Promise of the Earl: Regency Romance (Season of Brides) Page 5

  Her relief was overwhelming, but with it came a slow, burning guilt that began to wind its way into her heart. She was to marry this man, yes, but that did not mean she would be free of her father and his many demands of her. Nor did she understand why her father was so afraid of Lord Turner. However, she knew it was in her own best interest not to ask him such questions.

  Whilst there was the opportunity to tell Lord Turner everything that her father had asked of her, she felt herself too afraid to do so. If she did, then he would, most likely, turn away from her and refuse to go through with the marriage. She could not let him do that. She was aware that her father’s threats would then swiftly be carried out. The thought of it made her catch her breath, feeling a little weak as she swayed just a little.

  Lord Turner caught her arm, and she looked up at him dazedly, trying to calm her breathing.

  “You are afraid of me,” he muttered darkly, his hand gentle on her arm. “You hide your reactions well, Miss Earnest, but I know what you feel. Your eyes see my disfigurement, and it repulses you.”

  She shook her head. “No, indeed not. “

  His lips twisted into a painful smile. “You need not lie to me, Miss Earnest. I am quite used to such reactions. However, I will say that I appreciate your efforts to hide such emotions from me. In fact, I have thought of you on occasion, ever since our first meeting.” Seeing her astonished expression, he let out a harsh laugh. “Indeed, it is true, Miss Earnest. You are the only lady I have met who has never stared at me in disgust. In fact, you are the only lady who bestowed a smile onto this poor creature you see before you.” He gestured to his face, the red twisted lines seeming to scream in pain. “I am afraid that you shall have to get used to the sight of this, Miss Earnest, for it will be with you every day of your life from this day forward.”

  His tone was hard, his lips thin, and yet underneath it all, Dorothea saw there was a deep vulnerability. Was he concerned that he was too terrible for her to endure? Did he really believe that he was worthless, simply because of the marks on his face?

  His hand still clasped her arm, and without really being aware of what she was doing, Dorothea put her free hand over his. Lord Turner jumped visibly, his eyes traveling down to where she held his hand, before letting his gaze slowly make his way back up towards her.

  “I do not fear you, Lord Turner,” she murmured honestly. “I have never been frightened by you or your scars. I am sorry they pain you so.” She saw him open his mouth, evidently about to suggest that they did not pain him in any way, only for him to close it again upon seeing her sincere expression. A small smile tugged at her lips, as she felt her heart beat with compassion for this gentleman before her, the man who considered himself nothing more than a monster in appearance. “I will not pretend that I am not angry and hurt over what has occurred, Lord Turner, but I believe now that we must make the best of it. Please be assured that I will never shirk from the scars you bear. I do not find them in any way disconcerting.”

  Lord Turner’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he did not believe her, but Dorothea held his gaze steadily. She felt her heart begin to settle within her, calming itself completely with the knowledge that she would marry Lord Turner and therefore would not have to face her father’s wrath.

  “Very well, Miss Earnest,” Lord Turner muttered after a moment, his dark eyes resting on hers with nothing more than a gentle contentment. “Our engagement will go ahead as planned, but only because you wish it to be so. However, whilst we will call the banns, we will not wed until at least a month.”

  Her anxiety rose like a wall before her.

  “Simply because I do not know you particularly well,” he continued, his hand slowly letting go of her arm until both of her hands fell to her sides. “I have made something of a mess of things thus far, and I feel it my duty to court you for a time before the wedding takes place. Does that please you?”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Dorothea nodded, silently praying that her father would not raise any issue over this. “Of course, my lord.”

  “Turner,” he said firmly. “We are engaged, are we not? There is no need for formality.”

  For a moment, Dorothea was lost for words. Was this man, this stranger, now to refer to her as Dorothea? It was such an intimacy that she hardly knew what to say, unable to bring herself to allow him to call her by her Christian name.

  “It appears our host is ready for us,” he continued, evidently not seeing her confusion. “Come, Dorothea. We ought to sit together so that the guests here can see that we are truly content in our engagement. Unless, you intend to play the pianoforte for us all?”

  Surprised, she looked up, only to see one brow rising and a small, gleaming smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He was teasing her, she realized, and despite all the flurrying thoughts going through her mind, she found her heart lifting just a little. Perhaps this gentleman would not treat her as her father did. Perhaps there would be tenderness and consideration in their life together.

  “There we are,” he murmured, his eyes still fixed on hers. “A small smile, at least. Then I must believe that the prospect of being the bride of a beast such as myself cannot be too terrible.”

  “You are not a beast,” she replied firmly, putting her hand on his arm as they walked together towards the drawing room, where their host had been beckoning them to come to. “And no, Lord Turner, I confess I will not be playing the pianoforte this evening. As I think I have said before, I am woefully unskilled at such a thing.”

  He chuckled, and Dorothea could not help but smile at him. Her heart was doing all sorts of confusing things as he led her to a chair. She was aware that there were a good many whispers already going around the room about them but found that she did not particularly care. Her future, such as it was, appeared to be quite settled. No longer the wallflower, she was soon to be Countess Turner, wife to Earl Turner. Just as long as Lord Turner did not find out the truth about her father’s demands, then all would be quite well.

