A Regrettable Proposal

by Jennie Goutet

  “Leave her,” came Amesbury’s bored voice. “I warned you. You are well out of that fix.”

  Stratford yanked his hand free and continued to push forward, nearly through to the other side of the crowd when he was held back again, this time by Sir Braxsen. Braxsen’s eyes held sorrow, and he shook his head, the most emotion Stratford had seen in him.

  “Nay. Leave her for the moment. You have your sisters to think about too, and Lady Ingram is demanding to see you. Miss Daventry is innocent of these accusations, I am sure. But there is a smarter way to go about clearing her name than giving more food for gossip by running after her.”

  Stratford’s shoulders slumped. Braxsen was right. If he ran after her, the ton would think she was his courtesan. The damage might already be done. He looked for his sisters and saw Phoebe weaving her way to his side, unhurried and stately.

  “Stratford, you know this is not true,” she said. “I don’t know Harriet Price all that well, but she has the worst reputation for a gossip-monger—a known trouble-maker. Her source cannot be trusted.”

  Before Stratford could reply, Carlton appeared at his side, his words nearly drowned out by the gossip flowing freely around them.

  Carlton had heard Phoebe’s words, and he bit out, “She is the source. Miss Price saw it herself. Gossip occurs for a reason. It may be puffed out of proportion, but a grain of truth lies at the heart of it.”

  Stratford looked at Carlton in disgust. “You were never worthy of her.”

  Phoebe left Stratford and went to Lydia, whose mother had sent for the carriage, stopping mid route in the ballroom to confer with another dowager. Phoebe stayed with Lydia in quiet conference, and when it looked as if Lydia would get upset, brought her to a more intimate spot behind the column.

  Turning his back on Carlton, Stratford watched as the major went over to interrupt the tête à tête Lydia was sharing with Phoebe. Then there was a voice at his elbow.

  “Stratford, I’m sorry to see there was an unpleasant report about someone who is so nearly connected to you. I know you hate scandal.” Judith rested her hand on his sleeve, her expression haughty.

  When he said nothing, she went on. “I knew her mother was in some disgrace, but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. There’s no reason to think she’d go in her mother’s footsteps. Yet … after what we’ve just heard, it seems I was wrong to have acknowledged her. I was trying to be kind, for your benefit, though I admit I had my doubts.”

  Judith inched closer to Stratford, looking over the crowd. “Harriet said she saw her with her own eyes climbing up the trellis in the middle of the night. If you were thinking of aligning yourself with Miss Daventry, you may wish to reconsider.”

  Stratford turned to Judith savagely. “Who told you about her mother? Where do you have this piece of fact?” He spat out the last word in irony.

  “Why, I had it from François Delacroix. He used to meet her mother when visiting friends on the Continent. ‘She was not at all the thing,’ he told me. And it’s no surprise, considering her mother’s upbringing. Who can predict the outcome when a gentleman marries a Cit?” Judith gave a shrug. “This is why it’s so important to consider all facets when making an alliance.”

  You made clear your revulsion for my mother’s upbringing when you turned down my offer. Why are you now here? This wild thought flashed through Stratford’s mind, but instead he asked, “When did you hear this from Delacroix?”

  “Just this evening.” Turning an innocent face to his, Judith added, “I’m sorry, Stratford. I thought you would want to form your own opinion.”

  “And so I still do.” Stratford stalked across the room to where his sisters and friends were gathered in a group. Crooking his fingers with an imperious summon, he said, “Anna, Phoebe, let’s go.”

  “But what are you going to do, Stratford?” Anna said, following in his wake. Phoebe stayed behind whispering furiously in Lydia’s ear.

  “I must go as quickly as I can,” Stratford replied.

  Major Fitzwilliam, his eyes fixed on Lydia, laid his hand on Stratford’s arm. “Worthing, wait,” he said. Resisting an impulse to shake the major’s hand off, Stratford stood in silence.

  “Stratford, may I have a word with you in private?” Lydia asked.

  He moved to follow, with barely concealed patience, but Lydia stopped short. “Major Fitzwilliam, if you will be so good as to come, I’d like you to hear what I have to say.”

