“I see.” Julien’s voice was flat, emotionless. His eyes bore into hers for one long, silent moment. He wanted desperately to see some change, some hesitance in her, but she met his gaze without flinching or turning away. He didn’t know the effort it cost her, for absurdly, she wanted to cry.
He had no more words, no more arguments to present to her. He had only a shred of his pride. He executed a brief, ironic bow and strode away from her. He turned back after a few steps and flung at her over his shoulder, “Pray forgive me, madam, for assuming feelings you obviously don’t share with me.”
He turned again and hastened away from her. He did not again look back. In an unconscious gesture, she raised her hand toward his retreating back. The overgrown garden soon blocked him from her view. Slowly she lowered her arm, and finding herself quite unable to support her own weight, she sank down onto the mossy bank. There were no tears, only a deep sense of loss.
12
Mannering was aghast when he opened the great oak doors to admit his lordship. The earl said not a word. His face was pale, his eyes a blank gray. Words of congratulation died on Mannering’s lips, and he stepped quickly aside. He watched his master walk the length of the hall, fling open the door to the library, and slam it behind him.
A sense of unreality seized Mannering. Good God, he thought, Miss Katharine refused him.
Mrs. Cradshaw, who had been waiting impatiently in the parlor for the earl’s return, came bustling out. Her smile vanished as she approached Mannering and saw the pained expression on his face.
“Oh dear, Edward, what’s happened?”
Mannering drew a deep breath to steady himself. “I fear, Emma, that there won’t be any congratulations for his lordship. It would appear that Miss Katharine has turned him down.”
Mrs. Cradshaw drew back in stunned surprise. “No, Edward, surely not. Why, she loves St. Clair, she knows she would be happy here. His lordship is a fine young man, kind and ever so handsome. Oh, no, surely not.”
Mannering seemed not to have heard her. She was suddenly indignant. “How dare Miss Katharine serve his lordship such a turn. I wouldn’t have thought such a thing possible. Does she believe herself too high for him? That’s nonsense, Edward, utter nonsense. It’s disgraceful, that’s what it is, and I’ve a mind to go to Brandon Hall and tell that young miss a thing or two. Turning down my boy. I’d like to smack her.”
Mannering felt beyond tired. It was with an effort that he pulled himself up straight and squared his shoulders. He patted Mrs. Cradshaw’s arm in a soothing gesture. “I’m very much afraid, Emma, that there is little we can do about it, save wait and see what will happen. We will have to be very understanding with his lordship,” he added, realizing that it was his duty to protect the earl from the curious glances of the servants and any embarrassing questions that Mrs. Cradshaw might take it into her head to ask. He began to silently rehearse his speech to the staff, who were all waiting for his announcement that a new countess was to come to St. Clair.
Mrs. Cradshaw nodded slowly. That such an unbelievable turn of events should happen to the St. Clairs. Arm in arm, the two old friends walked across the hall to the servants’ quarters. Mannering thought fleetingly of the vintage champagne that he’d unearthed from the wine cellar. It was chilled, the beautiful crystal flutes waiting. He must remember to return it and put the glasses away.
Julien stood in the middle of the library, staring blankly ahead of him. His body felt curiously detached from his mind, and neither seemed capable of functioning. He’d managed to nurture anger at her for the greater part of his ride home, only to find that he couldn’t sustain it. A great sense of loss had descended over him.
He flung himself into the large chair and sat brooding for a time before a deep sense of humiliation stung him to action. God, what a fool he’d been. He mocked himself bitterly as he remembered how he’d been so certain of her, how he’d even gone so far as to envision her every response to his gracious offer of marriage. And he’d been mortally insulted when she flung his declaration in his face. He realized he’d never been denied anything he really wanted in his entire life. He would set his eyes on something, and sooner or later it would be his. Or a woman. He would see a woman he wanted, and it wouldn’t be long before she was in his bed. God, was he such an officious sod?
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