Martha Barwood
Regency Romance Author
The Scarred Lady'sBroken Heart
Chapter One – Chapter Two – Chapter Three
Chapter One
Everything feels numb.
The thought whispered through Bridget’s mind as she gazed listlessly through the window of her father’s carriage, watching the world pass her by. She recalled a time when she had been fond of such rides, when she’d enjoyed the sound of wheels crunching over stones and the gentle breeze generated by the carriage’s passage over the country roads. But that was a simpler time, before she was thrown into the jaws of fate and came out limping.
She sighed.
“That is the fifth time.”
Bridget slid her eyes to her father sitting across from her and then back out the window. “What do you mean?” she asked softly, her voice carrying very little inflection.
Lord Frank Kendall, Baron Kendall, looked up from the book he had been reading. How he’d gone three hours with his nose buried between the pages was a mystery to Bridget. She couldn’t imagine doing such a thing without getting sick.
“You have sighed five times in the past,” he fished out his pocket watch, “ten minutes.”
“So?”
“So?” he echoed. “Is something the matter?”
“Not at all, Father,” she answered, repeating the same words she had said at least three times a week. That and “I’m perfectly well” was all that filled her vocabulary lately.
Her father simply stared at her. Bridget shifted uncomfortably. She did not like being perceived and Frank always had a disconcerting manner in which he stared at someone. As if he knew their deepest darkest secrets.
Though she supposed her darkest secrets were not so deep, considering the fact that evidence of it was carved into her face.
“I think Elizabeth is quite excited that we will be visiting early prior to her summer party. She continues to send me letter after letter expressing all the ways in which she intends to make us feel welcome.”
Bridget didn’t want to hear about this right now. She enjoyed staying in her head instead. But she could not turn her father away when he was trying to make conversation so she said, “What ways did she say?”
“Well, she will take us to the creek on her estate,” Frank continued, setting his book aside. “And to the village nearby as well.”
“Sounds delightful.”
“It most certainly does, though I cannot help but wonder if she intends for us to rest at all during our time with her.”
“You know how overexcited Elizabeth can get.”
“Yes, she reminds me of you.” There was a smile in Frank’s voice. “Quite full of life.”
Bridget knew what he was trying to do and she wasn’t in the mood for it. Then again, she hadn’t been in the mood for much lately.
It was much better when she wasn’t expected to smile and pretend as if she was fine, as if she didn’t have a cloud hanging over her head. She could stay in her chambers—or in her drawing room if she felt for a change of environment—and practice her embroidery until her fingers grew cramped and her mind numb. The last thing Bridget wanted to do was be a part of society again.
At least she wasn’t being pressured to do so in London. Heaven knew what she would have done if her father had asked her to attend a ball during the height of the London Season.
“I am looking forward to it,” she murmured. “It has been some time since I’ve spent time with Elizabeth.”
“I am certain she feels the same.”
Bridget said nothing, expecting her father to pick up his book but he only crossed his fingers and began again.
“Pray tell, Bridget, what are your sentiments regarding your absence for the remainder of the Season?” he inquired. “I trust you must find some pleasure in being away. In your younger days, you would often express a preference for our countryside estate over the bustling society of London.”
“My preference has not changed,” she said softly.
“Ah, that is precisely what I wish to hear. Perhaps this sojourn with your cousin and her husband shall prove beneficial for your spirits.”
He sounded so pleased at that thought that Bridget didn’t have the heart to respond to him. Anything she dared to say now would only put a damper on his spirits and she would much prefer that one of them maintained a somber demeanor rather than both indulging in such despondency. She hadn’t been fine for so long that she doubted some time away from London would be enough to cure her ailment.
“Oh, it seems we’ve almost arrived,” her father went on, peering out the window.
Bridget straightened, relief flooding her. She didn’t know how much longer she could handle trying to maintain small talk with her father. Though, as the sprawling driveway to Elderwood Estate came into view, she grew anxious knowing that she would have to put on a better front before Elizabeth.
The carriage suddenly jerked to the side as it began turning into the driveway. The sudden movement sent Bridget against the carriage door, pain shooting up her side.
“Oh dear,” she heard her father say. “We must have gone over a rather large stone.”
Bridget nodded mutely, a lump forming in her throat. The pain subsided within seconds, but the memories it dragged up were enough to send her mind spiraling. All she could think of was that fateful day three years ago—the day her life turned for the worst.
A rainy night. A broken wheel. And blood. So much blood.
Bridget shuddered, trying to shake off the memories assaulting her but it wasn’t enough to block the sight of a pair of deep green eyes growing dull.
“Marvelous structure, is it not?” her father spoke again.
Bridget blinked back the tears gathering in her eyes and nodded, barely glancing out the window. “It is quite nice.”
