by Darcy Burke
“I’m not certain yet, but we’re attending an assembly tonight. I’d invite you to come along, but you’re probably too tired.”
“I am, but I want to meet this chi—this young lady—before you go. I shall require a respite for a couple of hours. Then she will present herself to me here.”
Tobias wished he had time to prepare Fiona, but he was already late for Westminster. “I’ll inform Carrin, but now I must go.” He stood and went to take her hand, giving her a light squeeze. “Thank you for coming. I am glad to know the truth. I think perhaps I understand my father a little better.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible, but I’m pleased for you.” She smiled up at him. “You’re a good boy.”
With a soft chuckle, Tobias released her hand and left. On his way out, he told Carrin about the scheduled meeting between Fiona and his grandmother. “You may wish to ensure Miss Lancaster and Mrs. Tucket are present. Miss Wingate could use the support.” He winked at the butler before striding outside to his waiting coach.
As he leaned back against the squab and the vehicle began moving, he considered his grandmother’s question: what was he going to do about being in love with Fiona?
First and foremost, he needed to stop behaving like a self-involved ass. To do that, he had to stop thinking of himself and his predicament.
He also needed to convince her that he didn’t want to marry her because of his father’s will. And to do that, he could think of only one thing that would matter. Something that had always been a tangible reminder of the only love he’d never known.
But he realized now that love was more than a house. His mother—and her love—were a part of him, as was his father. Tobias felt the incessant pull to please him, and it wasn’t entirely due to the trap he’d diabolically laid. The anger he’d long felt toward his father evaporated. Tobias didn’t want it anymore. Nor would he cling to Horethorne.
He would choose love.
Chapter 18
Seated in the drawing room with Prudence and Mrs. Tucket, Fiona awaited the arrival of Tobias’s grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Overton. Fiona had been surprised to be summoned to meet her, but now she was just nervous. Prudence had learned from the servants that the dowager countess had been unexpected. Prudence also shared Fiona’s curiosity as to why the dowager sought an interview.
Without her grandson present.
Fiona had asked Carrin if his lordship would also be there, and the butler had explained that the earl was at Westminster. He would hopefully arrive home in time to accompany her and Prudence to the ball, but if not, he would meet them there.
At ten minutes past the appointed time, the dowager countess arrived. Petite with surprisingly dark hair for a woman of her age, Lady Overton marched in with the agility of someone much younger. Or perhaps Fiona was comparing her to Mrs. Tucket, who, though a few years younger, suffered much more difficulty. It was no wonder when one compared the life of a dowager countess to the life of a maid-of-all-work. Thinking of it made Fiona even more committed to ensuring Mrs. Tucket’s comfort. She would be free to relax and find comfort at Horethorne.
The conflict flared inside her as it had since the day before. Fiona was at once excited by the prospect of inheriting an estate and deeply troubled by Tobias’s loss of what would have been his most cherished possession.
Prudence made a sound, startling Fiona. She looked over and saw that Prudence had stood from the settee. Fiona scrambled to do the same as a flush of embarrassment washed up her neck.
Mrs. Tucket did not get up. “Pardon me for not standing, my lady,” she said. “My hip is bothering me more than usual today.”
“You must be Miss Wingate’s maid from Shropshire,” the countess said, her gaze assessing as it moved over Mrs. Tucket, then Prudence, and finally Fiona. “And you must be Miss Wingate.”
Fiona dipped into a curtsey. “Good afternoon, my lady.”
“I hope you aren’t going to fall down as you did at the queen’s drawing room.”
“I shall try not to.” Fiona rose and waited for the dowager to settle into a chair before retaking her place on the settee next to Prudence. “Allow me to introduce my companion, Miss Lancaster.”
The dowager looked toward Prudence, her lips pursing. “You’re too pretty to be a companion.”
Prudence’s cheeks turned a faint pink, something Fiona had never seen before. “Thank you, my lady,” Prudence murmured.
