Page 11 of A Devious Secret

Gemma took a sip of her drink. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“I saw him at Lady Westmoore’s soiree a few days ago, but we only exchanged a few words before that woman returned to his side.”

“That is most unfortunate,” Gemma said. “I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to him since he told me that he intended to remarry.”

“I can only imagine how hard that conversation must have been for you,” her aunt remarked.

Gemma sighed. “I do not understand how my father could have moved on so quickly, as if my mother meant nothing to him.”

“I know your parents had an arranged marriage, but they appeared to have genuine affection for one another,” her aunt said.

“I thought they did, or at least I hope they did,” Gemma said.

Balfour stepped into the room, interrupting their conversation. “A Madame Gallant has arrived with her assistants, and I have set her up in the parlor.”

“Wonderful.” Her aunt placed the cup of tea down onto the table and rose. “Shall we adjourn to the parlor for your fitting?”

Gemma took a long sip from her teacup before returning it to the tray. As she rose, she said, “I cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”

Her aunt dismissed Gemma with a wave of her hand. “It is the least I can do. After all, we can’t have you traipsing through London in old gowns, now can we?”

“I suppose not.”

Stephen grumbled to himself as he sat in his coach. He was annoyed that he had agreed to accept the invitation to dine with Hawthorne and his family. If he wanted to see Marielle, he could have called upon her this afternoon rather than being stuckdining with a plethora of people. Now he had no choice but to pretend that all was well, even though he felt empty inside.

He hadn’t always been this miserable. He had loved being a captain in the Royal Navy and overseeing his own ship. But now he was running a shipyard. A very profitable shipyard. His father’s man of business had seen to that. Yet, he would give it all up to feel something again.

The coach came to a stop in front of Lord Montfort’s townhouse and he opened the door. He knew it was expected of him to wait for the footman, but he was tired of doing what he should. He would much rather do what hewantedto do.

He may have been born into this life of privilege, but he had experienced the worst depravities of men when he was in the French prison. It had changed him, and not necessarily for the better. It made him realize that he couldn’t keep going on as he had. He felt lost in a world of nothingness; a world of scorn and noise. Something had to give, and he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

After he stepped onto the pavement, he adjusted the black top hat on his head before he approached the main door. He had just reached for the knocker when the door opened.

“Good evening, Mr. Wycomb,” Balfour said as he went to stand to the side. “I hope you had a pleasant day.”

Stephen resisted the urge to huff. He hadn’t had a pleasant day since his ship had been sunk by the French. “It was tolerable,” he decided on.

Balfour maintained his stoic expression, showing no reaction to his jaded response. “I was just about to ring the dinner bell,” he said. “If you follow me, I will show you to the drawing room.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Stephen said. “I can find my own way.”

“If you insist, sir,” Balfour responded.

Stephen made his way across the entry hall and stepped in the drawing room. He had been to this townhouse nearly every day since his sister had returned from her wedding tour with Hugh. He wanted to spend as much time with her before the end of the Season. After that, he intended to return home to Brightlingsea- alone. That is what he preferred. Frankly, that is what he deserved.

His eyes roamed the spacious rectangular-shaped room and his eyes landed on the pianoforte. He used to listen to his mother play for hours. He smiled at that memory.

Marielle’s voice came from the doorway. “Careful, Brother. If you continue to smile like that, one might think you are actually enjoying yourself,” she teased.

He turned to face her. “I was just thinking about how Mother would play the pianoforte for hours as she attempted to memorize the pieces.”

“Mother loved nothing more than playing for others,” Marielle reflected.

“That she did.”

Marielle walked further into the room with a smile on her face. “I am so pleased that you decided to join us for dinner.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Stephen admitted. “I didn’t dare refuse Lady Montfort.”