“Quite nice, she says,” Frank huffed, sounding amused. “Ah, and of course, Elizabeth is already out here to greet us.”
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t face her cousin and pretend as if all was well when it felt as if she was reliving that night all over again.
Bridget bit her bottom lip, mustering all the strength she had to face the world around her. The moment the carriage came to a halt, she raised her chin.
One of Elizabeth’s footmen opened the door. Fresh air rushed into the small carriage space, clearing Bridget’s mind a bit. She accepted the hand of the footman and allowed him to help her out of the carriage. She’d barely set two feet on the ground before someone came barreling into her, smelling like citrus, sunshine, and fresh dirt.
“Oh, Bridget, it’s been too long!” Elizabeth squealed.
Despite her despondency, despite the horrible memories still playing in the back of her mind, Bridget could not help the small smile that touched her lips. Her arms lifted to embrace Elizabeth lightly.
“Three years, I believe?” Bridget asked. “Since you have taken up the mantle of marchioness, I have not laid eyes upon you nor detected any trace of your presence.”
“And I shan’t make a habit of it any longer.” Elizabeth pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. She was still the same beauty Bridget remembered her to be. Her blond hair was curled around her face, most of it tucked into a chignon at the back of her head. She had large, blue eyes that were always lit with happiness and laughter. Elizabeth Fairmont had always been a ray of sunshine in every room she entered and it made Bridget feel especially shadowed.
Her smile felt a little bit more forced as she said, “Thank you for the invitation, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s smile, as impossible as it seemed, grew wider. Before she could respond, Frank’s voice sounded behind Bridget.
“Pray, shall I not receive a warm embrace?” he inquired.
“Uncle Frank!” Elizabeth squealed and threw her arms around Bridget’s father. “Oh heavens, I think you may be aging backward.”
“And I think it may be time for you to get a pair of spectacles,” Frank said with a chuckle.
“Oh, come now, dear uncle. You are as dashing as ever, just as I remember from my wedding, if memory serves me aright.”
“It does,” Frank confirmed. “Speaking of your wedding, where is your husband? Shall he not extend his greetings to us as well?”
***
“He is currently in a meeting with his steward. Something about the tenants, he says.” Elizabeth shrugged. “I shall tell him that you two have arrived. In the meantime, let us make our way inside, shall we?”
She was by Bridget’s side in a second, looping her arm through hers. Bridget was helpless as she was steered towards the door.
Her father was right. Elderwood Estate was certainly magnificent. As Bridget drew closer, she began taking the sheer size of the sprawling building, white brick and green trellis combined seamlessly for a luxurious look.
The foyer they entered was sizeable, a gargantuan chandelier hanging directly above their heads. Bridget was still taking in the ornate paintings hung to the sides when Elizabeth tugged her towards the left.
“Let us rest in the drawing room,” she said. “I shall ring for tea while your luggage is brought to your chambers.”
“Such a gracious host you have become,” Frank said from behind. “It is heartwarming to see you settle in as mistress of this household. I cannot believe this is the same girl who would try to braid my hair in her youth.”
“I can always braid it now if you wish,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “Though it is a bit shorter than I remember it to be.”
They both laughed heartily at that and Bridget’s lips twitched. Elizabeth released Bridget’s arm as she flounced into the drawing room, immediately pulling on the rope near the door. Bridget followed her father to one of the matching sofas in the center of the room. She watched as her cousin flitted around the room, righting things that didn’t look out of place, before she came to sit before them.
“It has been so long!” Elizabeth said again. And then her eyes landed on Bridget, the smile slipping slightly.
Bridget couldn’t meet her eyes. She knew what Elizabeth was thinking. Anyone who hadn’t seen her since the accident three years ago would think the same thing. She was not the same Bridget she’d known before she became Marchioness of Elderwood. That Bridget did not have a constant look of sadness behind her eyes. That Bridget did not shy away from conversation, her mind constantly remaining in the past. And that Bridget certainly did not have a horrid scar adorning the left side of her face near her ear, partially hidden by her hair.
If Elizabeth thought Bridget’s new appearance was odd, she did not make it too obvious. The wrinkle between her brows smoothed away almost instantly as she smiled again.
“Please, tell me everything I have missed,” Elizabeth began and it took everything in Bridget not to burst into tears.
What hadn’t she missed? It felt as if the moment Elizabeth left for her honeymoon and began residing at Elderwood Estate, Bridget’s life had been turned upside down. Meeting new people, falling in love, and having that love of her life ripped cruelly away from her to leave her as nothing but a lifeless husk.
If any of those thoughts crossed her father’s mind, he made no indication. He grinned and said, “Well, where shall I begin?”
