He grinned as if he’d known this was the way to earn her full attention upon him. “Miss Holwell,” he said easily, “will you join me on the dance floor?”
“I wish I could but then that would leave Miss Charnock alone,” Cassandra announced, but Leonie would have none of that. She rather liked Lord Dewsberry.
“Please, Cassandra, don’t worry. I am returning to my mother’s side.” Leonie had no idea if her mother was there or not. She just didn’t want the handsome Lord Dewsberry to be crestfallen on her account.
“Well—” Cassandra started, ready to have another excuse, but Lord Dewsberry interrupted her.
“Capital,” he answered, seizing the answer he wanted before she could give him the one he didn’t.
Cassandra groaned. “Don’t talk that way,” she chastised as he took Cassandra’s hand, practically dragging her to the dance floor.
Leonie looked at the other couples. Willa was paired with the handsome Camberly. They appeared almost comical together with him so tall and her so petite. Lady Bettina was shooting daggers at Willa with her eyes. Clearly, Cassandra wasn’t Camberly’s only conquest. Leonie wondered what Willa would say about him. She didn’t seem impressed.
Roman wasn’t amongst the dancers.
Had he left?
She didn’t dare search him out. In fact, she was diligently working to not make eye contact with any other gentleman. She was suddenly exhausted. Ducking her head, she made her way to the card room.
Fortunately, her father, too, was ready to leave. His luck had not lasted. He’d lost all that he’d won. They decided to take their leave.
Her father did not inquire about her mother’s whereabouts and Leonie had learned long ago not to ask questions. She might not like the answer.
“So,” her father said the moment the coach door was closed. “What do you think of Rochdale?”
“He is polite.”
“Ha!” her father answered. “Polite.” He sat back in his seat and looked at the window. “I like him. You will receive him.”
“Why bother with preliminaries? Why not order me to marry him and we will have the ceremony tomorrow?”
“I am,” her father said, swinging his head around to pin her. “Unless you land something better, you’ll take his offer when he makes it.”
“Why are you certain he will?” And what would he say if he knew Rochdale had already made his offer? Well, his order, to be precise.
His response was to grin at her as if she was daft in the head.
“I’m not so certain,” she replied, looking at her own window.
There was a long moment of silence between them and then he said, “I owe him, you know. When you eloped, he brought you back. Unfortunate that they dueled and Paccard died. If you hadn’t been so foolish, it would have been better for both men.”
A weight formed in Leonie’s chest. She curled her fingers, feeling her nails through her kid gloves. She spoke, choosing her words carefully. “You have never said this.”
“I’ve thought it. Everyone knew it. Two good men. One gone and the other . . . ?” He faced Leonie. “His career was ruined. You play fast and loose, daughter.”
“Like mother like daughter?” she challenged.
But instead of an angry reply, her father just stretched to make himself more comfortable in the seat. “Mayhap. Your mother is never satisfied. What of you, daughter dear? Do you know when enough is enough?”
His assessment startled her. “How do I answer such a question?”
“You don’t. You do as I say. I meant my words when I told you this is the last Season, Leonie. Do you know what they call you? The Spinster Heiress.”
“Miss Reverly and Miss Holwell are also addressed by that term. It is not so much our unmarried state as a put-down of who we are. The other girls are jealous.”
“Not any longer. The three of you have been around too long. Oh, don’t protest,” he said as she started to open her mouth. “I know that I’m as guilty as you are for your not marrying. I wish we’d brought in Baynton last year. We almost had him.”
“You make it sound as if we are fishing—”
“We are! And you, my lovely daughter, are the bait. I should have made you accept Gentry’s, Oldton’s, and Phillips’s offers when they made them the first year, but I let your success overrule my better judgement. I was certain you could fetch a better title than what those lads had. And you will, if you take Rochdale.”
“I’m not comfortable around Lord Rochdale.”
