Improper Match: Scandalous Encounters

by Reed, Kristabel

  Octavia looked to the side, where Hamilton stood quietly. “Yes,” she agreed. “That was never in doubt. Oh, Edmund, I wish I could take away your pain. I wish I could sweep all of this away for you.” Her voice dropped so low that he barely heard her next words. “I’ve often wished I could sweep such things away,” she whispered.

  Edmund frowned. He wondered what she meant by that.

  “However,” she said stronger, “I cannot. We must live in this society and bend to those rules.”

  She looked out the window and shook her head again. “As much as we don’t want to.” Octavia took a deep breath and met his gaze again. “Selina understands these things far better than the privileged men around us.”

  “You’ve made your position clear, Octavia,” he said coldly. His control threatened to snap with his sister’s words, and he didn’t want to say something he’d regret.

  “You do not understand, Edmund,” she snapped.

  He stepped sharply around Octavia, ignored Hamilton, and stalked from the room. He had no desire to be around either of them.

  Octavia had always supported him in everything. Edmund had counted on her support now — she’d accepted Isabella and the scandal that woman brought with her. Octavia loved Isabella as her own sister.

  Selina was going to be her sister — would be still, if Edmund had anything to say about it. Yet Octavia’s words said something else entirely. They’d always stayed together, always protected each other.

  It didn’t matter. Nothing did but Selina.

  He shoved his arms through his greatcoat and tugged his gloves on. It didn’t matter. He’d find Selina himself.

  Chapter Twenty

  “You’re awake.”

  Selina tore her gaze from the bleak winter’s day and looked to Annabelle. The wind rattled the windowpanes and the cold seeped into her bones but she refused to move. It took all her strength to struggle from her bed and walk the few steps to the window seat.

  She tightened the heavy blanket around her and returned her gaze to the barren landscape.

  The heavy weight of loss clogged her throat and wrapped around her heart. She swallowed but it did not dislodge, only constricted further, wrapped around her until she couldn’t breathe.

  The sob burned her throat and hot tears seared the back of her eyes.

  “Selina?” Annabelle’s voice echoed as if from a long distance.

  Her cousin’s hand brushed lightly over her hair, loose and tangled down her back. Selina barely acknowledged the other woman.

  “I brought you soup,” Annabelle whispered, her own voice thick with grief. “You have to keep up your strength.”

  The fragrant scent of nettle soup encircled her, but it only made her stomach roil. Selina’s hand fell to her belly, her entire body tender. Fragile.

  “Selina, you have to eat.”

  Selina didn’t bother to acknowledge her cousin’s words, merely stared at the winter landscape.

  “I failed Edmund in every conceivable manner.” The words scraped along her throat, harsh and damning.

  Annabelle sat on the edge of the seat and took her hand. Her fingertips brushed over her knuckles, but Selina’s hands were numb with loss and grief, and the weary stress of the previous few months.

  “This could’ve happened to any healthy woman,” she whispered, fingers soft against Selina’s. “It’s not a failure.”

  Selina tore her gaze from the window, anger surging through her. “I lost his child, Annabelle! Our child! I paid no mind to the possibility I was to have his baby.” A sob caught in her throat, painful and acidic. “And because of that, our child is gone.”

  Her anger sapped her strength and she wearily leaned her head back against the cold panes. “How could I feel any other way?”

  “He will never know now.” Annabelle’s words were emotionless and snapped Selina’s attention back to her friend. “All he’ll know is he does not have the woman he’s chosen. The woman he loves. Perhaps returning to him is a way to correct that — that failure.”

  Eyes wide, heart pounding painfully in her chest, Selina stared, incredulous, at Annabelle. Then she narrowed her eyes. Annabelle never made a secret of her belief Selina made a mistake in leaving Edmund. In running away.

  “That will not happen,” Selina snapped with more force than she thought she possessed. “I made this decision to protect him as I’ve told you again and again. This child might—” her voice cracked and she swallowed.