“From the very beginning,” Elizabeth urged excitedly.
There really wasn’t much to say that didn’t involve what happened to Bridget, Bridget realized. She listened silently as her father recounted all the minor happenings occurring in London since Elizabeth retired to the countryside, grateful for the tea that arrived a short while later. It gave her something to do with her hands while she listened and prayed that Elizabeth would not soon turn her questionings to her.
But her spirited cousin must have noticed Bridget’s unwillingness to partake in the conversation.
“Oh, that reminds me!” Elizabeth said suddenly, her spine straightening. “Did I tell you all that the upcoming party is themed? The theme is flowers.”
“No, I’m don’t believe it was mentioned in the invitation,” Frank responded with a frown.
Elizabeth pouted. “Oh, heavens, I must send the word out before the other guests begin to arrive. I have always dreamed of throwing a large, lavish themed party so I shan’t let this slip through my fingers. It should not be a problem, should it, Bridget?”
Bridget blinked, pulling her thoughts from the dark corner they had been sequestering in. “Pardon?”
“The theme. It should not be an issue, should it?”
“I…” Bridget glanced helplessly at her father. She hadn’t been listening for the past few minutes. “I cannot see why it should.”
“Perfect! Then you have a dress?”
Bridget tried to keep her face from crumpling in confusion. “I have many dresses…”
“I’m afraid Bridget’s mind must have been wandering during that bit in the conversation,” Frank spoke up with a laugh. He fixed his blue eyes on his daughter. “The theme is flowers.”
“Indeed, I shall endeavour to articulate my sentiments with greater creativity, though that is the essence of my meaning,” Elizabeth elucidated. “So, Bridget? Do you?”
Bridget didn’t even have a clue what items of clothing were packed away in her trunks. She’d left it in the hands of her lady’s maid.
“I’m not sure—”
“You’re not sure?” Elizabeth gasped. “Well, this certainly cannot do! We should go shopping. I shall have a carriage ready—”
“Perhaps we could do that another day,” Bridget said quickly. Her heart began to sink when she saw that her words were falling on deaf ears.
“This is perfect!” Elizabeth gushed, getting to her feet. “This will give me the chance to show you around the village. It is rather quaint, you see. I do believe you will enjoy it. Perhaps we will have enough time to rest at a tea shop I have grown rather fond of.”
Cold sweat washed the back of Bridget’s neck. She opened her mouth, a protest ripe on the tip of her tongue, but nothing came forth. Elizabeth was already setting her teacup down, that familiar look of determination in her eyes. There was nothing she could do to stop this from happening, Bridget knew.
Going to the village was the last thing she wanted to do. Becoming the center of attention as everyone ogled her scar and whispered about her behind her back? Her heart began to race at the very thought!
“Fetch your parasol, Bridget,” Elizabeth continued, oblivious to Bridget’s dilemma. “It is rather sunny outdoors.”
At that moment, the doors opened and Elizabeth’s handsome husband, the Marquess of Elderwood, strolled in with a frown. “Parasol?” he echoed. “Are you leaving already?”
“Henry!” Elizabeth flew over to him, all but launching herself into his arms. It might have been a warm sight had Bridget been able to get rid of that lump stuck in her throat.
“Good day, my love,” Henry greeted, pulling Elizabeth close enough to kiss her on her cheek. Standing next to each other, they were quite a dashing picture. They were both fair-haired beauties with blue eyes with statures that complemented each other nicely. During Elizabeth’s first Season, she’d been dubbed the Season’s diamond, breaking the hearts of many longing potential suitors after she’d been stolen away by the marquess. The well-sought after love match.
Bridget had never envied them until now.
“Is your meeting over?” Elizabeth asked him.
“Yes, and just in time, I thought,” Henry responded before turning welcoming eyes to Bridget and Frank. “Do tell me I did not arrive too late to welcome you to our home.”
“It is never too late for that, my lord,” Frank said with an easy laugh.
“Please, we are family. Call me Henry.”
“By all means, Henry. Elizabeth here was just suggesting that she and Bridget go shopping in the village.”
Henry’s thick brows raised and that lump in Bridget’s throat threatened to cut off her breathing altogether. “Well, isn’t that a sound idea.”
“Isn’t it?” Elizabeth agreed excitedly.
“I do agree,” Frank went on with a nod. “But perhaps we should retire to our chambers and rest a while. After that long and tiresome trip, I am not sure if Bridget will have the strength to partake in such activities, though she seems too kind to say so.”
Elizabeth’s eyes went wide. “Oh, dear, I am a terrible hostess! How could I have forgotten the trip you’ve just endured? Bridget, forgive me for being so inconsiderate.”
