Page 66 of Lord Garson's Bride
“A bilious piglet’s a bit strong,” Silas protested, but before Garson could feel too grateful, he went on. “Society’s ladies found Garson’s pining very romantic. Not a one of them didn’t want to take his weary head to her bosom and anoint him with her tears.”
Garson shuddered. That was definitely true. It was one of the reasons he’d asked Jane to marry him, instead of some London belle. The picture Silas and West conjured up struck him as worse than looking like a bilious piglet. “You’re getting bloody poetic in your old age, chum.”
Derisive amusement twisted Silas’s lips. “Every time I heard one of them sigh after you, it made me feel dashed poetic, too. I thought Byron had to be back from the dead, until I looked around and saw it was just you.”
“Byron without the unsavory bits, so even better,” Anthony added in his bass rumble.
“Ugh,” Garson said, too pleased with how the night had turned out to take real offense at the jibes.
“Anyway, jolly glad to see you’ve found love again,” West said, sounding uncharacteristically sincere. “We’ve all hated to see you so unhappy, Hugh.”
Astounded, Garson regarded his three friends as if they’d lost their minds. Even without West breaking the habit of a lifetime and using his Christian name, he couldn’t mistake how worried they’d been about him. He only just bit back an angry denial of their asinine assumptions.
He could hardly credit this sentimental claptrap. They’d been cronies for years, in some cases since childhood. These men knew that he was as stubborn as a mule, once his affection was engaged. They also all knew that he’d been head over heels with Robert Nash’s lovely widow—even if in the end she turned out to be no widow at all. For God’s sake, Garson mightn’t have told Silas in so many words that he made a marriage of convenience, but his friend had known the truth when he stood up as best man in Dorset.
Over the last three years, Garson had come to loathe his steadfast heart. But loathing didn’t change its ways. He’d sworn his devotion to Morwenna. He’d go to his grave loving her.
It was his curse. It was his destiny.
He’d believed his closest friends understood that. But clearly they were as susceptible to the lure of a happy ending as any other romantic fool. These three men loved their wives. That good fortune deceived them into taking an overly rosy view of every marriage.
Garson’s hand tightened on his port, and he raised his glass to drink before he set it down with an angry bump. Damned love. Who needed it? Certainly not him, by heaven.
Love had given him nothing but humiliation and misery. If he’d fallen out of love with Morwenna, which he hadn’t, he had no wish to fall in love with anyone else, even his delectable wife. He and Jane were doing very well. He certainly wasn’t going to spoil things by convincing himself he was in love again.
The mere idea made his guts curdle. The fine port tasted sour on his tongue.
Only loyalty to Jane made him force a smile to his lips and raise the glass. After all, if his friends suffered the delusion that he’d married for love, not duty, what did it matter? “I’d like to offer a toast to our lovely wives, gentlemen.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Despite finding Hugh’s friends much less daunting than she’d feared, Jane was uneasy about coping with Caro, Helena, and Fenella on her own. It wasn’t just that she felt like an outsider in a group of women who were such close and long-term friends. She was afraid that now the men had gone, the ladies might bring up the one name that had hovered, resonant because unspoken, all evening.
Damn it, she didn’t want to talk about Morwenna. In fact, she’d be overjoyed if the unknown but clearly peerless Mrs. Nash sank into a bog, never to be seen again.
Even as these thoughts arose, she knew they were unworthy. But that didn’t mean she intended to spend her first night out in London, listening to how wonderful Morwenna was and how she’d broken Hugh’s heart.
Once everyone found their places around the fire, she pre-empted the conversation before it could veer toward Hugh’s lost love. “Helena, I’d love to know the name of yourmodiste. I adore that dress, and I’ll need a new wardrobe if Hugh’s planning to join the social whirl.”
Helena smiled at Jane from where she sat on the sofa near the window. She was drinking port, while Fenella had served tea to everyone else. Jane suffered a moment’s curiosity as to why Caro didn’t play hostess in her own home, but didn’t know thesewomen well enough to ask. “It’s natural that he wants to show off his new bride.”
How Jane wished she merited showing off. Then she reminded herself that she’d renounced self-pity. Since she’d discovered her husband was mad for her, her confidence had advanced in leaps and bounds. It was forgivable to feel a little wobbly here, because of Morwenna’s ghost and because she hated what she was wearing, but now was the time to put her nerves away.
“Then I need something better than this.” She glanced down at the wasp dress, which created a vile clash with her chair’s orange and green striped upholstery. “My sister Susan says it’s the last word in style, but I don’t think it suits me at all.”
“Your sister is Lady Bacon, isn’t she?” Caro asked from her place beside Helena on the sofa. She tactfully avoided remarking on the dress, Jane noted.
Helena frowned. “I remember your sister made a great splash when she was introduced to London.”
Wry fondness curved Jane’s lips. “She’s always been the beauty in the family.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s true, Jane.” Fenella subjected her to a thorough inspection. “You’re lovely, although in a very different style. No wonder Garson is so besotted.”
Jane stifled a snort of derisive laughter. Her husband might want her, but nobody in their right mind would believe his feelings extended past that. Still, Fenella was generous to try to make her feel better.
“You are pretty,” Caro said, saving Jane from summoning a response to Fenella’s remark that combined discretion and truth. An impossible task, she couldn’t help thinking. “But a different color might work better, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Jane only just stopped herself from declaring that she could pass as an insect. “I already told you I don’t like this dress.”