  There was an unoccupied room off the corridor on the first floor, and Stratford went in, followed by the major. “Phoebe already knows,” Lydia said, “and Anna you may as well come.”

  When the entire party was assembled in the room, Stratford said, “Make it quick, Lydia, I beg of you. I must not delay.”

  “Stratford, you know how I was when my father died. I felt I had lost everything. My father always made me feel special and never foisted me off on the nurse if he had time to spend with me. After he died, I had no one. Of course, I don’t blame Freddy now, for I can see he had quite his share of burdens that come from being the heir. But I held it against him at the time.”

  Stratford made an impatient gesture, and Major Fitzwilliam glared at him.

  “I was difficult,” Lydia continued, “and when my governess could no longer manage me, my mother dismissed her and sent me to school, where I met Eleanor. She was good to me. She never complained about her situation, though I know it was difficult to have lost her father and then have her mother run off and marry someone, leaving her behind as if she were of no importance. But Eleanor was unfailingly cheerful and courageous, and I became determined to imitate her spirit. I began to pay attention in my studies and participate in school activities. Only …”

  “Go on,” Fitzwilliam encouraged, and Lydia continued with difficulty.

  “The Latin teacher was most attentive, and I fear he saw in me an easy prey. He convinced me to run away with him, and he was charming, and older, and I … I was weak and agreed to it. I confided in Eleanor, and she dissuaded me most earnestly to turn from what she said would be a ruinous path. When I didn’t listen to her, she locked us both in the room and pocketed the key. I threatened to scream or grab it from her, but she only told me to go ahead and try. Then she put one foot over the windowsill and began to climb down. She knew I was terrified of heights and would not follow.

  “I was mad enough that I could have screamed just to make sure she got caught. Except I thought it would all come out that I was the one who was going to elope. I have an inheritance, and they would have no trouble believing it was me.”

  “Why didn’t she stay in the room with you? Why did she climb out the window at night to meet that devil?” Stratford paced the room, angry at Lydia for being selfish, angry at the Latin teacher for seducing innocent girls, even angry at Eleanor for having taken a risk. She was probably too innocent to know how great a risk it had been.

  “Because the Latin teacher said he would wait for me at the same place and same time every night until I came. He knew it was not easy to get away when one wished, and he was sure I would eventually come. He was determined to ruin me. Eleanor went and threatened him.”

  “And spared you from ruin,” the major finished.

  “Yes.” Lydia looked at him for the first time, her cheeks crimson, but refusing to look away. “I was so angry I didn’t speak to her for the entire week before we left on Christmas break. And by the time school was back in session, I had realized the extent of my folly and begged Eleanor’s forgiveness. She forgave me instantly.”

  Anna, darting a look at Lydia, said, “Was she able to escape with her virtue intact?”

  “Anna, I have never been closer to strangling you,” Stratford said.

  “It’s a fair question,” Anna protested. “Perhaps, through no fault of her own, there is some substance to the rumors.”

  Stratford’s jaw worked furiously. He spun around and strode to the fireplace. When he turned back, he was just in time to he
ar Lydia say in a succinct voice, “Eleanor has no cause to blush.”

  “How do you know?” Anna insisted.

  “No one can play act that well,” returned Lydia. “She tried to cajole me to good humor the very next day. She was natural. No one could have been like that after being harmed in such a way, least of all Eleanor. She hasn’t a deceitful bone in her body.”

  “Enough.” Stratford had been pacing back and forth, and he strode to the door. “Major, can you see to it my sisters get home? I don’t want to spare another minute.”

  “Count on me,” Fitz replied. “However, I came on horseback. May I take your carriage and lend you my horse?”

  “Do whatever you need,” Stratford said. “You’ll find your horse in my stables when you arrive. I’ll take my bays from there. Good night.” He gave an all-encompassing nod and left.

  Phoebe was the first to speak. “Please, Lord, Let him reach her in time.” Lydia nodded vigorously, and Anna said nothing. “Anna,” Phoebe continued, “shall we get our wraps? Lydia, if you give me your voucher, I can get yours as well.”

