man never forgot that.
Thank heaven she had ridden out to meet him. She had told herself that she was going to warn him, “ just in case. ” But her attempt to intercept him, to warn him that he must brace himself to endure her company, had really been an attempt to arm herself. She did not want to see him again for the first time in a room full of other people.
Well. She had doubtless received the treatment she deserved. He obviously remembered her just as clearly as she remembered him. And he despised her, as any right-thinking man would.
The change in his demeanor was hard to bear. Recalling the ardent warmth that had lit his face when he looked at her, it was painful to see how cold and forbidding his aspect had become. He was still breathtakingly handsome, with the same heart-melting brown eyes, the same tall, athletic build, and that gorgeous hair that made a lady long to run her hands through the thick, dark waves of it. It hurt to think that she would never have that opportunity again. It hurt to think that he would never smile at her with his heart in his eyes, the way he had three years ago. She had thrown it all away. She had killed it.
At the time, she had honestly believed tha t she had no choice. If that were true then, it was just as true today. But was it true? She was no longer certain. At seventeen, everything had seemed so clear. But the older she grew, it seemed, the more she questioned … well, everything. With every year that passed, she knew less and doubted more. It was horrid, but she couldn ’ t seem to help it.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, removing her hat with trembling fingers. She was exhausted. She had slept little last night. As soon as she had known, beyond doubt, that Derek Whittaker was Lady Malcolm ’ s brother — and, in truth, the physical resemblance was so strong, she felt she ought to have guessed it immediately — her anxiety had been at fever-pitch. She had ridden out directly after breakfast to make sure she encountered him on the road. Her objective achieved, all she wanted now was rest.
Part of her longed to crawl back into bed and stay there for a week. But that was, of course, the cowardly part. She would not surrender to her fear. She would get up again, and go downstairs, and face Derek. Eventually. She moved numbly toward the narrow couch, unbuttoning her jacket and trying not to think.
“ Cynthia , dear? Is that you? ” Her mother ’ s fretful voice sounded from the adjoining room. “H eavens, child, where have you been? I ’ ve been half mad with worry. ”
“I’ m sorry, Mama. The mare cast a shoe, ” called Cynthia . “I’ ve only just returned. ” She sank down on the couch and dropped her head back against the ridge of smooth mahogany that ran along its back. She closed her eyes, heaving a deep sigh. Rest now. Think later.
But, of course, she would not be allowed to rest after making such a sensational announcement.
“M ercy on us! ” Rapid footsteps approached. “W ere you thrown? ”
“N o, Mama. ” She opened her eyes. Her mother stood in the doorway that linked their two bedchambers, clad in a loose dressing gown and clutching a still-wet pen.
“W ell, thank goodness for that. Put your feet up, child. I ’ ll ring for a nice, hot bath. We can ’ t have you falling asleep over your cards tonight. I heard you promise Mr. Ellsworth a hand of piquet. And although it ’ s often best to let the gentleman win —”
“A bath sounds lovely, ” said Cynthia quickly, before her mother could go any farther down that path. She softened her interruption by obediently putting her feet up. “B ut I ’ m not as tired as I would have been. I only had to walk for a short while. ” She took a steadying breath, bracing herself to say Derek ’ s name without betraying any emotion. “I happened to encounter Mr. Whittaker on the road. Lady Malcolm ’ s brother, you know. ”
“T hat was fortunate. ” Lady Ballymere
Thank heaven she had ridden out to meet him. She had told herself that she was going to warn him, “ just in case. ” But her attempt to intercept him, to warn him that he must brace himself to endure her company, had really been an attempt to arm herself. She did not want to see him again for the first time in a room full of other people.
Well. She had doubtless received the treatment she deserved. He obviously remembered her just as clearly as she remembered him. And he despised her, as any right-thinking man would.
The change in his demeanor was hard to bear. Recalling the ardent warmth that had lit his face when he looked at her, it was painful to see how cold and forbidding his aspect had become. He was still breathtakingly handsome, with the same heart-melting brown eyes, the same tall, athletic build, and that gorgeous hair that made a lady long to run her hands through the thick, dark waves of it. It hurt to think that she would never have that opportunity again. It hurt to think that he would never smile at her with his heart in his eyes, the way he had three years ago. She had thrown it all away. She had killed it.
At the time, she had honestly believed tha t she had no choice. If that were true then, it was just as true today. But was it true? She was no longer certain. At seventeen, everything had seemed so clear. But the older she grew, it seemed, the more she questioned … well, everything. With every year that passed, she knew less and doubted more. It was horrid, but she couldn ’ t seem to help it.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, removing her hat with trembling fingers. She was exhausted. She had slept little last night. As soon as she had known, beyond doubt, that Derek Whittaker was Lady Malcolm ’ s brother — and, in truth, the physical resemblance was so strong, she felt she ought to have guessed it immediately — her anxiety had been at fever-pitch. She had ridden out directly after breakfast to make sure she encountered him on the road. Her objective achieved, all she wanted now was rest.
Part of her longed to crawl back into bed and stay there for a week. But that was, of course, the cowardly part. She would not surrender to her fear. She would get up again, and go downstairs, and face Derek. Eventually. She moved numbly toward the narrow couch, unbuttoning her jacket and trying not to think.
“ Cynthia , dear? Is that you? ” Her mother ’ s fretful voice sounded from the adjoining room. “H eavens, child, where have you been? I ’ ve been half mad with worry. ”
“I’ m sorry, Mama. The mare cast a shoe, ” called Cynthia . “I’ ve only just returned. ” She sank down on the couch and dropped her head back against the ridge of smooth mahogany that ran along its back. She closed her eyes, heaving a deep sigh. Rest now. Think later.
But, of course, she would not be allowed to rest after making such a sensational announcement.
“M ercy on us! ” Rapid footsteps approached. “W ere you thrown? ”
“N o, Mama. ” She opened her eyes. Her mother stood in the doorway that linked their two bedchambers, clad in a loose dressing gown and clutching a still-wet pen.
“W ell, thank goodness for that. Put your feet up, child. I ’ ll ring for a nice, hot bath. We can ’ t have you falling asleep over your cards tonight. I heard you promise Mr. Ellsworth a hand of piquet. And although it ’ s often best to let the gentleman win —”
“A bath sounds lovely, ” said Cynthia quickly, before her mother could go any farther down that path. She softened her interruption by obediently putting her feet up. “B ut I ’ m not as tired as I would have been. I only had to walk for a short while. ” She took a steadying breath, bracing herself to say Derek ’ s name without betraying any emotion. “I happened to encounter Mr. Whittaker on the road. Lady Malcolm ’ s brother, you know. ”
“T hat was fortunate. ” Lady Ballymere
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