Page 72 of Not his Marchioness
Rhys smiled. “Among other things. I mean all the things that a young peer is meant to do—converse, run businesses, attend musicales and balls.”
“And marry.”
“That, too.”
“You resent it?” she asked, the words coming out sharper than she had intended.
He looked at her, something soft in his eyes. “Now, now, do not attempt to trap me into another argument. I dare say I have had enough of your tongue-lashings already. You know what I mean.”
“Being a peer,” she conceded.
“Yes. Do I resent that, too? I do. Most of it, not all. Mostly, I grieve the things I didn’t get to do—the things I wanted to do.”
He sat back in his chair, and without meaning to, she crossed the room and sat beside him.
They were both facing the garden, which was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the moon and the stars.
“What was it you wanted? I hear second sons have far more opportunities than firstborn sons when it comes to indulging in their dreams, since they are only spare. So I am certain you had grand dreams.”
“I am not sure how grand they were. I wanted to go to Italy.”
“Italy?” Her eyebrows rose. “I did not know you wished to travel. Did you not go on a Grand Tour?”
He turned to her, blinking as though his mind was somewhat foggy. As she sat next to him, she smelled something on his breath—brandy, perhaps whiskey.
He had tried to drink himself to sleep. Or was this a remnant from dinner, which they had taken separately?
“I never told anyone that,” he said. “It seems whiskey, wine, and a lack of sleep loosen a man’s tongue. My mother always warned me about that. But yes, I wanted to go to Italy. I didn’t go on a Grand Tour. The war made it more difficult anyhow. But still, I could’ve gone if not for my brother. He and his hasty retreat from the earth. But I had dreams about it. I used to read about it all the time.”
“You, reading?” she teased.
He smiled. “Yes, imagine that. I used to read only books about faraway places that interested me. I would imagine myself there. Rialto Bridge, the gondola. I would’ve liked to see the Colosseum.”
“You can still go. There’s nothing preventing you.”
“There is much preventing me,” he countered. “Parliament, this house, and the country estate, which we should visit before we part ways. There are dozens of tenant farmers, mines, vineyards, all depending on me.”
“You have a steward, surely,” she said. “My father let his steward run everything.”
“I beg your pardon, my dear, but your father is not exactly the best example when it comes to how one should run their life.”
She had to concede that was true.
“How is he, anyway?” he asked.
“I could not tell you if I wanted,” she replied. “Aunt Eugenia told me he called on her and Marianne in Bath a while ago, but he’s gone again. It’ll be best for everybody if he stays gone.”
Silence settled between them, and then he rounded on her.
“Hang that man,” he hissed. “You didn’t deserve what he did to you—forcing you to choose between two undesirable gentlemen.”
It did not escape Charlotte’s notice that he was calling himself undesirable, but she chose not to comment on it.
“I was just thinking about that earlier. How much worse it could have been if I had not met you. I might be married to Emery now.”
Rhys let out a laugh. “I am uncertain whether that is a compliment or not. The man is known for all manner of things even I would not stoop to.”
“It is,” Charlotte assured him. “He is a reprobate. You are a far more charming rascal. Though an infuriating one.”