“How fortunate you all are to be here,” the dowager announced. “I imagine it must feel quite extraordinary to be part of an earl’s household.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Tucket said quickly. “It’s overwhelming, if I’m being honest. I’m looking forward to getting back to Shropshire.”
The dowager smiled faintly. “And when will that be?”
Mrs. Tucket shrugged. “Not until Fiona decides she doesn’t need me.”
“I shall always need you,” Fiona said warmly.
“What about you, Miss Wingate?” the dowager asked. “How are you finding London? Is the Season everything you hoped it would be?”
“Not really,” Fiona said honestly. “I was looking forward to exploring London, but I’ve been more restricted in my activities than I anticipated.”
“Of course you are, dear. It’s London, not some backwater village in Shropshire.”
Fiona tried not to take offense. The way she was raised was likely as foreign to the dowager as London had been to Fiona when she’d first arrived. “Once the weather is warmer, there will be more to do and see.”
“You’d be less restricted if you were wed. What are your plans on that front?”
“She has attracted the attention of the son of a marquess!” Mrs. Tucket beamed proudly.
The dowager cocked her head as she surveyed Fiona. “The heir?”
Fiona clarified, “No, his second son, Lord Gregory Blakemore.”
“Witney’s spare.” The dowager pursed her lips again. “He’s an academic with an eye toward obtaining a living in the church, isn’t that right?”
“It is,” Fiona said. “You are well informed.”
“Just because I’m not in town doesn’t mean I don’t keep up on everything.” Evidently, since she’d mentioned Fiona’s mishap in front of the queen. “Who else has caught your eye?”
The only man that came to Fiona’s mind was Tobias, but she couldn’t very well admit that the dowager’s grandson had caught more than her eye. He’d captured nearly every thought in her head. “No one in particular.”
“How can that be? I realize the Season is young, but you should have multiple suitors. You’re a beauty, despite that red hair, and my grandson tells me you are not empty-headed.”
Fiona stifled a laugh. She was willing to bet Tobias had not used that description. What had he said? That he would flatter her to his grandmother made her feel surprisingly wonderful. “Perhaps I’ve not been attending enough events.” She didn’t draw attention to the fact that Tobias had kept her from going out for a time.
“Well, I’m not convinced Lord Gregory is a suitable choice. While your pedigree is unremarkable, you have enough pleasing attributes, including a very generous dowry, to obtain a better match.”
What would be better than the second son of a marquess who was kind and charming? The same name as before came to mind, and Fiona shoved it away. A frustrated voice in the back of her head asked why, when that very gentleman had actually proposed.
Except he didn’t really want to marry her. Not for the right reasons anyway.
And it was his fault that she wasn’t enthused to wed Lord Gregory. Tobias was the one who’d put it in her mind that she shouldn’t settle for anyone other than the man of her dreams.
“Is there something wrong with Lord Gregory?” Mrs. Tucket asked with a touch of alarm in her voice.
“Wrong is not the right word,” the dowager said haughtily. “I am confident Miss Wingate can—and should—do better.” She directed her icy gray-blue gaze on Fi
ona. “You’ve still plenty of time left in the Season to make a match. I understand Lady Pickering is your sponsor. I will speak with her and, if necessary, take over myself. Matchmaking is an important task and should not be overlooked.”
Fiona thought of the match her cousin wanted to make and disagreed vigorously. Matchmaking should be completely abandoned. She did not voice that opinion, however. How on earth was she supposed to respond? She settled for, “Lady Pickering has been lovely.”
Mrs. Tucket’s brow creased, forming deep dimples just above the edge of her brows. “Would it be bad if she accepted Lord Gregory?”
Another lip purse from Lady Overton. “I am advising her not to accept Lord Gregory.” She turned her attention to Fiona once more. “My advice should not be ignored.”
This was all so odd. The dowager coming to London without advance notice. This audience in which she apparently wanted to stress the importance of matchmaking. Her stark lack of support for Lord Gregory, who seemed not only suitable but admirable.