  Tears slipped down her face, past her tight control. Selina swiped the back of her hand over her cheeks and closed her eyes. When she spoke again it was with more fire, more anger than she felt in months.

  “Do you not think I don’t want Edmund?” she demanded, tears falling faster now. “Do you not think I want him more than anything? He could’ve left me at any time, at any moment. Yet that man, as privileged and esteemed as he is, allowed his name to be raked through the mire and mud. To be with me. He gave no thought to himself.”

  Selina stopped. Tried to control her tears, “He was willing to leave everything he knew to save Father and leave England with us.” She stopped. “With me,” she whispered.

  She shook her head, hands cupping her belly. “And I could not even protect his child.”

  Annabelle gathered her close and Selina sobbed. She felt empty inside, lost. Alone save for Annabelle’s arms around her. Her life stretched as bleak as the cold Scottish winter did outside her window.

  “I’m sorry, Selina,” Annabelle whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Selina breathed deeply of the chilled air and pulled back. She wiped at her cheeks again, struggled to control her emotions. She hadn’t wanted a fire, didn’t care about warmth or comfort.

  How could she ever tell Edmund?

  If she’d stayed, would she even now be heavy with the babe? Selina all too easily envisioned his face when she told him, the happiness lighting his eyes. She imagined what he’d say to her, how he’d pick her up with that unfettered happiness.

  It was a favorite dream of hers.

  Her hand clenched in the blanket. She’d never see that look; never see his eyes brighten with her news or his face shine with joy. Never see the face of their child, his or her eyes staring up at her in as much wonder as she stared down at it.

  Selina took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes, trying to block everything out. Mayhap it was for the best if she never saw Edmund again.

  It was a cruel thing she had done, leaving, to both Edmund and her child. She deserved the bleakness of this cold Scottish weather. She no longer wanted her heart full of joy.

  And it never would be so again.

  Selina pulled further back, away from the comfort Annabelle offered. She shook her head and tried to focus.

  “Was there anything in the post for us this morning?” she asked.

  For the last days, as Selina lay abed weak and grieving, Annabelle avoided talking about their lack of communication with the private investigator, Mr. Bromley.

  “Nothing,” Annabelle said. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “All this time and nothing.” She shook her head in disappointment, and stood, smoothing her hands down her dress. “I’d think by now Mr. Bromley would’ve discovered something useful.”

  Selina nodded, as she knew she was meant to, and returned her gaze to the view outside. “It cannot be an easy task. What killer or accomplice would make it easy?”

  She trailed her fingers over the cold panes. Her touch left a trail in the thick glass, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

  “Perhaps it was a snake-thief and we’ll never know,” she said quietly, resigned to the fact that there was nothing to discover. “And Father took the blame for a random happening.”

  “I don’t want to believe that,” Annabelle snapped. “We both know Eleanor Ashworth, Mr. Denley, and Young Peter lied.”

  She stood before Selina once more, the soup bowl in her hand. “Does that not anger you still?” Annabelle demanded. “Some nig
hts I’m of a mind to return to London and strangle them both with my bare hands.”

  Startled, Selina reached out and took Annabelle’s hand. Pressing her lips to the back of it, she whispered, “I know how much you loved Father.” She drew a deep breath and felt it fully expand her lungs for the first time in ages. “You shouldn’t have to be here.”

  Annabelle gracefully settled onto the seat beside her and once more held out the bowl of soup. Selina reluctantly took it this time and spooned a mouthful. She barely tasted it.

  “I’d never leave you,” Annabelle said. “Just as I know you weren’t to leave me behind if you’d married Granville.”

  “You are just as my sister,” Selina confessed, the heavy weight of guilt settling over her.

  She’d ignored Annabelle these last months. Annabelle had been there from the start, supportive throughout everything, and Selina hadn’t even realized the anger Annabelle carried.

  “I’d hoped for the best for you,” Selina added in a whisper, confessing things she’d long since lost hope for. “I’d hoped you’d meet an earl of your own at one of our parties.” She sighed and offered a small smile, her facial muscles stiff and unused. “I’d dreamt of it. But now there’s nothing.”

