Seduced by the Alpha prince

Feeling lost

*Jayne*

I rather dreaded the arrival of our guests, fearing that most are coming out of curiosity regarding my husband. Since his accident, we have not been to London. I expect Seafort to put up a convincing front that all is well. I intend to do the same.

I don’t know if it’s the result of the fishing excursion or his riding the horse or his being in the company of Barkley, but he is more relaxed and confident greeting our guests than I had anticipated. He puts people at ease with his limitations. During dinner, when his fish is brought to him, he regales everyone with his tale of how he caught it. Sitting beside my husband at the head of the table and across from Barkley, I am surprised by the grace with which Barkley accepts his portrayal as a bungler while attempting to land the fish my husband has so expertly caught. I’m not certain I would smile as benignly if the laughter came at my expense.

We are in the grand salon now, listening as Miss Louisa dances her fingers over the piano with amazing dexterity. She had her coming out last mating Season, and while she is presently unspoken for, it is rumored that she has at least three suitors vying for her hand. She is a lovely girl, small-boned and delicate. Strange, how watching her I can’t recall ever being that young. In a single night, a few days, I had aged well beyond my years, which is probably why the more elderly of my guests gravitate toward me while the younger, unmarried she-wolves tend to keep their distance.

“I cannot tell you how much my mate has been anticipating our visit here,” Luna lnwood says quietly. “He has always said there are no finer hunting grounds in all of England than Seafort’s estate.”

I smile. “We’re very pleased you were both able to join us.”

Luna lnwood is nearly fifteen years older than I am. She has provided her mate with an heir and three spares in record time, and with each child, her figure has rounded more and more. Yet she still manages to carry herself with incredible grace.

“The girl is quite talented,” Luna lnwood says.

“Quite. Miss Florence will entertain us next.”

“I have far more interest in other entertainments.”

I snap my head around and follow Luna lnwood’s gaze to where a good many of the bachelors stand on the opposite side of the room, near one of three massive fireplaces. Among them is Barkley, his pose more relaxed than the others. He stands in their midst and yet seems apart. While he appears to be watching Miss Louisa, he is not truly focused on her.

“Who do you suppose Barkley will entertain while he’s here?” Luna lnwood asks slyly.

I shift my attention back to the she-wolf. “Pardon?”

“It’s no secret, my dear, that some fortunate she-wolf always ends up in his bed at these affairs. Many a silly chit has ruined her reputation because she couldn’t resist boasting that she had been with him. My money is on Miss Anna St. Clair.”

“Your money?”

“Quite. A few of us married she-wolves… the older ones especially… always wager. Would you care to place your own wager on whom it shall be?”

I am both intrigued and repelled by the notion. “No.”

“Probably for the best. A few have wagered it will be you.”

My jaw drops, but I recover quickly enough to snap my mouth shut. If I try to speak, I’ll no doubt be blathering.

“I daresay I think it a fool’s wager, however,” Luna lnwood continues, as though she hasn’t just insulted me to my core. “It’s well known that Barkley never takes a married she-wolf to his bed.”

As though the ultimate decision rests with him and not me. I almost comment that perhaps married she-wolves don’t want him in their bed. Having known their husbands, they are content with that. But I don’t want to prolong this discussion any longer than necessary. “Then why would anyone wager on me?”

“You’re young.” She lifts a bared shoulder carelessly. “Speculation is that since his accident, your husband…”

“My husband satisfies me in all matters, I assure you.” I am pleased that the practiced words have escaped my lips so smoothly. I hadn’t been certain if the opportunity presented itself that I would be able to successfully protect Seafort’s manhood. He considers these people friends, equals, and here they are gossiping about him as though he were little more than gutter garbage. I’ve feared it would be the case, hence the hours of practicing the precise words and tone in order to deliver them effectively.

I take satisfaction in Luna lnwood’s brown eyes widening. “I meant no insult. It is simply that you have still failed to produce an heir.”

“Did it occur to no one as they were doing all this damn gossiping that my husband and I required time to adjust to the obstacles thrown at us?”

“Yes, of course. As I said, I meant no insult.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my other guests.”

Inwardly, I am seething, but have I learned nothing else in the past three years, I’ve learned to bury my emotions so far down that even I have a difficult time finding them. I want to leave this suffocating room, but I am the hostess, so I smile and introduce to the assemblage each young miss who has requested an opportunity to perform, hoping that her music will capture some gentleman’s fancy.

At one point the hairs on the nape of my neck rise, and I turn to find Barkley’s gaze riveted on me. I can see the speculation in his green eyes, the furrowing of his brow. His intense perusal only serves to inflame my fury.

I wish this entire affair were over, that I could send all my guests on their merry way. Instead, I smile and pretend to give a fig about the latest fashions, books, and betrothals. It is all so damned frivolous. I think my world has stopped falling apart, but I am wrong. It has simply become isolated, my focus narrowed to struggling not to continually grieve for all that has been irrevocably lost.

After the recital, Seafort adjourns to the billiards room with some of the gentlemen. I see to it that the remaining guests have all they need to retire for the night. Most have brought their own servants, but mine are still available to help as needed. A few of the guests are sleeping in luxurious tents on the front lawn, but the more prestigious are given rooms. Luna lnwood had been correct: Seafort’s estate is known for its hunting grounds, and royalty often visits. Over the centuries, new wings and additions have been added to accommodate them, until the residence resembles a palace.

When the rooms finally settle into quiet, I rap on my husband’s bedchamber door and discover he is not yet abed. No doubt he remains in the billiards room with his liquor and cigar… and Barkley. I don’t want to contemplate the direction of their conversation tonight. Who knows what other madness the two of them might conjure together?

I should retire and spare myself the irritation of wondering about their conniving. Tomorrow will be another busy day. But I know sleep will elude me. Instead, I settle my cloak over my shoulders and decide to seek solace in the gardens.