What was going on?
The dowager abruptly stood. “Thank you for the enlightening conversation. If I was not fatigued from my journey, I would attend the assembly with you tonight. I will, however, accompany you to see Madame Moreau tomorrow evening.”
An opera singer was performing at someone’s house. Fiona did not recall the specifics. She rose, as did Prudence, and remained that way until after the dowager departed.
“Well, she was an odd bird,” Mrs. Tucket said with a cluck of her tongue in the way she described a pudding that didn’t turn out properly.
“She’s a dowager countess.” Prudence made the statement as if it explained everything.
Fiona thought about not just the woman’s title but her family. “She’s also Tobias’s father’s mother.” And given everything she knew about the former earl, it seemed logical that his mother would be an intimidating, exacting force of nature.
Mrs. Tucket pushed herself to her feet. “Time to climb more stairs so I may have my nap.”
Fiona hated that she was another floor higher. She needed to be in a cottage with one level of living. “Why don’t you nap in my room?” she suggested.
“Nonsense, you need to start preparing for the ball.” Mrs. Tucket waved her hand toward Prudence before she could offer her chamber. “As do you. I’ll get a footman to help me up. I like that Baines fellow. He’s a strapping lad.” She sent them a wink and chuckled on her way out of the drawing room.
Fiona turned to Prudence. “It seems the dowager has come to manage me. Why?”
“I can’t imagine.” She looked at Fiona intently. “But the more pressing question in my mind is why you referred to his lordship as Tobias.”
Had she said that? Fiona hoped she appeared nonchalant. “I misspoke. How bizarre.”
“Quite,” Prudence murmured. “Shall we prepare for the assembly?”
“Yes, let’s.” Fiona was looking forward to donning her favorite and as yet unworn purple gown. No, she was looking forward to focusing her attention on something that did not involve her guardian, the ways he’d withheld information from her, or the manner in which just the thought of him made her quiver.
She needed to look forward to the life she would lead without him.
The line of carriages outside the Phoenix Club was quite long. Both entrances were open and thronged with people. Had it been like this all evening? Tobias was an hour late due to his business at Westminster. He’d rushed home but had missed escorting the ladies. Now he was quite anxious to get inside.
To see Fiona.
Since realizing he was in love with her, the anticipation of seeing her was almost painful. He kept smiling at odd times, provoking questions and puzzled stares.
At last, he was here. He only hoped he could find her easily with so many people about.
Avoiding the crowds at the entrance, Tobias slipped down to the lower floor, where the employees of the club bustled here and there. He had to sidestep someone more than once and apologized profusely. He’d thought this would be an easier entry and was clearly wrong.
When he finally reached the stairs, he hurried up to the ground floor only to find that he couldn’t really get into the house. So he went up one more and emerged on the first floor of the gentleman’s side.
Low voices and the sound of glass hitting glass emerged from the Star Chamber—what he and the others on the membership committee now called the room after hearing the nickname—where the membership committee met to discuss invitations and other issues. Tobias veered from his course of finding Fiona and poked his head into the room. Just Lucien and Wexford sat inside drinking.
“Why are you hiding up here?” Tobias asked with a smile.
“We aren’t hiding. We’re fortifying.” Wexford set down his glass and leapt up from the chair. “What can I pour you?”
Tobias stepped inside. “Nothing. I’m eager to get downstairs.”
Lucien arched a brow. “Eager? Miss Goodfellow will be there this evening. Dare I assume she’s the source of your anticipation?”
“She must be the reason,” Wexford said after downing a gulp of his Irish whisky. “Deane is nearly out of time. Less than ten days, is it?”
Tobias dropped his chin in a single nod. “Yes, but it’s not going to happen—the marriage, I mean. Not before then anyway.”
Both men stared at Tobias.
Wexford’s brows drove down as he narrowed his eyes. “You’re giving up?”
