Page 59 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Neil clenched his jaw.
I hate this. I hate being a liability. Being a burden. A foolish, weak man, as frail as an invalid.
When did I become a shell of a man?
He would usually try and force down the thoughts, concentrating on thinking happy, positive thoughts, and nothing melancholy. After all, melancholy never got anybody anywhere.
That night, though, the thoughts would not recede. He leaned heavily on Cynthia, the two of them making their slow, lopsided way down the stairs and around the side of the house. The noise from inside waxed and waned, the sound of laughter and chatter and music seeming almost otherworldly to Neil at times.
“Do you think she’s happy?” he slurred, as they rounded the path to come around the front of the house.
Cynthia shot him a quick, searching glance. “Who?”
He sighed. “Who do you think? Patrina, of course.”
“I see. Well, yes, she is happy. She’s a little uncomfortable at the moment, and I imagine that the role of Lady Morendale takes some time to grow into. But I do think she likes you. I think she likesus, despite Mama being a little too overbearing.”
Neil swallowed. “I didn’t mean to say what I did the other day. About it being her house and mine. You and Mama livehere, it’syourhouse, and I shouldn’t have said things the way I did. I saw the looks on your faces. So, I apologise. This is your home.”
Cynthia gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry. Patrina already came and talked to Mama about it, before the soiree started. We’re all friends now. I think Mama thinks more highly of Patrina than she did.”
Neil blinked, trying to get a good look at his sister. His vision was not clear, a sure sign that he was growing dangerously tired.
“She came and said that, did she? Well, well. Good for her. I’m pleased that she did, really.”
They climbed up the stairs and came in through the open front doors of the house. The footmen on duty were rather bored – nobody was coming and going while the party was in full swing – and one of them was smothering a yawn. Their eyes popped when they saw Neil and Cynthia, and they rushed to assist.
“I’ll make your excuses,” Cynthia promised, leaving him with one arm slung over each of the footmen’s shoulders.
“Thank you, Cynth. And… and do me a favour, won’t you? If Clayton or Aunt Thomasin decide to come up and see me, dissuade them, would you? If you can,” he added, wincing.
Cynthia nodded, smiling wryly. “I will. Their visit is rather ill-timed, isn’t it? You’d think they would understand.”
“Yes,” Neil muttered, half to himself. “Indeed, you’d think they would.”