  Selina shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Annabelle.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Selina.” Annabelle leaned forward and tenderly kissed her cheek. “Not with me — never with me.”

  “You still have a chance, Annabelle,” Selina insisted. “Your last name is not Lyndell — no one would ever associate Annabelle Barton with… Father.” She sat up straighter, her voice urgent, full of passion for the first time in so, so long. “I can give you one of the trunks,” she said and nodded to the attic where the trunks full of money lay. “You can leave here as a wealthy woman. Find a proper match.”

  Annabelle’s eyes met hers, and her lips pursed. “I will never leave your side as long as you need me. And as I said,” she continued, enunciating each word, “there is nothing to be sorry for. Not with me.” Annabelle paused. “But with Edmund.”

  Selina drew in a deep breath, her eyes sliding from Annabelle’s. She looked back out at the view from her window, but saw none of it. Edmund. Yes. Her hand drifted to her belly once again. How could she ever tell him now?

  * * * *

  Nothing.

  Four months and nothing. Edmund ran the hand not holding his ever-present tumbler of whisky over his face. He’d long since stopped shaving; his valet’s disapproving glares meant little to him. His head fell back against the high-backed chair, and he closed his eyes.

  Nothing. Not a hint as to where she stayed — hid. No word of two well-to-do women living alone anywhere in southern England. No word of any woman who met the description of his Selina.

  After a month he ordered the search widened. It didn’t matter how much money the investigators demanded. He happily paid it for a hint of Selina’s whereabouts. But there wasn’t one. She and Annabelle had effectively disappeared.

  Vanished.

  Edmund didn’t remember the last time he’d slept a night through — or a night in his bed, for that matter. He didn’t want to sleep in a bed, not after learning to sleep with Selina wrapped around him. In his embrace. His arms ached to hold her once again, to taste her mouth and hear her sighs as he touched her.

  The bed felt empty without her. Everything felt empty without her.

  One day bled into the next, with long, bleak hours of hopelessness. November had turned to December and suddenly March’s wind blew outside, the only sound in his study.

  He blinked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling. When had it darkened? Edmund snorted. What did it matter? In one long gulp, he swallowed his whisky.

  “In my experience, women are not fond of slovenly men. And trust me, I have plenty of experience.”

  Edmund glanced up but didn’t bother to move from his chair. Jonathon, Duke of Strathmore, loomed over him.

  Though his wife was near to giving birth, Strathmore had traveled between Strathmore Hall and London a dozen times since Selina disappeared. Octavia was now with Isabella, though she’d stayed with Edmund for weeks as he desperately searched the country.

  Edmund didn’t bother to rise. He simply raised his empty glass in a mockery of a toast.

  “Should you not be with your wife, Strathmore?” Edmund asked and looked around at the dark room. “I need to stay here with this decanter of whisky.”

  “At least have a maid stoke the fire.” Strathmore stopped and leaned down, peering closely. Edmund scowled but still didn’t move. “Or have you terrified your entire staff?”

  Edmund growled and poured himself another glass. Strathmore snorted and stoked the fire. Immediately its light and warmth filled the room — two things Edmund had no desire to feel. Didn’t think he’d ever feel again.

  Strathmore flicked his coattails back and sat in the chair opposite. He remained silent for long, long minutes, his green eyes hard and focused.

  “It’s been only four months,” Jonathon said gently. “There are times it takes the post longer to go from London to Brighton.”

  In an unsteady move, Edmund leaned forward. “Why hasn’t she returned?” he asked, his voice plaintive in the room. “Why hasn’t she sent me a damn letter? She must know I’m going mad.”

  Edmund looked at his glass but did not drink from it. Strathmore sighed.

  “I don’t know. She’s made her decision,” Strathmore said. “I don’t agree with her decision, but for now she’s holding firm. Women are—” he let out a dry laugh— “mercurial creatures. I married my wife thrice before Isabella accepted I loved her.”

