The Bittersweet Bride

by Vanessa Riley

  She looked at him as she played with the fingers of her silky gloves. “I’ll apologize to her, if that will make things right.”

  He smiled at her and leaned down. “Go whisper your apologies to the boy, Philip Cecil. Do it soon; he’s going deaf. Seems starving makes for long-term problems, ones begrudged words can’t make go away.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “I’m a good person. There are charities that could’ve helped.”

  “Yes, I’m sure there are plenty waiting to help a Blackamoor carrying a mulatto baby.” Fingers shaking with repressed fury, he put the toy down, whipping his hand to the door. “Good day, Mother.”

  “I’m sorry, Ewan.”

  Pointing again at the door, he watched her pout and sigh, reminding him of how she used to make him think Lord Crisdon had been cruel to her. “Go back to Father and make amends with him. You two are of the same mind. Use his money and buy the widow off. I want peace, and it can’t be had caught in your struggles. Theodosia was right to not want to be a part of this family.”

  “Ewan.” Her lips thinned and she poked at his sparse chair. “I wanted nothing of the usurper. But that was a long time ago.”

  “I love words; Shakespeare’s the best. ‘To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.’ To be true to me, is to know the truth of your cruelty. It cannot be forgotten. I wish I could choose to be a Cecil, not a Fitzwilliam.”

  “We are not all bad, Brother.” Jasper strolled inside and headed straight for the toy. Moving it about as if he tried to avoid eye contact, he pushed the horse back and forth. “For Lucy? And am I interrupting?”

  “No and no. Mother was leaving.”

  She wiped at her mouth and walked to the door, as if her short heels were mired in mud. “Lord Hartwell, you send the girls to me any chance you get.”

  “Will do, Lady Crisdon.”

  She grasped the revers of his brother’s coat. “Convince him of what he owes to the family.”

  “Of course. Ewan, you must support…which side again? The Fitzwilliam side, the one that leads to bickering, or the other, like good old Cecil, who supported family. It’s a tough choice.”

  Mother frowned and released him. “Remember who will help your horrible wee-ones get ready for their come-out.”

  “Good day, Mother. This is a threat-free dominion.” Ewan took her palm and placed it on his heart. “Go in peace.”

  Head drooping, she traipsed away. She might be angry now, but Ewan didn’t think it formed from the right things. That made him dour. He shut the door. “You are early to this side of Town. My neighbors must be curious to see such comings and goings.”

  “I had a busy day. Was a bit of an errand boy. How are you feeling?”

  He leaned over his writing desk and again positioned the toy about a thumb’s width from his papers. “Good.”

  Jasper tossed his hat on the chair and snaked off his gloves. “You don’t look good, but I have some news that might uplift your spirits. I had a nice conversation at Burlington Arcade.”

  “Burlington Arcade?”

  “Yes. I checked my box. It had a reply from my widow. You sure you are feeling well?”

  Ewan spun around to see his brother hovering a bit close. “I said, yes.”

  “Good.” Jasper reared his fist back and belted him in the mouth, knocking him flat. Ewan fell, barely missing the desk.

  The man wiped his knuckles with a handkerchief from his pocket, then extended a hand, lifting Ewan from the floor. “You deserve that.”

  Rubbing his stinging jaw, Ewan nodded. “You still pack iron in your fists. Glad you went for the face, not the chest.”

  “Well, I do want you recovered.”

  “Sorry, Jasper, but I tried to keep you from the widow Cecil. It didn’t seem right.”

  “You are not very Fitzwilliam. That’s why you did it wrong. The conniving is supposed to advance things. Not waste my time or the good widow’s. And we left the poor girl without a response for weeks.”

  He nodded, all while exercising his jaw, opening and closing his teeth. “So she sent a letter of regrets. Did she rail on about me seducing her, then leaving her in dire straits?”

  Jasper’s face lit up like bright candles in a chandelier. “No. That would have been more interesting. No, she said… Well, maybe you should read for yourself.”

