Page 23

CHAPTER TWENTY

F riends?

Cyrus mulled over the word from the periphery of the ballroom, abandoned by his friends and his wife. He did not mind that, savoring the opportunity to think without interruption.

Are we that? Friends?

He could not see how. He did not behave with her the way he would with any of his acquaintances.

He would not have asked Anthony or Silas about the books that they liked to read, nor would he be considering how to get his hands on such books.

Indeed, he and his friends had very different tastes when it came to literature: he read none, Anthony read of old military campaigns, and Silas liked to read poetry for the sole purpose of ripping the content to pieces.

But if we are not friends, then what are we?

Husband and wife seemed like the obvious answer, but ‘married’ meant so many different things to so many different people. Teresa had made it clear, despite her insistence to the contrary, what she might have liked in a marriage, and he was not that. He could not offer that.

So, what on earth were they, if he was not the husband she desired and she was not the kind of wife she longed to be?

I cannot fall in love with her. I cannot love her even a little.

For a moment, he felt like he was a boy again, failing at every possible turn, punished without truly knowing what he had done wrong.

“I do not like that look,” Anthony said, sliding in beside Cyrus.

Cyrus hardened his expression. “What look?”

“The ferocious glare you were just giving the dance floor. Has it offended you terribly?” Anthony grinned. “You did not seem so displeased to be in its presence a short while ago. Why, I had no notion that you were such an accomplished dancer.”

“You should be entertaining your guests, not talking to me,” Cyrus replied, adjusting cufflinks that needed no adjustment.

Anthony chuckled. “Are you not one of my guests?”

“Indeed, one who prefers solitude,” Cyrus said, while his gaze betrayed him, searching the ballroom for any sign of his wife.

She had departed from his company after the dance, led away on the arm of that Johnson girl.

He could only imagine what they were saying about him, gossiping in some corner of the manor no doubt.

In truth, he did not know why he was looking for Teresa, when he would have nothing to say to her if she were beside him.

“Anthony…” he said, clearing his throat, swallowing down the discomfort that was trying to claw its way up from his stomach.

Anthony glanced up at him, fortunately not taking the hint about solitude. “Hmm?”

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Cyrus replied, his hands balled into fists.

“Oh? How exciting!” Anthony beamed with all the giddiness of a debutante at her first ball. “What, pray tell, might I do for you?”

Cyrus cleared his throat again. “It is a somewhat delicate matter. I must be certain of your utmost discretion.”

“I may be a terrible gossip,” Anthony replied, feigning hurt, “but I have never gossiped a thing about you . In this friendship, at least, you may rest assured that my lips will be entirely sealed.”

Cyrus took a breath. “What do you know of Captain Frostheart and Miss Savage?”

For a moment, Anthony looked as if he had been smacked in the face with a freshly caught cod. “What do you know of Captain Frostheart and Miss Savage? I would never have considered you to be the sort of person who knows of such things.”

“I do not, which is why I am asking you,” Cyrus said, his patience wearing thin. “It is of some urgency, but… I should like a couple of the books, if you know where I might procure them? Better still, if you can procure them for me?”

Glee twinkled in Anthony’s eyes, his smile so wide it threatened to crack his face in two, as he grabbed Cyrus by the arms and shook him a little. Unlike Cyrus, Anthony did not have the discipline to conceal his emotions and, right now, the man was exuberant with excitement.

“I shall have them sent just as soon as I am able,” Anthony gushed. “It may take some convincing, but I am nothing if not persuasive, and this is one task that I shall not fail. My goodness, if only I were allowed to gossip, this would be my crowning glory. But, of course, I shall say nothing.”

Cyrus expelled a breath of some relief. “You know the writer then? Silas did not seem to.”

“I know someone who knows how to get them,” Anthony confirmed, still jittering giddily, “though the actual author is something of a mystery. Entirely anonymous. I only know how to get hold of the stories because ladies adore them; I have lost count of the times I have given them as gifts, to rapturous gratitude. Is that what you mean to do? Shall I have them bound for you?”

Cyrus hesitated. “Yes, if you can, have them bound for me. I will reimburse you for the cost.”

