by Sara Bennett
“Mr. Thorne?”
Dobson was watching him. “I ’ave something to tell you. A name.”
Sebastian frowned, and then he realized what it was Dobson was going to tell him. “You know?”
“Of course I know. I’ve always known. And when I tell you, you’ll understand why Aphrodite is so worried about Francesca.” He moved closer and spoke it softly. “So you see now the difficulties?”
“Yes, I do see,” Sebastian murmured. “I see it all. Then her father is…?”
“Yes.”
“Damn and blast it.” He sighed, and shook his head. “It’s not over, then, is it? I need to protect her even more vigilantly than before.”
Dobson nodded. “He feels threatened and he’ll strike out. Francesca’s a threat to him now. She can take everything he’s clung to all these years. He’ll try and stop her before she learns the truth.”
Sebastian didn’t reply, and, satisfied, Dobson left him there.
Sebastian didn’t know what to think. The name brought everything in focus, he understood so much now, but it also increased his anxiety where Francesca was concerned tenfold. The man in question was a gentleman, someone who could pass through society without anyone giving him a second glance. It didn’t matter if she was in Yorkshire or London, Francesca was going to be exposed to him—she was exposed to him already. How could Sebastian look out for her? How could he be where she was, taking care of her? He was Mr. Thorne, and Mr. Thorne would be told in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome in the places where Miss Francesca Greentree could go with impunity.
But then again what if he was no longer Mr. Thorne?
Aphrodite had suggested as much. How can such a man as you, Mr. Thorne, walk beside Francesca in anything other than secret? If you were a gentleman to her lady, you could keep her safe more easily. And you do want to keep her safe, don’t you?
His hands tightened their grip on the ebony railing that circled the gallery. He’d promised himself he’d never go back, but Francesca needed him. He had to save her.
Whatever the cost to himself.
Chapter 25
“So she really can’t speak?” Lil asked, wide-eyed.
Martin nodded. “She really can’t, and she’s not playacting, either. She can’t tell Mr. Thorne who was giving her orders, and now he’s pulling out his hair with worry, because he thinks whoever it is will come after Miss Francesca next, and she’s refused to let him near her.”
Martin often told her things no one else knew, things he probably shouldn’t have. But Lil liked it. She didn’t let him know that, though; men were best kept in the dark when it came to what women were thinking.
“Good job, too.” She sniffed. “Miss Francesca’s too good for the likes of him.”
Martin laughed. “As if that has anything to do with it, Lil. They’re mad for each other, can’t you see that?”
“No, I can’t, and I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you take note of the way they look at each other next time you see them together. You’ll believe me then.”
Lil sniffed. “There are more important things than lust, Martin. When a lady marries, she marries for breeding and blood, and she wants a man who’ll look after her and give her all the things she’s used to.”
“What about if someone who isn’t a lady marries?” Martin asked. “Does she go for breeding, too? Or can she marry for love?”
“It depends,” Lil said primly.
“On what?”
“On the someone.”
He chuckled. “Now I find that strangely encouraging,” he murmured. Lil felt a pang in her heart. She’d promised herself to have nothing more to do with men. There was too much heartache involved, and she had too many secrets. Martin would want to know all about her, too; they all did. He’d pick and pry until he’d winkled the past out of her, and then he’d turn up his nose and walk away.
She couldn’t bear that. She’d rather stop it right now, as she had with Mr. Keith. And as for Jacob, he hadn’t cared enough about her past to ask. All he’d wanted was someone to cook and clean his clothes and roll about with in bed. He thought Lil was a good choice because she was a lady’s maid, a step up from a village girl.
But Lil knew that it would be different with Martin. He was articulate and intelligent, and he made her laugh. She could see them together; she could see them happy together.
And that was what frightened her.
“I’ll be going back to Yorkshire soon,” she said. “Miss Francesca will want me to go with her.”
“That’s a pity.” Martin shook his head. “What if I asked you to stay with me? You could help me look after Mr. Thorne.”
