distance that he put down to being British.
“I have served the estate for some time, Your Lordship. I live there for many months in the year.”
Montgomery remained silent, waiting.
“I would prefer to remain in London, Your Lordship, should you have any wish for me. It would not be unnatural for me to witness your nuptials.”
“Suit yourself.”
Bowing yet again, his solicitor gathered the signed documents, his leather folio, and left the room.
Montgomery stood and walked to the window. From there, he could see the street, and watched as Edmund got into his carriage.
He felt a great deal like Edmund’s charge, as if the solicitor had been given responsibility for him. Perhaps, after the events of the night before, he needed some type of escort. His behavior, while understandable, hadn’t been restrained.
Yet of all the men in the room, he’d been the only one to step forward. Had the members of the Society been drugged as well? Or had it simply been a case of the strong victimizing the weak? At least the weak should have a fighting chance.
He could not protect the world. He hadn’t even been able to protect his corner of it. Yet by his actions, he’d taken the niece of the Earl of Conley to protect and defend. Not just for a night, but for the rest of his life.
God help her.
Edmund’s carriage pulled away, lost in the activity on the street.
A bird perched on the windowsill, then flew away, a metaphor, perhaps, for his secret wish. London was too congested. The city was never quiet, leading him to crave endless stretches of silence punctuated only by the murmuring of nature around him. He missed the sounds of water, the cicadas in the trees, and the gentle sough of the wind around Gleneagle.
What had been almost a providential event was now a millstone around his neck. Instead of being simply Montgomery Fairfax, he was now the 11 th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster. People expected him to be wise, prudent, resourceful, and caring.
All he really wanted was to be left alone.
Chapter 6
“Y ou look peaked, girl,” Uncle Bertrand said to her at breakfast two days later. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”
“I’m fine, Uncle, thank you,” Veronica said, staring down at the table.
“I should hope so. Today is your wedding day.” He smiled at her, an expression he didn’t often send in her direction.
The day before, she’d been the model of decorum. After all, she wasn’t entirely certain her uncle wouldn’t change his mind and banish her from the house on a whim. From his glowers when she’d encountered him, and from the tense atmosphere in the house, it was all too evident she’d sinned and sinned mightily. She’d dared put the reputation of the Earl of Conley and his family in jeopardy.
On her wedding day, however, all was evidently forgiven.
She concentrated on her breakfast, ignoring both her uncle and the glances from her cousins.
Today, of all days, her parents should be here. Today, her mother should be bustling about with a smile curving her lips. Today, Veronica would return to her room with its white-painted window frames, pretty green curtains, and counterpane of green and pale pink. The vanity and stool had been a present for her sixteenth birthday, and it was there she’d sit and prepare herself for her wedding.
Before the ceremony, no doubt held in the parlor just as this one would be, she’d stand at the window of her second-floor bedroom, and simply take in the sights of the lush glen around her and the mountains sitting like dragons’ teeth on the horizon.
Her father would come into her room and hug her, whisper some reassurances, something to make her smile. He might have composed a poem for the occasion and would have to be summoned from his study, so immersed in his work he’d lost track of the time. He might have been persuaded to recite his effort for the assembled guests, or he might have chosen to give the poem to Veronica early, so she could read it alone
“I have served the estate for some time, Your Lordship. I live there for many months in the year.”
Montgomery remained silent, waiting.
“I would prefer to remain in London, Your Lordship, should you have any wish for me. It would not be unnatural for me to witness your nuptials.”
“Suit yourself.”
Bowing yet again, his solicitor gathered the signed documents, his leather folio, and left the room.
Montgomery stood and walked to the window. From there, he could see the street, and watched as Edmund got into his carriage.
He felt a great deal like Edmund’s charge, as if the solicitor had been given responsibility for him. Perhaps, after the events of the night before, he needed some type of escort. His behavior, while understandable, hadn’t been restrained.
Yet of all the men in the room, he’d been the only one to step forward. Had the members of the Society been drugged as well? Or had it simply been a case of the strong victimizing the weak? At least the weak should have a fighting chance.
He could not protect the world. He hadn’t even been able to protect his corner of it. Yet by his actions, he’d taken the niece of the Earl of Conley to protect and defend. Not just for a night, but for the rest of his life.
God help her.
Edmund’s carriage pulled away, lost in the activity on the street.
A bird perched on the windowsill, then flew away, a metaphor, perhaps, for his secret wish. London was too congested. The city was never quiet, leading him to crave endless stretches of silence punctuated only by the murmuring of nature around him. He missed the sounds of water, the cicadas in the trees, and the gentle sough of the wind around Gleneagle.
What had been almost a providential event was now a millstone around his neck. Instead of being simply Montgomery Fairfax, he was now the 11 th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster. People expected him to be wise, prudent, resourceful, and caring.
All he really wanted was to be left alone.
Chapter 6
“Y ou look peaked, girl,” Uncle Bertrand said to her at breakfast two days later. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”
“I’m fine, Uncle, thank you,” Veronica said, staring down at the table.
“I should hope so. Today is your wedding day.” He smiled at her, an expression he didn’t often send in her direction.
The day before, she’d been the model of decorum. After all, she wasn’t entirely certain her uncle wouldn’t change his mind and banish her from the house on a whim. From his glowers when she’d encountered him, and from the tense atmosphere in the house, it was all too evident she’d sinned and sinned mightily. She’d dared put the reputation of the Earl of Conley and his family in jeopardy.
On her wedding day, however, all was evidently forgiven.
She concentrated on her breakfast, ignoring both her uncle and the glances from her cousins.
Today, of all days, her parents should be here. Today, her mother should be bustling about with a smile curving her lips. Today, Veronica would return to her room with its white-painted window frames, pretty green curtains, and counterpane of green and pale pink. The vanity and stool had been a present for her sixteenth birthday, and it was there she’d sit and prepare herself for her wedding.
Before the ceremony, no doubt held in the parlor just as this one would be, she’d stand at the window of her second-floor bedroom, and simply take in the sights of the lush glen around her and the mountains sitting like dragons’ teeth on the horizon.
Her father would come into her room and hug her, whisper some reassurances, something to make her smile. He might have composed a poem for the occasion and would have to be summoned from his study, so immersed in his work he’d lost track of the time. He might have been persuaded to recite his effort for the assembled guests, or he might have chosen to give the poem to Veronica early, so she could read it alone
Similar Books
It's Always Darkest Before the Fridge Door Opens: Enjoying the Fruits of Middle Age
Phil Callaway, Martha O. Bolton
