Twelfth Night Betrothal

Chapter 7

“What a lovely day!”

“It is,” Flynn agreed. Up above, the sky was a peerless blue, the air fresh and sweet-smelling, with just a hint of woodsmoke. “Though I’m surprised you noticed it.” Alistair had been in a foul mood ever since he’d been paired off with a woman who was convinced they would marry before the festivities were over. It was good to see his friend restored to his usual smiling self. “What happened? Have you finally found some common ground with your sweetheart?

“No. Such a thing is impossible, I’m afraid. The woman is indeed a clucking pigeon. But I found myself a mighty eagle instead.”

Flynn arched a brow. “Oh?”

“One who sings like a nightingale and dresses like a peacock.”

His friend’s heated gaze landed on the Lord of Misrule, who was counting points at the pall mall game and making the players laugh. From the way he was holding his mallet, it wasn’t difficult to guess that the laughs were scandalized ones. Today he was sporting a turquoise tunic complete with lavish embroidery. A peacock if ever he’d seen one.

“Well. I’ll take your word for it that he sings like a nightingale,” he whispered, leaning in to speak into Alistair’s ear. “Since none of us have heard him sing a single note.”

Alistair’s gaze became dreamy and he actually sighed. “I’ve never heard anyone make sweeter sounds while I pleasured him.”

“I see.” Flynn arched a brow. This was new. Usually thinking about his conquests did not make his friend wistful and he was more prone to making bawdy comments than poetic observations about their joining. Was this more than a casual dalliance? For his friend’s sake he dearly hoped so.

“What about you and your ethereal swan?” Alistair cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. The discussion about his peacock was clearly over. “She is lovely, I have to say. Are you making any progress with her?”

Yes, he was making progress, more than was wise. What had possessed him to kiss a woman he knew full well would never be his? And not just kiss her, but full on devour her. He had wanted more, and had she given any indication that she would welcome his advances, he would have tumbled her on the furs, safe in the knowledge that they could not be seen or heard.

Flynn looked to the group of ladies playing pall mall. In the middle was Heather, a vision in demure sage green. Thankfully she had not been wearing such a color the day before or her skirts might have borne the traces of their shocking interlude.

When he finally remembered Alistair was waiting for an answer to his question, he turned back round—and saw no one.

“What the h—”

“Have you seen Sir Alistair anywhere?” a fluted voice asked behind him, stopping the profanity before it could leave his mouth.

Alistair’s sweetheart appeared from his left, providing him with the explanation for his friend’s sudden disappearance. The man had spotted his homing pigeon and fled before he could be roped into yet another taxing conversation with her.

Well, good for him.

“I’m afraid he had to have a word with a friend. Something about a bird of prey he means to purchase. An eagle or some such.”

“Oh. Then perhaps you would be so kind as to take a turn in the rose garden with me in his stead.”

A rose garden in winter with a dull stranger when he could stay here and watch Heather bend over to hit her ball? No, thank you. Flynn was about to refuse, then thought the better of it.

You owe your friend, he reminded himself. He brought you here, and as a consequence you met Heather. For that only, you should be willing to endure a moment in the woman’s company.

Besides, Heather was busy at the moment. He might as well do Alistair a favor.

“It will be my pleasure,” he told the woman, offering his arm.

By the end of the afternoon Flynn’s decision was made. He would not marry the dowager countess and to hell with the consequences. A lifetime of uninspiring conversations such as the one he had just been subjected to was more than he would be able to bear. Although he had never met the woman, he could not take the chance of her turning out to be an older version of Alistair’s sweetheart. Besides, wondering what might have happened with Heather if he had found the courage to stand up to his father’s will would surely send him mad. Why should he honor the wishes of a man who had not bothered with him his whole life and only remembered him when it suited him, to ensure the family line would perdure? He could have children with another woman. In fact, as Alistair had often pointed out, an older woman was not the most sensible choice for producing the necessary heirs.

He kissed the tip of the lady’s fingers as soon as they exited the rose garden. “I thank you, my lady. This moment with you has been most enlightening.” It was perhaps not the most obvious of compliments, but at least that was no lie. An afternoon in her company had cleared the fog in his mind and made him see with painful clarity what he wasn’t ready to sacrifice. This was his life they were talking about. He could not waste it thus! He did not owe his loyalty to a father who had never been there for him or a woman he had never even met and who therefore would not miss him.

