Page 101 of Souvenir of Love

“You hid behind Anne’s skirts when you ruined my sister,” Rafe said, his voice oozing contempt. “And now you hide behind Elizabeth’s to seek my forgiveness.”

“Elizabeth knows how deeply I regret my part in her disgrace, but I don’t give a damn for your forgiveness, Moreham. You paid my sister very public advances. You led her and most of the ton to believe you intended to marry her. And then you threw her over for another woman. You humiliated her.”

Rafe gripped the desk’s inlaid edge. “Before I announced my engagement to Alix, I went to see Anne, to explain as much to her as I could. But the circumstances were complicated. I offered her my apologies. I offered to make them public. I never meant to hurt her.”

“Complicated circumstances.” James’s smile was cold. “Admit it, Moreham, you didn’t want to let her know you’d soiled your hands with commerce. You destroyed my sister’s prospects to save your reputation.”

“My marriage to Alix had nothing to do with protecting my business interests. I married her to get her out of France, to save her life. And then I fell in love with her. While I deeply regret the embarrassment the situation caused Anne, she and I were never formally betrothed.” The men stared at each other for a long moment.

“James.” Rafe broke the silence. “You and I both know your sister was far more enamored of my fortune than she ever was of me.”

“Now who is hiding behind a woman’s skirts?” James scoffed. “Though it is rather ironic when you stop and think on it. My sister would never have married you had she known the source of your wealth.”

Rafe uncurled his fingers, flattening them on the polished desk. “If it isn’t my forgiveness you are seeking, then why have you come here?”

“Elizabeth seeks your forgiveness. She desires to make amends so that she can remain close to you. I desire to remain close to her. In fact, I intend to marry her.”

“Marry her?” For a moment Rafe looked as if he might vault over his desk and hurl himself at James’s throat. “You’ve dragged my sister halfway across England and France, and you haven’t married her?”

“Not yet. Though for the sake of propriety, we have been traveling with false marriage papers.”

“You must be as mad as your father,” he growled. “I could kill you.”

“I’ve no doubt skewering me would render you enormous satisfaction. Let me assure you, however, it would be fleeting. I love Elizabeth and she loves me.”

Rafe shot a glance at Elizabeth, who had been standing next to James throughout this exchange. “Is this true?” he demanded.

She reached for James’s hand. His fingers closed around hers. “It is. If you intend to kill James, you might as well kill me. For that is what you will be doing, murdering any chance I might have for marriage and happiness.”

“How very dramatic,” Rafe said, but doubt was beginning to commingle with the anger in his voice.

James heard it and continued. “If you will not listen to Elizabeth, then listen to me. A moment ago, you spoke of madness, you compared me to my father. And he is mad, mad with grief. God knows my sister is becoming nearly as mad withanger at the hand life has dealt her. I had begun to believe I bore the seeds of madness, and that I might pass them along to my children. But now I see it is not madness, but bitterness we have all been carrying. It is destroying us. I will carry it no longer. I warn you, Moreham, do not pick it up—it will destroy your family’s happiness as well.”

“And so, I should be happy at the prospect of seeing my sister wed to the likes of you?”

“In truth, it is not your happiness that concerns me, Moreham.” James drew Elizabeth closer to his side. “It is hers.”

“If you are so concerned with her happiness, Dinsmore, why haven’t you married her?”

“Oddly enough, Elizabeth desires your approval. Family is important to her—and she is important to me. I love her. So, I am here to ask for her hand in marriage.”

“And if I say no?”

“I came here as a courtesy to Elizabeth. If you say no, I will still marry her. And you can go to hell.”

“DidI say Elizabeth was visiting the Norcrofts of Hartsdale?” Madeleine sipped her tea, affecting an air of indifference. “I may have. Or I may have said the Harts of Nordale. English names, English faces—it is so difficult to keep them straight.”

“Perhaps.” Anne ran a finger around the red and gold rim of her teacup. “But then again, perhaps it is your stories you find so difficult to keep straight.”

“Lady Anne.” Alix stood up. “I believe it is time for you to leave.”

Louisa stood as well. “An excellent idea. A footman will see you to the door.”

Agatha looked up from her tea, bewildered. The conversation had passed too swiftly and too softly for her to understand. “Is it time for the tour of the gardens, then?”

Anne made no move to rise. “I believe the Harcrests have taken society on quite enough pretty tours. Why, between the lot of you, you’ve created a maze of lies large enough to rival the gardens at Hampton Court, and I promise you, by next season, everyone will see their way through them. Rafe and his astute investments, heroically restoring the fortune that Louisa’s husband and his eldest son drank and squandered.Astute investments,” she scoffed. “His Lordship has become nothing more than a merchant.” She looked at Alix. “I wondered if he’d met youbeforeyou appeared in London. Tell me, Lady Moreham, were you part of one of his trades?”

“How dare you!” Alix’s hand clenched around a butter knife.