Bridget couldn’t manage the smile she tried forcing to her face but she found the strength to say, “There is no need to apologise.”
“Heavens, you must be exhausted,” Elizabeth went on. “You sound nothing like the spirited Bridget I know. How could I have been so blind?”
“You are just excited, my dear,” Henry consoled her. He patted her hand gently. “Perhaps my company will serve while our guests rest?”
The remorse on Elizabeth’s face melted with her smile. “I suppose it will have to suffice.”
Bridget couldn’t handle anymore. She got to her feet, putting her shaking fingers behind her. “Thank you for the tea, Elizabeth. If you will excuse me…”
Without waiting for a response, she ducked her head and headed out of the drawing room. The eyes that followed her out made her face grow red but she didn’t stop. She had to get out. She had to be alone.
The moment she was out the door, she was greeted by the butler. He opened his mouth to say something but, perhaps it had something to do with the startled look on her face, said nothing. He only gestured with a sweep of his arm for her to follow him then turned and walked away.
Bridget did so silently, happy that the butler did not attempt to make conversation. She trailed up the steps behind him and let him lead her to her chambers. She gave him a wordless nod of thanks and he returned it before leaving her in silence.
Bridget savored the moment before heading into the bedchamber. She heard the slight commotion on the other side and knew that her lady’s maid was still unpacking her things. Being alone, even if it was for a few seconds, had quickly become one of her favorite things in the past three years.
She went inside after a few moments of solitude and found Mary standing by the armoire, organizing her jewelry. Mary’s face lit with a smile at the sight of her.
“Have you completed your discourse with Lady Elderwood, Miss? she asked warmly.
Bridget nodded, tugging off her gloves. She sank into the closest chaise lounge to her. “Yes, though I was afraid I would not be able to get away.”
Mary’s smile slipped. “Was it not comfortable?”
“Nothing has been comfortable as of late, Mary,” Bridget sighed. She closed her eyes, wincing at her own words. She didn’t like sounding so morose and yet it had been her default as of late.
“You must be tired, Miss,” Mary went on as if she’d said nothing out of sorts. “I am nearly finished unpacking your belongings. Would you care to indulge in a brief rest?”
Bridget didn’t open her eyes, simply shaking her head because she knew that Mary was watching her.
“Embroidery then,” Mary concluded.
“You know me too well, Mary.”
“More than you know yourself, perhaps.”
Bridget opened her eyes at that and was surprised to see Mary already standing before her with her recent embroidery project held out to her. Bridget accepted it with a brief grateful smile.
Mary nodded with her own smile and then went back to her task. Bridget fell into the comfortable practice of her embroidery, watching the image of a rose come to life. Her mind, however, was miles away.
“Do you think it will get easier, Mary?” she asked after a long moment.
Mary was silent at first and Bridget wondered if she had not heard. She had no intention of repeating the question however.
But then Mary said, “It will. As impossible as it feels right now, one day you will wake up and find a smile comes easier to your lips and the ache of the past is no longer weighing down on you.”
She’d heard those words before. And had been waiting for that moment every day since the accident.
“I hope you’re right,” she said after a moment.
Because she couldn’t continue like this. She couldn’t keep going through life only half present, forgetting her true purpose. She couldn’t watch the people she loved witness her slow deterioration. She wanted to love herself though, even with the scar on her face.
Right now, such a thing felt impossible.
Chapter Two
“My lord!”
James held back the groan rising up the back of his throat but was unable to keep from rolling his eyes. He ignored the call of his groom behind him.
“My lord, I thought I had lost you!” his groom rasped the moment he caught up.
James glanced down at the heaving man. He felt a cross between irritation and mirth at the sight. “That was my intention. And yet you have found me.”
“My lord…”
“You need not follow me everywhere I go.”
“But your steed—”
“Has not thrown me off its back or tried to trample me under its feet,” James pressed, loosening the constraints of the saddle. “And that makes this horse perfectly capable of becoming my next preferred steed, does it not?”
“But my lord—”
“I have had enough of his conversation.” James left the saddle half undone and walked away. He tucked away the smidgen of remorse he felt at being so short. He didn’t like to speak to his servants that way and was very aware of the fact that he had been the one to ask his groom to accompany him. But that was before he’d gone on a horse ride long enough to bring up memories he had long wished he could forget, even just for a day.
James didn’t look back as he stalked away from the stables and to his the manor. His mind was on one thing. Get to his chambers. Get to his chambers. Get to his chambers.
Those plans unraveled the instant he crossed the threshold of the manor and was met by the beaming visage of his mother. Lady Evelyn Stanford had the appearance of a kind angel and the wit of a crafty one. James could easily tell which one had greeted him.
“There you are, dear,” she greeted with a smile that told him she had been waiting for him this entire time.
