“But you both got your happy endings.” Whereas I never shall. “Society won’t shun me. I’ll tell everyone Cousin Maria was too unwell to remain in London, and that I am looking about me for a replacement. After a while, people will become accustomed to my living alone and think no more about it.”
“That’s wishful thinking, and you know it.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “I wish you had let me call Hythwick out. I would have made short work of him.” Miles had arrived just as the earl was climbing into his carriage. He would have dragged him right back out if Gloriana hadn’t got in the way, shouting to the coachman to drive off.
“After which you would have to flee the country? Don’t be absurd. What about Melinda and the children? And don’t say Julian Kerr could just as well have called him out, for he and Daisy are about to marry! I refuse to let my unfortunate experience with Hythwick cause harm to anyone in my family.”
“Philippe looked as if he would have been happy to finish the job.”
She felt herself redden. Seriously annoyed now, she retorted, “He had half-killed him already.”
“Rightly so,” Miles said, “but now we shall all be obliged to pretend that nothing happened. How do you propose to behave when you meet Hythwick in public?”
She thought about it. “I suppose that depends on him. He will mostly likely be distant and polite, since he is obsessed with propriety—”
Miles made a rude noise.
“The appearance of propriety, then, and won’t want to risk arousing my family’s enmity any more than he already has. I come off far worse in this situation, for everyone will see me as a rejected spinster.” Better than a ruined one, which would be the result of a duel and the ensuing scandal. “If I can tolerate that, then so must you.”
He grunted reluctant acknowledgement, and she hugged him.
What a pity she couldn’t escape Elspeth as well. God only knew why her maid was in such a foul mood. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she seemed subdued. In any other woman, Gloriana would have suspected a hearty bout of tears, but Elspeth never wept.
“For God’s sake, cheer up,” she told the maid. “I need comfort, not surliness. I should leave you here in Lancashire.”
“As you wish, Miss Gloriana,” Elspeth said in a wooden voice. Gloriana stared, realizing that Elspeth wouldn’t at all mind staying behind. Being addressed as Gloriana rather than Glow was particularly ominous.
“I don’t wish to leave you here,” Gloriana protested. “It’s just that we have a long way to go, and it’s easier with a pleasant traveling companion.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Gloriana,” Elspeth said, “but it is beyond me to be pleasant just now.” She spread a gown on the bed and folded it methodically.
“Why? You’re not the one who was almost violated. You’re not the one who drove away the only man you ever loved.”
Elspeth’s lip wobbled. Something must have seriously upset her, for ordinarily she would scold Gloriana about her mistreatment of Philippe. She’d done it often enough in the past.
“Is something wrong? Because if it is, just tell me and get it over with.”
“Nothing is wrong, miss.” She set the gown in a trunk and proceeded to fold another.
“Nonsense,” Gloriana said. “Your eyes are red, and you’re in a horrible mood. Why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
“Because I don’t wish to. It’s none of your business, miss, and that’s all I have to say.” Elspeth shut and locked the first trunk and began packing another.
“But . . . but surely it is my business,” Gloriana said. “You’re my servant, and therefore I am responsible for your well-being.”
“My physical well-being, miss, which is perfectly fine.” Elspeth turned away, firmly stowing several nightdresses.
Gloriana set about packing her jewelry. She was accustomed to confiding all her troubles to Elspeth. She thought of her as a friend, not a mere servant. Seemingly, Elspeth didn’t return the sentiment.
Servants are like children and will succumb to hysteria over nothing, said her mother’s voice in Gloriana’s mind. She was sorely tempted to dismiss Elspeth’s bad temper as folly.
No, for Elspeth was never foolish. “But surely there’s something I can do.”
Elspeth rounded on her. “It’s too late for that, miss. You could have behaved like a lady should. You could have treated the marquis with kindness and understanding for the past several years. If you had, you would have been married to him by now, and happy.”
Her heart sank. Maybe this was true. If only she’d been patient . . .
“But you didn’t.” Elspeth shook out a chemise with a snap. “You could have evaded Lord Hythwick rather than encouraging him, just for the sake of playing a foolish prank.”
Shame washed over her. “You don’t understand. That’s not why I—”
Elspeth’s voice rose with fury. “And you could have stayed away from here this morning, but instead you ruined everything.”
“I ruined everything?”
Elspeth slammed the half-filled trunk shut. “If you intend to dismiss me, get on with it so I can pack my things.”
An impertinent servant is not to be borne. If Gloriana had been her mother, she would have sacked the maid immediately. But Mama would never have considered a servant her friend.
“Don’t be absurd, Elspeth. I don’t know how I would go on without you.”
Elspeth didn’t respond, and Gloriana sighed, trying to understand. Yes, she had made a mull of everything, but it wouldn’t affect Elspeth’s life, which would go on much as before. Why was she so upset?
She glanced at the maid’s stiff back and knew no comfort or help would come from there.
Feeling more bereft than ever, Gloriana crossed to the shelves for the Book of Hours but drew her hand back at the last moment. She’d broken her vow. She didn’t deserve sympathy, nor the comfort the book bestowed. She still cringed, recalling the words she’d spoken aloud to Philippe. I never loved you.