“So, you do mean to give them as a gift?” Anthony seemed delighted.

“Something like that,” Cyrus replied, unwilling to admit that he required the novels for himself first. “And, naturally, say nothing to my wife of this. I should hate to ruin the surprise.”

Anthony nodded so hard that Cyrus worried for his friend’s neck. “Consider me utterly silent on the matter. I would never ruin a good surprise, old boy, especially not when my dear, dear friend has finally decided that life might be pleasanter with a little romance after all.”

Cyrus did not correct his friend or attempt to protest; it did not matter what Anthony thought, as long as Cyrus received those novels. Nevertheless, it was not an issue of romance, but of research.

Rather than continue to flounder and falter without knowing where he had made a misstep, he had decided that it would be in his best interests to learn where he was going wrong.

Not to fall in love with her, never to fall in love with her, but to see exactly what it was that she dreamed of…

and what it was he had no choice but to deny her.

Maybe, within those pages, I will find a compromise… One that would not bring that sad, disappointed look into her eyes so often. One that might be enough to ensure she was at least content at Darnley Castle, even if he would never be her Captain, or the stuff of her daydreams.

“That seemed pleasant,” Isolde said, cheeks rosy with happiness or punch. “You were smiling quite a lot, until the end.”

The three women had withdrawn to a quiet room, off the main ballroom, where they stood by the open terrace doors to cool themselves with the evening air.

Teresa did her best to muster a believable smile. “It was pleasant, though you know I am no great lover of dancing.” She paused. “As for the end, I suppose I was sorry that it ended so soon.”

That part, at least, was not untrue. Had she partaken in another dance with Cyrus, she wondered if they might have moved beyond the awkwardness of old ground.

Maybe, she would have regaled him with one of her favorite stories of the Captain and Miss Savage, just to keep talking with him in such close proximity.

He keeps telling me to have no expectations, but then he keeps doing… nice things. What am I to do with that information?

Her tumble from the ladder; the manner in which he had tucked her hair back into the slide when it had come loose in the Tea House; his request for a dance and his interest in what she was reading; his purchase of this beautiful gown, and him hastening to her defense earlier, plus the very fact that he had married her were all nice things.

Done for her, without obvious ulterior motive.

It was as baffling as it was infuriating, though she feared that her mind was solely to blame for the confusion.

If she had not been a tremendous lover of romantic stories, would she still have noticed those kind acts and believed them to be the root of something more?

Or would she see them as a gentleman just being gentlemanly?

“He dances well, at least,” Beatrice remarked. “Only the best for my dear Tess. Although, I have to ask, why did you not dance again? You are married now; you could dance all night if you wanted to, and no one would bat an eye.”

Teresa sipped her lemonade, wetting her dry throat. “I was tired. I am certain he would have obliged me if I had asked.”

“What did you talk about?” Beatrice’s voice carried an interrogatory tone, as if she did not quite believe the rosy picture that Teresa was trying to paint.

Yet, Teresa could not be completely honest with her friend or her sister.

I just do not want you worrying about me, when you leave Darnley Castle. I am safe, I am taken care of, I have gardens and walks to entertain me—that will have to be enough.

They would not accept that, because they loved her. And they would not realize, for that very reason, why their insistence that she deserved to be adored and cherished only made her situation more difficult.

“We discussed many things,” Teresa answered carefully. “He almost joked with me a few times, if you can believe that. Truly, I think that we are becoming friends, and who knows what may blossom from that.”

Beatrice arched an eyebrow. “Friends?”

“Of a kind, yes,” Teresa insisted.

“Friendship can be a lovely place for more to grow,” Isolde chimed in with an approving nod. “He seems to care for you more than I thought he did. To look at you both on the dance floor, I would have wagered a great deal that there was an uncommon affection between you.”

A pang struck Teresa in the chest. A pang of impossibility.

“I do not know about affection,” she said, stumbling over her words, “but there is… less distance.”

She thought of his touch against her temple, skimming over her cheek; how it had tingled so deliciously and how, for a fleeting, wonderful, terrifying moment, she had thought he might kiss her.

Now, that seemed like forever ago, or the creation of a summer afternoon dream, brought on by the intense heat of the Tea House.