“Not at all. I still plan to wed.” He inhaled and corrected himself. “I hope to wed.” He could not assume Fiona would accept him. She’d already said no once.
“What about Horethorne?” Lucien asked the question softly, almost reverently. He knew how much the place meant to Tobias.
“It will be well taken care of by its new owner.” He felt such joy when he thought of her having a place she could permanently call home for the first time.
Lucien didn’t look convinced. “How do you know?”
“Because in the event that I fail to wed by the dictated date, which I will, my father has given it to Fiona, rather, Miss Wingate.”
Nostrils flaring slightly, Lucien pinned him with a knowing stare. “Who is it you hope to marry? I do not think it is Miss Goodfellow.”
Lucien had always been too bloody astute, not that Tobias felt a need to keep his plan secret, at least not from them. “It is not. I hope that Miss Wingate will become my countess.”
Wexford let out a chortle. “Oh, well played!”
Tobias turned his attention to the laughing Wexford, as did Lucien. “This is not a game.”
“Deane’s not hoping to marry her to gain his mother’s house. He’s in love with his ward,” Lucien clarified.
Wexford’s laughter died immediately. He gaped at Tobias a moment and then leaned forward, his elbow on the table. “So you did have a tendre for her?” He grinned. “Spectacular.”
Setting his empty glass down, Lucien stood. “Come, let us go find your countess-to-be.”
“You assume she’ll say yes,” Tobias said, suddenly more nervous than he’d been all day. No, more nervous than he’d been in two years. The memory of learning that Priscilla had chosen someone other than him rose sharp in his mind.
“There’s a chance she won’t?” Wexford also stood, finishing his whisky as he rose and depositing the empty tumbler on the table.
“She may have already refused me.”
Wexford winced, and Lucien moved to clap Tobias on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Lucien said. “Why did she say no?”
“Probably because she’d just learned that she’s to inherit Horethorne if I don’t marry.”
Lucien nodded, his eyes alight with understanding. “Like Wexford, she assumed you wanted to wed her to obtain the estate.”
“Can you blame her?” Wexford asked.
“Not at all. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, that was part of the reason I asked. That, and we were half-naked at
the time.”
Wexford shook his head. “Christ, Deane, you’re supposed to have rehabilitated your behavior. Have you no shame?”
Lucien took his hand from Tobias’s shoulder and turned his head toward Wexford. “Leave him be.” He returned his attention to Tobias. “What is your plan?”
“I don’t really have one. She just rejected me last night. I can’t imagine she’ll change her mind today.”
“Have you mentioned the love part?” Wexford asked. “I suspect that might help your cause.”
“No, but what if it doesn’t?” Tobias hoped they shared something beyond the physical attraction that had bloomed between them. They were friends, perhaps even confidantes. But more than that? He didn’t know. And given that he’d completely misread his relationship with Priscilla, he didn’t entirely trust himself to get this right.
“There is only one way to find out.” Lucien regarded him with determination. “Just vow to us you won’t devolve into an even bigger degenerate if she refuses you again.”
Tobias couldn’t promise that at all.
At the midpoint of the main staircase, there was a landing with a doorway that led to another staircase, which in turn led to a gallery that ran along one side of the men’s ballroom. Emerging onto the gallery with Lucien and Wexford, Tobias had a bird’s eye view of the ballroom below.
“What is she wearing?” Wexford asked, peering down into the throng.
“Purple, I think? At least that was her plan a couple of days ago.” Tobias looked until he had to blink to regain some moisture in his eyes.
“Let’s move to the ladies’ side,” Wexford suggested before moving along the gallery and opening a door to an identical gallery that overlooked the other side of the ballroom.
“Over there?” Lucien pointed to the opposite side of the ballroom near the doors that led out to the garden.
Yes, that was her. Even from this distance, she was unmistakable, and not because of the purple of her gown. It was the vivid red of her hair, the graceful slope of her neck and shoulders, the poise with which she held herself—a solitary, gleaming pearl amidst a stretch of unremarkable sand.