“Mother, I am not in the mood,” James said immediately, stepping around her slight frame.
“When are you ever in the mood? You have been wearing that terrible scowl for months now.”
Close. It had been years but it seemed she was trying to be nice.
“Do you need something, Mother?”
“Indeed, I find myself in perpetual need,” the countess remarked, gracefully intertwining her arm with his. “This morning, I required a revitalizing boost due to a restless night. By midday, I deemed it necessary to procure a new pair of gloves. And now…”
“Now?” he pressed impatiently. He didn’t slow his pace and was a little impressed that she was keeping up with him.
“Now, I would love for my son to pause for few seconds so that I may speak with him.”
James stifled the groan whispering up his throat and stopped, pulling his arm free from hers so that he could cross them. “What is the matter, Mother?”
“Have dinner with us.”
“No, I—”
“I don’t want to hear any excuses,” Evelyn continued. “You have not dined with us in two weeks, citing one excuse and the next. Well, I shan’t hear any of it. You are my son and I believe I should be able to eat with you as least twice in one week.”
Too many protests bombarded his mind at once but James didn’t have the strength to say them all. Not when his mother was all but begging him to do something so simple as have dinner.
But he was in no mood for company. He hadn’t been for a while now. Not when he was constantly being bombarded with memories of what had happened two years ago. Having dinner with the family didn’t feel right anymore.
“No protests,” Evelyn stated firmly and somehow pushed her arm through his before he could stop her. “A strapping young man like you must eat, after all.”
“I had intended on eating in my chambers.”
“Without company?”
James didn’t bother to respond. He knew what his mother was doing. She was poking the argumentative bear inside of him, hoping to bring him out of the shell he’d retreated into these past few weeks. But he was in no mood to go back and forth about minor things. If she wanted to dine with him, so be it. He would simply eat his food in silence.
James gritted his teeth at the thought. He didn’t like how bitter and petty he was becoming but he didn’t know how to stop it. Every day felt as if he was slipping further and further into a black hole. The last time that had happened, it had taken months to climb out of it.
Sometimes he wondered if it mattered whether or not he did. Nothing was the same anymore. Nothing would ever be the same.
He felt a twinge of guilt when Evelyn sighed softly in disappointment but he said nothing. They walked in silence to the dining room. Two heads lifted at their entrance.
“I found him,” Evelyn announced, finally releasing him.
“Good to see you, son,” said Richard Sandford, the Earl of Grenford. He leveled an even look on James as he approached.
James didn’t look at him. He couldn’t even meet his eyes. Every time he looked at the strong jaw, green eyes, and head of thick black hair, all he could see was his brother. His easygoing, jovial brother whose laughter James would never hear again.
“Father,” James said, sinking into the chair next to him. He immediately commenced eating even though he could feel three pairs of eyes on him.
His parents was one thing. James could ignore them well enough if he tried, could ignore the well of guilt for a while before it grew overwhelming.
But Catherine’s stare felt like it was burning a hole through his chest. James glanced up at her and felt his heart crack at the mixture of hope and worry in her brown eyes.
“It’s good to see you, James,” his dear sister said softly.
James couldn’t manage any words past the lump in his throat, so he only nodded. Catherine was ten-and-eight, old enough to understand pain and loss. Old enough to know just how much pain James was in while battling her own hurt. She shouldn’t be looking at him with such pity. He should be the one caring for her, picking up the pieces of her broken heart after they’d lost one of the most important people in their lives.
But Catherine didn’t understand the guilt that plagued him. Perhaps she knew of it, like they all did, but they did not know what it did to him.
Unable to help it, James slid his gaze to the empty chair next to Catherine. His brother should have been sitting there, grinning back at him and cracking a silly joke that would only make their mother laugh. Had it not been for James, he still would have been.
Evelyn cleared her throat. James returned his eyes to the bland soup he was eating.
“James, did you see the invitation I left on your desk?”
James shook his head, focusing on eating so as to distract himself from the rest of his thoughts.
“You haven’t?” Evelyn gasped with far more dramatics than was needed. “Lady Elderwood is throwing a lavish summer party and it is rumoured to be one of the most anticipated events of the Season. We shall all be in attendance.”
“I have no intention of attending such a thing.”
“Have you forgotten that Catherine is out in society?” his father asked in a slow voice. He’d always been so levelheaded, matching his wife’s flair for the dramatics with stoicism. “It is your duty to attend to support her.”
“I need not subject myself to such things when she will have a chaperone in mother and you as her guardian, Father.”
“And what shall she have in you? Or will you be as absent as Edward—”
“Richard!” Evelyn said sharply.
The damage was already done. The pain and loss of Edward’s memories went seeping into the air, threatening to choke James.
