Page 4 of Regency in Color
“Ah yes, my apologies. Thank you for doing your part to protect the vulnerable moral fiber of the ton.” Colin sat up and kissed her on the cheek.
Lady Herstshire demurely tilted her chin down, her honey brown lashes lowering, performing the part of a humble, benevolent member of society better than any stage actress. “I do what I can.”
They both laughed. She kissed his cheek, then gracefully rose from the bed, and departed the room.
Left with only his thoughts for company—ones he greatly wished to evade—Colin tossed back his coverings and slung his legs over the side of the bed. The shock of his feet meeting the ice-cold wooden floor sobered him up better than any of Cook’s draughts ever could.
Before he’d made it to the looking glass, Mr. Lewis, his valet, entered carrying a pitcher of warm water. Colin inspected his reflection, taking the generous growth of fine hair over his cheeks and jaw, the puffy darkness under his eyelids, and the streaks of red mixing with the blues of his eyes, giving them a violet hue.
His grandmother was right. He couldn’t keep carrying on the way he had. The effects of excessive alcohol consumption and continually dwindling hours of sleep were beginning to take their toll.
The time to stop running from his pain had come. Perhaps finding a respectable wife would provide the solution he sought. Stories of former rakes reformed by a good woman's love were a favorite among the scandal sheets. He wouldn’t require love in his marriage. His affection would always belong to the woman whose heart he’d broken several years ago. But perhaps the influence of a polite, well-bred young lady would provide the motivation he needed to make his actions match his desire to be a better man.
“Tell me, Lewis, do I look as bad as I think I do?” Colin asked.
“Probably worse, Your Grace,” Mr. Lewis replied without missing a beat. He placed the pitcher next to the washbasin, then headed to the armoire to begin setting out Colin’s clothing.
Colin’s chest rumbled with his laughter. “Good to know.”
Mr. Lewis had entered his family's employ while Colin was still in leading strings. The older gentleman never veered from the truth, even to spare Colin’s feelings, which was why he held him in the highest esteem and never doubted his loyalty.
“Well,” Colin said, turning away from the glass. “I believe you have your work cut out for you today. Lady Herstshire has demanded my attendance at Lady Devonford’s ball this evening, and I must look my best. I do believe she plans to introduce me to every eligible young woman of marriageable age, and for the first time, I don’t plan to argue with her about it.”
Mr. Lewis’s eyebrows rose. “Does this mean we shall have a new duchess soon?”
“If all goes well, hopefully, yes.”
“Then let us make haste whipping you into shape. You almost look as bad as the day you stumbled home after spending a week with that French actress.”
Colin doubled over and laughed outright. “What a week that was,” Colin said, his dreamy voice far away. He stared off, lost in his wickedly delectable memories of his provocative week with Brigitte, which might or might not have included another woman. That part—as well as most of what had happened—was hard for him to recall clearly. He cleared his throat, coming back to the present. “If I look as bad as that, then you are in trouble, old man.”
“Yes, I know, my lord.”
“Well, let us begin. Perhaps with a good shave.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
Colin glanced at his reflection again while he waited for Mr. Lewis to collect his shaving instruments. Tonight he’d begin his search for a wife. That should be easy enough. As long as he continued avoiding her. The woman he was never meant to love, but always would. It had come to his attention recently that she’d made her debut this season—the reason as of late he’d preferred to lurk about his club instead of attending social functions.
But what could go wrong if they happened to see each other again? What happened between them was a long time ago. They could be civil now. Couldn’t they?
