Page 19 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)

Her lips were warm, tasting of wine and marzipan. Neil thought wildly that he hoped she hadn’t eaten the marzipan before she drank the wine, as the sweetness of the marzipan would make the wine unbearably sour.

His hand curled around the side of her neck, fingertips brushing against her unbelievably soft skin, contrasting with the sharp edges of expensive lace. He was vaguely aware that the gown was one of the ones his mother had bought in preparation for Patrina’s arrival, so that the new Marchioness would arrive and find herself in possession of a wardrobe fit for her position.

The thought of his mother drew his thoughts unstoppably to his family, to the party, to his health , and the fact that he was growing dizzy and light-headed already.

What am I doing?

Sucking in a breath, Neil jolted backwards, eyes wide.

Patrina stared up at him, her fingers drifting up towards her lips, as if she could not believe what had just happened. What he had just done.

I had no right, Neil thought dizzily. I ought not to have kissed her. Hasn’t she suffered enough?

It was plain to him now that he never should have married. If he was concerned over the estate, he should have considered trying to break the entailment, to separate the title of Marquess from the money and land which was connected to it. Of course, that would destroy the Morendale estate, but it would allow him to bequeath things separately to his mother, sister, and to Harry, preventing Clayton from getting his hands on the entire fortune.

That was another foolish dream, however. Such an achievement would be a legal juggernaut, taking years to accomplish, and fought by Aunt Thomasin and Cousin Clayton at every step of the way. That would be if it were possible at all – the powers that be did not wish to allow members of the ton to recklessly ruin their estates and titles for any reason whatsoever.

Neil gave himself a little shake, banishing such foolish notions. Marriage had been a bad idea – unfair to Patrina and unrealistic for himself – but it could hardly be undone now.

“I am sorry,” he blurted out. They were the first words that came to mind. Patrina’s eyes widened as he spoke, but whether from shock or from relief he could not tell.

She swallowed hard, and the silence landed heavily between them.

“It’s quite all right,” she said, voice wobbling just a little. “I am not offended.”

He flashed a brittle smile. “You are very good to me, Patrina. I could not have asked for a better wife. Thank you, for everything that you have done.”

She frowned, not smiling at the compliment. “Neil, you are not yourself.”

“Yes, I am not. I should never have kissed you.”

“Neil…”

“No, I am sorry. This is too much. I… you… you don’t deserve this. Neither of us do.”

She flinched back a little at that. “Neither of us… what do you mean by that? Neil?”

He shook his head, turning away. “It means nothing. I am sorry.”

He pushed past her, heading for the shadowy staircase at the very edge of the balcony. The stone steps led down into the garden beyond, dark and thrown with shadows.

I need to think. I need to clear my head. I need to… oh, heavens. I need to undo all of this.

Neil was not entirely surprised to hear the patter of Patrina’s dancing slippers, following him down the steps. The guests were not meant to be going into the gardens, of course, and so beyond a few torches lighting up the wide path which circled the house, the garden was entirely dark. He crossed the path at once, striding over the damp lawn.

“Neil, wait!”

He stopped, despite himself, and turned to face Patrina. She had followed him onto the lawn, and he could see wetness from the grass creeping up the hem of her skirts.

“I do care for you, you know,” Patrina said, her voice a nervous whisper. “And I think… I think that you care for me, too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Neil squeezed his eyes shut. “I was wrong to marry you,” he said at last, voice strangled. “I had not understood just how progressive my sickness has become. I… I was a fool. If I had consulted Mr. Blackburn, then…”

“Mr. Blackburn has no interest in truly healing you,” Patrina interrupted, colour flaring in her cheeks. “He manages your symptoms – and not well, at that – and that is all. I do not like him, Neil. I do not trust him.”

“My father trusted him, and since I will have the same fate as him, I should listen to what he has to say,” Neil answered. Suddenly, he felt more tired than before. Bone tired.

I ought to have listened to Harry and brought my walking-stick, he thought miserably. If he took a fit out here, in the dark and cold, he might lie on the wet ground for hours before anybody discovered him. Long enough for a cold to set in, or some fever, or something to finish him off entirely.

Perhaps it would be a better end than what awaited him.

“Neil…”

“No, listen to me, Patrina,” he drew in a breath, steeling himself. “It is not in either of our interests to care for each other. I thought I had more time, but I was wrong. You don’t understand – I saw how my father’s illness progressed. How my mother suffered at the end.”

Patrina frowned, confused. “Your mother?”

“Yes, my mother. My parents married for love, did you know that? Most unfashionable of them. When Cynthia and I were young, my parents always encouraged us to wait, to choose somebody we truly cared for. They were happy, you know. Such a rare thing in our society. When my father fell sick, of course my mother cared for him tirelessly. He did not want her to – he told her often to stay away, to spare herself, but she never would. But at the end…” he paused, swallowing. “At the end my father became violent. Irrational. He raged at everybody, particularly the ones closest to him. I suppose you know that he accused his family of poisoning him. All of us, especially my mother. I saw the pain on her face when he would say such things, how she would go off and weep afterwards. He would attack her, too. And mind you, my father never even raised his voice to us when he was in good health. It was unbearable.”

She looked away, rolling a twist of her skirts between her fingers, a nervous movement.

“I… I cannot even imagine how terrible that must have been for you. For Lady Emma, for all of you.”

Neil gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It was terrible. You can’t imagine it, and I don’t particularly wish for you to have to imagine it. But my point is this, Patrina. I do not intend for you to go through the same thing as my mother.”

“Neil…”

“No, please, let me finish. My mother and father had a life together. A good one. They loved each other and had many happy years. Children. A home. A life . You and I haven’t had that. I won’t let you deal with the consequences of marriage without having any of the benefits. You must see that it’s not fair.”