What a horrid lie. Five years ago, she had vowed to love him forever, and she had stuck to her vow. After that night at the summerhouse when her plan had gone awry, she had composed a new scene in her mind. If Philippe still loved her, he would understand how much he had hurt her. Stricken with remorse, he would go down on bended knee and apologize, professing his undying love.
On the contrary. The next time they’d met, his gaze had conveyed nothing but disdain. She still loved him, but pride would not allow her to show it. Her new persona—the haughty aristocrat—showed Philippe how much she despised him and his revolutionary views. Until he realized the error of his ways, she would continue to play her role, while cherishing in her heart of hearts the belief that he did love her, and that love would prevail in the end.
But it hadn’t.
Maybe Elspeth was right, and she’d handled it all wrong.
But he should have understood how much he’d hurt her. If he’d truly loved her, he would have.
She glanced at Elspeth, who would certainly disagree with this. He’s not a mind reader, the maid would say, and Gloriana was forced to admit, if only to herself, that this was true. But she and Philippe had discussed his ideals when they’d first met, particularly with regard to education of the lower classes, and she’d applauded every one of them. How could he believe she had suddenly changed her mind? Why hadn’t he said something? He could have tried to win her over. But he hadn’t.
She finished packing her jewelry, took up her sketchbook and pencil, and drew Philippe as she’d last seen him—his eyes chilly with disgust and his handsome face distorted by a sneer. Usually, she drew to comfort and console herself, but not this time. She made herself look at the drawing over and over, dwelling on this unlovable aspect of him in the hope that it would help her forget hi
m.
It didn’t work. On the long journey south, she reviewed their latest encounter over and over. She’d got her lines entirely wrong.
She should have given him a piece of her mind. How dare he imagine she would try to trap Hythwick into marriage? She’d never approved of such stupid tricks. She should have berated him for such a crude, vulgar suggestion, unworthy of an aristocrat.
No, no, that was what Mama might have said. Best not to mention aristocrats in connection with Philippe. Not that she had anything against the nobility. She believed in the principle of noblesse oblige. Those of birth, wealth, and authority had an obligation to help those in lesser circumstances. But Philippe went farther. He had supported the revolution in France. He disapproved of class distinctions and probably considered it his right to behave like a dustman if he so chose. Regardless, a polite, well-bred lady wouldn’t taunt him for being an aristocrat, nor for wishing he wasn’t one.
No sarcastic tone of voice, either, she reminded herself. She didn’t love him anymore, so there was no reason for bitter mockery to combat his.
Very well, how about this?
It’s most chivalrous of you to stay to guard me, kind sir, but I couldn’t bear to inconvenience you.
No more stalking away in high dudgeon. She should have glided, or perhaps floated—Mama had tutored her in ladylike grace—downstairs to order Lord Hythwick’s coach. That would have been far preferable to spending five minutes in the privy, fuming and waiting for Philippe’s descending footsteps. When she gave up and unbolted the door, she’d found him sitting on the steps just above the landing, waiting for her.
Thank God she hadn’t succumbed to a bout of tears in the water closet, for he would have heard. But in spite of the painful twisting of her heart, she’d been unable to cry.
She had almost thrown up, though. Shock, perhaps, although whether from being attacked by one man or rejected by the other, she wasn’t sure. She made her way down the stairs, still queasy, to where Elspeth waited. Philippe didn’t follow to see how she fared.
Why would he? He’d only come to look at the Book of Hours, as Elspeth later told her. Gloriana was perfectly safe in the kitchen, and besides that, he didn’t love her.
Doesn’t love you, never loved you, the carriage wheels said again and again and again on the long ride south. By the time they reached London, Gloriana had stopped listening to the wheels. She was done with dreaming up reconciliation scenes. She thought about Philippe only a couple of dozen times a day. He would become a tedious memory before long. Till then, she would simply avoid him.
Bright and early the next morning, on a sweltering day even for London, she ordered her carriage and made a visit to the school for orphaned boys in Islington.
It was her school—her secret.
Well, not entirely secret. Elspeth knew, of course, and so, entirely by accident, did her most serious suitor, Mr. Bridge. At first, she had supported the school entirely with the income from a legacy from her aunt, who had died several months after her mother, but one day her suitor had driven past on a journey north and spied her on the doorstep of the school. He’d ordered the coachman to stop, jumped out to greet her, and that was the end of her secret.
A good end to it, though, for Mr. Bridge contributed regularly to the school’s upkeep. He’d even donated a mare and rented stabling in the nearby mews, so that the boys could be taught to ride. He had advised her to find other patrons, but she’d refused. “I don’t want the whole world to know.”
“Dash it all, Miss Warren,” he’d said. “There’s no shame in funding a school for orphan boys.”
“I’m not ashamed,” she retorted, “but I’d rather keep it a secret all the same.” She wasn’t about to explain why. Mr. Bridge, being extremely polite, neither insisted nor pried. Besides Philippe, he was the only man she’d seriously considered marrying. But apart from that vow she’d made, she didn’t love Mr. Bridge—he was merely a good, kind, tolerant friend.