  “I must search for my mother,” Lydia said vaguely, her eyes still locked with Major Fitzwilliam’s. “She will have mine.” Anna seemed perfectly ready to stay where she was, but Phoebe crooked her arm through her sister’s and pulled her off.

  Fitz took a step toward Lydia. “We must not stay here alone,” he said. “If anyone were to find us …” Taking her by the elbow, he looked out the door that had not yet closed and saw there was no one in the corridor. He pulled Lydia after him and stepped behind a pillar on the edge of the ballroom. “Come with me here where we can talk privately without risking a scandal.” Lydia stood with her back to the pillar, unable to meet his gaze.

  “Miss Ingram,” he said, but she did not lift her eyes to his. The major pressed on. “I owe a great debt to Miss Daventry.”

  When Lydia raised her eyes, she saw a faint smile on his face. “How can you look at me so, Major Fitzwilliam? How have you not taken the greatest dislike to me after learning of my folly?”

  “You were a schoolgirl; you were grieving for your father …”

  Lydia shook her head, “I don’t see how you haven’t thrown me over after witnessing my behavior this season. I’ve been nothing but weak-willed, foolish, and shockingly shallow. I can’t fathom how you can still stand my friend after knowing everything you do about me.”

  Fitz took a step closer and, grasping her hand, he placed it on his chest, covering it with his own. “You see yourself as shrinking in fear, and I see someone who loves her brother desperately. You see yourself as volatile, and I see someone who is lively. You see yourself as shallow. I see to the heart beyond that. Of course I stand your friend. I hope I may become more dear to you than that.”

  When her gaze darted to his, he said, “Lydia, may I speak to your brother to request his permission to ask your hand in marriage?” Lydia was unable to reply and dropped her eyes to the medal pinned to his chest, so Fitz pushed on. “I cannot provide for you more than the simplest of life’s elegances, and there will be periods where you’ll need to choose between following the drum and taking up residence in London without me at your side.”

  When she still didn’t answer or even look at him, he refused to falter. “But, my sweet, I promise you that no one will love you as I do, and if I have but one ambition for the rest of my life, it will be to secure your happiness.”

  “Why did you choose me?” Lydia asked, looking up at last. “Did you suspect I could handle the rigors of a soldier’s life better than I let on? For I know I did not lead anyone else to think that.” She gave the ghost of a smile.

  “I do think that,” Fitz replied. “I think you have a great deal more gumption than you let on. But I chose you, my sweet Lydia, because once I laid my eyes on you, I couldn’t take them off again. It was all arms down—a complete capitulation. Do you think you can find it in you to love me back?” He waited, stoic, and when she lowered her eyes, he raised his fingers and lifted her chin, refusing to break her gaze.

  “You may talk to my brother,” Lydia whispered. It was all she had time for before Lady Ingram bore down upon them, her expression livid. She refused to acknowledge Major Fitzwilliam. Lydia gave one lingering look before following her mother to the front doors. When the major turned, Anna and Phoebe were nearly at his side.

  “We have our coats and are ready to set out,” Phoebe said. Major Fitzwilliam nodded, his gaze fixed on Lydia’s retreating form.

  Later, as she and Anna prepared to wait for Stratford’s return, Phoebe remarked how very bright the major’s eyes seemed that night.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The coach rumbled on, and the swaying motion did little to lull Eleanor’s nearly overwhelming despair. Sir Delacroix, thankfully, attempted no conversation, and she was allowed her own private reflections. After two hours on the road, the carriage lurched to a stop, and private reflections were of little consolation. Terror rose up within her as she contemplated what he might be willing to do.

  Sir Delacroix’s demeanor was inoffensive. He got down and spoke a word to the driver, then held his hand up to help her alight. She ignored it, and they stepped into the courtyard, which was still bustling with people, as the hour was not yet advanced. Lanterns were placed on the bench outside the door, and there were lights in the sconces set at odd angles in the yard. Eleanor followed him into the inn, her eyes searching for possible opportunities of escape—but so far she saw nothing, no one she could apply to.

  “A private parlor for my sister and me,” Sir Delacroix said to the innkeeper, who led the way through the crowded taproom toward the back.

