Page 42 of A Virgin to Trap the Earl of Thornhill
With that, he turned, leaving her standing alone in the library, his heart heavy with regret. He did not want to let her go, but he needed time. Time to understand his feelings, time to figure out what to do. He just hoped it would not be too late.
* * *
In the grand entrance hall of Thornhill, William found himself reluctantly bidding farewell to the remaining guests. Lady Felicity, Lady Charity, Lady Marianne, and Miss Fairchild all presented their hands for him to kiss, their giggles and fluttering eyelashes making him feel like a spectacle.
Then came Sir Percival Fairchild. His shoulders slumped, his gaze was locked on the Dowager Countess, his eyes filled with an unmistakable longing. William watched, bemused, as the older gentleman approached his mother with an air of reverence.
“My Lady,” Sir Percival began, bowing deeply over the Dowager Countess’s hand, “I find myself in a state of utmost desolation at the prospect of your absence.” His voice carried a dramatic flourish that had the ladies stifling giggles behind their gloved hands. His mother, a picture of grace and decorum, flushed prettily at Sir Percival’s words.
“Sir Percival, you do flatter me,” she demurred, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
As his mother gracefully extracted her hand from Sir Percival’s lingering grip, William could not help but ponder over his mother’s reaction. Could she be attracted to Sir Percival? The mere thought was preposterous. Sir Percival was no more suitable for his mother than Eris was for him. Or so he kept telling himself.
The Viscount and Viscountess of Blackwell were the last to take their leave. Eris stood by their side, her eyes steadfastly avoiding his. Her mother, undeterred by the tense atmosphere, pressed on.
“Lord Thornhill, I hope to see you courting my Eris at the upcoming ball in London,” she said, a sharp, hopeful edge to her voice. William’s face remained impassive though his insides churned uncomfortably. The Dowager Countess, standing by his side, shot him a quick, assessing glance before schooling her features into a tight smile.
“Of course, Viscountess,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. Eris flinched at his tone, her gaze darting to meet his for the briefest of moments.
The Viscount, oblivious to the undercurrents, clapped him on the shoulder. “Looking forward to it, Thornhill. A man needs a wife, and Eris is a fine lady.”
With that, the Viscount and Viscountess began their descent down the stairs, their laughter fading into the morning air. Left behind, Eris and William shared a long look. In her eyes, he saw a deep sadness mingled with resignation, and it tore at his heart.
“Farewell, Miss Eris,” he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. She nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line, and followed her parents into the waiting carriage.
As the carriage pulled away, William was left alone in the entrance hall, the echo of their departure ringing loud in his ears. It was as if a vital piece of Thornhill, of him, had left with Eris. A part he was now desperately aware of and was not sure he wanted to live without.
With the departure of the last guest, Thornhill Manor was left in an echo of silence. Yet, beneath it all was a simmering tension that lingered like a faint fog.
Walking into the parlor, William found his mother, the Dowager Countess, seated comfortably in her favorite high-backed chair by the window. She glanced up as he entered, her sharp, discerning eyes taking in his rumpled appearance and disquieted demeanor.
“William,” she said, gesturing for him to take a seat opposite her. There was a certain softness in her voice that he had not heard in a while. “I saw the look between you and Miss Eris. It is a look I have not seen on your face before.”
William sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have a question, Mother,” he said quietly, not meeting her eyes. “Did you love Father when you married him?”
The Dowager Countess looked at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Yes,” she admitted, after a moment. “I loved your father deeply. He was my best friend as well as my husband.”
“Then why can’t I have that? Why can’t I marry for love?” he asked, finally meeting her gaze.
“William,” she said gently, “there is a difference between love and desire. Desire burns brightly but briefly, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. But love… love is a slow, steady flame. It is built on a foundation of friendship and mutual respect. And yes, it includes desire, but it is so much more.” She paused, her gaze softening as she looked at her son. “You need both, William. Not just desire. And if Miss Eris is the woman who can give you that, then…”
Her words hung in the air, unfinished but understood. She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “I must confess, I have come to reassess my opinion on Lady Charity. As pleasant as she is, the thought of enduring a lifetime of dinner conversations with her fills me with a certain dread.”
William looked at his mother, a small laugh escaping his lips. This was not the conversation he had expected, but somehow, it was exactly what he needed to hear.
Retreating to the solitude of his study, William allowed himself a moment to reflect, his gaze drifting toward the desk where a stack of unattended correspondence lay. There, amidst the sealed letters and official papers, was the disregarded invitation to the Duchess of Hartville’s ball in London. He picked it up, its rich texture and gilded crest reflecting the lamplight.
His heart throbbed in his chest as he traced the embossed details on the card, the reality of his decision hitting him. Eris would be there in London, probably lost amidst the sea of silk and lace, completely unaware of his inner turmoil.
A sigh escaped him as his gaze returned to the invitation. With a determined glint in his eyes, he made up his mind. London beckoned, and with it was the opportunity to see Eris again. Perhaps amidst the whirl of waltzes and the rustle of silk, he would find the answers he was seeking.
ChapterTwenty-Three
The carriage rattled along the uneven cobblestone road, its muted clatter offering Eris a welcome distraction from the unsettling tension within. Across from her, Viscountess Blackwell pursed her lips, her gaze pinning Eris like a butterfly under a glass case.
“Your behavior toward the Earl was utterly incomprehensible, Eris,” her mother berated, a harsh frown marring her elegant features. “You should have been more gracious, more charming. Why can’t you take a leaf out of Lily’s book? She was always so adored by everyone.”
Eris’ eyes flickered toward her mother. The comment stung more than she cared to admit. Comparisons to Lily had always been a constant in her life though, considering her sister’s present situation, it was a barb she could have done without.