  Ewan took the paper and scanned the lines. It said nothing of her complaints from the carriage. It read:

  I have no clever rhyme, just truth. I grieved so long and hard over my first love, carrying him in my heart that I missed the joys in front of me. I live with the guilt of not being enough help for my child.

  Something lodged in his throat. Remorse and a judgmental nature made for difficult mouthfuls.

  I feel the weight of a sorrow-filled heart finding new love when I thought it closed. I feel so heavy.

  “That’s what she wrote.”

  His brother took the letter back and pointed at the last lonely sentence, a swirl of black ink on the very ivory paper. “The guilt of a surviving heart is mighty heavy.” Jasper’s eyes dulled. He pulled a flask from his pocket but then pushed it back inside. “She closed with: If you can understand these regrets, I look forward to meeting with you and the mutual acceptance of our proposal. That is bold; she’s not even waiting for you to kneel.”

  “Not me. That’s not my letter.”

  “You dolt. She is saying that she was in love with you. And she, like me, clung to sentiment too long. She has expressed her fears, yet she still reached for you, us.”

  Ewan couldn’t give in to hope. She was engaged to another. He flipped his head side-to-side. “She has refused me to my face.”

  Jasper shook his head. “She refused the man who threatened her with a play and who originally left her in order to gain the old man’s approval. She doesn’t know the new Ewan, the one who’s stood up to his father and, it appears, his mother, too.”

  Optimism started filling his heart but leached out. His lungs must still have holes. “Why can’t she say these things to me? Not a letter.”

  “That is a minor concern, if you love her. You do love her, don’t you?”

  What did his feelings matter? He craved a dream so much he’d bought a toy for a boy he could never father. He shrugged. “She’s made her choice. It wasn’t me.”

  “Sad. That would make the errand I ran for her silly.”

  He stared at his brother, all while daring his own heart to slow its rush, a tiny bit of hope stirring it. “What did she have you do?”

  “I’ve come from Covent Garden. She gave me her mark to pay any fees to sponsor your play. She charged me with spending up to a thousand pounds for a play that disparages her, for a love she can’t forget.”

  “What? She can’t fight my battles.”

  “Perhaps, but Brown is waiting to see you. The widow Cecil was right. He’s open to bribes to withstand Father’s threats. Go settle things with him and then go answer your newspaper bride.”

  “My play has to stand on its own. I couldn’t let you bribe him. I can’t let Theo—Mrs. Cecil pay my way, either.”

  Raising his arms to stretch as if he tired of being a busybody, Jasper yawned. “So are you going to go fight for the play? Our newspaper bride?”

  If he could get this play sold, despite Lord Crisdon, and despite Theo’s offer, that would be the way to prove his merit to himself. “Take me to Brown. I am selling a play today. Then you are buying me dinner.”

  “What of the widow? She isn’t married yet.”

  “She has chosen her new husband. Perhaps, I should let her have her peace.”

  Jasper seemed downtrodden again, but he donned his hat and started to the door. “Perhaps, she’ll get to that wedding day and change her mind.”

  Ewan spun the horse toy again before following his brother. If the good widow was ready to spend money on Ewan’s dreams, maybe that was a signal
that she was ready to trust him again. He’d haunted her to change her mind, but would she come to Ewan and bewitch him with her changed heart?

  …

  Holding his breath, Ewan stood at the side of the curtain. He mouthed the line in silence as the actress said Cleo’s infamous line, “The price to my heart is a banknote you can’t pen.”

  The actress did it, head held high, then strutted off the stage with her hips swaying. The audience erupted. The laughter and claps shook the place. This was the third week of the play, but the moment felt like the first time.

  Brown came up to his shoulder and chuckled. “This play is a hit. I must admit, you coming to Covent demanding I buy this play for a measly fifty pounds was a gamble I was willing to take.”

  All smiles, Ewan tugged his coat. “I knew these words were gold. I knew how the audience would love them. Admit it, Brown, this was a great deal, only cost you a few more author’s benefit nights.”

