Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7)

“I’m glad I can offer you my congratulations on your marriage. I’d love to meet your wife, if she’s in Town.”

Clearly Morwenna was out of touch with gossip. “Thank you,” he said, “I’m afraid Jane’s in the country at present.”

If his last self-righteous speech hadn’t sent his wife hying for Timbuctoo. Now he wished he’d stayed at the Beeches long enough to hear some response to his terms. He wasn’t sorry he’d said his piece—he’d stand by every word. But he could have phrased it more as a negotiation than a final demand.

“What a pity I’ll miss her. Caro says she’s charming.”

“She is.” And lovely and troublesome and tempting, and, dear God, he wasn’t sure he could live without her.

Hunter’s appearance with the tea tray saved Garson from the awkward dilemma of discussing his wife with the previous candidate for the post. A footman bustled around lighting candles.

By the time he and Morwenna were alone once more, he was capable of putting two thoughts together, instead of feeling like the earth beneath his feet was about to dissolve. When he spoke, he almost sounded like a man in possession of his faculties. “How’s Kerenza?”

He had fond memories of Morwenna’s spirited daughter. As she passed him a cup of tea, affection softened Morwenna’s smile. It made her stunningly beautiful.

His first love was beautiful. He hadn’t mistaken that. But as he sat back and let her tales of an obviously happy family life in Devon wash over him, he saw he was wrong to think the years had left her unaffected.

The Morwenna he’d courted had been frail and lovely and vulnerable, wrapped in a suffocating veil of grief. She’d awoken his innate urge to heal any wounded creature, and that protective impulse had soon turned into love. Today her skin was as white as a pearl, and her eyes were as blue as the sea, and her black hair was as glossy as ever, but she’d fundamentally changed. He saw that she’d found happiness.

As he listened to her talk about her husband and children—since Robert’s return, two sons had joined the family—he couldn’t muster a moment’s regret that she had. Which was bizarre when jealousy had tormented him for years.

Fate had reunited her with the man she’d always belonged to. Somewhere since their last meeting, Garson had gained enough distance to recognize that his presence in her life had been a mere distraction at best.

He realized a silence had fallen, and he glanced up to find Morwenna regarding him quizzically. “I apologize, Hugh. I do tend to rabbit on about the children.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

She laughed. “No need.” The humor drained from her face. “I’m guessing you find this meeting difficult.”

Actually once his initial shock faded, he was astonished how easy it was proving. He’d devoted reams of turbulent emotion to this woman. He’d assumed if he ever had her to himself again, that the drama would rival anything he could see at the Royal Opera House.

Except they were both grown-ups, and the ending of this particular melodrama was settled the moment Robert Nash returned from the dead. What was the point of accusing Morwenna of destroying his life?

At this moment, the person he’d like to blame for that was his wife. But he couldn’t even do that with a clear conscience, because he was unwillingly aware that most of his present misery resulted from his blind selfishness.

“Would you rather I wait for Silas in the library?” He supposed by rights, they shouldn’t be alone together, but a few minutes of private conversation in an old friend’s house didn’t test propriety too far.

She made a dismissive gesture. “No. I’m grateful, because it means I can apologize for how shabbily I treated you after Robert came back.”

“You wrote to me. You don’t need to do any more.”

“Yes, I do. I hurt you, and you didn’t deserve it. You behaved so beautifully, when it must have been beastly, having the whole world watching on and anticipating scandal. I can only beg your forgiveness.”

“If you need my forgiveness, Morwenna—and I don’t think you do—I give it to you wholeheartedly.” To his astonishment, this wasn’t putting a good face on something he couldn’t change. He meant it. “I know you never stopped loving Robert. Everything ended up as it should.”

A smile twisted her lips. “You remain the perfect gentleman, Hugh.”

By God, Jane wouldn’t agree. Neither she should, given how he’d behaved toward her. “I hope you’ll remember our friendship with no regrets.”

“I can now. Thank you, Hugh.” She looked a little brighter. “And everything worked out in the end because you married Jane. If you’re just a fraction as happy as Robert and I are, you’ll be blessed. I wish you many wonderful years together.”

Any suitable response stuck in his throat. Regret clenched his gut as he recognized that these generous wishes were unlikely to come true.

The door opened behind him, and Silas, Caro, and their four boisterous children tumbled into the room. Garson set aside his untouched tea and rose to greet his friends. He intercepted a glance between Silas and Caro that conveyed their consternation at finding him closeted with Morwenna. Clearly he hadn’t been the only one expecting melodrama, should this meeting ever take place.

Within half an hour, Caro and Morwenna left for Fenella’s house, and the children were safely ensconced in the nursery. Garson was at last alone with Silas in his library. With a sigh, he collapsed into a leather chair. After the long ride and months of emotional turmoil, he was exhausted, yet so jumpy, he could hardly keep still. Outside rain crashed against the windows as the storm set in.

Silas stood at the sideboard and poured two brandies without asking Garson’s preference. “Here. I suspect you need this.”