Page 37 of His Brazen Tart

Even as she had reluctantly shed her widow’s weeds and then half-mourning, choosing to reintegrate herself more fully into society. Even as she attended balls and allowed handsome men to lead her onto the dance floor. Even as she smiled and raised a glass to celebrate the triumph of her friend, who was more deserving of this happiness than anyone Mary knew.

Her happiness on this day was bittersweet. The ceremony between Sir Piers and Joan had reminded Mary of her own wedding day, despite its intimate size and private location. The wedding breakfast was neither lavish nor attended by more than a handful of those closest to them. And yet, watching Sir Piers gaze upon Joan with such tenderness and love made it far too easy for Mary to think of Rodingham. He had looked at her that way every day of their lives, as if he could hardly believe his good fortune. Mary was certain she’d been just as obvious in her adoration, her heart giving soft, warm pangs every time he smiled at her or touched her cheek.

This day only served as yet another reminder that life would never be the same for Mary again. No matter how hard she tried to move forward, she never felt quite ready. The new gowns she’d had commissioned to update her wardrobe weren’t as beautiful without Rodingham there to appreciate them. A ball wasn’t as enjoyable without him there to stare at her from across the room, heated promises of what was to come when he finally got her alone. Weddings were beautiful affairs that made her want to weep because they were supposed to mark new beginnings. For Mary, a wedding had marked both the beginning and the end of the happiest time of her life.

The toast ended and she took a swallow of champagne, finally letting go of the stiff smile she had been wearing all day. She was tired of trying, of feeling as if she were running in place, never moving past the point she had been trapped in since the day her husband took his last breath.

She was exhausted, and she was finished.

“I think I’ll return to Norfolk,” she murmured.

Mary had been thinking aloud, but those sitting closest to her had heard. Miranda and Maud stared at her—one from her side and the other from across the table.

Miranda frowned. “I thought you decided to remain until the end of the year so the children could enjoy Christmas in London.”

Mary shook her head and stared despondently at her untouched meat pie and the assortment of fruits and cheeses piled onto her plate. She usually possessed a healthy appetite, but these days, everything tasted like ash on her tongue.

“Is everything all right?” Maud asked from beside her, leaning close and placing a hand atop Mary’s.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Mary lied, forcing another smile. Her cheeks had begun to ache, but it was the only way to convince her friends that all was well. “It’s only that I’ve grown weary of London and the social whirl.”

“But you’ve only just become part of society again,” Miranda argued, her voice low and her expression one of deep concern.

Mary shrugged and pushed her food about her plate with a fork. “It hasn’t been as enjoyable as I have hoped. Besides, little Roddy will go off for his first term at Eton next year, and I think Christmas in Norfolk will be just the thing before I’m forced to say good-bye to him.”

Her son was nearly thirteen years old, andwasset for his first term at school soon—a good enough excuse as any for her to escape the city. She was tired of performing, weary of waiting for the day she would wake up and feel like her old self again. Her old self no longer existed. It had died along with her husband, and the time had come for her to acknowledge that and try to find a new path forward. For that, she needed solitude and the sweetness of fresh, country air. She needed a respite from the talk about her gowns and what they meant, everyone speculating that she was seeking a new husband.

Rodingham had left her quite well off, and Mary never had to wed again if she didn’t wish it. However, she had recently become a source of fixation for theton, a damsel in need of a man to sweep in and rescue her from a life of lonely widowhood. Men had begun calling upon her in droves after her first public appearance without the covering of half-mourning colors. The consensus among her peers seemed to be that she should be grateful for the attention and eager to select a husband from amongst the illustrious lords presenting themselves to her like a row of thoroughbred stallions at Tattersall’s.

In truth, Mary was unsettled by this sudden change. She had decided to return to society in hopes that it would inspire her to seek a new path in life, one that might, possibly, include a prospective husband. But every time she danced with someone, or allowed her hand to be kissed, or noticed that simple conversation had given way to flirtation, she felt like the worst creature in the world. She betrayed Rodingham’s memory with every action, every dance, every smile in another man’s direction.

It was ridiculous to think this way, and Mary knew it. That didn’t make it any easier to move on with her life. No man could compare to Rodingham, so there seemed no use in trying anymore.

“I won’t stay away forever,” she offered, hoping to put her friends at ease. “But I feel the time away is necessary.”

Miranda nodded and gave an encouraging smile. Maud looked uncertain but said nothing. Her friends had long ago stopped trying to convince her that a lover or another husband was just the thing she needed. At times their efforts, though well-meaning, had angered her.

But then, none of them understood what it was like to become truly one with a person, only for them to die and take half of you with them to the grave. They didn’t know how it felt to have thought they’d achieved their happy ending only to have it snatched from under them like a rug.

It was easy to hope and dream for a wonderful future when one’s past was distasteful. It was much harder to hold on to those hopes and dreams when the best days of her life had come and passed.

Mary spent the rest of the wedding breakfast making light conversation with other guests and doing her best to push aside morose thoughts. There would be time enough for them once she was ambling about the Norfolk countryside.

When the breakfast finally ended, Mary wished Joan and Sir Piers farewell, as they were set to leave for their wedding trip in a few days. When they returned, Mary would be long gone. She departed from Miranda and Maud, promising to write, and inviting them to visit her whenever they wished.

Then, she climbed into her carriage and allowed the mask she’d been wearing all day to fall. Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging. She reached into her reticule for a handkerchief, and while dabbing at her watery eyes, discovered a card that had been resting inside the little bag for months. Joan had given it to her with a coy smile, murmuring suggestive innuendo that if Mary didn’t want a husband, she could at least consider taking a lover. Someone to warm her bed and escort her about. Someone to make her feel a little less lonely and discarded.

Sniffling, she studied the card, tracing the scripted swirls of the letters ‘GC’ with her eyes. It was not lost on her that both Miranda and Joan had fallen in love with and married the courtesans they had hired from this agency. That same fate was not for her. But perhaps …

With a shake of her head, she slipped the card back into her reticule and closed it, shutting away the idea altogether.

It was absolutely out of the question.