“He did not force her to stay there. He told me he did not.”
“He may not have given any orders, but he made their marriage impossible to endure. He would not forgive her even if she wanted forgiveness. Maybe she chose to remain there. Sanctuary or prison, she was not with him at least.”
“You seem to understand it better than anyone.”
“Better than I want. It is a lesson in the dangers of pride, I suppose. A cautionary tale in the way that it can transform a man’s character, for ill as well as good.”
Elliot did not think it had been pride that caused their father’s harsh treatment of their mother. It had been an emotion much more basic than that.
Hayden eyed the amber drops at the bottom of his glass. “Elliot, I did not come upon you here by accident. Alexia is concerned. She commented on how red Miss Blair’s mouth and eyes were when the two of you returned to the drawing room. I confess I did not notice.” He poured more brandy for himself and settled into a chair. “She thinks that mouth had been soundly kissed.”
Very soundly. They had kissed for what seemed an eternity. It still ended too soon. “No doubt she is shocked.”
“Alexia accepts the restraints of propriety, but very little shocks her. Least of all when it involves Phaedra Blair. It was the red eyes that caused her concern and had her send me down to wheedle information out of you.”
Elliot debated how much he was willing to have wheedled.
“I assume that you did not importune her in the garden,” Hayden said.
“It is unlikely any man has importuned Phaedra Blair and lived to see the dawn.”
Hayden chuckled. The sound made Elliot laugh too. His mood improved even if his chest still felt full and empty at the same time.
“Hell. I have created a disaster, Hayden. If Christian suddenly cares about tongues wagging he will have apoplexy when he learns about the diversion that I am about to give society.”
“I assume that Miss Blair has a leading role?”
“And I have the other. Pour me more brandy and I will tell you the plot so that you can appreciate the moral lesson in the denouement. It is a tale of desire and passion, of seduction and fantasy and danger, of marriage and—”
“Marriage?”
“Oh, yes. Of marriage and repudiation and—”
Hayden was busy pouring and did not notice how the unfinished sentence hung in the air. The final words spoke in Elliot’s head, however. The fullness in his chest got emptier.
Of marriage and repudiation and love.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Phaedra set down her pencil and rubbed her eyes. Her father’s manuscript needed more preparation than she expected. His penmanship had gotten worse toward the end, so bad that it was unlikely the typesetters would recognize the letters. She judged she had at least another week of work ahead of her.
She looked around the reading room of the British Museum. Other heads and backs bent over tomes at other tables. Most were men but a few were women. Her attention lit on the former, one by one.
Elliot was not here. Looking for him had become a habit. They could not meet privately but a public encounter held no danger. Should he work here while she did…
There need be no acknowledgment. No greeting or conversation. She would just like to see him again. She could take pleasure merely in having him in this chamber even if he sat far away and never turned his head.
She closed her eyes and saw him in her mind. She tasted that last kiss and inhaled his scent. His hand caressed down her body. She savored the memories, experiencing them by the moment.
How long would it be before they faded? She feared that they would, and with them the emotions that stirred her soul. She called up the memories too often because she worried they had begun to slip away.
“Phaedra, are you sleeping?”
She opened her eyes, startled. A smart, fashionable hat tilted over the table. A woman peered at her curiously, and had spoken in a whisper.
“Alexia, what are you doing here?”
“I was told that you spend your days here.” She glanced around the chamber. Their whispers carried and others sent frowns their way.
“Let us go outside. I need to take some air,” Phaedra said.
Alexia waited while she tied the manuscript. She carried it to the librarian, who set it away on a shelf.
They escaped the reading room and Montague House. “We can take a turn in Bedford Square,” Phaedra suggested.
“So that is the infamous manuscript,” Alexia said while they strolled toward the square.
Phaedra’s heart sank. “They told you about it.”
“There is little that Hayden and I do not share. Do not look so distressed, dear friend. I have not come to plead for your mercy. Easterbrook wants me to but I choose not to hear his insinuations about it.”
“You were my first thought, Alexia. When I read it, I did not care so much about your husband and his brothers, but you—”
“That is sweet and I am grateful. However, I understand the loyalty one owes to family. If your father charged you with a duty you cannot pick and choose what part of that promise you will fulfill.”
Phaedra’s composure had remained unsteady since the dinner party. Now Alexia’s generosity made it wobble again. Alexia glanced over and gave a reassuring smile.
“Who told you that I work on the manuscript in Montague House?”
Another glance. Another smile. A sympathetic one. “Not him. Viscount Suttonly has returned to London and Aunt Hen foolishly followed him with Caroline in tow. Hayden is furious, and laid down very strict rules. He charged Easterbrook with enforcing them.”
“I cannot picture the marquess lecturing a girl on her virtue.”
“He has not said a word on the subject, according to a very distraught Aunt Hen. Instead, every day he cleans his dueling pistols in the library, in full view of Caroline.”
Phaedra laughed at the image of that. “I can see how Henrietta would be distraught. Marrying her daughter to a title is within reach, after all.”