For a moment, too overwhelmed by the changes in his life, he had not stopped to think that he had a choice. But of course he did.

And his choice was Heather.

“You’re very welcome. Be sure to tell Sir Alistair I’m anxious to see him.”

“I will as soon as I see him, but I fear once he gets involved in a…er…passionate conversation, he easily loses track of the time.”

Flynn smiled to himself. The Lord of Misrule, who earlier had made a point of overseeing the revelry, was now nowhere to be seen. The lady might have to wait a while. Almost of their own accord, his eyes darted across the lawn in search of a familiar woman in sage green. Ah. There she was.

“Such a sad loss. I daresay she will be too distraught to think of remarrying for a good long while, and no wonder. Who could possibly find favor in her eyes after the earl? Such a fine man he was…”

It took Flynn a while to understand that the woman was waiting for an answer. Was he supposed to know who she was talking about—or care? He gave a noncommittal grunt, hoping she would leave it at that. Then he saw the way she was looking at Heather across the lawn.

Heather. She was talking about Heather . Heather who, apparently, was a widow. Heather who had been married to an earl. Not just an earl, but a strikingly handsome one, too, one who could send women dreamy-eyed.

Barely a moment ago he had decided he would free himself from his betrothal so as to give a chance to let what had blossomed between him and Heather flourish. And now he was told she had already been married to a paragon of virtue, a fine man, a good-looking and prestigious earl!

What a comedown.

“Is the loss recent?” His voice was too hoarse to pass as natural, but he’d already had a chance to see that the woman did not need much coaxing to launch herself into gossip. And, for the first time that day, he didn’t mind.

“Oh, no. Three months, if that. The poor woman is most probably still reeling from the shock. That is why I think it only fair to warn you, my lord. I’m afraid the Lord of Misrule paired you with a woman who will only refuse you should you be bold enough to propose by Twelfth Night.”

She gave a little laugh that grated on his nerves. It was clear she thought her own pairing with Alistair showed more promise. For a moment Flynn toyed with the idea of telling her just how vain her hopes were, and why, before thinking the better of it. It would not be fair to his friend to expose his dangerous secret thus.

“Thank you, but I am sure not even the Lord of Misrule is foolish enough to believe his little game will end up in actual weddings. Only idiots would raise their hopes up so.”

With a curt bow, he left.

****

His head cradled in his entwined fingers, Flynn stared at the ceiling. He had been unusually quiet during the banquet earlier but, to his surprise, Heather had not pestered him with questions, as if she was used to dealing with taciturn men and did not mind her own company.

It had only confirmed him in the conviction that she would be a good match for him, much better than an old woman he had never met. At least, a good match on principle. Because what he’d heard that afternoon had made him see just how much of an unattainable prize she was. He had to accept that all hopes of seeing her accept an offer of marriage from a man like him were doomed.

What a mess his life had turned into!

He had wanted recognition and instead he had inherited responsibilities and duties that would make his every day a living hell if he allowed it to happen.

When the news had reached him that his father was dying and had decided to make him his heir, he had been too stunned to think of all the implications. It had been a lot to take in, for a servant’s son. A title, fortune, status, lands to supervise, people to meet, obligations to honor… There had been no time to stop and think. He had been put on a charging horse headed in the direction his father had decided, but what was there to say he could not pull on the reins and steer the beast in another direction, or slow it down at the very least? He was in charge of his destiny now, not a man who had been nothing to him for the first twenty-seven years of his life and wanted to use him to make up for his own failures.

The old man wanted plain Flynn Sutherland to be the next Viscount Wexford? Well, he would be, but on his own terms.

Maybe that was why the late viscount had made him swear to marry his cousin’s widow so quickly. He had not wanted him to have time to think and realize that nothing actually obliged him to obey. Thankfully, now, he had. And not a moment too soon, because next week, if he didn’t put a stop to it, he would be married to the Dowager Countess of Marsham.

The old crone.