  Finally, she might be free of her nightmare.

  7

  “It is very good to see you again, Miss Earnest.”

  Dorothea, who was all too aware that her father was busy watching them both through a chink in the lace curtains, tried to smile as she took Lord Turner’s arm. “Shall we go, Lord Turner?”

  He nodded and turned to walk along the pavement, which would take them to St James’s Park. It was not a particularly long distance, but Dorothea could still feel her father’s eyes on her with every step she took. It was not until they had turned the corner that she finally let out her breath, relieved that he could see them no longer.

  “Miss Earnest, might I ask you something a little personal?” Lord Turner asked, a little awkward in his glances towards her.

  She tried to smile but felt her stomach twisting itself in knots all over again. “Of course, Lord Turner.”

  He did not immediately continue the conversation, and Dorothea felt herself grow all the more anxious as she waited. Was he about to tell her that he had chosen not to continue with their engagement? Was it all to be for nothing? She could not imagine what punishment her father had planned for her, should that be the case. For whatever reason, he had spent the last few years insisting that she did not marry or even court any gentleman of the ton despite taking her to London, only for this engagement to Lord Turner to occur.

  “I…I must know, Miss Earnest, whether or not you are truly content to marry me,” Lord Turner said a little hoarsely. “I will speak truthfully to you, Miss Earnest, and state that I have long been thinking of marrying so that the family line might continue, but never did I once think that it would be under these circumstances.”

  “Nor did I,” she murmured, half to herself. Feeling him study her carefully at such a response, she blushed furiously and dropped her gaze to the pavement in front of her.

  There was a momentary pause. “I can tell that this has inconvenienced you, and for that, I am truly sorry,�
�� Lord Turner muttered, passing a hand over his eyes as though he both regretted and was pained by the experience. “I am sorry, Miss Earnest, for agreeing to the wager. Did you have any knowledge that this was what he intended to do?”

  For a moment, Dorothea wondered if Lord Turner was asking her this question because he believed that it had been done purposefully by both herself and her father. A thrill of fear ran up her spine.

  “I did not know that my father intended to barter me off, no,” she replied as calmly as she could.

  “And you have no other suitors?”

  Her cheeks burned, and she lifted her chin, attempting to keep her composure. “No, my lord. I have no suitors. As you know, I am something of an embarrassment to my father. I am a bluestocking, and I particularly enjoy cramming as much information as I can into my head. Pretending to be a wallflower has, in fact, aided me with this – although my father is less than pleased, as you can imagine.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Turner murmured, sounding entirely unconvinced. Dorothea held her breath, wondering if he intended to then ask her more questions on the subject. She feared that she might, in her anxiety, confess something she ought not to. Would she tell him that her father had refused all of her suitors over the last three Seasons, without giving her any particular reason? Would she tell him that her father had not held back his hand when she had dared to question him about it? Feeling herself tremble within, Dorothea set back her shoulders and tried to appear nonchalant.

  Clearing his throat, Lord Turner’s voice took on a more jovial tone. “What is it about books that attracts you so?”

  She shrugged, letting out a breath of relief that matters seemed to have moved on somewhat. “I enjoy reading, my lord, that is all. If it improves the mind, then all the better.”

  “And does your extensive reading prepare you at all for what life will be like married to one such as I?” he asked in a slightly gruffer tone. “I confess, Miss Earnest, that you will be somewhat subjected to a good deal of scrutiny. I am not exactly the picture of happiness and contentment that so many others seem to search for.”

  There was a pain in his voice that Dorothea could not help but note. Casting her eyes up at him, she took in his scars without feeling the need to look away or avert her eyes. Lord Turner was evidently aware of her consideration of him, for a slow, red flush began to creep up his neck as they walked side by side, but she did not look away. The skin was twisted and painful looking, as though someone had ripped it apart only to attempt to put it all back together again. And yet, it did not turn her away from him.

  There was something about him that spoke to her, something that told her there was more to him than he was willing to let her see at this present time. Perhaps the years of being alone, the years of bearing the shame and the pain of his injuries had left him rather afraid. Afraid of showing his true nature to another living soul.

  “I do not think, Lord Turner, that I have anything to be scared of,” she replied softly, her lips curving gently as he looked down at her. They had come to a standstill, she realized, as she continued speaking, finding that there was something in his eyes that burned right through her. Hope, she realized, with a start. There was hope there. Hope that she would not turn away from him, as so many others had done.

  “You are not a little perturbed about all that you may have to endure by my side?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Can it be that you are being truthful with me, Miss Earnest?”

  Almost desperate to let him see that she meant every word she said, Dorothea put one hand on his arm and felt the strength beneath her fingers. “Your appearance says nothing about the man you are,” she said quietly, putting every bit of emphasis she could into her words. “I do not know the kind of character you have, Lord Turner – and I confess that I have thought quite badly of you thus far, given the gambling with my father – but I will have to give you the chance to prove yourself to me. After all, you have offered me the chance to step away from this marriage if I so wish, and that is kind indeed. So no,” she finished, smiling at him now. “No, I will not fear you nor what will come from being by your side, either as your betrothed or as your wife. Does that answer satisfy you?”

