For most any other gentleman, the public rejection of his marriage proposal—in the midst of it—would have been a worst thing.
And the fact it happened not once, but twice, by two different women in the exact same way, would certainly have qualified as that worst thing.
But even that was not the worst thing.
Nor, for that matter, had society learned of the very worst.
Not yet.
Years ago, there’d not been an urgency for him to wed.
Now, however? Now there was.
Wynn stared into the contents of his nearly empty snifter.
He’d never been much of a drinker. Certainly not a heavy one. Never had he descended into the level of debauchery found at the seedier establishments where men got soused beyond the point of reason.
He grimaced.
But then, no previous situation had merited spirits as this one did. If society thought Wynn being thrown over when he was bent on a knee proposing to a lady was scandalous, what would they say if—when—it was discovered, that Alice, the eldest of his unmarried sisters was in fact, with child.
Nay, he knew precisely what they would say. Just as he knew what the implications would be for his other unmarried sister. There’d be no union for her—at least, not one that was good or respectable. And there’d be few prospects for Wynn, who was tasked with producing an heir and seeing his mother and sisters cared for.
Restlessly, he swiped up the glass and finished the remaining amber contents.
With a grimace, he set the empty snifter down hard, thought better of it, grabbed the nearby bottle, and poured.
At the absolute worst time, the door opened, and his mother sailed in. Not even the faintest hint of grey peppered her black hair, nor a wrinkle marred her face. But then, he and her two daughters had never given reason to age her prematurely.
Until now.
The Dowager Marchioness of Exmoor shut the door behind her and joined Wynn at his desk.
She took the seat opposite him and with pain-filled eyes, she looked at his glass. “You’re drinking.”
It would have been worse had there been condemnation and not this sad disappointment.
“The situation does call for it,” he muttered. It called for an entire bottle.
His mother eyed those spirits for a moment, and then leaning over, availed herself of his glass. She downed the contents without so much as a grimace, set the snifter down, and then sighed. “It didn’t help.”
His lips twitched. If he were capable of smiling, this would have been a moment. “No.”
Her gaze slid to the newspaper, and she picked those pages up. “This is what they write of.” She skimmed those handful of sentences there; ones he’d already committed to memory.
Scandal
Lord E was rejected—for a second time. Not unlike, when his previous marriage proposal was interrupted by the Duke of C, this time, it was interrupted by the Duke of G. Rumor has it, Poor Lord E was on a knee when this latest rejection came…
“I was so very certain she’d accept your offer and…” With a sigh, her words trailed off, and she gave her head another one of those regretful little shakes. “If they think this is a Masterson scandal…”
Wait until Alice’s circumstances were discovered. When a young lady, without the benefit of marriage, found herself carrying a babe, as his eldest sister did, nothing but ruin awaited her—and her family. For who’d wed their daughter to Wynn? A man who’d proven himself unable to look after his female relatives, and whose family would forever carry a scandal with them for it.
Just like that, a familiar guilt hit him square in the gut. As soon as he’d learned Alice was with child, he’d done everything in his power to make his family’s situation better. In finding a wife, he could have at least ensured the family line was secure.
“Wynn,” his mother said quietly, pulling him back from his musings. “I did not mean to imply that Lady Lettie’s rejection of your suit is not tragic in its own right.”
He waved off that apology. At this point, everything was secondary to his sister. “I’m sure I could have done something differently. I should have offered for Lady Lettice soon—”
“Oh, hush,” his mother chastised. “You were kind. Respectful. You brought her flowers. Everyone is talking about younow, and it is not in a good way.” Her eyes flashed, as only a mama offended on behalf of her child could.
It had been hard finding a bride before. Now that he’d been made a laughingstock, it would be next to impossible. The truth of it was…women sought more than kindness and respectful. They sought passion and excitement, and well, he’d never been the rogue or rake.
“For what it is worth,”—absolutely nothing—“I wasn’t on my knee the first time,” he said with a feeble attempt at humor. The first time had come years earlier, when he’d paid a visit to Lady Daisy, the now Duchess of Crawford, intending to court the lady. “Only the second.”
As intended, his mother managed the first smile he recalled in days.
Wynn grimaced. “Either way, it’s no one’s fault. It is just…bad luck.” The fact that Wynn’s sister had given her heart to an undeserving cad. The fact that her consummation of that relationship had resulted in a child. All of it.
“Bad luck.” His mother’s forlorn little voice confirmed she’d grasped what he was really speaking about. “Bad luck, indeed.”
Alice’s circumstances were the real tragedy here and not the fact that Wynn was being gossiped about.
“You did your best, Wynn,” his mother said with a note of resignation. Tears sprung behind her eyes, and she looked away quickly, attempting to hide that glassy sheen.
Wynn glanced down at the newspaper, once more, his gaze unseeing the words about himself, his mind fixed on the only place it had been for the past four weeks.
Nausea churning in his belly, Wynn grabbed his decanter and poured himself that next drink his mother had previously interrupted. He took a deep swig.
After his mother composed herself, she resumed speaking. “You must not feel badly for the way things went with Lady Lettice.” She sailed to her feet. “Now, we must be brave. The girls will need that. Especially Alice. I should begin the travel plans. Fortunately, Scotland is lovely this time of year.”
His family’s flight from Town had always been the expected solution. He’d just expected to have a respectable wife along with him when he joined the family’s extended trip.
“Mother,” he called when she started across the room.
She paused at the center of his office and glanced back.
“I will set the family to right.” He had to.
“You need to worry about your own happiness.”
He couldn’t be happy unless she and his sisters were.