  “Yes. It took the fear out of me crossing Crisdon. He hasn’t made a peep of problems. Yet, with this being the third night of your author’s benefit to a packed crowd, minus my fees, you stand to clear a tidy sum. What are you going to do with this small fortune?”

  He hadn’t thought about it. A bigger flat? A gig of my own, instead of borrowing Jasper’s? “I don’t know, but I’ll have to make it good.”

  “Well, maybe you should take some time and start thinking about your next play. I’ll want it. You even got the old Duke of Simone to come, dark money and all.”

  Ewan’s pulse raced, thinking of the last dark money night. That night when he’d first given in to his attraction, when he’d believed Theo would be his. So many things he hadn’t known about her, hadn’t thought to know about her.

  She had trusted him in that moment and he’d taken the opportunity to seduce her again. What a foolhardy thing for a man in love to do. But if she were here seeing his play, the least he could do was thank her. If not for her trying to help him, he might not have pressed Brown. He wouldn’t be living the dream of his heart, seeing his play performed. “I’m going to see if the duke has brought all his special guests.”

  Not waiting for the final act, he spun and was out of the theater, heading to the private stair before Brown’s gobsmacked mouth closed, releasing cigar-tainted breath.

  Conquering one tier of steps, then another, Ewan stood tall on the final landing.

  What if she’d changed her mind, come to see his play, but the shy girl lost her nerve and couldn’t tell him? That’s how he wrote it in his head. His heart pounded as he made it into the lobby. A few people lingered, but most were in the packed boxes. He headed to the final one, Simone’s box.

  As he approached, Ewan heard laughter and hoped there was that one off-note in the tones, caused by someone biting her lip. Impatient, he pulled back the curtain. The duke’s box was crowded, but to the back were two beauties, Theo’s friends. Two, not three.

  His heart dropped. He backed out, closing the dark curtains.

  Disappointment wrapped about him like the shroud to this box. Of course, she wouldn’t come. The stubborn woman was probably off with her squire on a wedding trip. She hadn’t changed her mind.

  Before he could turn and go back down, the curtains parted and Miss Ester Croome came out. She had a hand to her mouth as if she struggled to say something, but nothing came out.

  “Yes, Miss Croome.”

  She took a breath. “Mr.…Mr. Fitzwilliam, I thought that…you’re well?”

  He put his hands behind his back. “Yes, and you look well. How is Miss Burghley?”

  “She’s fine. She’d come say hello, if she wasn’t afraid of disturbing her father. It’s rare for him to come…with us.”

  Shifting his weight, feeling foolish, he nodded. “So I hear.”

  She waved her ice-blue fan that perfectly matched the lace on her long gown and crisp bonnet. “Your play is very good. Your Egyptian character Cleo. She’s nothing like a certain friend of mine.”

  “I know. Your friend was never this character. Tell the new bride that, next time you see her.”

  Miss Croome’s brows rose. “You don’t know. She didn’t marry the squire. She begged off. Miss Burghley and the duke, they helped her get a solicitor. They drafted things for Lester to sign, but he won’t. Now she’s fighting him at the Chancery to change the guardianship.”

  Ewan didn’t know what to react to first, that Theodosia didn’t marry or that she was fighting for Philip. His heart answered both. “She’s still unmarried and she’s in court. Did she get it done?”

  The young woman looked to the floor. When she raised her head, he saw fear in her chestnut eyes. “She hasn’t heard yet, but it doesn’t look good.”

  Anger heated in his bones. He scrunched up his fists. “Can’t they see Lester has no interest in the boy?”

  Miss Croome yanked off her light gloves, exposing her smooth chestnut skin. “It’s difficult for the courts to rule against a man for someone less-than. Lester has even used the accident at the festival against her. Mrs. Cecil is desperate. She’s sending the boy abroad tonight, and she’s selling Tradenwood to the Earl of Crisdon…your father, tomorrow. Then she is leaving for good.”

  He started backing up. “I don’t think she’s taken into consideration what her cousin thinks of this plan. Excuse me.”

  Ester rushed forward and hugged him. “Keep my friend and her son here.”