“I don’t think so. What would Mr. Thorne want with a lady’s maid?”
Martin smiled. “I have a feeling Mr. Thorne is thinking of getting married, Lil.”
“Married?” she was astonished.
“Yes. I found a pair of lady’s drawers stuffed into the bookcase the other day.”
Lil’s eyes grew even wider.
“You think about it, Lil. It would be comfortable, you and me together in London. I reckon we’d make the perfect couple. Professionally speaking, that is.”
She couldn’t help but smile. Professionally speaking! Who did he think he was fooling? But it was tempting. Surprisingly tempting, when she remembered what she would be leaving behind.
“I’ll think on it, Martin.”
He nodded, as if he was satisfied with that, but she noticed that he was smiling, too.
There they were, both of them grinning as if they’d won the lottery and neither of them brave enough to admit it.
“Where is Mr. Thorne now?” Lil asked. “Miss Francesca said he’s gone away. Can’t say she was looking very happy about it.”
“He’s gone home,” Martin said. “But he’ll be back. You wait and see.”
The house had hardly changed. Ramshackle, he used to call it, but only because so many generations of his family had built their own bits and pieces onto the original Tudor manor. Worthorne Manor.
It was evening when he arrived, and he tethered his horse halfway down the driveway so he could walk to the front door. He wanted to take his time and allow the feeling of magic to creep over him. It was so beautiful, with the gold of evening reflected in the Tudor bricks and the small glass windows, while the lush gardens overflowed with flowers. The scent of roses drifted over him, and he thought about Barbara.
As a child she’d run through these gardens, more often than not with Sebastian chasing her. As twins, they did most things together until they were five, and then it changed. Sebastian went to school and Barbara stayed home.
She was a beautiful child, and she grew into a beautiful woman. It was Sebastian who brought Leon home to Worthorne with him. They’d met in London and become friends. Barbara and Leon fell in love.
He still remembered when his sister came to him, smiling, hopeful, to tell him that Leon wished to marry her. He’d been overjoyed. His friend and his sister to marry; it was surely meant to be. And then she said:
“He can be a little jealous.”
He was surprised. Leon, jealous? Impossible. He laughed and smoothed the cuffs of his brand-new coat. “You must stop flirting, Barbara, then he will not feel jealous.”
She smiled, but there was doubt in her eyes.
He ignored it. The wedding was arranged and his sister was suffering from nerves, he told himself, nothing more. Everything was perfect. The truth was, everything wasn’t perfect. He was twenty-two years old, self-centered, and unfamiliar with the shades of light and dark to be found in the world. He couldn’t conceive of a man who wanted to harm women, who enjoyed harming them. He preferred to believe his sister was suffering from prewedding nerves.
The wedding was held in the village church, with all their friends and family around them. Sebastian gave her away, as her brother and the head of the family. Their parents had died ten years before, and Sebastian had come young t
o the title. Barbara and Leon were to live in London part of the year, and for the rest of it they were to reside in Northumberland, on Leon’s estate.
Sebastian did not see her for four months, and when he saw her again she had changed. She was no longer his sunny-tempered, sweet sister. She didn’t smile as often, and she was wan and somehow timid. Leon went on to London to visit his friends, and she stayed with Sebastian at Worthorne. By the end of her visit she was more like her old self, and he told himself that it was the cold, bleak estate in Northumberland that was the trouble, that she should ask Leon to stay in London, or better still, at Worthorne.
“I will ask,” she said somberly, as if it was something she didn’t relish. He laughed, because the Leon he knew could be persuaded to change his mind very easily. “Anything for a friend” was his motto.
Sebastian saw Barbara only twice more.
Once was in London, at Leon’s house. She was quiet, she moved stiffly, and when he asked her if she was all right, she looked to Leon before she answered. Sebastian thought it strange, but when she would not talk to him, he shrugged. There were things to do, and he was a wealthy young aristocrat on the town.
