Page 29 of The Reclusive Earl’s Scandal (Vows and Vanity #1)

Wine spread over the tablecloth like blood, and Edward could not stop staring at it as it seeped deeper and deeper into the fabric. He barely heard the thud of Rebecca’s father hitting the floor, too vacant in his own head, too far gone in his own thoughts.

His breath was loud in his ears, the blood rushing through him and his heart pounded. The tablecloth beneath his palm felt too scratchy, too soft, both things all at once. He was aware of the panic building, the panic he needed to keep at bay, but he struggled.

He was back at the dinner gathering where his father had fallen in.

The name of their host escaped him, replaced only by the terror of watching his father slump forward, his forehead making a loud noise onto his dinner plate.

He had sent his own glass of wine sprawling that night, and the table had laughed.

Oh, look! The Earl of Thornshire has had a little too much to drink, it seems.

But then the Earl of Thornshire had not woken up, and no matter how much Edward had shaken his father’s shoulder, no matter how many times he had shouted his father’s name, there had been no response.

His hands shook now, and Edward forced the fear and horror from his mind. Panicking right now would do him no good. No, right now, he needed to focus on the Duke of Bancroft, on Rebecca’s well being as she stared at her father’s unconscious body a moment before she was on her feet.

She didn’t run to him, not like Edward would have done in her position.

Neither did the duchess.

Edward rose, uncertain and alarmed at the lack of urgency in the family. But the Duchess of Bancroft simply stood, sneered down at her husband, before she addressed a servant.

“See to it that His Grace receives a glass of water,” she ordered before she strode out of the dining hall. Right before she exited altogether, she turned back, her look apologetic as it landed on Edward and his mother. “I apologise for my husband. Lady Thornshire, this was what I warned you of.”

“We understand, Your Grace,” Edward’s mother answered gently. “We will take our leave and let you see to your personal matters.” For a moment, Edward was surprised at his mother’s easy understanding, and still looked down wearily at the fallen duke.

After a moment, a cleared throat from the doorway caught his attention. He glanced over to find Rebecca beckoning him to her. Servants fluttered around the duke, hiding him from view as if it would stop the public shame of what had happened.

Edward hurried over to Rebecca’s side, and he could feel how tense his expression was, but he tried to smooth it out quickly.

“I apologise for my father’s behaviour,” she whispered, tugging him into the hallway. “I do not know if your father ever mentioned my father’s… vices.” Her gray eyes flicked to the dining hall. Her fingers wound together in nerves. Edward shook his head.

“He did not,” he told her. “He understood privacy. If he was aware of your father having any sort of hardship then he would have kept it to himself out of respect.”

Rebecca nodded, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “The things I wished to discuss with you prior to you speaking with my father… ah, it seems they are inescapable anyway.”

“Should we call for a physician?” Edward twisted back to look towards the duke, but he was surprised when Rebecca put a hand to his shoulder for a brief second and drew him back to face her.

“Edward, your concern is admirable, but he is not sick. At least not in the way you fear, for I know why you do fear.” Her brows knitted together, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“My father is...he is a drunk. Meeting with you earlier today was the first time in at least a week that I had seen him not intoxicated, and I am incredibly embarrassed about it, especially for it to become such a public thing to unfortunately witness. I should have told you, I know, but...”

Edward was already shaking his head. “You owe me no information, Rebecca. I am grateful you have told me to ease my own concerns, but this is a private matter.” He nodded to where his mother had already drifted down the hallway.

“Even my mother understands, and she is a most persistent, entitled woman.” His mouth quirked, hoping to take the worry from between Rebecca’s brows.

“You are certain he does not need a physician to check for any effects the alcohol might be having upon him?”

“Unfortunately, he has endured much of a worse state. He always keeps his wits long enough to refuse being examined. I think his shame sobers him up, so he avoids it.”

After a second, Edward nodded. He glanced back at the duke once more in time to see him being pulled to his feet. The man staggered, swaying, and Edward quickly turned away to give the duke as much privacy as could be afforded.

“Then, as my mother said, we shall take our leave,” he promised Rebecca.

In a moment of vulnerability, he took her hands.