  Edmund snorted, the first hint of life he felt in months. In a lifetime. He looked at the fire, now cheerily flickering away. “But she never abandoned you.”

  “And she’s never had to deal with this sort of matter,” Strathmore agreed, still quiet, still understanding.

  Edmund wanted to punch him. He wanted to rage again. But it hadn’t done him any good thus far in the months since Selina’s disappearance. Instead he let out a long breath and nodded. He didn’t know what to say to Strathmore’s words, so he kept silent.

  “Give her time,” Strathmore added, still quiet and sympathetic. “Time to reconcile her feelings, to remember what the two of you shared.”

  “What if she’s dead?”

  The question hung between them, heavy and dark and consuming him until Edmund saw nothing but bleakness stretched ahead of him for the remainder of his life. He heard his friend’s stunned intake of breath, knew Strathmore hadn’t considered that.

  Had never considered the eternity of being alone in the darkness after so brief a time of living in the sunlight.

  “What if the unimaginable has happened?” Edmund continued, his voice harsh and raspy, each word hurting to say.

  Strathmore stood and crossed the short distance between them in two quick strides. “Don’t entertain such thoughts,” he bit out. “From all I know of her, she is a strong woman. And women are not such frail creatures as you might imagine.”

  He drew in a breath, his eyes steady on Edmund’s. Edmund found it difficult to look away from the honest intensity in Strathmore’s hard gaze.

  “My Isabella was abandoned with near nothing in a foreign land,” Strathmore continued. “And she survived. Your Selina has money and wit and a companion. Do not think the worst.”

  Edmund had no response to Strathmore. Tearing his gaze from his friend, he stared at his tumbler of whisky as if the golden liquid held the answers he so desperately sought.

  Strathmore’s words sparked a seed of hope, one that burned hot and bright in the pit of blackness he now lived in.

  “Ah, Granville.”

  Edmund jerked from his thoughts and turned. Hamilton stood in the doorway; beside him stood a tall, pale man who looked as if he might melt into the nearest wall. Scowling, Edmund stood and glowered at his friend.

  “Hamilton, I’m not receiv
ing visitors.”

  As usual, Hamilton ignored him. He crossed the room to the sideboard and perused its offerings. Lifting a decanter, he sniffed its contents.

  “You’ll want to hear this man,” Hamilton said over his shoulder as he poured himself a glass, utterly unconcerned with what Edmund wanted. “Mr. Bromley, please explain to Lord Granville what you told me.”

  “Lord Granville, I’d not intended to approach you,” Bromley said without preamble, his voice smooth and even. “I’ve been commissioned by Miss Lyndell; however, I’ve not been able to correspond with her, and as you are her intended… ”

  Bromley trailed off, and Edmund forgot how to breathe. Suddenly the entire room narrowed onto Bromley. It was amazing what a few words did to sober one up. He stepped forward, his hand tight around the glass.

  “You might make use of the information I’ve acquired,” Bromley finished, as if he hadn’t noticed Edmund’s change.

  “Do you know where she is?” he demanded, stalking closer. As if Bromley was his one link to Selina.

  “No, my lord.” Bromley shook his head sadly. “I was given an address, but all my correspondence has been returned to me. I traveled to Scotland to see if I could locate her; however, she is not where she indicated she’d be.”

  Only Strathmore’s hand on his shoulder stopped Edmund from leaping at Bromley and demanding every shred, every hint or rumor of information, the man might have.

  “Scotland?” Edmund repeated.

  “Tell him why Miss Lyndell retained you,” Hamilton interrupted.

  What difference did that make? Edmund didn’t care why Selina had hired this man, only that she had. For the first time in months, he had hope in finding her. He’d forgotten what hope tasted like.

  “She told me of her father and the trial,” Bromley began, “and explained to me the circumstances. She wished to discover who truly lay behind Mr. Ashworth’s death. After speaking with her, I have my assumptions. And they were proved correct.”

  That brought him up short. “How so?” he demanded.