“It would be quite nice if we could all go together,” Catherine spoke up with a tentative smile. “Don’t you think, James? It has been a while.”
James met her coffee brown eyes, so much like his own, and sighed. “Very well.”
“Marvelous!” Evelyn chirped. “Catherine, we shall go shopping then. We need to get you a new dress if you are to entice any new suitors.”
“She needs not entice anyone,” Richard growled. “Anyone who does not gaze upon her with admiration and intends to solicit her hand is most certainly unworthy of our consideration.”
***
“Father,” Catherine sighed. “I hope you do not intend to be so overbearing during the ball.”
“I am not being overbearing. I am being realistic.”
“And you shall scare away half her suitors with that sort of realism,” Evelyn berated.
James listened with half an ear, going through his meals with such gusto that it was sure to give him indigestion. They didn’t need him here, he knew. They would be fine with out him. He’d always been the quiet one during dinner, pondering some difficult equation while conversations swirled about his head. Edward, on the other hand…
His absence was obvious. Even after two years, it still felt as if someone was missing.
James tried ignore the looming rise of discomfort knowing that he was the cause of such a dilemma. Resentment crawled up the back of his throat as he listened to his family. They talked as if nothing were amiss. How could they have forgotten Edward already?
That dark cloud was quickly settling over his mind and the hours stretched on as dinner drew to a slow conclusion. Now and again, Catherine attempted to pull him into the conversation, but she gave up quickly enough when she realized it was a foolish hope. At long last, James was freed from the confines of the table.
“James.”
He stopped in his tracks, one foot out the door. Had his father not spoken in such a low, stern tone, he wouldn’t have bothered stopping at all.
“What is it?” he asked in an equally firm tone, turning to face him. He tried to ignore the anxious looks his mother and sister shared but it was difficult.
“I need to have a word with you in my study.”
Richard did not bother wait for a response. He stood and briskly walked out of the room, not bothering to look back to see if James was following.
James did so reluctantly. With every step he took to his father’s study, he prayed this was not the conversation he had been dreading for the past few months.
The moment he stepped into the room, however, his father said, “We must speak about your future.”
James couldn’t hold back his groan this time. He closed the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed. “I cannot say that I feel the same way.”
Richard made a grunt of disapproval at those words. At times like these, James wondered just how similar to his father he really was. He knew that he’d adopted most of his mother’s features but he’d hardly went a day in his youth where his demeanor was not compared to that of the earl. James watched as his father paced over to the parlor—to have his post-dinner drink of whiskey, he was sure—with his brows furrowed and his lips turned downwards.
“You seem content to let your life pass you by, James,” Richard said once he’d taken his first sip of the amber liquid. “You are seven-and-twenty years old. Surely you have an intention to take a wife.”
In fact, that was the furthest thing from James’ mind. “I have more pressing matters to take care of?”
“Like what? Terrifying our servants nearly to the point of apoplexy with your reckless escapades and your propensity for overindulgence? Your mother is in a state of profound distress.”
James tucked the guilt away, like he always did. This time, it was a little easier burying it under his irritation. “Mother has no reason to worry. If it is my sanity that concerns her, I shall settle her mind at once.”
“You know that is not what I mean,” Richard grumbled. He threw the rest of his whiskey back at once and was already making his way back to the sideboard. “You are the heir to my earldom, James. It is high time you think about settling down so that you may provide your heir when it is time.”
James frowned, forgetting his anger. “Are you ill?”
“No, I’m not ill. Must I be on my deathbed for you to consider what I am saying?”
James relaxed then scowled. “I only wish to understand the need for such a rush. Many gentlemen wait until they are well into their thirties to consider the prospect of establishing a family.”
“And many such gentlemen find themselves unable to fulfill their obligations to produce an heir when that time arrives. I shall not permit that to befall you,” his father replied with earnest concern.
“You needn’t fret over such matters, Father,” James scoffed lightly. “I have every confidence that when the time comes, I shall be more than capable of securing an heir, even if I find myself advanced in years.”
“Give me cause not to worry then,” the earl expressed, his scowl deepening. “Attend Lady Elderwood’s summer party and seek out a potential wife.”
“Father, haven’t you listened to word I have said? I have no intention of taking a wife. Not yet.”
“When then? When you are old and grey? Will you let your guilt derail your plans for years to come?”
He had had enough. James straightened, hand shooting out to the handle to leave.
“It was an accident, James.”
His father’s voice stopped him. It was softer than he’d ever heard it before.
“You should not spend the rest of your life holding on to your guilt. You cannot. What happened was not your fault and it should not stand in the way of your future.”
“You were not there, Father,” James responded in as low a tone as he could muster. His hand began to shake, a lump forming in his throat. “You would not understand.”
