure he took in accomplishing that.

"Whom I choose is equally important to both of us."

Julianne laughed dryly, the sound far too old and wise for her. "I fail to see how. You are the one marrying."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. No sense explaining that she motivated his decision to wed. Julianne would not understand. It was enough that he did.

Returning from abroad to discover Albert dead had been bad enough, but to find his sister alone and unprotected with their cousin Harold breathing thickly down her neck still made the blood run cold in his veins. Seth had to wed. Had to marry someone who could look after Julianne in the event of his demise. Someone he respected and trusted with the well-being of his sister. Surely a few women existed to accept a marriage the likes of which he proposed. A marriage based on respect. Duty. A marriage void of love.