His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6

by Sophie Barnes

  When Mary awoke the following morning, she couldn’t recall ever feeling so well rested before, which of course made little sense considering that she’d only slept for about five hours. It had to be Richard and all the wonderful things he’d said to her when they’d last parted ways. Her worries had been lifted from her shoulders, allowing her to hope for a future that she’d never thought would be hers. He was wonderful.

  Stretching out upon the sheets while enjoying the plush feel of the pillow cradling her head, Mary allowed her dreamy thoughts of Richard to fill her mind, right until Amy entered her room with a firm knock and a brisk stride. “Good morning, my lady. Your aunt requests your immediate presence in the yellow parlor. I am to help you dress.”

  Dismayed by Amy’s tone, Mary brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and sat up. “What is the matter?” she asked her warily.

  Rifling through Mary’s wardrobe, Amy sniffed a few times before saying, “I have never seen her look so angry before in my life.” She turned to look at Mary, revealing the tears in her eyes. “She knows about you and . . . I am certain of it, though I assure you that I have said nothing to her that might give you away. Please. You must believe me.”

  “I do,” Mary said as she got out of bed and plodded across the floor to where Amy was standing. She offered her a handkerchief, which she gratefully accepted. “It will be all right, Amy. I am certain of it. In fact, I daresay that by the end of today you may wish me happy.”

  “He plans to propose?”

  Mary nodded, a bubble of laughter bursting from between her lips. She could no longer contain her happiness. “Indeed, he intends to speak with my aunt directly. Now that I know who he is, I see no obstacle in our way.”

  But when Mary entered the yellow parlor a short while later, her confidence wavered in response to the hard glare in her aunt’s eyes which seemed to match the tight set of her mouth to perfection. Lady Foxworth looked visibly terrifying. “Good morning,” Mary said, her hands clasped in front of her as she crossed to the sofa that faced the one on which her aunt was seated. A tea tray stood on a low table between them.

  “Hardly,” Lady Foxworth clipped while Mary lowered herself onto the sofa. “In fact, it has come to my attention that you have defied me . . . lied to me!”

  Straight to the point then.

  “I suppose you must be referring to Signor Antonio,” Mary said in as calm a tone as she could muster.

  “Of course I am!” Her aunt practically exploded, her cheeks reddening with the exertion. “How could you, Mary? I trusted you and rather than prove yourself worthy of that trust, you went behind my back and . . . and got yourself ruined. This is a disaster! Good God! What am I going to tell your poor parents? They will be devastated!”

  “Not if they approve of him.”

  Lady Foxworth’s eyes narrowed. “How can they when he has no desire for anyone to know who he is? How can he offer you anything under such circumstances? You cannot hope to marry him, that is for certain, though I have asked Lady Duncaster to fetch him for me. I expect them to arrive at any moment.”

  Mary’s pulse quickened with expectation. “In that case, I think that you will find yourself eating your words, Aunt Eugenia. Richard deserves your respect and—”

  “Richard?” Lady Foxworth placed her hand against her chest. “How can you make such free use of his Christian name? It is not proper.” She shook her head, her earrings dangling violently from side to side. “Oh dear Lord, Mary. I expected so much better from you. I—”

  The door opened and Lady Duncaster entered, followed by Richard who closed the door behind them. He wasn’t wearing the mask or the cape, his face completely visible in the bright daylight that filled the room. It was the first time Mary had seen him like this, his features untouched by shadows or flickering light. A swarm of butterflies batted their wings in the pit of her stomach, her heart skipping happily in response to the smile he was sending her way.

  Dressed in a green, beautifully tailored, jacket, with beige-colored breeches and expensive looking boots, he was the very image of a well-bred gentleman. His hair had been neatly combed; his sparkling eyes the focal point of his face—a complete distraction from the pink skin that puckered over his left cheek and down the side of his neck. To Mary, he had never looked more handsome than at that very moment.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, addressing Mary’s aunt as he bowed slightly from the waist. “My name is Richard Heartly. It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Foxworth.”