“I do not mind her return, actually. It allows me to stay in town as well. And she is a magnet for the best gossip. She told me you would be here, for example.”
“Lord Elliot recommended I keep the manuscript with the museum’s librarians. He was wiser than I. I am sure that someone was in my house last night, no doubt looking for it.” She had heard nothing while she slept, but in the morning when she entered her sitting room it had seemed wrong somehow. Slightly altered, with the venetian shawls tumbled differently and the bookshelves too neat.
“It was not one of us,” Alexia said. “There would have been no reason for it. Easterbrook and Hayden know where you leave those pages.”
They took a turn around the Bedford Square’s little park. The homes surrounding it appeared modest but comfortable. All of a type, they were the sort of homes that successful writers, barristers, and foreign diplomats inhabited. Their neat facades lined up in uniform design, the roofs not overly high. The houses fit the small proportions of the square very nicely.
“Elliot intends to leave London soon.” Alexia might have been answering a query. Perhaps she had heard the one playing on the tip of Phaedra’s tongue.
They walked on another ten paces. “How much do you know, Alexia?”
“Almost more than I want. I do not agree with your philosophy, Phaedra. I have never pretended that I do. Now I fear that we are about to see the wreckage that it can cause. However, you never tried to convert me, and I will not attempt to convert you.” She aimed them into the park. She took a seat on a stone bench. “Elliot had a row with Easterbrook yesterday.”
“A big row?”
“In Aunt Hen’s words, a royal row.”
Phaedra sat beside her. “Did Henrietta hear the row?”
“Henrietta would not miss overhearing a row for all the world. I have convinced her that she misheard this time, however. You see, she says this row was abo
ut a marriage.”
“No doubt she misunderstood.” Phaedra studied a tendril of ivy snaking near her shoe.
“She said this argument was about the rights of a husband and the need for husbands to exercise those rights. In short, Easterbrook was telling Elliot that if anything resembling a marriage existed between him and you, that he should seize that publishing house that you inherited.”
“If Elliot did not agree, that was very noble of him.”
“What an odd response, Phaedra. I expected you to laugh at the very notion that there was something resembling a marriage between you and Elliot.” She cocked her head quizzically. “Just how bad will this wreckage be?”
Phaedra wished Alexia would not use that word “wreckage.” Although perhaps it was an apt one. The situation may have destroyed something valuable and might still cause more grief.
She told her friend the truth. Alexia’s expression reflected increased amazement.
“I agree those vows should not be valid,” she said. “Hayden did not share everything after all. However, your story explains this little note.”
She set her reticule on her lap, opened it, and plucked out a folded piece of paper. “He asked me to give this to you. I could not imagine why, since I noticed that they are all lawyers.”
Phaedra read the three names penned on the paper. She recognized one. He had represented a countess seeking a separation from her husband. All the particulars had been in the newspapers. She guessed the details about her action would be published as well.
“I will not be able to afford men such as this.”
“Hayden gave me that note and said to tell you he would settle with them. Now that I understand the circumstances, I am certain that he meant that he would pay the fees.”
So Elliot’s own brother would pay the expense of this petition. His other brother might want him to exercise his husbandly rights while they remained ambiguous, but Easterbrook would be glad to have the family rid of her as well in the end.
Perhaps Elliot had concluded the same thing. In the least Hayden’s help probably also meant that Elliot would not contest her claims.
The twist of disappointment in her heart was a silly reaction. Hearts did not think clearly and make decisions. They indulged sentiment and did not anticipate the future. The wistful regret would not go away easily, but that did not mean she should let the traitorous emotion rule her.
She tucked the paper in her pocket and turned the conversation to topics that distracted her from thoughts of Elliot.
Mr. Pettigrew kept tapping his fingertips against his multiple chins. The habit had ceased impressing Phaedra as a thoughtful one. She was beginning to think the man daydreamed away the time.
“What say you, sir? Will my petition receive a fair hearing?”
Even her question took a fair time to penetrate. Finally the thick fingers left the soft chin. His cocked, gray head straightened.
“This is a very interesting case, Miss Blair. Most interesting. I am fascinated by the potential ramifications and implications that a judgment in this will have.”
“I am delighted to provide you with mental stimulation. However, I am seeking some reassurance that I am correct in my view of the matter.”
His attention sharpened on her. Mr. Pettigrew was a short, stout man whose cravat appeared to strangle him. His blue eyes could turn most piercing when he let them. “If you set down this road, the journey will be lengthy. As for evidence, it would be best to procure sworn letters from others who were there and that alone will take months. Will the witnesses to that marriage ceremony say you were coerced?”
“The woman will. I also think the priest was aware that there was no true consent. I do not think he was comfortable conducting the ceremony.”
“See, there is the trouble. Right there in your words. True consent. It all hinges on that. You gave consent, but it was, you say, not true consent. The court will not be friendly to such a claim. How many others would then say there was no true consent? And yet you tell a story that possibly supports the notion. Fascinating.”
