His arms tightened around her, and she leaned against him. She never wanted him to leave, but with each passing night the threat of being caught in even further scandal hovered over her.
“I want to marry this morning,” he continued. “I have the license and I can have a priest at the house within an hour. Let’s simply marry so we may weather this storm together.”
Selina took a deep breath. She wanted to — oh, how she wanted to. She knew he’d propose marrying her quickly at some point. That was simply in Edmund’s character.
But Selina couldn’t take advantage of him, of his love for her. No matter how desperately she needed him.
She shook her head. “No. We cannot.”
She stepped from his embrace and in the firelight turned to face him. Her voice caught in her throat, and she hastily swallowed. Pressing her fingers to the tops of her thighs, she struggled to retain her composure.
“Father’s trial is in one week,” she said in a facsimile of a normal voice. “We must put all our time and efforts into that.”
“If we marry now,” he said, firelight glinting off his naked chest, “then we can dispense with all this… hiding. And you will have the protection of being a countess.”
Selina shivered and nodded. He was right; she knew he was. His position offered him — and would offer her — far more than being the daughter of a merchant could. Especially one accused of murder.
That wasn’t why she refused him. Selina refused Edmund to spare him the indignity should they not be able to save her father. She shuddered, swallowed hard against the thought. She hated thinking that, hated the mere mention of it. But the thought still managed to creep in and take root.
She couldn’t do that to him. Confident as she was in the barrister they hired for the trial and in the investigators she and Edmund hired, Selina could not risk Edmund. Refused to risk him. The taint, if any, would remain exclusively on her.
She loved him too much for anything else.
But she needed him. Needed him so much. Not only the nights she spent in his arms or the comfort she sought from his body. She needed his presence by her side as the days slowly dragged by, as she visited her father in Newgate, as the broadsheets told increasingly horrible lies about Arthur Lyndell and his business.
When her father was found innocent, Selina wasn’t sure anyone would do business with him again.
But that was for later. After the trial, still a week off.
“I cannot consider that now, Edmund,” she whispered, her hand on his chest, just over his heart. “I simply cannot.”
She looked up at him through her lashes and tried to hide her emotions, her fears. He knew her so well, all she was. She wanted to say yes — knew she ought to. And knew Edmund understood why she did not. He knew her so well, so very well.
Selina dropped her hand, but he caught it. “Please don’t press. All my attentions are focused on Father.”
“My attention is focused on you,” Edmund said quietly, his words no less heartfelt or firm for that. Her heart flipped slowly in her chest. “What if you’re with child?” he demanded.
“Then a few weeks will make no difference one way or the other,” she whispered.
Shivering, she wanted to simply stand in his embrace. Selina forced herself to step back. “I don’t want to discuss this further. You need to leave, it’s already late.”
Even in the flickering light of the fire, Selina saw his lips tighten, the anger and annoyance in his stance. She knew he wanted to discuss this further, argue this more.
Selina was too afraid to, and she admitted that to herself, at least; she was afraid of her own weakness. That if she spoke to Edmund of her fears, he’d too easily convince her to marry him and use him for protection.
He wouldn’t understand her fear for him.
“This discussion is not over,” he snapped.
Edmund stepped back and dressed. “I don’t like leaving you without the protection of marriage,” he said as he shook out his trousers and slipped them on.
All she could do was nod. A flicker of hope kept burning deep in her chest, despite all her efforts to temper it. All her fear that it might burn too brightly and overwhelm her.
Edmund shrugged on his coat and crossed to where she still stood by the fire. He gathered her close and kissed her, a long, deep kiss that made her stomach flutter and all her doubts and fears fall away.
Then he stepped back, and the chill returned.
“I shall return after breakfast,” he promised.
Selina nodded. That was the soonest they’d decided he could return without too much gossip. The door closed softly behind him, but she made no move to return to bed. Their bed.
