Page 8 of Love Abandoned

Chapter Three

To me alone there came a thought of grief:

A timely utterance gave that thought relief,

And I again am strong.

—Wordsworth, “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”

Richard came inthrough the back, from the mews, and stomped his feet.

Hastings stepped out of his rooms. “Good ride, my lord?”

“It was,” Richard said, handing his hat to Hastings. Hastings set it on the side table, then assisted Richard with the removal of his driving coat. It was a chilly morning, which was exactly what he’d needed to clear his head following a sleepless night. After sending Elizabeth on her way, he’d wandered to White’s, hoping Walford would end his evening there, but after several hours of waiting, Richard had surrendered. It was clear Walford was not going to leave his wife’s side, and Richard couldn’t blame him. There was a time when Richard had felt the same way about spending time with Elizabeth.

The late hour provided for a quiet return, with only Hastings and Marcus waiting up for him. He dismissed them both and headed upstairs. Although he’d been assured Elizabeth had long gone to bed, he walked quietly past her bedroom and into his own across the hall, relieved when the only thing that followed him into his room was the sound of the door closing. He was blurry-eyed weary but could not go to bed. So he stood at the window, with a brandy in hand, staring vacantly into the darkness until the early-morning, when the collier’s cart rattled to a stop and the man hopped off to shovel coal into the vault. Only then did Richard stretch out on the coverlet, still fully dressed.

The morning sun woke him a short time afterward, and there was no more sleep to be had. He rang for Marcus, had a quick wash and shave, and headed out, hoping he could leave the turmoil of his endless introspection behind with a brisk ride. Apparently not. His brain was a befuddled, swirling mess. He needed to speak with Walford. At least Walford might be able to help him sort out the odd situation he’d found himself in with Miss Paisley. He strode through the hall, to the library. The early-morning noise on the streets was more prevalent at the front of the house, and he found it oddly comforting. He’d been quietly alone with his thoughts for too many hours. He penned a quick note to Walford and stepped back into the hall, heading back the way he’d come.

Hastings stepped out of the kitchen. “My lord, your breakfast will be in the tea room shortly.”

“Thank you, Hastings. Do see this finds Lord Walford’s hands as soon as possible.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Richard took the stairs to the tea room. Adjacent to the ballroom, he liked to use it as a breakfast room instead of the large dining room on the ground floor. Growing up, he’d had too many lonely dinners at the big table at Thornwood Manor to want to replicate the experience in his adult life. He preferred the intimacy afforded in the smaller room.

At the top of the stairs, he glanced into the ballroom. He could not remember the last time they’d hosted an evening of dance. He recalled one after William was born, but there had not been one since Sebastian had arrived. He could not see ever hosting one again. He ran a hand through his hair.Devil it all. What was he doing standing here lamenting lost socials? He’d hated the blasted things even when Elizabeth had stood by his side.

He entered the tea room and sat at the table where his place was already set. The simple rosewood table was a stark contrast to the ornate mahogany one downstairs. A domineering piece of furniture, it sat twenty-four. Here, they could seat eight comfortably, which was plenty for overnight guests. Which they never had anymore. He didn’t wish anyone to get a glimpse of the reality of their situation, and Elizabeth seemed in full agreement, as she had not requested any company.

Several footmen arrived with silver platters and set them on the sideboard. Hastings followed close on their heels, grabbed a cup for Richard, and tidily poured from the urn. The bitter aroma of coffee mixed with the tantalizing smell of eggs and liver, and Richard’s stomach growled. “Prepare me a plate,” he said, too drained to get up and look for himself. He knew he’d like whatever was there. No simple bread and jams for him. He enjoyed an old-fashioned meal, and neither of his cooks ever disappointed.

Hastings and a single footman stood by as he ate, topping his coffee not once but twice. Richard focused on the food with single-mindedness, not wanting to think at least for a few minutes. When he finally set his silverware aside, his plate was cleared and a paper was set in its place.

“More coffee, my lord?”

“Half a cup, thank you.”

Hastings poured the coffee and left the room, leaving the footman to stand guard. “You may go too,” Richard said, and turned to the paper.

He scanned the first page and, finding little of interest in the advertisements, moved on to politics. Some committee notes of no interest, and little information regarding the happenings on the peninsula. Definitely nothing to shine a light on his current predicament.

The third page was of more interest. An announcement regarding the expansion to Walford’s shipbuilding warehouse. Richard must give credit where credit was due. Walford moved fast and definitively. Richard, too, wanted to dip his toes in those waters. When this mess was cleared up, he’d talk with Walford about it.

He returned his attention to the paper. The crime section seemed to be growing daily. Fourteen Luddites were to be hanged Saturday. He sympathized with their loss of livelihood, but surely they understood the recklessness in their ongoing destructions? Agree or disagree, the Frame-Breaking Act was very specific and clear about consequences, and the law was the law. They must find a better way to express their discontent.

He usually skipped the town gossip, but he could not this morning. The incident last night jumped out at him from the column. He read it and grunted. It should be of no surprise they’d made the paper after the display he’d put on. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, was all there was to it.

“Richard.”

He looked up. Elizabeth, dressed in a pale-blue morning dress that matched her eyes, her golden hair piled loosely on her head, looked as beautiful as the day he’d met her. His body responded as he stood up, and he hoped the evidence did not show.

“Elizabeth,” he said, grabbing the paper and setting it at her place. “Enjoy your repast. I’m going to see the children. I’ll be out for the remainder of the day.” He pulled the cord to let Hastings know he was needed, and like the coward he was, ducked out the door before she could respond.

*

Elizabeth took aseat, fighting the overwhelming despair that she was losing the fight to get Richard back. She glanced at the paper, quickly surveying the Mirror of Fashion column, not at all surprised to see a reference to the scene at the Argyll Rooms.

Lady T and Lord T created a stir at the Argyll Rooms last night. Ripples began when they danced with one another, alongside Lady W and Lord W. (Although, the latter must be forgiven as they had been parted and are compensating for lost time.) A torrent of gasps resounded at the baring of Lady T’s feet. Lord T’s subsequent stampede, through ladies and gentlemen alike, was equally outrageous. However, the most scandalous part of the drama was witnessing a husband and wife so in love. Do let us hope it does not become the norm.

Elizabeth smiled.A husband and wife so in love.If that was what they’d seen, then there was a chance she was right. For all his reticence, Richard did love her. Was it possible she’d only lost a battle and would yet win the war? Hastings tapped lightly before entering the room, a pot of fresh steaming coffee in hand.

“A beautiful day ahead, my lady,” he said as he poured.

“Indeed, Hastings, I believe it may be,” she said, looking at the paper and smiling.

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