“I’m grateful to him. Granted, I would rather he hadn’t put a bullet in Paccard, but I am relieved he fetched you back.”
She shifted in her seat. “All he wants is money.”
“Aye, that is true. I never said he wasn’t sensible.”
“Then pay him off. Why make me marry him?”
“Because he asked for your hand.”
“Was I to be consulted?” She knew she sounded petulant.
“I’m telling you now. I want you married. Rochdale will take you. I expect you to encourage his suit. You become a countess and he will have the money he needs to repair the reputation of the title. The old earl ran up gambling debts and bled the estate dry. It is a good bargain for both of you, and one that is fair to him.”
He had also accepted the blame for Arthur’s death, a small voice said inside Leonie. If anyone knew the truth, she did not know what the consequences would be. Could she be charged with murder? Certainly, there would be an inquiry.
For the shortest of seconds, she debated telling her father, of relieving herself of the burden of her secret. The horror of it.
Then again, once she’d arrived in London, a world away from Calcutta, she had put it out of her mind. She had been that shallow. With the help of her occasional nip of brandy, well, she’d managed.
No, telling her father would not be wise.
The coach slowed to a halt in front of their stately brick home. The footman opened the coach door. Leonie climbed out. Her father didn’t follow. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
“I’m not ready to call it a night. You sleep tight, daughter.”
He barely waited until she reached the step before signaling the coachman to be on their way.
Leonie nodded to Yarrow, the family butler, who held the front door open. “Did you have a good evening, miss?”
“Pleasant,” she replied, saying what was expected. She always did what was expected—except for the night she eloped.
Over her years in London, Yarrow had been a constant presence that she could count on more than her parents. He usually was the only one to greet her when she came in. She started up the stairs, but then stopped. “Do you believe in marriage, Yarrow?”
The butler considered the matter a moment and then said, “I believe it works for some people.”
“Does it work for my parents?”
“You know I can’t answer your question, Miss Leonie.”
He was right. She did know he should not answer such a question. “Good night.”
“Good night, miss.”
Most nights she was alone in the house with the servants and yet this night was different—and that was because of the unsettling presence of Roman Gilchrist.
How simple her life would be if her father would just give Roman the money he wanted and she could be left to live her life as she saw fit.
She didn’t want to see Roman’s “man thing.” Or carry any more guilt. Or fear . . .
Leonie didn’t know what to.
But she knew one woman who might—her mother. She might have the power to change her father’s mind.
Walking to her bedroom, Leonie stopped by the upstairs study to sneak a fortifying nip of brandy from the bottles kept there. She then went to her room, dressed for bed, and dismissed her maid, Minnie.
However, instead of crawling between her sheets, Leonie walked down the hall to her mother’s suite of rooms. It had been some time since she’d been in here. Her famil
y led very separate lives.
Her mother had excellent taste in furnishings and a flair for drama. The walls were painted a dark green like the most lush and vibrant vegetation. The bed linens were snow white. The furniture was upholstered in rich, gold brocade.
Over the dressing table was a mirror of hammered brass. Leonie remembered sneaking into her mother’s wardrobe and trying on shawls and hats to admire herself in the glass. The scent of incense fragranced the air.
A lamp was burning and there was a small coal fire in the hearth, although her mother’s maid, Anna, was not waiting up. Leonie pulled a folded blanket out of the carved chest at the foot of the bed and took the most comfortable chair in front of the hearth. She wrapped herself in the blanket and set about the tedious business of waiting for her mother.
Chapter 6
A shake of her shoulder woke Leonie. She came to her senses with a start. She was cold. And uncomfortable. She looked around, not recognizing her surroundings. Her sleep had been deep and she wasn’t ready to leave it.
“Return to your room,” her mother’s soft voice suggested. She stood over Leonie holding a lamp. She was dressed in her evening finery except that her golden hair was loose and over one shoulder.
Leonie remembered where she was and why. Squinting in the lamplight, she asked, “What time is it?”