“Is it fascinating enough for you to represent me?” Pettigrew was not the first name on the list. She had already been refused by the other two.
He peered at her critically. “Are you certain that Lord Elliot will tell the same story as you? It will be essential that he not contest this. If he does, no court will set it aside. He is the son of a lord, after all.”
“He has done nothing to enforce those vows. We do not live as man and wife. He has made no move to take my property.”
“Ah, well, if he has left the property alone…Here is how this will unfold, Miss Blair. The court will be suspicious that this is an attempt to undo a marriage made in haste while abroad. Such impulsive marriages are not unheard of when our citizens are stimulated by contact with warmer climes and their more passionate people. Good sense often returns too late.”
“You are not describing what transpired with us. The vows were spoken merely so I would not be subject to accusations of crimes I did not commit. It was a desperate bid to save me, that was all.”
He accepted that without comment, but she detected a bit of skepticism slither over his bland expression.
“Then there is that matter of the night in the tower,” he said. “You and Lord Elliot will be asked if there was sexual congress there. If there was, your entire case will be undermined.” He paused and pursed his lips. “If such activity continued after you left Positano, wellll…And if there is any issue from the liaison, it will be hopeless.”
She braced herself for the rejection that was coming. These were not the only three lawyers available. She would have to find other, less fastidious ones. Eventually one would see the rightness of her position.
“I think that you do not find my petition worth your while, sir.”
“I am merely explaining the difficulties to you.” His round face creased into a smile. His hand cut the air in a long, sweeping arc. The gesture encompassed his view of her. “Normally this would be futile. However, you are not normal, are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Miss Blair, your antipathy to marriage is well known. Your mother’s life is the stuff of legends and your own eccentricity and probable lack of fidelity is not something a lord’s son would tie himself to willingly. If any other woman claimed she did not give her consent to marry Lord Elliot Rothwell, the court would make sport of her. You, however—” Again that hand moved. “Your behavior and beliefs will support your claim. The court will be inclined to free Lord Elliot of any obligations to you. Yes, I will take it on, and see that you have the best proctor argue your case. I expect he and I will dine off the notoriety of this petition for years.”
The promise of notoriety did nothing to improve Phaedra’s spirits. She left Pettigrew’s chambers in the same sad daze with which she had entered. Since the day was fair she made her way to the British Museum on foot.
She tucked her hand into her pocket and rested it on the letter hidden there. Elliot had written two days ago, expressing concern about her safety in her house. Alexia had told him about the intruder that night.
The letter’s tone was formal, almost distant. Did she fantasize that with those cool expressions of caution and care that he really was saying something else? Give it up and come to me and you will never be in danger.
Nothing of the kind had been written. No words of passion, no allusions to what they had shared. He could have been writing to an acquaintance not seen for five years.
Perhaps he did not want to risk a letter that gave lie to her claims about that marriage. Then again, maybe he already had begun to see her differently.
She could not blame him for that if it was true. She had chosen freedom over him, after all. He had convinced himself to accept the validity of those vows and no doubt had been insulted by her refusal to do the same. She did not think he would ever understand why she could not.
She was beginning to lose hold of why herself
.
Just touching the letter gave her comfort. She had never felt alone in her life before, but she did now. She had never questioned that life in its essence either, but late at night, sick-hearted and lonely, she now did. She could not accommodate the misery this separation caused her. The pain just sat there in her soul, never easing.
She entered the reading room and retrieved the manuscript. She had come to hate this daily chore. She carried the pages like the weight they were. She dropped them on the table and glared at them.
The air behind her subtly moved. A presence intruded nearby. Her heart flipped. She closed her eyes and savored the joy that spread through her like rays of the sun breaking through dark clouds.
She turned to see Elliot depositing a bound volume and a folio of papers on the table in front of hers. He favored her with a smile, but it was the kind one gave an acquaintance, not a person one had slept beside.
“Miss Blair, what a pleasure to have this chance meeting. I did not know that you still labored here.”
“I am almost finished with it all, Lord Elliot.”
His gaze lit briefly on the manuscript that had brought them together. Then he gestured to his table. “I too am almost finished. I will not block the window’s light if I sit here, will I? There are other tables if I will be intruding in any way.”
“The sun is bright today. What light there is can be shared.”
He said nothing more. He took his chair, opened his tome and his papers, and retreated into his mental exercises.
She sat with the manuscript in front of her. She kept her eyes on it and pretended to read. In truth she did not see her father’s jottings at all even though Elliot did not block the light in the least.
She just felt him there, so close. She basked in his presence and the way it soothed her. She savored how her heart swelled with emotion. She marveled at how close to tears she was.
She had fallen in love with him. That was what all these emotions meant. The joy, the pain, the peace, and the confusion—they were the reactions of a woman who had lost her heart.
She did not know why that truth came to her now, here, during this hour of distant intimacy. She thought she had been in love before, but those brief excitements had been nothing like this. She had misunderstood so many things about herself, and about the bonds that she had formed in this most special of friendships.
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