Page 30 of The Lover's Eye
He leaned closer, elbowing Giles and dropping his voice to a suave whisper.“Find you asuitable wife.”
“May I?”Giles asked abruptly, gesturing to the powder flask.
Pemberton nodded, but he kept a sharp eye on his friend.“You needn’t pretend with me, Trev.At the very least, you’ve got to be missing the company of a woman.How long has it been?”
Giles didn’t answer.He didn’t know how long it had been, but a fair sight longer than anyone was ever likely to guess.He moved to level the pistol’s sights over a glass bottle, the blood still rushing in his veins.
He had never wanted to duel with anyone.On any other day, it was unlikely the pistols would have seized his curiosity at all.But as he covered the trigger with his finger, the etched wooden grip felt good in his hands.He found himself imagining what Elias Sempill might look like.What strife he might be causing Isobel.What she must be suffering, if she’d sent letters to her sister, pleading for the power of choice.It seemed no one was anxious to help her—and that, Giles could change.
No sooner had his finger squeezed the trigger, than the bottle shattered into a formless thing.
♦
Most of Giles’s decisions were made after a long spell of thinking, a delicate weighing of benefits against risks.Not this one.
Part of his privilege as a man of means was that he did not have to answer to anyone.He could do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was to help Isobel Ridgeway.If she did not wish to marry Elias Sempill, he would offer himself.If she did not wish to marry him—Giles tried to ignore the pang of pain in his chest at the thought—he would pay for her damned Season himself.And if she didn’t wish to marry at all, well, he would think of something.Something better than the life of a governess.
If she thought him a complete madman, an unwelcome interference who had no right to offer his aid … well, she would be right.And he would leave her, with the peace of knowing he had at least tried.
It baffled him, how he had come to care for her so deeply after such a brief acquaintance.He was afraid to inspect the feeling too closely, to unearth the truth about how far gone he was, and so he chose to face the problem head on without a moment to spare for introspection.
“I’m going out today on a matter of business.I do not expect I’ll be back until tomorrow late.”
His valet’s eyes widened, but he nodded, helping Giles into a dark riding coat.“Certainly, my lord.Should I have the coach readied?”
Giles’s lips rose into a grimace.Damn it.Clearly, he had not considered every angle of this venture.
“Or perhaps the phaeton?”his valet suggested, bringing out a pair of glossy black tall boots.
Giles could have laughed.Wouldn’t he like to race to Kittwick in the phaeton, arriving on Isobel’s doorstep like some Greek hero?No.Upon closer inspection, not even his own coach would suit.
“I do not wish to tire my own horses over it.I’ll hire a gig.”
The valet looked as though he might fall over dead, but followed the instructions given to him and packed the earl’s necessities into a small trunk.
Giles ignored the blinking stares of his staff as he left, issuing the necessary orders to Finch.The estate could run itself for a couple of days, should Miss Ridgeway accept his offer of help and wish him to stay.Even the possibility made his body thrum with anxious energy, and by early afternoon, he was pulling away in a humble, hired gig.
Miles of open road gave him time to formulate a plan.The two horses moved in time at a smooth, active trot, responding to the light touch of the ribbons.Spring was dawning everywhere, a warm bite in the air as they traveled.After months of seclusion, the change of scenery was welcome excellence, only made sweeter by the disguise the old vehicle offered.
Giles wanted anonymity, both for his sake and Isobel’s.There was no telling how she might react to his arrival, and if anyone saw the Trevelyan-crested coach parked in front of Ridgeway House, he would only complicate matters for her.
As for himself, he was mitigating the risk of further scandal around his name.He hoped it wasn’t a practice he would have to indulge in for the remainder of his life.
Giles stopped some ten miles shy of Kittwick, choosing to pass the night in a small coaching inn.For all his urgent, gnawing vitality, he could wait until morning.
There was something comforting about the narrow, foreign bed and the simple stew he ate for supper.He had lived much of his life behind the lines of safety and monotony.Months could pass where each day looked the same as the last, and then suddenly, it was as though he woke up to time, to the loss of it, the futility of the path he was choosing for himself.And that frightened him.
It took the renewal of that jarring fear to break Giles from his shell.He would take a foray to London.Meet up with old acquaintances—for really, he couldn’t count them as honest friends—and smother a few weeks under the excess of experience.Gaming hells.Stuffy ballroom dances with beautiful debutantes.Drunkenness.Sometimes a woman.
Even the broad recollection brought shame down on him like a whip.The diversions into wildness had never made him feel better, but like a playactor, pretending to be who people thought he ought to be, which happened to be the furthest thing from himself.It would take months of solitude at Cambo House for the repulsion of his actions to abate, and for the loneliness to return.
And so, the cycle continued.
The only disruption it had ever received was Aurelia.Giles wondered what it would have been like, being married to her.To have had her wild laughter resonating in his bedchamber and at his breakfast table, to find lone strands of satin blonde hair stuck to his possessions, his person.
Marriage was what his parents had wanted for him.His mother had passed first, and his father had talked about Giles’s future with increasing frequency as his health declined.They hadn’t wanted him to be alone, to live like he had been living.And yet, none of the ladies Giles met ever captured his genuine interest.
It wasn’t until Aurelia entered his library, radiant and confident and unforgiving, offering to forge their mutual interests, that Giles had felt his dreams of companionship might be coming true.