“Shortly before dawn.”
Few women were as lovely as Elizabeth Charnock. She had been a bishop’s daughter. Once, when he was in his cups, her father had told Leonie he’d spied the beautiful Elizabeth Snavely in services and had been smitten.
Since her father had rarely stepped foot in church in Leonie’s lifetime, she doubted if that story was true.
What she could believe is that her father had taken one look and wanted Elizabeth. Men always did, even younger men. Whenever Leonie was out with her mother, wandering eyes would settle on Elizabeth first.
There was a natural grace to her that Leonie wished she had. Her mother’s movements were always deliberate, always considered, in spite of obviously being up all night.
Her coloring was also different than the daughter’s. Elizabeth’s eyes were the blue of cornflowers and her flawless skin a creamy white. Even their lips were different. Leonie’s mouth was wide, generous, full. Her mother’s were cupid bows that could pout their way into a man’s heart. Leonie had witnessed her doing it more than once and her mother’s jewelry box teemed with gifts from admirers trying to make her smile.
The one thing they shared were slim figures and thick, heavy hair. Elizabeth’s hair was smooth as glass; Leonie’s was the burnished gold of a lion’s pelt—an unusual color—and she couldn’t stop it from breaking out into unruly waves of curl.
Leonie untucked her body in the chair, placing her slippered feet on the floor. “I must talk to you.”
“I assumed.” Her mother moved to her dressing table and began removing her jewelry. “You rarely make social visits.”
“You rarely have time for them.”
Elizabeth gave a small shrug. “You are right.” She sat on the dressing table’s bench, facing Leonie. “Come, tell me what is so important that it has taken you from your bed.” She yawned, reached for her silver hairbrush, and began brushing out her hair.
Leonie tried to collect her thoughts. Words that had seemed so clear to her before she’d fallen asleep now seemed a jumble. Finally, she said what was uppermost on her mind. “Is it possible to marry and live separate lives?”
“Of course, your father and I do.”
“I mean ‘separate,’ ” Leonie emphasized.
Her mother caught her eye in the mirror. Her arm holding the brush had gone still. She set the brush in its place. “More than just different bedrooms? Different houses?”
“Different locations. And not consummating the marriage. Ever.”
Her mother started to laugh, and then, seeing that Leonie was serious, sobered. “How unalike we are,” she murmured. “Very well, no, there isn’t a gentleman that I would allow my daughter to marry who would refuse to consummate the marriage. I realize as your mother I could be considered guilty of benign neglect on many occasions. However, even I have standards.”
“Then I don’t wish to marry.”
“What would you do with your life?”
Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Leonie grabbed the first answer to come into her sleep-addled mind. “I would dedicate myself to good works.”
Her mother’s brows lifted. “So noble. But then, what would you do when you don’t have good works to occupy your time?”
“I would read. And perhaps help Cassandra Holwell with her literary salon. She has started one.”
“This sounds very French.” Her mother’s tone held a hint of mockery.
“Yes, it is, and if it didn’t work, because it hasn’t been too successful yet, then I would find something to do that is worthwhile. There are plays, the opera, museums, exhibits. London has much to offer.”
“The amusements are many . . . or, my darling, you could find a husband who lets you do as you wish.”
“Does Father give you complete freedom?”
There was a beat of silence. Her mother stared into space as if she could see something Leonie couldn’t. Then she turned to her daughter. “I am who I am, Leonie. I make no apologies. However, I have never said no to your father. It is he who does not come to my bed. Not since you were born—Oh, here, I’ve shocked you. That was not my intent. But you are of an age when we should be able to speak freely, no?”
Leonie didn’t know how to answer.
Her mother leaned forward. “I am not the sort of woman to toddle off and let her life be over. Am I to be condemned for that? Of course I know what the gossips say. I don’t care. All marriages are subject to the whims of those involved and can be as stifling as the crypt.”