  The tension in Lady Foxworth’s expression eased, replaced by something that could only be described as complete and utter surprise. “You are Lord Oakland’s younger son?”

  “The very one,” Richard said as he stepped further into the room. Still standing, he waited for Lady Duncaster to considerately claim the seat beside Lady Foxworth so he could sit down next to Mary.

  “But you are supposed to be dead!” Lady Foxworth blurted. With a jolt, her eyes widened and she immediately placed her hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, I did not mean . . . that is to say, I—”

  “It is quite all right,” Richard said. “I wanted it that way.” He turned the left side of his face toward her. “As you can probably imagine, I was not very eager to make a public appearance. If news of my return to England had spread, I would have had to do so in order to save my family the embarrassment of having to explain my constant absence from social events.”

  “Because of the scars?” Lady Foxworth quietly asked. “They are not really all that bad.”

  “A fact that your niece has eventually convinced me of.” He reached for Mary’s hand, the warmth of him weaving its way through her. “Her kindness toward me and her ability to care for the person that I am without being influenced by my appearance, has given me a tremendous amount of hope for the future.”

  “I still find it difficult to agree with your method,” Lady Foxworth said, her voice tightening a notch. “After all, you refused to reassure me of your credentials when I asked you to do so. Furthermore, I have just received a letter this morning from the Earl of Rotridge, informing me that you and Mary have been cavorting with each other for the past two weeks. If you were a gentleman—”

  “I hope you are not calling my character into question,” Richard said, edging forward in his seat.

  “What I am saying,” Lady Foxworth continued, not the least bit deterred by the note of warning in Richard’s voice, “is that you have deliberately put my niece’s reputation at risk on numerous occasions, which is hardly very gentlemanly of you.”

  Mary held her breath while Richard stared back at her aunt. If only she could dive under the carpet, but unfortunately, that was not a possibility. She looked to Lady Duncaster instead, who in turn appeared remarkably calm—as if she knew that this situation would resolve itself to everyone’s liking. Mary could only hope that this would be the case.

  “Point taken,” Richard eventually conceded. “But I saw no other way in which to get to know her better. As our acquaintance with each other turned into a solid friendship and something . . . more promising than that, it became increasingly impossible for me to imagine a day without Mary by my side.”

  Mary’s heart swelled until it felt as though it might actually burst. Her eyes misted and a tight knot began forming in her throat.

  “With your permission,” Richard continued, “I would like to ask for her hand in marriage.”

  Mary knew her aunt well enough to see that she was pleased by this outcome, even if she tried not to show it, her expression as serious as ever as she met Richard’s gaze. “A former soldier who has fought bravely for his country is certainly a quality that I cannot help but admire. Especially considering the price you had to pay for it.” She paused a moment, seemingly considering her next words. “That said, however, I would like to know how you plan on supporting her. To be blunt, what is your financial situation like?”

  Mary gasped. “Aunt! You cannot . . .
” Lady Foxworth gave her a quelling look that forced Mary’s words into silence.

  “Commonality is all well and good when choosing your life-partner, Mary,” Lady Foxworth said, “But there is the business side to it that should not be ignored.”

  “She is right,” Richard said, briefly offering Mary a reassuring smile before returning his full attention to Lady Foxworth. “May I be equally blunt?”

  “By all means,” Lady Foxworth said. “I encourage you to do so.”

  “Very well then. As Mary is already aware, I have made some lucrative investments over the last few years. As a result, I currently have an income of ten thousand pounds per year. In addition to that, I have recently acquired an estate which I am sure will meet your expectations. All in all, I would say that my net worth at the moment is somewhere in the vicinity of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

  Mary’s jaw dropped, as did her aunt’s. Lady Duncaster on the other hand looked very pleased—as if she’d known all along just how eligible Richard Heartly actually was. Which, Mary realized, she probably had.