  “You’re in luck, milord,” the innkeeper said, bowing deferentially. “The gentleman who has reserved this room did not come. My wife is just roasting the fowl, and we have a suckling pig left over from lunch if that’ll suit. Shall I bring you a meal and some drink?”

  “That will be excellent,” Sir Delacroix replied, “and a glass of lemonade for my sister. The landlord looked sideways at Eleanor and bowed himself out, closing the door behind him.

  “Sit,” Sir Delacroix said. “There’s no point in hovering near the doorway. For one thing, you will allay suspicion if you act naturally. I did you a service by saying you were my sister. You’ll not be compromised until we are well away from England, and by the time I bring you to France, my host will give you a different type of consequence. In any case, whether or not I had come along, your reputation would have been ruined.”

  “My reputation will not be ruined because I have done nothing to deserve it. I will find a way to clear my name,” Eleanor said, regally. But she sat as he directed, knowing her words would have no substance the minute he forced his attentions on her.

  After his directive, Sir Delacroix didn’t seem aware of her existence, and she wasn’t sure if she should find it reassuring or worrisome. The landlord came with the promised fare, and when he bowed himself out again, Eleanor noted the knife that lay next to her plate, as Sir Delacroix served her boiled potatoes and a cut of meat.

  Eleanor sat, ramrod straight, and as Sir Delacroix bent down to take a bite, she slid the knife into the sleeve of her dress and used her other hand to drink her lemonade. He polished off the contents of his glass and set it down with a clunk. “Remove the knife from your sleeve and put it back on the table. It will do you no good, and it will only make me angry.”

  Lips pinched, she lay the knife on the table with dignity.

  R

  Major Fitzwilliam’s horse was waiting at the door as soon as Stratford exited the Skeffington manor. He swung into the saddle and turned toward Ingram’s, hoping he’d find Eleanor there. Before he could ride off, a man in dull colors and a low-brimmed hat sidled up and took hold of the horse’s reins. Alarmed, Stratford raised his whip to strike.

  “Easy, guv. I see you wid the major’s rum prancer, and I must ’ave words wid him.” The man lifted his eyes, and Stratford could see him c
learly in the lamplight.

  “How do you know the major?” Stratford asked, lowering his whip. The man didn’t appear to be a source of danger.

  “He ’ad me follow Dela-craw. That’s right, milord. I see you’re a sharp cull that don’t miss a thing. This is ’bout that furriner, and the major bade me find you if he warrn’t ’vailable.”

  “What is it?” Stratford demanded, impatient to be off. “What is it about Delacroix?”

  “Cove’s took a conweyance bound fer Dover with a trunk strapped to, if I’m not mistook. I followed him to ’Aymarket, and ’e took up a flash mort who dunnit look right pleased.”

  “A woman,” exclaimed Stratford. What did she look like?

  “Green dress, yaller coat …” Eleanor.

  “I must be off,” Stratford said. “Major Fitzwilliam will be out soon, accompanying two women. Please do not frighten them, but try and get word to him where I’ve gone.”

  “I’ll do, cap’n.” Before the man could say any more, Stratford was off.

  Stratford urged the major’s horse in the direction of Cavendish Square and, in short order, his bays were harnessed to the phaeton. Delacroix is run off his legs, he thought as he urged his horses forward as quickly as London traffic would allow. Therefore, the man had nothing to lose. They must have had more than an hour’s head start, and although that was reassuring odds with his bays, he could not be sure of catching them without stopping at each posting house on the way, and he must not miss. The boat would set out when the tide was full, and if he could not overtake them before Delacroix left for France, all would be lost.

  Stratford’s phaeton was far lighter than whatever carriage Delacroix rumbled in, which gave him hope. After an hour of hard riding, he came to the first posting inn and stopped only long enough to be sure no carriage was hidden from view. There was none, and one glance was all it took to see that no one of quality was inside.

  Stratford didn’t think they would have stopped so soon on the road. Delacroix must be as anxious to get to the coast as Stratford was to find him. But he couldn’t take a chance that he had missed them, and he knew Miss Daventry was a resourceful young woman. No, he must stop at every posting inn on the way.