How to Fall for the Wrong Man (Ladies of Passion)

by Williams, Harmony

  The words soured in my throat, like curdled milk. I took a sip of tea to wash them down, but it didn’t help.

  Papa frowned. The corners of his mouth disappeared into the shadow of his beard.

  I added, “You’re hardly around of late, so I’d hoped not to worry you over this. I have a contract and everything.”

  The glimmer of a smile played around his mouth. He fiddled with his teacup, but didn’t take a sip. “And Lady Gladstone? Is she aware this is a part you’re playing and you have no intention of seeing it through to the altar?”

  I flinched at the question, an answer in itself.

  “You received a summons to attend a soiree at her house tomorrow. We both did, to celebrate your engagement.”

  What little mettle I still possessed drained out through the soles of my shoes. “Tomorrow? But that’s—”

  The anniversary of Mama’s death.

  He met my gaze, his expression stern. “Lady Gladstone won’t be happy when you call off the wedding. Are you sure this is what you and this young man want?”

  Was it?

  Of course it is.

  Why did that voice get smaller with every passing night I spent with him?

  “Edwin and I don’t suit, Papa. We’d be at each other’s throats.”

  “Then why did you agree to this engagement in the first place?”

  I shrugged, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s mutually beneficial. Ever since my…indiscretion a month ago, I know we haven’t had much money and…”

  “The scoundrel offered you money to spend your nights with him?”

  I jumped at the venom in Papa’s voice. “What? No! He offered me a tidy sum to pretend to be in love with him. In public, for everyone to see.”

  To my surprise, Papa didn’t appear much more pleased at the clarification. “We have enough quid to live, Mary. I see to that.”

  “And you’re working yourself near to death.” I pressed my lips shut and looked away. I was worried for him, just as much as he was worried for me. In a small voice, I added, “I only have a few days left in the contract now, so it doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say, I made a misstep, and I felt it was my duty to rectify it.”

  “By marrying this young man.”

  “Certainly not.” I swallowed hard. “Mama wouldn’t approve. I will pretend to be in love with him until the contract expires and we can return to our everyday lives.”

  Papa frowned again, studying me. This time, it seemed more pensive than disapproving. “All your mother ever wanted was to see you happy and carefree. Now it seems like you take the weight of the world upon your shoulders.”

  “Someone has to, Papa. You know that.”

  “Maybe so.” He stared into his teacup, his expression troubled. “But if you find a bit of happiness, you should find a way to hold onto it. It’s what your mother would have wanted.”

  “Edwin and I are not happy,” I lied. Truth be told, we were happy—for now. But it wouldn’t last forever. And I wasn’t such a lovelorn fool that I’d pretend otherwise.

  It hadn’t lasted forever before. And we’d only been friends then, not lovers. Now that we’d both changed in ways that departed from the youths who had been able to make a connection with each other, what chance did we have? None.

  That kind of love didn’t exist, certainly not for me. Happiness hadn’t lasted through any of my liaisons. No happiness lasting a lifetime didn’t exist. Even Papa’s marriage with Mama had ended in heartbreak.

  Eleven years ago tomorrow. I swallowed hard, the knowledge thick in my throat.

  My voice was hoarse as I added, “I can’t go tomorrow. I won’t.” If Edwin used my absence as an excuse to declare that he’d won…

  “You must.”

  Why would Papa insist? I clutched his hand, lying on the table next to his teacup and saucer. “But Mama…”

  He squeezed my hand. Looking more tired than ever, he asked, “What do you remember about your mother?”

  “Everything.”

  Not enough. With every passing year, I seemed to lose more of her. I recalled the way she’d tease me about being too much like my father when I asked for law books as my bedtime stories. The way she always had a fond smile for Papa—no matter how trying a day she’d had, she seemed to brighten the moment she saw him. She’d taught me about being strong in the face of my fears and always following my heart.

  “Tomorrow is the day we remember her.” I remembered her every day, some more than others, like the day she’d died, or her birthday two days before mine. “I miss her, Papa.”

  He tightened his hold on me, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Seeing him so shaken threatened to send me to weeping, too. “I miss her, too. But you must know she’s always in our hearts. You take her with you wherever you go. She wouldn’t want you to miss your engagement party on account of her.”

  “It isn’t a real engagement—”

  “What if it is, Mary?”

  My insides quivered at the question. I didn’t want to consider it.

  “It isn’t.”

  Papa sighed. “Did I ever tell you about your mother’s and my engagement?”

  In answer, I shook my head.

  “It was short-lived,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “I’d toiled away, saving for months to prove that I could afford the sort of lifestyle your mother deserved. All the while, she and I had precious little time together, a stolen moment here or there. Finally, when I had enough funds to purchase this house, I asked for a private audience with your grandfather and asked him for her hand.”

  I frowned. “But Papa—you’re the one who has always told me that I have the right to choose my own lovers, that you don’t own me or my body.”

  He chuckled. “I was younger then, and not as wise. Your mother was the person who taught me that, when I confessed to her that night that her father had declined my suit.”

