Page 46 of Falling for a Forsaken Marquess
William brushed his horse’s mane with long strokes, gently detangling the little knots at the tips with his fingers. He often tended to his own horse when he had a lot to think about and didn’t want any disturbances, but lately, William had sought other calming methods.
None of them had worked, leading him to wonder why he hadn’t followed his natural inclination to visit the mare even without the intention to go riding. The quiet peace in the stable and the comforting presence of his horse had worked to unravel the jumbled thoughts in William’s mind and helped him put his current predicament into sharp focus.
“Your father had a thicker mane,” he told the mare as he worked out the last few kinks in the silky strands. “He was a devilish stallion and earned the name Diable.”
The stallion had been black all over except for a patch of white on his chest, whereas Hera was a lovely chestnut brown with just a white diamond-shaped patch between her eyes. The mare didn’t inherit her father’s temper but was gentle with just a bit of aloofness that reminded William not to take her for granted, especially when he didn’t give her the attention she wanted.
“You’re somewhat irked with me, yes?” he said, patting her cheek. “I haven’t spent as much time with you as I usually do. What would happen if I were to get married? You might become jealous of my wife!”
Hera snorted, pushing him with her snout. This made William chuckle until he really thought about what he had said, and his mirth promptly died. Speaking about marriage in jest was not something he would normally do, leaving him disconcerted. William didn’t have to wonder at his unexpected light-hearted attitude towards the loathsome topic; he laid the blame solely at Agnes’ feet.
“Yet I cannot blame her with a clear conscience,” he admitted to the horse. “I daresay she doesn’t know of my aversion to matrimony.”
Hera nodded her head repeatedly as though she were listening, making him smile. William had to give his mare some credit as she was sensitive to his moods, and while she may not understand his words, Hera certainly knew how he was feeling.
It would have made his life easier if his family were as sensitive and didn’t heap troubles upon his head, but that was merely wishful thinking. Everyone looked to William to do the right thing, never break under pressure, uphold the family name, and give up his needs and wants for his family.
No one paused to consider that William wanted something different for his life; they simply expected him to follow through with the responsibilities of the firstborn son. Oddly, Agnes had not held the same opinion and seemed to enjoy her position as the firstborn daughter.
Their situations were undoubtedly different as she didn’t have the responsibility of continuing her family’s line or dealing with the handing down of titles, but her view had been compelling. William didn’t think it was possible to keep one’s family happy and find one’s own happiness, but Agnes did.
She seemed to believe that it depended on what a person made of their situation, but William saw no good in being betrayed by his brother and the woman he used to love. Neither was there any good in getting married when he wasn’t prepared to accept another woman into his life.
Charlotte had taught him that women were fickle and disloyal, seeking their pleasures without considering the consequences their decisions could have for others.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t say all women,” William corrected, taking a seat on a nearby haystack. “My mother has been a good wife and mother, and Agnes is entirely different from Charlotte. Do you suppose I have been harsh on her?” he asked the horse.
Martin had accused him of punishing Agnes for Charlotte’s mistakes, but William hadn’t seen it like that at first. It simply made sense to keep away from all women to avoid a second heartbreak, to maintain his distance and remind himself of his experience with love.
Martin, the duchess, and Jacob had never experienced the gut-wrenching pain of discovering that the person they loved more than themselves had chosen another. They had never lived with the humiliation of not being wanted, of hearing people whisper as he passed them on the street, and the devastation that the brother he had watched grow up would betray him in such a cruel manner.
At times, William had imagined cutting out his own heart and tossing it into the sea, but that sort of gruesome activity was only possible in the fables of betrayed lovers.
Instead, he had locked himself away for months, refusing to leave his house until he had hardened his heart and could handle the well-meaning questions and curious gazes of his parents, friends, and acquaintances. It was a lie that only women could experience such intense emotions, and men would do well to understand they were not immune to what many considered a weakness of the female condition.
“You do not think me weak, do you, Hera?” he questioned, chuckling when the mare cocked her head to the side. “I’ll assume you’re saying no.”
“My Lord?” someone called as they entered the stable.
“Yes?”
The estate’s stablehand, Tommy, appeared at Hera’s stall. “My Lord, the duchess has been looking for you.”
William sighed and rose to his feet. “Very well, Tommy. I have given Hera her brush down for the day. There is no need to do it again.”
“Yes, My Lord. Thank you,” the young man said, bowing. “Shall I take her out to the others?”
“She had a problem with Fancy last week, so I think you should take her to another area to graze. I wouldn’t want them to start nipping each other again.”
Hera was a jealous horse and had not liked seeing William pay attention to one of their newer mares. Her gentle spirit had vanished the second Fancy was nearby, and she had charged for the younger mare before William was aware of what was happening.
“Yes, My Lord,” Tommy agreed. “I’ll take her to the east side of the estate.”
William nodded and stroked his horse once more, promising to return with treats. Making his way back to the house, he could only imagine what his mother wanted to talk about. William had become good at avoiding his family, but he had grown tired of it and had given up.
Part of this decision had been Agnes’ doing, leading him to take control of his situation rather than let it control him. He had yet to discover if this approach was better than his previous attempts at prolonging the inevitable, but time would tell. Stevens met him at the door, frowning at his attire.
“It seems that you have rolled in the hay, My Lord,” the man lightly chided. “I shall prepare clean attire for you.”
