Page 87 of Impeccable
“Gladly. It’s rather irritating to see what you’ve done to Father’s Greek Room. I’m glad he isn’t here to see it.” He gestured toward the wall where his father’s favorite painting once hung. “If you aren’t going to use the god and goddess painting, I’ll take it.”
“I think it was burned,” Susan said snidely.
“Or will be,” Clifford added. “I wouldn’t give it—or anything else—to you. Don’t come crying to me when you need funds.”
Gregory had pivoted toward the door, but now he looked back over his shoulder at his brother, triumph surging through him. “You aren’t aware that Father settled a rather large sum on me several years ago. I believe he anticipated this very behavior and wanted to make sure I could make my own way. You see, Clifford, I don’t need you at all.”
Striding from the ghastly room before Clifford or Susan could respond, Gregory encountered Lightner in the entrance hall. “It was very good to see you, my lord,” the butler said as he handed Gregory his hat and gloves.
“It was excellent to see you too, Lightner. Indeed, it was the best part of this visit. I regret I wasn’t able to speak with Witney on your behalf, and I won’t be returning.” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “I do hope you’ll contact me if things become untenable here. I will do my best to see you situated in a more pleasant household.”
Lightner’s pale blue eyes widened slightly. “I do appreciate that, my lord. Thank you.” He opened the door, and Clifford left Witney House for what was probably the last time.
He felt a rush of sadness, but it was all to do with his father and the memories Gregory had of growing up here. His only emotion at turning his back on his brother was relief.
Suddenly exhausted, which was unsurprising, Gregory climbed into his coach. He looked forward to getting home and snuggling with Ash. He adored the pup and their nightly routine. He also loved that Ash reminded him of Evie.
Gregory leaned his head back against the squab. In his mind, he saw her frigid stare and felt her despair. He didn’t blame her for not telling him about her past. He understood why she’d wanted to keep it secret, even from him. Still, it hurt. He’d wanted to share everything with her.
He’d wanted to marry her.
But she’d been clear from the start, and now he knew why. She’d been beholden to men and didn’t want to be ever again, even to a husband. For even if she had an equal marriage—as she would have had with Gregory—everything she owned would become her husband’s property.
Letting her go was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and yet he knew it was the right thing to do.
Is it?
A voice in the back of his mind questioned that decision.
You should fight for her.
Except, Evie wouldn’t want that. He couldn’t will her to change her mind with the power of his own optimism. He couldn’t want or love her enough for both of them. Neither of them would be happy with that.
And that just left…heartache.
Chapter18
Evie watched from her drawing room window as Lucien approached her door. She’d told Foster she wasn’t receiving, but suspected Lucien might insist on seeing her.
Sure enough, a few moments later, Foster came in to tell her that Lucien said he wouldn’t take much of her time, but that he urgently needed to see her. He’d added that he hoped she was all right.
Resigned, Evie told Foster to send him up. She rose from her chair at the table and smoothed her plain gray morning gown. When she’d first returned to London after becoming Mrs. Renshaw, she’d worn nothing but grays and lavenders. This gown was from that time.
Lucien came in, and Evie was instantly alarmed. She moved toward him in concern. “You look as if you haven’t slept.”
“I haven’t.” He threw himself onto the settee, slumping so that he was practically lying down with his legs extended. “Have you?”
“A little.” She nearly smiled in response to the concern in his eyes. Whatever they had been, he was a dear friend. “I assume you have news? Otherwise, you would have let me wallow.” She sat in a chair next to the other end of the settee from where he was sprawled.
“You don’t wallow. Stew, perhaps, but not wallow. If you did, I’d be disappointed.”
She had, in fact, wallowed, but he was right. That wasn’t like her, and she’d resolved to stop it, which was why she’d bothered getting dressed that morning. “Just tell me.”
He exhaled, straightening himself a bit, but not entirely. “I am, unfortunately, in an impossible position. I refuse to allow Lady Hargrove—or her husband—to remain in the club. However, the club will be affected by their expulsion.”
“In what way?” Evie could already guess, as she’d told Ada the night before, but she wanted to hear what Lucien would say.
“Members will resign, and fewer people will come, at least for a while. Perhaps for the entire Season.” His shoulders twitched, and he glowered at the hearth.
