A Lady's Guide to Courtship

XXXIII. Lady Weis

Dearest Lady Weis,

Lovers can offer me what I need most which is company, but they barely listen. But to give them credit, they do succeed in pretending to hear me.

I often find myself longing to have someone I can bring outside, someone who can spend the night with me without thinking of servicing me in bed.

My friends do think I am naught but a rake, and it is quite frustrating to not be able to talk about love and women in one context. The latter is a much preferable subject, yet the former is quite an untouchable one, especially at Grey's.

I envy women who can talk about both and still find themselves without judgement.

Yours,

William

*****

He wanted to believe he was losing the muscles of his legs as he stepped into the parlour. And he felt the time had stopped when he saw Ysabella sitting in the chaise, stiff as a rock.

She was still wearing the same blue gown, but her eyes were now bare of any emotions. The anger was not there, not even a hint of it. No playful, wicked glint, nothing.

She tried to smile at him when he came to stand in the middle of the room, desperate to start talking.

But her current state, the way she looked as if she was too tired, was wrenching his heart.

He had done this to her.

I shall live to torment you for years...

The words she had so wittily spoken at Bertram when she was burning with fever came to him, ringing in his ears, bringing him to a desperation he could barely handle.

He wished she would say the same thing. He wished to hear her teasing, weak voice. He could handle it. He could stay by her side again and watch her sleep until she regains her strength. Truly, he could accept any form of weakness from her so long as it was not this.

This spoke too much of the things he did not want to hear—never wanted to hear.

He could face her brothers so long as she did not say anything about anyone giving up.

Because he did not intend to. No, not now when he was finally certain of one thing and desperate for it.

"I wish to beg for your forgiveness for what happened at the ball. Aurora has no right to complicate matters. You ought to believe me that I did not tell her anything about the servant or the letters. And before anything else, I wish for you to listen and believe my next words," he started, not pausing to give her time to contradict. "We are not lovers. She was never a lover. I am protecting her from someone who wants to hurt her as there is no one else to offer her such protection. Our relationship is nothing more, Ysabella. You have to believe me for it."

She patiently listened as he spoke, her eyes distant and he nearly cursed for not knowing how to deal with this. He once called himself the expert in dealing with the playful, wicked Ysabella Everard, but this hurt and weary one he simply wanted to pull into his arms and pray that everything she was feeling he could manage to absorb for him to bear.

"As to your claims against her," he started again, "I vow to find out the truth. If I find that—"

"I no longer care about Aurora," she interrupted, her voice calm and composed. To his surprise, she smiled and drew a deep breath. "It does, however, cause me relief and much lesser pain to know that you have not been bedding her while I have been foolishly chasing you about."