Page 76 of From Unwanted to Duchess
She turned her head away because she knew if she looked at her cousins any longer, she was going to blush again at the memory of what they had just discussed.
“Well,” James asked, “are you glad to be back in London?”
“I am, although I have to say I do miss the country. I’ve grown accustomed to speaking to our tenants every day.”
He smiled when she saidour tenants. “You claimed them as ours. That pleases me more than you know.”
“Good. But you must be glad not to be there. I suppose being there dredges up many bad memories.”
He opened his mouth to reply when the master of ceremonies banged his staff on the dance floor and announced the minuet. The stately minuet, all grace and precision.
They streamed onto the dance floor along with the other couples, and the music started. James held tightly onto her as they fell into step, and she thought that perhaps he was not going to answer her question at all. But then, to her surprise, he looked at her.
“It is a relief to be here, I must say. Memories do haunt me at our country home more so than here. Like specters in every corridor. It is one of the reasons I have avoided it, but our previous steward was not exactly the sort who shared my philosophy when it comes to the tenants. So I have to be there to ensure that Mr. Morrison is up to snuff.”
“So you would prefer to spend more time here in London?”
He shrugged. “I used to love the country. Marcus and I used to ride out together all the time. My mother adored it there. I havemany happy memories of the place, but also many awful ones because of my father.”
“I understand,” she murmured. “I feel the same about the Langley estate back in Bedfordshire. When I was very young, my mother used to take me on walks, and we used to make flower crowns.” She smiled. “Well, I think that’s what we did. I often have false memories. My memories consist more of fragments that I can remember and pieces of the story that were filled in by her friends who live nearby and our neighbors.”
“So, do you miss it?”
“I am uncertain. My mother’s grave is there, and I used to visit it every single day. I would sit by it and have conversations with her, and I miss that. But I still converse with her now.”
James smiled. “As I do with my mother. And my grandfather. The conversations I have with them are in my head and in my heart, and I think it does not have to be tied to one place.”
“Do you converse with your brother also?” Frances asked, hoping that she was not pushing too far.
James’s hand tightened slightly around hers, and he gulped. “No. There are many things I wish to say to him, but that would entail thinking about that night, and as you have come to learn, I do not like to. It is too much.”
“Perhaps you would find relief from it,” she said.
He shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps. It has always been easier for me not to think about it. To ignore it. To control my temper so I do not lose control.”
She frowned. “You did not lose control. Why would you think that?”
He lowered his voice. “It is what my father told me afterward. After Marcus…”
To her surprise, he stopped dancing, took her by the hand, and pulled her off the dance floor. Marianne, Charlotte, and Evelyn noticed the movement and turned, looking on in concern.
He led her through the ballroom, and together they made their way outside. Once they were in the large garden that sat behind Marianne and Lucien’s townhouse, the music from the ballroom faded, and it was just the two of them.
“Let us go to the park,” he suggested. “Green Park is just over yonder. Most improper, but necessary.”
Frances nodded.
They made their way across the street in their fancy attire and then into the park. It was already dark, save for the moon and stars that dotted the sky.
“I did not want to risk anyone overhearing us,” James murmured. “The ton thrives on scandal and gossip.”
“I understand.”
“What I was going to say is that after Marcus died, my father entirely blamed me for the incident. Laid the whole tragedy at my feet. He said if I had kept my temper in check, if I had not addressed him the way I had, if I hadn’t provoked him, his temper would not have flared, and we would not have scuffled, and the entire thing would not have happened.”
“That is beyond the pale!” Frances burst out. “Your father was a wretched man. A wretched?—”
“I agree,” James cut in, amusement lacing his voice. “But it is what it is. In any case, I believe him. I have always had a temper. A choleric disposition, my father called it. You remember Wentworth? I struck him once. Planted a right facer on him. He lost a tooth.”