  “I’ll try my best.” He started down the stairs, only stopped at the office to collect his benefit even before the play was done. He had to hire his way to Tradenwood and haunt his cousin one more time. She needed to see he was his own man in need of the right woman. Surely, she’d let him prove he’d fight every hell to save their son.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Getting Love Right

  Theodosia tried to remain calm, but the maids couldn’t pack fast enough. The Court of Chancery would rule any day now, but the solicitor she’d paid for, who had even hired a barrister—all said the same thing—no hope. Cecil’s will was like iron, specifically naming Lester as Philip’s guardian. A new husband might equal him, but now there was no time.

  At this point, Lester would have to sign the solicitor’s carefully drafted papers to give up his position. Why would he, when his goal was to control her and the Cecil fortune?

  She went down the hall again, touching walls and trim. She hated leaving. Tradenwood was Philip’s home. But at any moment Lester could come take the boy. He was so angry at her for refusing his proposal. If not for Pickens, he would have struck her when he learned she’d nearly married the squire.

  All pretense of tolerating her was gone. He’d hurt her or Philip to have his way.

  Wandering into the nursery, she saw Philip sitting in the middle of the blue rug.

  “Ma—ma.” He smiled then went back to flipping pages in the picture book Ewan had sent him.

  The governess must’ve been careless, leaving things where he could pull them down. Yet, as she came closer, she noticed it wasn’t that book, but foul Shakespeare. Philip must still remember Ewan reading it to him in those days he had recovered at Tradenwood.

  “You miss him. You miss him, too.”

  Arguing, cursing sounded from below. Lester. He had barged into the house, again.

  Scrambling, sliding in her slippers, she scooped up Philip and looked for a place to hide. Under the bed? A table? The closet? The dark closet.

  Swallowing hard, she ripped open the door. “I’m so sorry, Philip. This has to be done.” She put him up on a high shelf. “Stay quiet.” Her voice sounded like her mother’s and she didn’t mind. “It’s for the best.”

  He nodded as she moved a blanket to block the view of him. Watching the darkness cover her child—his blue eyes squinting as she closed the door—broke everything inside. It might as well have been a coal shuttle.

  The footfalls on marble pounded like thunder. She froze for a moment then moved far from the closet and stood near the wind
ow.

  The door to the nursery opened, slamming against the wall.

  Lester stood at the threshold. “So, it is true. Portmanteaus everywhere. You are running. You actually thought you could take the boy without me knowing.”

  “Yes. I should’ve left yesterday.” But she had wanted to see her friends one more time and hear how they had enjoyed Ewan’s play. She shook her head and tried to push past him and lead him from the room. “My comings and goings are none of your concern.”

  “But the boy is.”

  She was still mistress of Tradenwood tonight, and she needed to bluff him out of the room. Chin high, she said, “You need to leave. You are not welcome.”

  “As his guardian, I should know his whereabouts, which means knowing your whereabouts.”

  She tried to pass him, but he blocked her. She huffed her frustration. “You were not invited in this house. You don’t get a say.”

  “Yes I do. When will you learn to heel?”

  “I’m no dog, Lester. Get out of my way.”

  He chuckled, hard and heavy, as he forced her back into the room. “So the dog is trying to run. You act so brave. I almost bought it. You’re nothing but a lucky wh—”

  “I am more than you will ever be. I have honor. Strength that you can’t touch. Things vermin like you will never understand.”

  The sneer washed from his face. He gripped her hand and tugged her to him. “You’ve been nothing but trouble. And I’ll inform the Chancery of your neglect. Shouldn’t you be making me offers, not guff?”

  Theodosia slipped from him, leaving her gray widow’s shawl in his meaty palms.

  She stood up tall. Didn’t dare bite her telltale lip. “You and the Chancery are too late. He’s gone. Your threatening ways are over.”

  Dumping the wool, he looked under the bed and the table. “You didn’t have time to get rid of him.”

  She tapped her chin, playing the part of a conniving shrew. “How long ago did you last see Philip? When was that? Yes, before I tricked you into going to Holland—weeks ago?”