The next time he saw her she was lying on her bed, laid out in her favorite dress, with flowers twisted through her hair, her dead, still face as beautiful as ever. Her murderer, Leon, had taken his own life in remorse, or so they said. Sebastian thought it more likely that, having murdered Barbara, he was not brave enough to face the consequences. His family had carried him back to Northumberland, to his estate, for burial, but Sebastian refused to let Barbara go with him. She had been shackled to her murderer in life, she would not lie beside him in death. At least, he told himself, he could give her that.
He wept. He berated himself for his blindness and his stupidity. Now that she was dead, he saw things so much more clearly, and understood what they had meant. Leon had hit her, hurt her, made her life a living hell. And he, her twin brother, had neither known nor cared. There was nothing he could do or say that would make it better.
That was when he decided to go away and turn his back on the man he’d been—the selfish and foolish boy—and become someone else. He must make recompense by helping others. That was when Mr. Thorne was born.
“Sebastian?”
He lifted his head. He realized he’d been standing in the middle of the driveway, staring at the front of the house. The sun was nearly gone and the air had a balmy, calm feeling, as it did sometimes just before night fell. A moth blundered into his face.
“Sebastian, is that you?”
There was a man standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the front doors. Sebastian knew him at once, even though it had been eight years since he last saw him.
“Yes, Marcus, it is me.”
Marcus laughed. A joyful sound. “You’ve come home!” he cried. “Here you are at last. Come in, come in. Everything is ready for you. Everything is waiting.”
Touched beyond speaking, Sebastian followed his younger brother into Worthorne Manor, and into his past.
“You’re only glad I’m back because you want to join the army,” Sebastian said, later, when he had eaten and drunk a bottle of wine, and was ensconced in his favorite chair. The summer evening was warm, too warm for a fire, and they had opened the long windows to let in the scents of the garden.
“You know me too well,” Marcus admitted, sighing.
“I thought you might have grown to like being squire of Worthorne. I don’t want to take your place if you are content to keep it.”
Marcus chuckled. “No, brother, it doesn’t suit me at all. I will relish the freedom of the army. You know I’ve always wanted to travel. You can stay here at Worthorne and raise your heirs, and I’ll go off and have all the fun.”
Sebastian smiled at his naïveté.
“You’ve changed,” his brother said abruptly. “You’ve grown gloomy.”
“I have a lot on my mind.”
“A woman, do you mean?”
Sebastian tried to frown, but wasn’t very successful.
“What is she like? Come on, brother, tell me. You can’t imagine how damned boring it’s been here for the last eight years.”
Sebastian tried to imagine Francesca’s face and form, and found it all too easy. “Dark hair, curling and thick, the sort of hair you can take in your hands and drown in. A pretty face. Very pretty. A tip-tilted nose. Brown eyes with long lashes, with a gleam in them, when she’s not pretending she’s Miss Proper. Lips that were just made for kissing. The top of her head comes to my chin, and she feels lovely and soft in my arms.”
“And character, brother? Or is that less important than her kissable lips?”
“She says what she thinks, and she argues with me, and she’s not at all intimidated when I swear. She makes me laugh, too. She makes me happy. In fact, she’s a woman to spend a lifetime with. If she’ll have me.”
Marcus laughed, thinking he was joking. “Why wouldn’t she have you!”
“Because she doesn’t trust me not to hurt her, and who can blame her for that?”
Quietly Marcus got up and opened another bottle of the excellent wine. He poured his brother a glass and handed it to him. “Drown your sorrows,” he suggested.
Sebastian stared at him in mock disbelief. “Is that the best you can do, brother? Is that your considered advice? Drown your sorrows?”
Marcus shrugged. “I never was one for affairs of the heart, Seb. After Barbara…I don’t give advice.”
Sebastian sighed. “No,” he agreed, “it’s difficult to recover from something like that. I didn’t think I would, but somehow…Francesca has healed me, or rather she’s made me want to heal myself. I want to be the sort of man she can love.”