Tolerant being the operative word. He deserved a much more agreeable wife than Gloriana would ever be.
Today, she stepped down from the carriage and sent it round to the stable at the Angel Inn. She dug in her reticule for the key to the front door of the pretty brick house she’d bought for the school.
“Mademoiselle Glow!”
She’d chosen her nickname as a pseudonym. No one at the school but Eric Alexander, the headmaster, knew her true identity, and he was sworn to secrecy.
Gloriana turned, her foot on the bottom step, as two boys and a girl pelted along the pavement toward her. One boy, Thomas Walters, was one of her school’s orphans, while the other two children were the offspring of Madame Brun, a widowed Frenchwoman who had emigrated to England during the revolution in France. Gloriana greeted the children with hugs and smiled at Madame Brun, who lived in a similar house a few doors down. “Good day, Madame!”
“How lovely to see you in London so soon.” Madame Brun was an exotic-looking brunette with a mischievous air and a warm heart. “I thought you were fixed in the country until autumn.”
So had Gloriana, until Philippe—
No. She would not think about him. “I intend to spend more time at the school.” Now that she had no elderly chaperone fretting over her, she could do precisely as she pleased, when she pleased, without upsetting anyone. She found great joy in sketching and drawing, so maybe she could teach it, if any of the boys showed aptitude. “My work here feels so much more worthwhile than anything I can do in the North. My brother and his wife are so good to their dependents, neighbors, and tenants, that I am superfluous, while here in London, there is never enough help to go around.”
“True,” Madame Brun sighed. “Mr. Alexander recently acquired two more boys for the school, but one ran away the very next day.”
This was only to be expected. Mr. Alexander, formerly the vicar of an impoverished parish, was a good judge of which boys to choose, but street ragamuffins sometimes valued their independence more than the promise of regular food and education. She didn’t blame them. They were used to broken promises, and in their experience, enticing offers usually proved more costly than they were worth.
She reminded herself that Philippe, too, was a promise-breaker. He had sworn he loved her, and then he’d shown precisely the opposite by running away when she’d given him the chance to prove it. She’d tried to make excuses for him over the years but without success. Why had she continued to love such a man? Maybe Elspeth was right, and God would forgive her for breaking her vow.
“Thomas is making great progress in French.” Madame Brun turned to the boy. “Show Miss Glow.”
Thomas, who had come to her two years earlier, foul-mouthed and louse-ridden, stood forward and gave a jerky bow. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. Comment allez-vous?”
“Très bien, merci,” Gloriana said. “Your accent is already better than mine.” She smiled at him, and he grinned back. How rewarding to see him now entirely the equal of the far better bred Charles Brun. She gazed fondly on the children, the paler, fairer Thomas and the darker, Gallic-looking Charles, and pretty little Elise. The boys were now fast friends, where in other circumstances they could never have known and trusted one another. Charles would have gone on to a respectable profession, solicitor perhaps, or physician, while Thomas would likely have been hanged or transported for theft. It went to show how completely accurate were Philippe’s theories of education, on which she had founded the school.
These were the same theories she’d argued against every time she met him, which made it impossible to seek patrons for the school. Society, including Philippe, would learn that she supported his views on education. Since she publicly disagreed with him at every opportunity, she would look like a fool, a madwoman, or both.
The more she thought about the role she’d played for the last several years, the less sense
it made.
“Perhaps we can have coffee together more often.” Madame Brun had never learned to share the English taste for tea.
“That would be delightful,” Gloriana said, meaning it. How lovely, and how perfectly restful, to be amongst people who knew her as she really was—no pretense, except for her name. She bade them all adieu and continued into the orphanage.
A boy, descending the stairs with a bundle of laundry, spied her and cried, “Miss Glow is here!”
Within seconds, a torrent of pupils, ranging from around five years old to fifteen, poured out of every room in the house and surrounded her. Tears burned behind her eyes. This, she realized for the first time, was genuine love.
Well, perhaps not on the part of the boys. They liked her well enough, and they appreciated the treats she brought, but on her part, this was love.
Perhaps it wasn’t so terrible that she’d broken her vow, because she’d had no true concept of love upon which to base it.
She greeted them all by name and was introduced to the latest addition, a scrawny, towheaded child. Mr. Alexander appeared and sent them back to their various tasks. All the boys contributed to the upkeep of the school, whether it was cleaning, helping in the kitchen, or making simple furniture for sale.
“I didn’t expect you back in London so soon,” he said, brushing chalk dust off his hands. He was a spare, untidy widower of about forty with a twinkle in his eye and an infectious grin. If he’d been a little younger, she might easily have fallen in love with him. He was definitely a better sort of person than the Marquis de Bellechasse would ever be.
Although he did have an eye for the ladies, which had got him into trouble with the Church. She suspected he had a lady friend on the side, but so what? She liked him. He got on well with the boys, who probably respected him all the more for not pretending to be a prim and proper schoolmaster.
The Redemption of the Shrew (Scandalous Kisses Book 4) Page 4