He had spent so long distancing himself from her, forcing himself into a place of rigid apathy in an attempt to no longer feel his anxiety, to begin feeling better so she could have a good life with him, but it had only made him feel more isolated than ever.

“This changes nothing. I hope you know that.”

He brushed a kiss over her knuckles, as he would have at the start of a true courtship as a suitor attempting to woo her. Reminding himself that she only saw him as a friend, he dropped her hand and stepped back.

“Rebecca?” he said after he had taken several steps away from her. “Oftentimes, the hardest fights are the ones fought alone, but you are not alone. You may speak to me about anything at any time. I will always do my best to understand.”

Her eyes blinked at him, and she gave a small nod of acknowledgement, before he finally joined his mother. Together, they left the Bancrofts to their own matters, and Edward only let himself feel the worry of it all, the concern for Rebecca, as well as the duke, once he was alone in his study.

He cared little for what he was getting himself into, only that Rebecca was well and safe.

***

Lord and Lady Canterbury were hosting a ball two days later, and Edward found himself reluctant to go. He spent the day burrowing himself in that place again where emotional distance protected him from his anxiety.

It helped him a little, if he could only ignore the way he felt hollow. Elena was still maintaining her crusade of silence against him, refusing to acknowledge his presence at all. In comparison, his mother had not stopped talking about the impending wedding ever since the dinner at the Bancrofts’.

“I have not formally proposed yet,” he kept on reminding her, but she paid him no mind. Her excitement did nothing against the walls he’d put up. Edward had wanted this: he still wanted Rebecca, but his doubts kept him spiraling, kept him anchored in his own head where nothing else could reach him.

Now, standing in one corner of the Canterburys’ ballroom, Edward didn’t know how to go about anything.

Rebecca stood alone as well on the opposite side of the room, nursing a glass of wine.

Their eyes met, and he lifted his own glass to her.

They had agreed in correspondence since the celebration dinner that they would begin mentioning their intentions.

Formally, there would be a betrothal ball after Edward proposed, but they would begin to mention it.

As much as Edward did not want to face any repercussions, and as much as he knew Rebecca likely had her own worries, the process had to be started.

You are trapping her; you are trapping her .

Ever since he had attended the play, Edward’s dreams had been tormented with thoughts of the love square he was not even certain he was part of.

Himself, Rebecca, Harry, Lady Catherine.

All of their faces overlapped while he slept until he was not certain of anything at all.

Nothing but a selfish desire to still want to marry Rebecca.

He watched her now, the way her shoulders stooped a little.

Her face was turned towards her friends whom she didn’t speak with.

Lady Catherine glared at Edward, while Lady Mary looked at Rebecca.

Edward averted his gaze. Standing alone was doing him no favors, so he ambled away towards Willoughby and Lord Bradley.

While he didn’t really know the latter man, he knew he had long overdue apologies to extend to Willoughby.

Yet before he could open his mouth to speak, they invited him into their fold without question. Willoughby only gave him a knowing nod as he continued speaking.

“And then he, as a member of parliament, approached my father and asked for support for the proposed idea!” Willoughby was saying.

“Well, my father told him right where to go. The surrounding area he oversees is a good, thriving place, and my father honors his tenants by keeping their taxes as low as he can while still ensuring everything is provided for. The idea that this man needed to tax higher was quite preposterous. The Willoughbys have almost as much fortune as the Bancrofts. It was quite insulting, really, to suggest the idea. At least that was what I thought.”

“Ah, you mean Mr. Mossley,” Lord Bradley said.

“I have heard some stories about him: that he bought his seat, and seeks only greedy gains for himself, disguised as good deeds for others. But he is quite rotten.” Lord Bradley gave Edward a sharp, greeting nod.

“Thornshire, it is good to see you. What are your thoughts on Mr. Mossley?”

Edward searched his recollection for a face to put with the name, but despite his status, he did not get very involved at all with politics.

He laughed, playing his part as it was demanded of him, and he chuckled and waved his wine glass as if he was the most relaxed man in the room.

“I agree with you both,” he said. “A greedy individual indeed. I do not want him anywhere near my properties, that is for certain.”