“But I am telling you that I want to be here for you, Neil,” Patrina said, despairingly. “Why won’t you let me be close to you? Why won’t you let me help?”

“Because I am going to die,” Neil answered simply, fighting to keep the misery off his face. “Because I am going to die, and you are going to live, and I must think of your future as well as my end. Don’t you understand?”

She stood there for a long moment, staring at him. Moonlight played across her features. A light breeze had started up, and escaped strands of hair from her elaborate coiffure drifted across her face.

“I can’t make you out, Neil,” she said at long last, just when he’d given up any hope of her responding. “Just when I think I begin to understand you, you say or do something like that. I can’t force you to accept me, or to let me be close to you. So I suppose I should just give up, shouldn’t I?”

Neil wasn’t entirely sure what to say about that. The words wouldn’t come. He stood there, opening and closing his mouth. Patrina stood there in silence for a moment or two, but when it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything, she turned quietly on her heel and began to pick her way back towards the house.

Neil stood there until she had disappeared. Suddenly, the night was colder than before, the wind whipping around him, draining his body’s heat and strength with each passing minute.

When he finally found the strength to lurch forward, his limbs had gone stiff. He stumbled up the stone steps, falling upwards more than once. As he reached the balcony, the French doors opened, and a woman stepped out.

For one moment of relief, Neil thought it was Patrina, coming back to say… to say what? To do what?

It wasn’t Patrina. It was Cynthia, clutching a shawl around her shoulders, wind ruffling her skirts. Relief spread over her face when she saw him.

“ There you are! Heavens, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Have you and Patrina had an argument?”

“No,” Neil said automatically. It wasn’t a lie, was it? They hadn’t argued, not exactly.

“Hm,” Cynthia said, looking a little sceptical. “Well, she came charging in a moment ago, slippers ruined and hem soaked. I couldn’t get to her in time, but she left the ballroom right away. I believe she’s gone to bed – Mama is making excuses for her. She must have gone in the garden… oh, heavens, so have you! Your shoes are besmirched in mud. And your stockings are ruined .”

“Cynthia, I… I don’t feel well,” Neil rasped, reaching out to steady himself on the stone wall. Suddenly it was unbearably cold, his hands and feet numb and cold as the stone itself. Cynthia’s expression of mild irritation changed to worry, and she came forward, holding out a hand.

“You don’t look well. Neil, what has happened?”

“Nothing,” he insisted, shaking his head. “I don’t… I’m just tired. This soiree was rather a lot. Has the dancing started?”

“Yes, it has. Clayton and I opened the ball, since Patrina and you were nowhere to be found. It will be remarked upon, but I think it was pretty clear that you are not well. Take my arm, Neil. Lean on me.”

“I don’t want to go through the ballroom like this,” Neil murmured. He shivered to think of the immense crush of people, no doubt made denser by the room necessary for the dancing couples. People would be crushed back against the wall, craning their necks to watch the dancers.

It would of course be the subject of gossip for a few weeks to come. This was a country estate, not the centre of London, and soirees and balls were in short supply. Not to mention the fact that Neil seldom threw such events, and everyone who was anyone would want to be in attendance. Lord and Lady Morendale’s early absences – not properly explained – would be noticed, and remarked upon.

Cynthia only sighed, however. “Come on, then. We’ll skirt around the house and go in by the front door. I can support you that far, and then some of the footmen can help you get up to your room. Can you manage that? Harry’s gone missing somewhere.”

Neil clenched his jaw.

I hate this. I hate being a liability. Being a burden. A foolish, weak man, as frail as an invalid.

When did I become a shell of a man?

He would usually try and force down the thoughts, concentrating on thinking happy, positive thoughts, and nothing melancholy. After all, melancholy never got anybody anywhere.

That night, though, the thoughts would not recede. He leaned heavily on Cynthia, the two of them making their slow, lopsided way down the stairs and around the side of the house. The noise from inside waxed and waned, the sound of laughter and chatter and music seeming almost otherworldly to Neil at times.

“Do you think she’s happy?” he slurred, as they rounded the path to come around the front of the house.

Cynthia shot him a quick, searching glance. “Who?”

He sighed. “Who do you think? Patrina, of course.”

“I see. Well, yes, she is happy. She’s a little uncomfortable at the moment, and I imagine that the role of Lady Morendale takes some time to grow into. But I do think she likes you. I think she likes us , despite Mama being a little too overbearing.”

Neil swallowed. “I didn’t mean to say what I did the other day. About it being her house and mine. You and Mama live here, it’s your house, and I shouldn’t have said things the way I did. I saw the looks on your faces. So, I apologise. This is your home.”

Cynthia gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry. Patrina already came and talked to Mama about it, before the soiree started. We’re all friends now. I think Mama thinks more highly of Patrina than she did.”

Neil blinked, trying to get a good look at his sister. His vision was not clear, a sure sign that he was growing dangerously tired.

“She came and said that, did she? Well, well. Good for her. I’m pleased that she did, really.”

They climbed up the stairs and came in through the open front doors of the house. The footmen on duty were rather bored – nobody was coming and going while the party was in full swing – and one of them was smothering a yawn. Their eyes popped when they saw Neil and Cynthia, and they rushed to assist.

“I’ll make your excuses,” Cynthia promised, leaving him with one arm slung over each of the footmen’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Cynth. And… and do me a favour, won’t you? If Clayton or Aunt Thomasin decide to come up and see me, dissuade them, would you? If you can,” he added, wincing.

Cynthia nodded, smiling wryly. “I will. Their visit is rather ill-timed, isn’t it? You’d think they would understand.”

“Yes,” Neil muttered, half to himself. “Indeed, you’d think they would.”