Could she put him off for another week? Longer, in the event her father was convicted? Selina wanted Edmund to be happy, and while she firmly believed she could bring him happiness, that fear remained.
He deserved an untainted wife.
Her hands rested on her belly. Was she with child?
Selina drew in a shuddering breath. She prayed she was not. She refused to be in such a position that forced Edmund to marry her from a sense of obligation. Should she be with child and her father found guilty, Edmund would not leave her.
She should shout with joy because he loved her that much. But it terrified her, the lengths Edmund willingly went to protect her.
However, her greatest prayer was that her father was found innocent. Only then could she think about her future with Edmund. Any other woman in her position would’ve said yes, and quickly enshrouded herself in Edmund’s title and protection.
Selina knew she was far too practical for that, possessed far too clear a sense of things around her. She was not ignorant to the damage the scandal already inflicted upon Edmund. And she refused to inflict an additional blow upon him by marrying him.
Moments after Edmund left, her door opened. Annabelle entered, a heavy dressing gown wrapped around her, dark blonde hair braided.
Neither of them got much sleep any more.
Selina watched her friend cross the room to the fireplace and sit in one of the chairs. It had become their nightly ritual — after Edmund left her bedroom, Annabelle entered, and they talked. Not about Edmund, never that.
Annabelle had mentioned Edmund’s illicit stays only once, and that was to say, “Be careful.”
Selina moved to her vanity and picked up the bottle of sherry she’d started keeping in her rooms. Pouring each of them a glass, she handed Annabelle hers and sat in the chair opposite.
“He wants to marry me,” she whispered. “Tomorrow or the next day.” Selina shook her head. “I can’t allow it,” she said and drained the small glass. “I cannot allow it.”
“Why not, Selina?” Annabelle asked sharply. “The marriage will offer you a security you don’t have now. And it will hold Lord Granville to you.”
Selina’s head jerked up, and she stared at her friend. Annabelle was not usually so mercenary.
“This is an extreme situation,” Annabelle added, as if she read Selina’s mind.
“No,” she snapped. “I refuse to do that. Why should he or his house be marred by all this? I care more for him than I do for my own future.”
Annabelle sighed and drained her own glass but nodded her acceptance. “Have you spoken with those investigating the murder?”
Selina nodded. She looked at her feet, where the sherry bottle sat, but did not reach for it. “I met with them briefly,” she said and looked back up at Annabelle. “Edmund and Mr. Hamilton are dealing with the particulars.”
She sighed and shook her head, shoulders slumping. “They’ve found very little. I know—” her voice rose, stronger now— ”I know Mrs. Ashworth hides something.”
Her fingers tightened around the delicate crystal of the sherry glass. “At first I thought her lies were a grieving woman lashing out.”
Selina shook her head, the scene from the courtroom played in her mind over and over. The nauseating heat, the w
ords, so few of them, that condemned her father.
“There’s more.” Anger and the strength of her conviction in Arthur’s innocence colored her voice. “Why did Mrs. Ashworth’s tears alone cause the indictment?”
Selina shook her head, a hard jerk. “No. There’s more. It came about too quickly.”
“Having never been privy to the inner workings of the Old Bailey,” Annabelle said dryly, “I cannot say. However, it does strike me as an injustice. An injustice to us — we know Father so very well.”
“I don’t know how any could have such an opinion of him,” Selina snapped.
She stopped herself and breathed deeply. None of this was Annabelle’s fault. And though she said nothing and accepted Selina’s grief, she knew Annabelle grieved, too. It was unfair to take out her anger and frustrations, her icy fear, on her closest friend.
“The barrister advised we ask Father’s employees to testify as to his character.” She stopped. “We have no other family to ask. Edmund will testify.”
And oh it hurt her that he had to do such a thing. To degrade himself so. However, when the barrister suggested it, Edmund hadn’t hesitated.
“I should be ashamed to ask him,” Selina whispered, “but I’ll do anything I have to for Father.”