“I lost a son, James. I understand more than you know.”
He wouldn’t. No matter what he said, no matter the pain he’d undoubtedly felt, the earl could not understand what James felt the moment his brother died in his arms. Because of his own actions. Had it not been for him, Edward would still be here right now.
“Take the party as a chance to reconnect with society again,” his father urged, his tone still uncommonly gentle. “You have been away from the public’s eye for far too long.”
James couldn’t bring himself to respond. So he walked out the room instead, barely keeping himself from slamming the door. He headed straight for the stables, needing to cling to one of the only things that kept him sane since Edward died.
Reconnecting with society was the last thing he wanted. But deep down, he knew that his father was right. That was the worst thing about it all.
Chapter Three
“The guests have begun arriving, Miss.”
Bridget thought her chest was about to cave in. She stood at the window of her bedchamber she had been sleeping in for the past four days, her safe haven from the exciting world Elizabeth had been creating outside the doors. The very same safe haven she would soon have to leave to attend Elizabeth’s themed summer party.
She had been dreading this moment with every waking hour. Now that it was upon her, she could hardly breathe.
“Relax, Miss Bridget,” Mary said soothingly, clearly sensing her distress. She guided Bridget away from the window, away from the sight of the carriages coming in the distance, and to the bed. “It may not be as bad as you think.”
“Not as bad as I think?” Bridget echoed with a delirious laugh. “Heavens, Mary, I have not seen half these people in years! They will take one look at me and…and…”
“And nothing, miss,” Mary said gently. “You are still the same beautiful lady you have always been. Scar or no scar.”
Bridget sighed. It was fine in the solitude of her chambers. Here she could be herself, could relax with Mary as her only company even as the dark cloud of anxiousness was creeping over her. The moment she set foot outside the door, she knew the empty shell of herself would come out to play.
“Perhaps I could feign illness?” she suggested.
Mary frowned sternly. “Lady Elderwood has been looking forward to this party since the moment you arrived, miss. That simply would not do.”
“Elizabeth will be fine without me. She has barely had my company these past few days.”
“But not without trying. She’s been more successful at coaxing you away from your solitude than Lord Kendall.”
“Elizabeth is persistent,” Bridget sighed.
“Yes, admirably so.” Mary sat next to her on the bed, taking Bridget’s hand. “And from what I can see, she is also rather kind and understanding. I am sure if you open up to her and tell her how you feel, she will be more than accommodating.”
Bridget doubted it. Elizabeth had a way of bending the world around her to suit her will, not the other way around. Bridget would hate to be the one to dampen her spirits just because she was not feeling up to seeing other people.
“I am most grateful for your kind efforts to raise my spirits, Mary,” Bridget sighed, standing. She faced the standing mirror and sighed again. “I do not think I can hide up here much longer. If Elizabeth does not come to find me, Father will.”
“Here, take this.” Mary hurried over to the armoire and retrieved Bridget’s small, delicate embroidery frame, with thread wound around a slender needle. She brought it over and expertly tucked it into Bridget’s hidden pocket. “Take care not to let it stab you.”
A small smile touched Bridget’s lip. “Surely I must be able to handle some time away from my embroidery?” she tried to joke but it fell flat.
Mary still offered her a smile. “Perhaps it may prove unnecessary for you. I offer it to you merely as a precaution.”
“I appreciate it.” Knowing that she had it on her made her feel much better. Bridget reached out to squeeze Mary’s hand before taking one last look at herself in the mirror.
It turned out she did not have a flower themed dress since Elizabeth thought all the blues, browns, and whites she’d brought with her would simply not do. So two days ago, Elizabeth had dragged her to the village, despite Bridget’s obvious reluctance, and had the local modiste fit her into a primrose colored gown with lace trimmings and a layer of tulle under the skirt. The dress was lovely. Her? Not so much.
Perhaps once upon a time, she’d deemed herself pretty. After all, she had long, thick curls that were quite fashionable amongst her peers, with a slight frame and deep green eyes. But the scar on the side of her face ruined her beauty. Bridget could see nothing but it alone. She was sure it was the same for everyone else who came across her.
That was why she draped her hair over that side of her face, hoping to hide as much of the scar as she could. Since the end of it touched her chin, it was not as effective as she hoped.
She turned away from her reflection, unable to bear the sight any longer. Putting her hand against the embroidery tucked into her pocket, Bridget made her way out of her bedchamber. Each step she took to the main floor had her heart pounding against her chest and her palms growing clammy beneath her gloves.
“I thought I might have to come and get you myself,” her father said the moment he spotted her. He stood in the foyer, looking up at her with that same disconcerting stare that seemed to see right through her.