  Gathering her composure, Lady Foxworth reached for her teacup and took a sip before saying, “That sounds like a very comfortable number.”

  Mary almost choked. But before she could manage an apology on behalf of her aunt, the lady surprised Mary again by saying, “My only remaining question now is whether or not you love her.”

  Surely there had to be a window through which Mary could escape? Looking around, she saw that they were all firmly shut. But all plans of vaulting over a windowsill and running until her feet could no longer carry her, fled from her mind the moment Richard voiced his response. He gave no lengthy explanation and made no use of flowery prose. All he said was, “Of course I do.”

  At which point Mary promptly burst into tears, which of course was silly. After all, today had just turned into the most wonderful day of her life. “I love you too,” she croaked out while dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief that Richard offered her.

  “In that case, I see no reason why the two of you should not be together,” Lady Foxworth said. “If that is what you want, Mary.”

  “With all my heart,” Mary managed.

  “Well then.” Lady Foxworth’s voice sounded a little more raw than before. “On behalf of Mary’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Harrodsburg, you have my blessing.”

  The moment the words were out, Richard slipped off the sofa and onto one knee. He took both of Mary’s hands in his and smiled up at her with all the love that he’d just professed. “Mary Bourneville, will you do me the honor of making me the most fortunate man in the world by becoming my wife?”

  Swallowing the knot in her throat, she nodded her agreement, sniffing a little until she finally managed to get the necessary words out. “Yes,” she whispered. “Nothing would please me more.”

  Leaning forward, he placed a kiss upon her lips before catching her in his arms and pulling her to her feet so he could embrace her properly. It wasn’t until Mary heard Lady Duncaster whisper something to her aunt that she remembered they weren’t alone.

  “We will have more time for this later,” Richard murmured close to her ear before stepping back and adding a respectful amount of distance between them.

  The words sent a tremor down Mary’s spine, her cheeks grew warm and for a frightening moment she feared that her legs might collapse beneath her. So she sat down quickly and busied herself with pouring tea into cups and arranging sweetmeats on plates which she then offered to everyone in turn.

  “Thank you,” Lady Duncaster said, setting her plate aside, “but I am afraid that I must leave you now. I promised the butler that I would go over the social activities for the coming week with him. Do let me know if you would like to make a formal announcement this evening and I will ensure that enough champagne is put on ice.”

  As soon as she was gone, Richard returned to his seat beside Mary and addressed Lady Foxworth. “There is something else that you ought to know,” he said as he reached for Mary’s hand once more. Turning to Mary, he said, “You need to tell her about the opera.”

  Chapter 14

  Mary sucked in a breath. It was as if she’d just been hurled into an abyss, arms flailing and all. Her entire body stiffened as the skin on her arms and shoulders tightened with a wash of prickly heat. “I cannot,” she whispered, shaking away a shiver.

  “It is the most prudent way forward,” Richard told her calmly. “If Rotridge plans to use the information against you, your aunt will eventually find out. I think that it would be best if she did so from you.”

  Mary knew that he was right, but that didn’t seem to diminish her fear in the least. She was terrified of what her aunt would think—of how she would react when she discovered that Mary had lied to her. How much, she had lied to her. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she prayed for strength. When she opened them again, she focused all her attention on her aunt’s curious expression and said, “You know how fond I am of reading?”

  Lady Foxworth nodded. “Of course. It is one of your favorite activities. You always go to bed early so that you can have a few hours to yourself with a good book. I have nothing against it personally though it has struck me as somewhat odd that a young lady, such as yourself, would prefer reading to an evening at the theatre.”

  Hesitantly chewing on her lower lip, Mary squeezed Richard’s hand. “To be perfectly honest, I must confess that I do not. Prefer reading to an evening at the theatre, that is.”

  “What do you mean?” Lady Foxworth’s lips parted in a perfect O, her eyes darting from Mary to Richard and back again.