“Lord Granville loves you, Selina.” Annabelle leaned across the short distance between chairs. “It’s plain each and every time he looks at you. There is no shame between you. And,” she added more firmly, “you should not push him away.”
“Perhaps I reached too high when I accepted his courtship,” Selina whispered. the words caught in her throat. “And now, the one kindness I can offer is to distance myself from him where I can.”
Chapter Fourteen
Selina breathed shallowly as she stood on the witness stand. It was almost too much, the musty smell of books and papers, of too much perfume in the close courtroom, of the incense wafting from the censer.
After two weeks, her father looked pale and haggard; his clothes hung off his thinner frame. Despite being brought food every day, he’d lost his appetite, unable to eat more than a meager mouthful.
But his eyes watched everything. She’d met his gaze as she took the witness stand, and he’d offered a slight smile.
Edmund already testified as to Arthur’s character, his title going some good distance to swaying the jury to their side, perhaps undoing some of the harm the broadsheets had done. He now sat in the gallery behind the jury. Mr. Hamilton and the Earl of Hawkhurst, the gentleman who suggested Mr. Neal their barrister, sat beside the judge on the long bench.
She kept her gaze steady on Mr. Stanley, the prosecutor who stood in front of her.
Her heart pounded erratically in her chest, and with every shallow breath, the myriad of scents made her dizzy. She was petrified, but she refused to show it.
Her fingers ran down the skirt of her dark green gown. Realizing what she was doing, Selina settled her hands on the wooden railing around the witness stand and folded them tightly.
“Miss Lyndell, please allow me to express my sincere sympathies for this unfortunate circumstance.” Mr. Stanley looked at her then around at the twelve-man jury. “But also allow me to inquire as to your whereabouts on the night of 2 October of this month.”
“During the day I was with my father,” Selina said in a strong, clear voice. “He was kind enough to escort me to various shops that day.”
“And in the evening?” Mr. Stanley asked. His wig was slightly askew, and Selina focused on that.
“I attended Lady Seymour’s ball,” she said.
“And your cousin? Miss Barton? She accompanied you to this ball, yes?” Stanley asked.
“Yes.”
“And as we’ve already established,” Stanley continued, “Lord Granville was also in attendance at that ball on the evening of 2 October.”
Selina swallowed hard but merely inclined her head. “Yes.”
“Your father, as far as you know, was not in attendance,” Stanley said, more statement than question.
Her stomach churned sickly, but Selina merely shook her head. “No.”
“And you are unaware as to whether he remained in your home or not.” Stanley turned to the judge then back to her.
“He informed me he intended to read and retire early.” She raised her voice and narrowed her eyes slightly. “I have no cause to doubt him.”
“Yes, yes.” Stanley walked around the prisoner’s box in front of the jury. “But you cannot assure this court he remained home all evening,” he said and turned back to face her, black robes whirling around his legs. “Can you?”
“As I said,” Selina repeated, her fingers tightening around each other, “as far as I know, he was home.”
Mr. Stanley nodded. “No further questions.”
Selina wanted to say more, wanted to defend her father, but knew it wouldn’t help. Mr. Neal and Edmund had been very clear on that. Instead she nodded and left the witness stand. She desperately wanted to give her father an alibi, wanted to say they spent the night in the library reading.
Too many people knew she attended Lady Seymour’s ball. Perjuring herself would help no one.
Her stomach clenched, and Selina licked her lips. Her father offered another slight smile and with a nod in return, she stepped from the witness box. Exiting the courtroom, she walked down the short hall. She climbed the narrow staircase to the upper gallery and immediately found Edmund and Annabelle.
Selina settled between them, but the comfort of their presence did naught to ease the cold fear gripping her. She looped her arm through Edmund’s and clutched his hand. Reaching for Annabelle’s, she held onto her friend and they waited.
“I wish I hadn’t been forced to say that,” she whispered to Edmund.