“Grand sentiments, brother,” Marcus replied, raising his glass. “Here’s to new beginnings!”
Somberly Sebastian raised his own glass. “To new beginnings.”
Three days later, Sebastian stood in a drawing room in Belgravia, feeling as if he were treading on eggshells. He was dressed in the clothes his brother had lent him, but although they fit well and were fashionable, he didn’t feel comfortable. It would take a while, he supposed, to throw off Mr. Thorne.
The door opened and an attractive, elderly woman entered. She met his eyes, and he saw her own widen. “Sebastian?” she gasped. “It can’t be!”
“Yes, it is Sebastian,” he said, and grinned.
“But where have you been?”
“I’ve been away, Ma’am, but I’m back now. I want to ask a favor of you.”
“Oh do you now? Well, it depends what the favor is.”
“My brother tells me you’re having a ball here in a week’s time. I want you to send out some more invitations.”
Lady Annear’s elegant eyebrows lifted. “I may be your godmother, but that doesn’t mean I have to do as you tell me.” She paused. “I will send your invitations out if you promise to dance with my granddaughters. All seven of ’em!”
“Very well. I promise.”
She smiled. “It must be serious. Come, sit down and tell me all about it.”
Chapter 26
Marietta sat down and put her feet up. “You have no idea how much my back is aching,” she said cheerily.
“Poor Marietta,” Aphrodite murmured. “You should complain to Max, however, not us. It is he who caused this problem.”
Marietta wagged a finger at her. “You are very wicked, Mother. I will do no such thing. He might stop.”
“Marietta, show some decorum,” Francesca said, more for Amy’s benefit than because she really expected her sister to obey. But Amy was busy with the morning mail.
Aphrodite had been invited to visit now she wasso much better. But Jemmy Dobson still insisted she wasn’t well enough to make an appearance in the salon at the club, or to work in her office. She was to rest and regain her strength, and put on some flesh.
“He complains if I do not finish my potatoes,” she said with a grimace. �
�I do not like potatoes!”
“Like them or not, you are looking a great deal better,” Francesca assured her, smiling.
Aphrodite smiled back. “Yes, but I told you I would not die. I am strong, petit chaton. Too strong for that horrible woman.”
Marietta wriggled her aching feet. “I always liked Maeve,” she said sadly. “I still can’t believe she could do such a thing.”
“I did not mean Maeve,” Aphrodite said somberly. “I think I could forgive her. But the other one, Mrs. Slater, no, I will never forgive her.”
“She still hasn’t said a word,” Francesca announced the latest news. “Lil says she just sits and stares at the wall. And Jed hardly ever speaks, either, and when he does, it’s to blame her for everything. Leading him astray, he says. As for Mrs. March…”
“Shhh!” Amy glanced over at the door, just in case William might suddenly arrive and overhear them. “My brother is still very upset about all of that. He was very fond of Mrs. March, or at least he was fond of her efficiency. She ran the house like clockwork, he tells me.”
“Never mind that she was a horrible woman who thought it would have been better if her mother had smothered us all.” Francesca shuddered. “I’m glad she’s in jail.”
“I’ve been interviewing new housekeepers for him, and I think I’ve found someone suitable,” Amy went on. “I’ve warned him not to glare at her, at least not until she’s grown used to his ways. His bark is worse than his bite.”
Francesca and Marietta exchanged a glance.
Amy took up another letter and opened the crisp paper. “Oh,” she said, and her face lit up. “It’s an invitation! Lady Annear requests the presence of Mr. Tremaine, Mrs. Jardine, and Miss Francesca Greentree at her granddaughter’s first ball…” She dropped the paper in her lap. “It’s only two days away! Francesca can’t possibly be ready.”
“Yes, she can,” Marietta said, her eyes closing. “Remember, Francesca has a ball gown completed. She can wear that, and have another one made up for our own ball. Plenty of time.”