Waiting for a Rogue by Marie Tremayne

Author:Marie Tremayne
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-07-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Jonathan stared bleakly out the window as the carriage swayed and bounced along the uneven country road. After spending most of his life in the busy shipyards of Massachusetts, he could grudgingly admit to appreciating the rural scenery of Hampshire. At this moment though, the sight of leafy hedgerows and passing birch groves did nothing to improve the state of his mood, and he was no good at hiding it. With a sigh, his mother threw her hands up in frustration and stared at him plaintively.

“My goodness. I’ve no idea what Lady Caroline could have said to upset you. I know she can be a bit brusque at times, but you haven’t said more than two words since we left Willowford House. What happened?”

Releasing a breath, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Was she rude to you?” she asked anyway.

“Not particularly.”

Dorothea’s eyes remained steady on him. “Then what is it?”

Taking a moment to mentally debate the wisdom of imparting the true source of his troubles, he went ahead and said it anyway with a low growl of discontent. “She told me that Reginald Cartwick’s widow would be arriving soon with her new husband.” He shrugged and glanced away. “I suppose I just wasn’t expecting it.”

She pursed her lips in thought, her eyes evaluating him carefully in the shadowy interior of the carriage. “Fine. I can see how news of Lady Evanston’s arrival might cause you to feel a bit uncomfortable. You received the estate she was living in and there is bound to be some awkwardness. But it still doesn’t explain the reaction I’m seeing—”

“And what are you seeing, Mother? How am I supposed to react to this?”

With a gruff noise of irritation, he returned his gaze back to the window while she sat across from him in silence. He knew full well she was busy mulling over the possibilities in her mind, and that his uncharacteristic loss of temper had given her plenty to consider. He also knew that it was very likely that she would reach the correct conclusion: that he had scrapped his better judgment and fallen for Lady Caroline—an aristocrat, for God’s sake—who would never consent to being his, with parents who would never agree to the match anyway. Eliza’s arrival would serve as the first of many nails in the coffin of a relationship that had been doomed from the start. He knew it, Caroline knew it and now his mother probably knew it too.

He reached up to massage his temples. They had started to throb with an annoying ache.

Rather than continue to pursue what was obviously a touchy subject, she simply made a tiny noise of acknowledgment then directed her eyes out her own window. “I certainly don’t have all the answers, dear. Although Lady Frances did tell me something rather interesting today.” She reached up to adjust the hat that sat upon her thick, black curls with wisps of silver woven throughout. “I thought you might want to hear it, but it seems you’re not in the mood for conversation.

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