“You had no choice,” he replied, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “We were seen until very late at that ball.”
And she’d had such fun with him, dancing and laughing and being so very in love. Now the memory made her ill.
Three employees from Lyndell Imports testified next — one of their ship’s captains, a stock clerk who worked for them for years, an office clerk who had been with her father since Selina had gone to the offices and managed their books, and the manager of the bank they employed.
All spoke of her father’s upstanding nature and spoke glowingly of him, his business practices, and his character. Each man swore they never witnessed an altercation or even a serious argument between Misters Ashworth and Lyndell.
Young Peter McArdle took the stand next. A clerk from the inner office who ran the contracts between Lyndell Imports offices and their merchants, he was skinny and short, but had a wide smile and laughing eyes. Ten and five, he was just able to look over the witness stand’s railing, but refused a box to stand upon.
Efficient and always kind to her, Young Peter stood nervously and waited as Mr. Stanley stood.
“Master McArdle,” Stanley began.
Selina saw Young Peter start at the polite address and hid a faint smile. The office called him Young Peter, nothing more.
“We’ve established you are employed at Lyndell Imports and are often in the inner offices, awaiting contracts. Which means,” Stanley said, his voice rising, “you’ve been witness to the inner workings of that office.”
Stanley turned to face her father and the jury, standing beside his end of the table. “Tell me, how did you find Mr. Lyndell and Mr. Ashworth’s relationship?”
“You mean how they get along?” Young Peter asked, peering up at Stanley, his wild brown hair tilting precariously to the side as he looked askance at the prosecutor.
“Yes.”
“They did not get along.”
Selina’s blood froze. She jerked to the edge of the bench and stared, horrified, at the boy. Her fingers dug into Edmund’s hand, and she struggled for breath. Beside her, Annabelle gasped but otherwise remained silent.
“They pretended,” Young Peter continued. He tuned sligh
tly in the witness box so he did not look at her or Arthur. “They pretended to get along with each other. But behind closed doors, they were always snapping at each other.” He shook his head. “It was very bad.”
“Thank you, Master McArdle,” Stanley said and sat.
Selina barely registered Edmund beside her, barely felt his hands around hers as Mr. Neal stood and walked the few paces to the stand. Fingers numb even in Edmund’s grasp, she stared hard at Young Peter, willed him to look at her. He fidgeted but carefully avoided eye contact.
Edmund’s body shifted closer to her, and though Selina felt his warmth, it did little to ease her. Nauseous tension roiled in the pit of her stomach.
“If their office doors were closed,” Neal said, “how do you know they were simply not discussing the news of the day? Or having a spirited debate over a night’s entertainment?”
Young Peter shook his head and shrugged. He leaned forward, one hand on his wrist as he did so. “I could tell.”“
“You could tell?” Neal asked with heavy skepticism. “And are you a learned study of human behavior?”
The jury and the gallery all laughed at that, with the judge adding his own guffaw. But Selina barely managed to take a deep breath at Mr. Neal’s words.
“Are we to believe this child” — he turned to the jury and gestured to Young Peter — ”could tell from behind closed doors whether two old friends were engaged in a spirited debate or an antagonistic squabble?”
Mr. Neal shook his head and turned for his seat. “No further questions.”
“He may have turned that around,” Selina whispered to Edmund, with more hope than substance.
Edmund nodded, fingers still rubbing against hers. “Yes, possibly. It’s merely a boy’s testimony. He has no true credibility.”
Selina nodded. She hoped so. Oh how she hoped that was indeed the case.
“We call Mr. Denley to the stand,” the courtroom clerk announced.
Selina had mixed feelings about Mr. Denley. She’d never told Edmund, but before she left for finishing school, she thought Mr. Denley interested in her — the boss’s daughter. Efficient enough as the head clerk, Selina always felt as if Denley looked for a rich woman to marry. He wouldn’t be the first.
Improper Match: Scandalous Encounters Page 12