“If only we had more time,” his mother burst out. “I’m sure she’d come to her senses if Thomas would just wait to marry her.”
“It’s Wakefield who is pushing the marriage.” Griffin shook his head. “And in any case, I truly don’t think she’ll be changing her mind. I have business to finish here, and then I’ll be leaving for Lancashire.”
“But you can’t leave!” Mater cried. “Don’t you see? If you just give her time—”
“I can’t stay and watch her marry Thomas!” he hissed, the pain surfacing despite his efforts to keep it submerged. He glanced at her and then away again at the pity in her eyes. “I simply can’t.”
“Griffin—”
“No.” He cut the air with the blade of his hand. “Just listen. I’ll finish my business, and then I’m moving north permanently. I’ll either transfer my business north somehow or have my agents act for me in London. I’m not coming back.”
She watched him silently, but tears swam in her eyes. He could see them clearly.
It was more than he could bear.
“She doesn’t love me. I have to accept that fact and go on.” He picked up the decanter and a glass and strode to the door. He paused there, his back to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And then he fled to his rooms. If he was lucky, he’d be insensibly drunk in an hour.
Chapter Seventeen
The queen returned to her rooms that night with a heavy heart. Her suitors were right: She must make a decision and choose the perfect man to wed, but the thought filled her with sorrow. She went to her balcony and saw that the little brown bird was already perched there.
Queen Ravenhair picked up the bird and found about his neck a string with a tiny mirror tied to the end. She untangled the mirror and held it up—and of course saw herself reflected in its surface. And then she knew the message: She was the heart of her kingdom….
—from Queen Ravenhair
Hero absently turned the diamond earring over in her fingers late that afternoon. She had retired to the sitting room with a pot of tea, now cooling on the low table in front of her. The room smelled of roses, because a giant vase of the flowers sat on the corner table. They were pale pink—her favorite—but she glanced away from the sight of them.
Cousin Bathilda had had hysterics over Maximus’s demand that Hero marry on Sunday. She’d gone off to try and reason with Maximus, but Hero had very little hope that even Cousin Bathilda would persuade Maximus to put off the wedding. Once Maximus set his mind to something, he was like a granite boulder: hard and immovable.
Not that it mattered, really.
If she were to marry Thomas, this Sunday or a Sunday months from now it made no difference. She didn’t even care about the inevitable scandal. She knew she should. A small part of her mind was wailing that she should be panicked, should be pacing or throwing hysterics herself. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to care.
She was making a mistake.
Hero sighed and dropped the earring next to her tea-cup. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was making a terrible, irredeemable mistake.
“There you are,” Phoebe called from the doorway as she entered. “Wherever has Cousin Bathilda gone? I can’t seem to find her.”
“I’m sorry, love,” Hero said, feeling guilty. “She’s gone off in a frenzy to speak to Maximus.”
“Oh,” Phoebe said, sitting down on a chair at right angles to Hero’s settee.
Phoebe’s little shoulders drooped. Hero bit her lip. “Did Maximus talk to you?”
Phoebe nodded, looking down.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Phoebe straightened a bit. “All those balls and such. It would have been wearying, I expect, don’t you?”
“Yes, it is rather tiring,” Hero said gently.
“It’s just…” Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “I would’ve liked to have danced with a gentleman not related to me once. Just once.”
Hero felt tears prick her eyes.
“It’s for the best. I do understand that.” Phoebe inhaled and looked up. “Did Cousin Bathilda go to talk to Maximus about your marriage?”
Her voice was diffident and Hero felt worse. They’d not told Phoebe anything, but she must’ve been aware of the household turmoil the last couple of days.
“You know Maximus said I had to marry this Sunday?” Hero asked.
“One of the servants overheard something and told me.” Phoebe’s eyes dropped. “I thought you didn’t like him anymore?”
“It’s rather complicated.”
“But he hit you, didn’t he?” Phoebe looked at her worriedly. “That’s where you got that bruise on your cheek, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Hero winced as she touched her cheek. It was turning a rather vivid purple. “But he has sent his apologies.” She gestured to the vase of roses.
Phoebe examined them. “So that’s who they’re from?”
“Yes.”
“They’re quite extravagant. He must be feeling guilty. But then he should feel guilty. I don’t think you ought to marry him,” Phoebe said earnestly. “Not if he’s hurt you. What is Maximus thinking?”
“It’s not quite that simple.” Hero sighed and picked up the diamond earring, twisting it between her fingers. “Maximus is doing what he thinks is best for me.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Mandeville acted out of anger—I did something to anger him terribly. He’s a very trustworthy man usually. Maximus knows this and knows he will make a responsible, solid husband for me.”
Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “Responsible. Solid.”
When repeated flatly like that, Thomas’s attributes sounded less sterling. Nevertheless, Hero nodded. “Yes.”
“It seems rather boring reasons for marrying someone.”
Hero bit her lip. “Marriage is supposed to be boring.”
“Why?” Phoebe asked. “Why can’t it be exciting and… and an adventure? I’m sure if you looked a bit more, you could find a man who made your heart thrill when you saw him.”
Made her heart thrill. That was what she felt like when she saw Griffin. But he was wholly inappropriate, wasn’t he? Phoebe was simply too young to understand.
Hero shook her head, staring at the earring in her hand.