“Perhaps this is for the best,” she said, with an eternal optimism only she could muster even in the most dire of situations.
“Oh?” he asked, because this, he really needed to hear.
“I was supportive of you courting Lady Lettice, when perhaps I shouldn’t have been. I understood why you felt the match was the right one; she’s the sister of a powerful marquess whose family is linked to a number of even more powerful families—Lord Rutland’s. Lord Tennyson’s. Each of whom had a scandal of their own, and not only braved it, but overcame it. Why, your thinking was so very logical…downright perfection.”
He inclined his head. “Thank—”
“On the surface,” she interrupted. “But if you married Lady Lettice, you would have denied yourself a union with a woman who truly wants you, who truly loves you as you deserve. And if I cannot have that for all of my children,”—Alice—“I’d have it for you, dear boy.”
“My falling in love is irrelevant,” he said wearily. Love solved nothing. Seeking a wife had never been about love.
“I believe you believe that,” she said.
She couldn’t possibly believe anything mattered more to him than securing their family. He opened his mouth to say as much but saw something in her eyes—an agonized glimmer, one that indicated how very desperate she was to find some good in any of this. Wynn forced a smile. “Mother.”
A knock sounded at the door, and they instantly went silent.
His mother gave him a frantic look. Even whispering about it as they had, they’d risked the wrong staff member potentially overhearing and in turn bandying that salacious gossip about. It would be calamitous.
“Enter,” he called.
The maid, Florence, ducked her head inside the room. “My pardon, my lord. I’ve been informed Lady Alice appears ill.” She directed that to the dowager marchioness.
To his mother’s credit, she appeared as in control as she had when Wynn and his sisters had fallen sick through the years, and she herself had helped care for them. “I’ll be along shortly.”
The moment the young girl dipped a curtsy and closed the door behind her, Wynn’s mother looked to him. “I know you wished to find a bride before…before…but we must leave soon. How much longer will we be able to conceal the true reason for her on again, off again nausea?” she whispered, her words nearly inaudible.
“Soon,” he promised. They’d leave for Scotland where Alice would be away from prying eyes.
His mother perked up. “Perhaps no one will assume anything. Society well knows her affinity for art. She’s traveled several times before with this same purpose.”
“Not during the Season,” he gently reminded her. No marriage-aged lady left Town in the middle of a London Season, unless there was scandal chasing her away.
His mother drew in a shaky breath. “I should begin seeing to the preparations, my boy,” she said.
Wynn stood and dropped a bow. “Mother.”
The moment she’d gone, shutting that oak panel, he sank back into his chair. He dropped his forehead onto the desk, hitting it with a hard thunk.
“Does that help?” a voice called into the quiet, bringing his head shooting up so quickly, the muscles of Wynn’s neck wrenched in painful protest. “If so, I dare think I should try it.”
His sister, Alice, hovered at the side entrance of the room, a small smile on her lips.
He immediately jumped to his feet and rushed around the desk. “The maid said—”
She waved him off. “The maid made more of it than there is. I’m not an invalid, Wynn.”
Nay, she wasn’t an invalid. She’d always been an expert horsewoman, sailing over jumps that would have terrified the most seasoned riders. Scaling fallen trees when she’d been younger.
And as life would have it…scaling the tree outside her window to meet a man she’d no place meeting. A man whose intentions had not been honorable. And who’d left Alice—and their family—to deal with the consequences of that entanglement.
“Well, you didn’t say?” Alice asked, dropping into the same chair their mother had occupied. “Does it help when dealing with a bad situation?”
“Which part? The cursing or hitting one’s head?”
“Either.”
“Alas, I am afraid neither.” Nothing could help on that score.
They shared a smile.
And it felt normal for a moment. It felt like she was the same younger sister whom he’d taught to fish and ride, and as though she was not now the woman whose reputation hung in the balance, and because of it, the reason their entire family faced ruin.
Alice’s gaze fell to Wynn’s half-empty snifter. Her smile faded. “I was not sad about the news.”
He stared dumbly at her. Surely, she wasn’t saying—
“About Lady Lettie.”
Oh. That made more sense. Wynn forced himself to grin. “Why, thank—”
“Not because she wasn’t perfectly lovely, but because you didn’t love her.”
It had never been about love with Lady Lettice Brookfield. He couldn’t say as much to his sister. Not without making her feel guilt he’d not have her feel.
“It should have been about love, Wynn,” Alice said.
She’d always been too astute.
“Love found you…in the way you find yourself,” he pointed out, gently, without recrimination.
Alice bit down on her lower lip. “He will come for me, you know.”
Wynn knew no such thing. The only information he or their mother were in possession of was the fact Alice had lost her heart to a man without prospects, who’d gone to make a better life for himself—for them—and that he’d return. Only, he hadn’t, and given the fact Alice’s notes to the gentleman had gone unanswered, it was increasingly likely he never would.
Alice drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t want you to feel guilty. Mother is right. This is not your fault, nor your responsibility.”
He tensed. She’d been listening at the keyhole. At least no one else had. “Alice,” he said gently. “I’m the marquess. You and Mother and our sisters are in fact my—”
“I don’t want to be your responsibility,” she repeated, a second time, more forcefully; her eyes snapped with the spirit of rebellion. “I don’t want to be anyone’s responsibility.” In other words, she’d wanted to be loved. He wanted to kill the dastard, and never had he regretted there wasn’t a second born son, so that Wynn could have avenged Alice as she deserved.
His sister looked as though she wished to say more, but without another word, left.
Wynn sat staring at the door of his office long after she’d gone with only one question repeating in his mind: what now?
