Page 63 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Chapter Twenty-One
Neil eyed his own reflection sourly.
Don’t be a coward. Simply walk in there and speak to her. Be honest. Be truthful. Look her in the eyes and tell her how you feel.
He knew now that he’d said the wrong thing to Patrina the previous night, at the soiree. Or rather, not the wrong thing – his feelings were correct – but theunkindthing.
What right had he to decide what Patrina would do, or how much she took upon herself? His mother would never have accepted such a thing from his father.
Neil had spent most of the night thinking about that, lying deflated in his own bed, hearing the sound of merriment drifting up from the ballroom below. He felt like a child, sent to bed before he wished to go, and left to stew in his own dissatisfaction.
He wished he could talk matters over with Harry, but the steward was nowhere to be found. That was odd, as Harry generally visited Neil at breakfast, took their first meal of the day together and discussed what needed to be done.
Neil took one last dissatisfied look at his own reflection – he was too pale, with dark rings around his eyes, and seemed to be losing weight that he could not spare – and turned away, leaving his bedroom.
He knew where Patrina would be – the same place she had been all morning. The music room. He could hear the music drifting up, worming its way into his ears.
He paused outside the door. It was a familiar melody this time, Sonata in C. Neil leaned against the wall, listening. The music ended with a flourish, and there came the faint tap-tap of clapping hands.
“Well done, your ladyship! I think that one is my favourite.”
Lucy, Neil realized. Patrina was spending time with her maid. Well, that was no trouble. He would simply walk in and politely ask to speak to Patrina alone. And then he would tell her the words that had been on his mind, the little speeches he’d carefully rehearsed in his head.
It was the easiest thing in the world.
Just look her in the eyes and speak.
Not yet, of course. Patrina had begun to play another piece, and it would be rude to interrupt her. Neil closed his eyes and listened, letting the music wash him away.
I love her.
The thought was a sudden, powerful one, jolting him upright.
A dangerous thought.
If I love her, how can I possibly allow her feelings for me to deepen? She’ll lose me, soon enough. No, this is a mistake. What is the point of all this? Is it just to make myself feel better? How selfish.
Swallowing hard, he pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled away from the doorway. Inside, the music ceased, and he heard Patrina speak to her maid.
“Lucy, is there somebody out there?”
Suddenly terrified of being seen, Neil hurried forward, nearly tripping on his own feet in an attempt to get out of sight.
By the time Neil reached his study, his heart was pounding and he felt thoroughly ill. He knew a fit was coming even before his legs began to buckle. Cursing to himself, Neil slammed the door shut with his heel and immediately regretted it.
He did not manage to stumble across the room to where the bell pull hung, assuring him support within a matter of minutes. Instead, Neil crumbled onto the rug in front of the fire, and his vision blurred and faltered as he faded into unconsciousness.
“Neil? Neil! Oh, heavens. Neil, can you hear me? Send for the physician, quick as you can! I have no idea how long he’s been here.”
Neil cracked open one eye. His head was pounding, his mouth dry as a bone, and he wasn’t sure that any of his limbs would respond to him.
He was still lying on the rug in front of the fire. There was no indication of how much time had passed, although Neil was sure that the light streaming in through the window had changed.
Harry was leaning over him, face tight with anxiety. Behind him, Neil just caught a glimpse of one of the footmen hurrying away into the hall, no doubt to send for the physician.
“What time is it?” Neil mumbled, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “How long have I been here?”
“I have no idea how long you’ve been here,” Harry responded grimly, “but it’s past luncheon now.”
