Ernest grinned. “Because when you were crying into your endless bottle of whiskey you told me the whole sordid tale.”
Nick didn’t answer but continued to ignore the man. He hated when he made sense. But his decision had been made and that was the end of it. Mulgrave had been correct. He was not good enough for Pamela and she deserved to live in the world she’d been born into.
Now if he would repeat that to himself everyday for the rest of his life, he might begin to believe it shortly before he took his last breath.
He pushed himself away from the wall and strolled the club. If only he could work up some enthusiasm for all the money he was making. His finances were much closer to reaching his dream of selling the club and investing in something respectable. Railroads, stocks and bonds, a hotel, a fine restaurant. But all the enthusiasm he’d had for such projects died when Lady Pamela Manning walked away from him.
Nay. She didn’t walk away from him. He pushed her. Hell, he stomped all over her first. If he ever met her on the street in London, she would probably pull her skirts close to her body so as not to touch him.
He rubbed his hands over his face and walked to the bar. “Whiskey.”
“You sure, boss?” Toby asked.
“Yeah. I’m sure.” He took the glass and returned to his office. Ernest must have sent someone in to clean the place up while he was bathing and eating dinner.
He sat at his desk and placed the whiskey glass in front of him. He stared at it for several minutes, then picked it up and hurled the glass and its contents against the wall. Glass exploded into a hundred pieces and a stream of brown liquid trickled down the wall, pooling on the floor.
“Bloody, bloody hell!”
“Just don’t try to make conversation. A man doesn’t want a wife who chatters all the time anyway.” Corinne pulled on her gloves as she turned to allow the butler to place her cape onto her shoulders.
Pamela glanced over at her brother. In the time she’d been in residence she’d come to realize her brother had developed a hearing problem. He rarely, if ever, reacted to, or commented on Corinne’s constant stream of criticism and advice. And not just to Pamela, but to her husband, their staff, her friends.
He had acquired a facial expression that said nothing. When David was with his wife—which wasn’t very often—he seemed to withdraw into himself and enjoy the life he’d created for himself there. She felt very sorry for him.
“And for heaven’s sake, Pamela, smile. You always look as though you tasted something sour.” Corinne turned and took David’s arm and they all started down the steps.
Pamela, Corinne and David were on their way to another infernal ball. In the eleven days—not that she had been counting—since she left Nick she’d been alternating between weeping, throwing things and being dragged from one social event to another.
Her sister-in-law had taken her under her wing with a promise to have her married within months. It didn’t matter that Pamela told her more than once she had no desire to marry.
Not unless it was Nick.
Nick.
The pain in her heart started up again. No matter how hard she tried she could not understand why he’d gone from the caring, loving, protective man she’d fallen in love with to the harsh, cold man who had easily dismissed her. Something about the entire matter didn’t seem right. Maybe it was her bruised heart that told her so, or maybe she was foolish to cling to any hope, no matter how small.
The Everson’s ball was identical to all the others. Same people, same music, same refreshments, same giggly, silly young girls looking for a husband. Pamela tried to hide herself in a corner, but Corinne was not allowing that.
The parade of young men began as soon as the first strands of music started up. Corinne dragging them all.
“Lord Weatherby, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of dancing with my sister-in-law.” Corinne smiled brightly at the poor man who ran his finger around the inside of his collar.
“No. I don’t believe so.” He bowed and reached out to take Pamela’s hand. “May I have the pleasure of dancing this quadrille with you, Lady Pamela?”
She nodded and accepted his hand as Cor
inne murmured, “Don’t talk.”
Pamela wanted to scream. She wanted to throttle her sister-in-law and shake some sense into her brother. Despite what she had learned about Mrs. O’Leary she almost wished she was back in her comfortable room at her boarding house.
Back before Mr. Nicholas Smith had come into her life, when she was, if not ecstatically happy, at least content. She had her friends, her students, and her freedom.
Now she felt like a pampered little doll given to a young girl to put on a shelf. Never to play with, but only to admire.
Since the dance didn’t require them to be together for long periods of time, she was able to avoid speaking and just nodding at the comments Lord Weatherby made.
As the dance came to a close, she made a decision. She would ask to have the carriage brought around and return home. She was bored, tired of the constant stress of not talking, and her head had begun to ache.