He sighed and decided to try to get some sleep. Just then the door opened and Alistair crept into the room, silent as a shadow.

“Gone to see the mighty eagle, have you?” Flynn asked his friend, who gave a curse, as if he’d not expected to be caught.

“You’re awake?”

“No. Obviously I’m dead to the world. That’s why I’m talking to you.” He snorted.

“What kept you up?”

Flynn snorted again. “No need to ask what—or who—kept you up!”

Alistair chuckled and took his boots off. “I swear it, the man’s insatiable.” Then he planted himself in front of the bed. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I was thinking of my future if you must know. I’m not going to marry the old crone.” There. It felt good to finally acknowledge it out loud.

“Oh. Will is going to be so happy.”

“Will? Why the hell would he care if I marry her or not?”

Alistair sat on the bed. “Don’t tell me this decision has nothing to do with the lovely Heather, who we both know is like a sister to him.”

Oh, it had everything to do with the lovely Heather, but he was not about to admit it to his friend, who was already looking far too smug.

His silence did not deter Alistair.

“So the Lord of Misrule will have his Twelfth Night proposal after all.”

“She would have to accept me first,” Flynn said grimly. “Did you know she had been married?”

“Why, yes. I thought you knew.”

“No, I didn’t. I don’t know anyone here, remember? I was only a bastard servant until a few weeks ago,” he snarled.

Then he took in a deep breath. It was not fair to unleash his frustration and anger on Alistair. His friend had every right to think Heather would have mentioned her late husband to him. That was another thing. Why had she not? Surely the fact that she had been married was worth mentioning to a man for whom she was developing feelings.

Or maybe he was mistaken and she already knew this would lead nowhere… The thought pierced his gut.

“From what I understand, her first husband was the catch of the county, a veritable paragon of beauty.”

He still hadn’t swallowed that inconvenient piece of information.

“I hate to break it to you, my lord, but you’re not so bad yourself, and I am a connoisseur of the male anatomy. You’re lucky I know you don’t share my tastes or I might well have attempted to seduce you long ago.” Alistair gave a theatrical sigh as he surveyed Flynn’s prone form. “You nearly broke my heart the day you boasted about bedding your first female. I had such high hopes for you. And now you’re teasing me by sharing my bed. So cruel of you!”

Flynn refused to be amused or distracted. This was serious. “He was an earl, no less! Tell me, how am I supposed to compete with a man like that? I doubt he was a bastard.”

“Well, from what little Will has told me, he was a bastard all right, only not in the way you mean.” Alistair lay down on the bed and looked straight into his eyes. He was not teasing anymore. “The ‘paragon of virtue’ you heard about never loved Heather and made her life hell. After such an unhappy marriage, I can assure you she will consider a man’s character before his status. It might be that, in this case, her having been married before will only play in your favor.”

Flynn clenched his fists. Heather had been unhappy? The man had been a bastard toward her? His blood boiled at the thought. Then he remembered what she had said.

I have never kissed anyone.

No. But she had been kissed. By a man she hated. Been bedded. Perhaps against her will. He bunched his fists.

“What do you mean, he made her life hell?”

Alistair shook his head and settled himself next to him. “Will would not tell me more. I think he felt it would be disloyal to talk behind her back, but I’m pretty sure she was as miserable as a woman married to a handsome, rich earl can be. So go get her.”

“I will have to tell her the truth.”

“The truth is not so bad, my friend. It reflects badly on your father, not on you. I’m sure she won’t hold your birth against you, especially when you tell her what you have come to feel for her. Unless I’m mistaken, she returns your feelings.”

If only Alistair could be right! But Flynn was not so sure… If she did return his feelings, why had she not surrendered to her desire for him that afternoon on the island? At the time, he had assumed she was an untouched maiden afraid of being compromised, but if she was a widow and she had not been in love with her husband, then surely she would not have resisted the temptation of a tumble with a man she wanted…

And if she was considering whatever was between them as more than a meaningless dalliance, then surely she would have informed him of her situation, wouldn’t she? But she had not even told him her name, as if she knew they would part ways and never meet again once the festivities were over.

Flynn carried on staring at the ceiling long into the night. Finally, at dawn, he fell asleep.