Page 42 of The Truth about the Rogue
“Is everything quite all right?”
Andrew sighed, put down his sander, and rose to his feet.
“No, it is not.”
“And why not?”
Again, Andrew let out another sigh.
“It is because of this connection with Miss Hawick, this nearing betrothal, for I shall have to ask her very soon.” He went to pour a brandy, recalling how he had come upon Miss Hawick earlier that day, declaring to her sister just how much she had lost in becoming tied to him, how much she now longed for love – the one thing that she was certain she could never find in him, in their connection. “I am uncertain.”
“Uncertain?” Lord Glenfield tilted his head. “In what way?”
It was the first time that Andrew had been given an opportunity to put words to his feelings, and the thought was somewhat intimidating. He and Lord Glenfield had been friends for a very long time indeed, but given that they had both been nothing but rogues and rascals for that time. They had not often even considered discussing such things. He coughed, shrugging.
“It is… well, it is strange, that is all.”
“What is strange?”
Andrew closed his eyes, fighting the desire to tell his friend that it was nothing and that he need not concern himself any more with it.
“Ever since I first met the lady, I have found myself frustrated with her lack of positive response to my work, to the published poems. The fact that she compared it with other writers, to the point of taking her friend to purchase a book on poetry, irritated me a great deal. Since that time, I have found myself eagerly desiring to impress my work upon her, to have her look favorably upon it.”
Lord Glenfield’s eyebrow lifted.
“Why does her opinion matter so much?”
“I could not tell you that because I do not understand it myself,” Andrew replied, before taking a sip of his brandy. “On top of that, when this courtship began, I told her in no uncertain terms that I did not expect to give up my roguish ways entirely.”
A frown crossed his friend’s forehead.
“You said as much to me also.”
“And I am well aware of your opinion of it.” Andrew looked away briefly, aware that his tone had been a little sharp. “Forgive me, my friend. This is what has troubled me, I confess, and I am not doing particularly well when it comes to considering what to do next.”
Lord Glenfield nodded, accepting Andrew’s apology.
“I do not want to be wed.” Andrew spoke firmly and clearly but yet felt himself aware that inwardly, he did not entirely believe what he said. “I have never wanted to marry and now, to be forced into that position has brought about a good deal of frustration on my part.” He waved one hand. “Yes, I am aware that there is much that could be said about how that is my failing, but that is not my concern at present.”
Lord Glenfield let out a small, rather heavy sigh.
“What is it, then?”
Andrew flung out his hands, his words coming more readily now.
“It is the unsettling realization that what she has asked of me – which is that I give up my interests entirely – is something that does not now seem as repugnant to me as it once did.” He shook his head. “And I cannot explain the reason behind that. For heaven’s sake, Glenfield, I had Lady Faustine come to find me in the gardens at that soiree and, when she tried to kiss me, I felt as though I might cast up my accounts! I pushed her back, I told her that I could never be to her, again, what I had previously been, and I strode away from her!”
“I am glad to hear it!”
Squeezing his eyes closed, Andrew let out a slow breath.
“But why am I doing such a thing? I have never said to Charlotte that I will turn to her and be devoted to her and yet, within myself, I find that desire growing, replacing all that I have once been and know!” Opening his eyes, he swallowed thickly. “I was going to tell her about my confusion earlier today, but her mother interrupted the conversation. Thereafter, I went to my carriage, only to find my heart demanding that I return and explain all to her. I… I did not want to have her under any illusion that I was still determined to do as I had previously said.”
“I see.” Lord Glenfield tilted his head. “And what did she say?”
Andrew blew out a long breath, raking one hand through his hair.
“She did not have the opportunity to listen to me. I was informed that she was in the garden with her sister and, upon making my way there, overheard her speak of all that she regretted in being joined to me, of how she had never hoped for love but now, in the awareness that she was to marry a rogue, realized just how much she desired such a thing. Of course, therewas pain expressed that she would never have love offered to her either.” Andrew dropped his head, a little ashamed. “You will think poorly of me – as I think poorly of myself – but I turned on my heel and took my leave. I did not know what to say.”
