didn’t. This wasn’t something he could force. Perhaps she didn’t reciprocate his feelings. He’d wanted her for twenty years. In truth, he’d moved on from her long ago, after she’d wed Kendal. He’d never imagined having a chance, and he certainly hadn’t come to this party with the intention of seeing her, let alone pursuing her.
This was the realization of a dream from his youth and nothing more. He’d taken a different path and should stay on it—find a wife now who would suit his needs. That meant an heir.
There were several viable women here. Women without children who might yet bear fruit, and women with children who had proven their ability to give him what he needed.
That sounded so cold and callous, but it was the way of things, particularly for a man of his station. Marrying for love was a luxury most didn’t achieve. Why should he think he was special?
Edmund went to pick up his coat and pulled it on. Then he slammed his hat on his head. Ignoring the hollow ache spreading inside him, he stalked toward the house, intent on downing an entire bottle of brandy if he must. Whatever it took to forget about Genie.
Nursing a slight headache the following morning, Edmund was late to breakfast. When he arrived, the only seat available was between Lady Bradford and Mrs. Grey. He immediately regretted his decision to come downstairs.
Lady Bradford slid him a curious look and whispered, “Are you still drunk?”
“No.” He’d been rather intoxicated when she’d come to his room last night looking for an assignation.
“Well, you look terrible.”
“Thank you.” He nudged the food he’d obtained from the sideboard around his plate with his fork.
Cosford stood at the head of the table. “It’s my pleasure to make an announcement this morning.” He looked to his left at the couple seated there. “It is my distinct honor to share the engagement of Lord Audlington and Mrs. Sheldon!”
Applause and cheers sounded from around the table. Rotherham lifted his glass of ale. “A toast to the betrothed couple!”
Everyone raised their glasses and called, “Huzzah!”
Edmund sipped his ale as the noise of everyone’s reactions caused his head to throb.
“I wonder who will be next?” Lady Cosford said from the other end of the table near Edmund.
He glanced toward Genie across the table next to Lord Audlington, who was gazing besottedly at his betrothed. Genie was staring at her plate.
“My money is on Mrs. Fitzwarren and Sir Godwin,” Lord Pritchard said with a grin.
“Now, now,” Lady Cosford said, pursing her lips. “Let us not speculate. It’s incredibly…awkward.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Mrs. Hatcliff-Lind said, with a ruthless glint in her eye and a smile pulling at her lips.
“Excellent!” Pritchard turned to their host. “Cosford, will you take down bets?”
Lady Cosford waved her hand. “No, no, we can’t do that!”
Cosford coughed. “You heard our intrepid hostess.” He glanced toward Pritchard, and the look they exchanged said the wagers would absolutely happen, just in secret.
“Well, if they are going to take wagers, I will bet on you and Lady Bradford,” Mrs. Grey whispered from his right.
Edmund swung his head around to look at her. “What?”
“I won’t be the only one,” she said, her blue eyes probing his. “Someone saw Lady Bradford outside your chamber last night.”
Hell and the devil. She had come to his chamber, but he’d turned her away. He’d been far too soused to invite a lady to his bed. More importantly, he didn’t want anyone but Genie.
His gaze strayed toward her. She was watching him intently, her mouth drawn into a judgmental frown. Damn. Had she heard the rumor about Lady Bradford?
Swearing silently, Edmund picked up his ale and took a long drink. It didn’t matter what she’d heard or what she thought. She’d been very clear—even after they’d shared that amazing shag behind the stable yesterday.
He stood abruptly from the table and quit the dining room. He had one more day to suffer this infernal party, and then he could get back to his life. The one that hadn’t included Genie and never would.
Chapter 9
One month later, Lakemoor Dower House
Genie set the letter aside and looked out at the gray afternoon. The dismal sky matched her mood. Another batch of letters from friends—and a potential suitor. Not one of them was from Edmund, nor had there been one from him since the house party.
Did she really expect him to write? Despite the intimacy they’d shared, they’d left things with an air of finality. Furthermore, she’d departed early.
After their