“I considered simply not attending,” she confessed softly.
Frank’s lips twitched, brows raising slightly. “Then thank heavens you thought against it. I would not have been able to manage Elizabeth all on my own.”
She managed a weak smile that fell a moment later. It felt as if bile kept rising and falling in her throat. She took her father’s offered arm and together, they made their way through the manor and out into the garden.
Far more guests were present than she’d thought. Bridget halted the moment she stepped outdoors to see an already sizeable crowd of London’s finest in the open expanse in Elizabeth’s garden.
“Come now, Bridget,” her father said softly, guiding her into the thick of the party.
Bridget spotted Elizabeth and Henry a short distance away, greeting their incoming guests. She didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that they did not notice their arrival just yet.
“Lord Kendall.” A stately gentleman swept up in front of them, a lovely brunette on his arm. He looked Frank up and down, bearing a broad grin. “Here you are, you simpleton! I was convinced you had absconded from London altogether!”
“You are quite the simpleton if you were unaware that I frequent White’s nearly every evening,” Frank declared with a jovial laugh. He released Bridget to give the man a one-armed hug. “I did not know you had returned from your travels, Lord Melthorpe. How fared India?”
“Unbearably hot. But now that I am in London, I do not know if I preferred the heat to the humidity. I am happy to be back though.” His eyes landed on Bridget, brows raising. “Is this your daughter?”
“Yes. Bridget? Meet Lord Melthorpe and I assume this is his lovely wife.”
“A pleasure,” the brunette purred, extending a hand.
Frank captured the hand and bowed politely. Bridget kept her eyes on the grass, sinking into a curtsy.
“My, I think the last time I saw you, you were still being taught by your governess,” Lord Melthrope went on. “How the time flies. You look quite…different, Miss.”
“Yes, well some time has gone by,” Frank said. “It is natural for anyone to look different after so many years.”
Lord Melthrope’s frown just deepened. “No, she certainly looks older, I agree. But there is something…oh.”
He saw it. She saw the moment both Lord and Lady Melthropes’ eyes fell on her scar. She wished she could find a rock to crawl under.
The only thing she could manage was trying not to curl into a ball and sob. This was what she’d feared. She hadn’t set foot outside for a full minute yet and she was already being judged.
Lady Melthorpe raised her hand to her lips, gazing at Bridget with unending pity. “Oh my,” she murmured softly, but Bridget still heard.
Bridget couldn’t meet their eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to catch her breath and keep the air in her lungs. “It was nice meeting you,” she whispered. “If you would excuse me.”
She didn’t wait for their responses. She didn’t even know if they’d heard her. Bridget felt her father’s reluctance when she pulled away from him but he didn’t do anything to stop her. Bridget didn’t dare look at him, knowing just what she would find. Pity and sadness hung so heavily around them that it threatened to steal her breath altogether.
This was a mistake, she thought, tears escaping her eyes. She kept her eyes on the ground, head down, hurrying along a sidelong path that took her away from the thick of the party. She should not have attended. She should not have come here at all.
A sob caught in her throat. Bridget caught a few curious looks as she hurried past and she didn’t dare wonder if they looked at her that way because of her scar or because she was running away with tears in her eyes. Either way, she knew she would be the subject of gossip in a matter of an hour.
She wasn’t looking where she was going. Her only focus was getting away from the party as quickly as she could. If she was away for long, her father would come looking for her. If she evaded him, then she wouldn’t put it past Elizabeth to send her footmen on a frantic search party, which would only bring far more attention than Bridget wanted. She had only a few minutes of solitude. Ten, perhaps twenty. She intended to make the best of it.
Soon enough, the hum of chatter began to fade as she found herself in a quiet section of the garden. The tears had abated by then and her breathing had settled. But the fear and ache settled deep in her bones had no intention of budging she knew.
Bridget came to a stop at an alcove tucked behind a thick row of rose bushes. She ducked within, settling onto the stone bench before she took a deep breath.
When would it get better?
It had been years and she was no closer to finding the answer. Every day she was reminded of what had happened. If she did not find evidence of the past in the words of others, gossip that never seemed to die, then she found it in her reflection. The horrid scar marring her cheek would brand her forever. It tore at her self-esteem and reminded her of how wonderful life had been before everything came crashing down around her.
At least she still found solace in her embroidery. At this point, it was the only thing keeping her from sinking deeper into the hole of despair.
She pulled out the small embroidery ring from her pocket and silently thanked Mary for thinking to give it to her. It was almost as if Mary knew that something like this would happen. That thought didn’t make her feel much better, though.
Bridget wiped her tears, straightened her shoulders, and did what she always did when she felt the black waves of anguish washing over her. She lost herself in her embroidery.