  For a long moment, Lord Turner said nothing. His eyes were bright and fixed on hers, as though he could hardly believe that she was standing there before him. Dorothea stayed exactly where she was, feeling his arm tighten just a little underneath her fingers.

  “You are quite remarkable, Miss Earnest,” he said eventually. “You are the only lady in all of London who has not looked at me with either pity or horror – or both, I should say.”

  Shaking her head, Dorothea let out a small sigh. “Then that is their mistake, Lord Turner. Not yours.” She felt her heart go out to him, seeing that there was a good deal of pain and suffering underneath the brusque portrayal of himself that he put out into the world. Perhaps, just perhaps, they would find a way forward together. On instinct, she made to reach for him, to let her fingers brush along his face as if to prove that he was not grotesque to her, but he stepped back at once.

  “Shall we, Dorothea?”

  Now it was her turn to blush, for the way he said her name—in such a warm, intimate, and friendly tone—made her suddenly fully aware of the situation she was in. This man was to be her husband, which meant that there would be a good deal more intimacy to come. She would have to get used to him calling her by such a name.

  Ask him about his scars.

  Despite herself, Dorothea shuddered slightly. Her father had been most insistent that she ask Lord Turner about his scars, and whilst he would not say why such a thing was important, Dorothea had silently refused to agree. She certainly would not ask him now, not when she could see just how troubled he was at such a thing. The poor man had suffered quite enough without being questioned about such things. Of course, that would mean that her father could easily beat her for refusing to obey him, and it was this thought that made her tremble. She did not want to have to deal with such pain again.

  Perhaps she could lie. She would tell her father that Lord Turner had not wanted to speak of them and had thrown her questions aside quickly. Closing her eyes for a moment, she swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and continued on as she was.

  “You are tired, I think.”

  They had turned into St James’s Park by this point and, a little surprised, Dorothea looked up at Lord Turner and saw the concern in his expression. Concern for her.

  The very realization warmed her. When had she last had someone truly concerned over her welfare? Her father did not care, and she had lost her mother a good many years ago. That had been the last time, really. Her mother’s love and tenderness had never been forgotten, and Dorothea had found the absence of it a troubling thing to bear.

  “I am quite all right, Lord Turner,” she replied gently. “I was just lost in thought. That is all.”

  “In thought?” he repeated, his lips quirking. “Might I ask what it is you are considering?”

  Dorothea hesitated. She could not exactly tell Lord Turner that she was thinking about his scars and what her father had asked her to do. Therefore, she was left to scramble about for something else to say.

  “I…” Trailing off, she grasped frantically for an answer. “I confess, Lord Turner, I was thinking of a good many things. There is so much I do not know about you, and I suppose—”

  The smile faded from his face. “You wish to ask me about my past? About these?” he asked, his brows beginning to come together as he gestured to his scars. “Is that what it is?”

  “No, indeed not!” she exclaimed, her heart hammering wildly. “I should not dream of asking such questions.”

  Sighing, Lord Turner indicated the bench nearby. “I will tell you this, Dorothea, you are quite unable to hide your emotions from me. I can see that you are deeply concerned and wish to hide the truth from me, but you need not do so. Neither do you need to be worried about asking me anything you wish. I will tell you whate
ver it is you want to know since I am to be your husband after all. You have every right to know the kind of man your husband is.”

  Mortified that he had been able to see just how much she had been trying to hide the truth from him, Dorothea sat down at once and turned her face away from his, looking out across the park. There were a few carriages going about here and there in that slow, cumbersome fashion that allowed everyone else to see who exactly was within. In addition, there were more than a few gentlemen and ladies walking within the park. She tried to cool her cheeks simply by clasping her hands in her lap and telling herself furiously that she was quite composed, but it did not work.

  “I have not always been a good man,” Lord Turner began, his voice low. “It was my own self-importance and lack of consideration for others that gained me such injuries. I am quite sure you have heard the stories. I cared not what my actions would cost those I took from. On occasion, I even cheated.”

  Dorothea’s breath caught in her chest, her color slowly draining away.

  “I was not a good man, as I have said,” Lord Turner continued, a faraway look in his eyes, as Dorothea turned to face him. “But I have learned my lesson in the most difficult way possible. I shall never become that kind of man again, which is why I am most ashamed of myself when it comes to our engagement and how that came about.” Sighing, he shook his head to himself, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder. “I ought not to have gambled. I ought not to have accepted your father’s offer, but I could not bear it any longer. For whatever reason, Lord Gaines pushed me and pushed me and pushed me until I gave in to his demands and played a game of cards. I believe that the only reason I accepted his suggestion of your hand in marriage was simply to put him in his place once and for all, to ensure that he would never ask me to play cards again.” Sighing, he dropped his head and ran his hand over his eyes. “That is the kind of gentleman I am, Dorothea. A gentleman who is trying to ensure he does not return to the vices that held him so tightly.” Looking up at her, he touched her hand with his, and Dorothea started violently. Lord Turner did not remove his hand, however, but kept it there despite the fact that she was now breathing rather quickly.