  “I mean that I was not reading when you thought I was. I was singing.” Sucking in a deep breath, Mary plunged forward. “And I was doing so at the opera, in full view of everyone who has ever bought a ticket to see Lucia Cavalani.”

  Lady Foxworth blinked, then shook her head. “I do not understand.”

  Leaning slightly forward, Mary met her aunt’s eyes. “I am Lucia Cavalani, Aunt. I have been singing at the King’s Theatre for two full seasons now disguised as her, with earnings of five thousand pounds per annum. And that is—”

  “Good Lord,” Richard breathed.

  “I am speechless,” Lady Foxworth exclaimed. “Positively speechless!”

  “And that is without considering the additional profits that I have acquired from occasionally performing by special request or going on tour. If you recall, I did stay with my brother a few times during the off-season.”

  “Your brother knew about this?” Lady Foxworth sounded truly appalled now.

  “I believe it was to his advantage,” Richard said, “Though I must confess that I had no idea of just how much until this moment.” Turning his head he looked down at Mary with a mixture of admiration and something alarmingly similar to pity. “What was your total income this last year, Mary?”

  “Sixteen thousand seven hundred pounds. To be exact.”

  “Good grief!” Lady Foxworth curled her hand around the armrest as if to steady herself.

  “And how much of that have you given your brother?” Richard asked.

  “He needed my help,” Mary said, aware of how the situation probably looked.

  “How much?” Richard repeated.

  Feeling horribly foolish all of a sudden, Mary dropped her gaze. “Twelve thousand pounds.”

  Silence fell upon the room for one long awful moment until Richard quietly said, “I am sorry, but I daresay that he has not been a very good brother to you.”

  “I could not agree more,” Lady Foxworth said. “To think that he encouraged you to go behind my back, facilitating this . . . this folly! And for what? You could have been horribly ruined any number of times and in any number of ways too. The people you must have had to associate with . . . Good Lord! It does not bear thinking about, Mary. To say that I am disappointed in you would be a grave understatement. And your poor parents! Just think of—”

  “That is quite enough,” Ric
hard cut in. “There is no need to add salt to the wound, Lady Foxworth. Mary knows that what she did was risky, and yet I cannot help but admire her for it nonetheless.”

  “Admire her?” Lady Foxworth’s tone reminded Mary of nails on a chalkboard.

  “For better or worse, she tried to help her brother overcome a difficult situation when he had no one else to turn to. She did so by transforming her voice into a powerful asset—one that is worth five thousand pounds per annum! Can you imagine how difficult that must have been for her? Just coordinating everything so that nobody would learn the truth about her is a remarkable feat on its own. But if you hear her sing—”

  “I have heard her sing, Mr. Heartly,” Lady Foxworth said tightly and with an underlying note of exhaustion. Her nostrils flared. “In fact, it seems that I have had that pleasure repeatedly. At the King’s Theatre.”

  “Then you must agree that she has an incredible talent,” Richard insisted.

  Lady Foxworth stared back at Mary as if she were seeing her for the very first time, which made Mary feel much like a rare specimen in a glass jar at the Hunterian. It took every ounce of restraint she possessed not to squirm.

  Eventually her aunt nodded. “Indeed, there is no denying that.” Mary breathed a sigh of relief, which came a moment too soon since her aunt continued with, “But . . .” She held up a pointed finger to accentuate the word. “That does not mean that I will forgive you for betraying my trust, Mary. Apparently, you are not the person I thought you to be, but someone else entirely, and that is not an easy thing for me to accept. I am sorry.”

  If her aunt had struck her, Mary doubted it would have hurt as much as the words that had just been spoken. They fell heavily between them, like thick snow dislodged from a rooftop.

  “Nevertheless,” Richard said. Releasing Mary’s hand, he brought his arm around her shoulders instead—an intimate gesture of comfort that was terribly inappropriate, but much appreciated by Mary. “You are not the only one who knows about this. Rotridge does as well.”