“Then why would you push me to marry?”
“Because an unmarried woman has few rights. No protections. You would be an oddity and you do not want that. I know what you and your two friends say. I’ve heard your whispers. I hear more than people think I do. You may dream of a life where you make your own choices, Leonie, but you’ll never live that life until you marry, and hopefully to a generous spouse—one who lets you do as you wish. And you had best be faithful, until after you have given him an heir, of course. Then you can take on all the lovers you wish.”
“You didn’t give Father an heir.”
A look crossed her mother’s face that Leonie couldn’t decipher. Was she pleased or regretful? “It did not matter to him. He was happy with a daughter to sell off.”
To sell off . . . yes, that was what her father was doing. Selling his daughter for a title for his heirs.
“And that is the problem,” Leonie said, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t know that I want a man’s thing near me.”
“His thing?” Her mother’s brows came together and she started laughing. “Leonie, it is called a cock. If you are fortunate enough to marry a man who knows how to use his, you will be a happy woman. A ‘thing,’ ” she repeated, and laughingly shook her head before looking up as if struck by a new thought. “Does this have anything to do with that unpleasantness in India?”
She didn’t wait for Leonie’s answer but said, “I feared he’d taken you. Your father refused to think on it, but I knew. Paccard had you, didn’t he? You are no longer a virgin.”
Leonie balked. “Why are you asking me such a question? Especially after so much time has passed. One would think you would have been more concerned when I returned.”
“I feared the answer when you returned. Besides, what with Paccard’s death, you were more than a touch hysterical. One wrong word and you turned into a watering pot.”
That was true. Leonie had been horrified at what had happened to her, at what she’d done.
“But the bastard took you, didn’t he?” Her mother opened a dressing table drawer and pulled out her silver flask. She unscrewed the top and took a dri
nk. She offered it to Leonie, who shook her head. It was a point of honor with Leonie that, although she had taken a nip out of almost every bottle on display in the house, and there were many, she did not touch her mother’s flask.
Well, she had one time—when Roman had returned her to her parents after her elopement. She had been frightened and inconsolable. She hadn’t eaten or slept. While Roman had conferred with her father, her mother had pulled out her flask.
“Drink,” she’d said, and Leonie had obeyed. That was her introduction to brandy and it had been a good one. Within minutes, the most delicious warmth had spread through Leonie and she’d been able to regain control over herself. She’d even had a second nip.
In truth, Leonie hadn’t much liked the taste that first time, but she’d enjoyed the feeling brandy gave her. Whenever she felt a bit anxious, or the memories and guilt of that night became too much for her, a nip always helped. Always. Some days she couldn’t go without two or three.
But she had not touched her mother’s flask since that night.
Her mother had another good pull on the flask and then screwed the top back on. “At least no harm was done,” she said as if reaching a decision. She opened the drawer to replace her flask.
“No harm?” Leonie was confused.
“No child.” Her mother closed the drawer.
“My Indian maid at the time, Adya, had me drink a tea.” It had been foul tasting. “She said it would prevent a baby.”
“Adya? I don’t remember her.”
“You might not.” Her mother didn’t pay attention to servants.
Her mother pondered for a moment and then gave Leonie a small smile. “Well, everything ends well.” The brandy was making her mellow. She changed the subject. “Have you seen Lieutenant Gilchrist recently? He was the man who returned you to us and was almost court-martialed for fighting a duel over you. I was told this evening that someone saw him in town.”
Leonie was surprised her mother would single out Roman. “He was at the marquis’s ball.”
“Oh.” Her mother pulled her hair over one shoulder to curl around her hand. “The world is a curious place. Whoever thought we would see him again?” Her lips curved into a sly smile. “I remember him as brawny man with the clearest gray eyes. Tall, dark haired. Interesting, especially after he shot his best friend over you. I may have to search him out to express my appreciation for what he did years ago.”
If Ever I Should Love You Page 6