  Aside from Old Lady Gladstone, I had no contact with any of Mama’s friends or family in the ton. When I was younger, she’d told me they weren’t worth associating with. As I’d grown older, I’d equated that to mean they were the sort of cruel peers who kept slaves and mistreated their servants. I didn’t know my grandfather, nor had I ever wished to. Had that all been because he hadn’t approved of Mama’s marriage?

  Papa continued, “She told me to ask her how she would like to spend her future, not somebody who barely knew her personality, let alone her mind. Would you like to know what she told me?”

  I nodded, biting my lip. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

  “She said she wanted her future to be with me, starting that very evening by getting into a traveling coach heading to Gretna Green. She was always a bit impulsive, like you.”

  She was? I hadn’t known that. I recalled a polite, soft-spoken gentlewoman who faced everyone—man or woman, rich or poor—with the same courtesy.

  Papa squeezed my fingers. “She said she wanted to spend the rest of her days with me, with our children.” He laughed, the sound a bit watery from unshed tears. “I remember the year you were born. She waited all day on her birthday, certain that would be the day you would join us in this world. Toward the end of the day, she got more upset at the thought that you would be late. I had to remind her that you had a mind of your own.”

  His voice caught and his chin wobbled. Moisture swamped his eyes. When he made no move to brush it away, a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. My eyes burned with unshed tears. I swallowed thickly.

  “We had almost fifteen years of happiness.”

  “It doesn’t seem long enough.” My voice was hoarse.

  Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. “Maybe it wasn’t, my dear. But I’d rather have had those fifteen years with your mother than a hundred with somebody else. And you, my darling—I love you more than words can say.”

  “I love you too, Papa.” I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “But what does this have to do with my engagement?”<
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  “If you aren’t happy with this young man, I beg you to call off the engagement and save us all the misery of any misunderstandings that might arise. You don’t need to worry yourself over money, that’s my burden. But, if you are happy…” He paused. For a moment he seemed years away. Then, coming to himself, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his cheeks. “Listen to your heart, Mary, as your mother would have. Not to your head. Your mother would have wanted you to be happy, even if that happiness isn’t found where you expected.”

  I know what I’m doing. I only have four more days. Although I wanted to speak the words aloud, they stuck in my throat. Instead, I asked in a small voice, “What makes you think I’m happy?”

  “A woman doesn’t spend her nights at a man’s house if they are always at each other’s throats.” He reached out to caress my cheek, frowning. “And she doesn’t turn to him in her time of need instead of her father.”

  The bruises. I’d forgotten I didn’t have powder on them; it had worn off during the night.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing at all. My mind was too full of doubts and questions. Was I doing the right thing or was I hurting everyone around me, including myself?

  Papa cleared his throat. “It’s been a long time since we spent the day together. What do you say we continue reading that book on Greek law?”

  As much as I wanted to say yes, I stood and shook my head. “I can’t today, Papa. I…I think I have to go speak with Edwin.”

  Papa’s face fell. “If you think you must. Perhaps I’ll take the afternoon off sometime this week and we can spend it together. I feel as though I’ve been neglecting you of late.”

  I’d been waiting for months for him to say that. I missed him so much. I smiled. “I’d like that.”

  He smiled back. “It’s settled, then.”

  I squeezed his hand, then stood to leave, my mind awhirl. If Edwin supported me, cherished me, and was happy with me…perhaps we’d best discuss extending our arrangement.

  Chapter Sixteen

  By the time I returned to the Sutton townhouse, I was dressed in breeches and armed with a hastily scrawled address. While at home, I’d checked the post to find that one of my correspondents in London had informed me of a building for sale. Due to the fact that the neighborhood was overrun with cats, dogs, and people in sore need of employment, the building—although ramshackle—was available for a pittance. The moment I’d read as much, I’d been consumed with the desire to see for myself. How shoddy was ‘ramshackle’? Could it be salvaged or would it be a hazard? If the former, it sounded too good to be true.

  And if Edwin meant to support me in all I did, then this seemed the perfect time for him to accompany me and give his opinion.

  Although the hour approached midday, when I found him he was still lying abed. Awake, the sheets pulled across his lap to shield his nakedness, he sat with his back against the headboard and a slim volume in his hand.

  “You’re still abed?” How could he stand to be idle for so long?

  He set the book face down on his lap. Smiling, he glanced to where I stood in the doorway. “You returned. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me again.”

  My stomach turned a somersault. Frightened at the newfound intimacy between us, I’d run away without thinking of how it would make him feel if I didn’t return.

  It doesn’t matter. I did return… albeit a couple hours later than he might have expected.

  His heartfelt sigh drew my thoughts to him once more. His smile slipped as he drummed his fingers on the cover of his book. “You aren’t coming back to bed, are you?”

  I gave him an incredulous look. “It’s nearly noon! Don’t you have work to be done?”

  He hefted the volume. “I’m doing work. This is the latest issue of the Royal Botanical Journal.”

  “You’ll have to finish it later. We’re going out. Shall I send in Isaac to help you dress?”

  “I’m a grown man…”

  As Edwin swung his legs around the side of the bed, the sheet pooled lower. The muscles in his chest and abdomen rippled with his movements. My mouth watered, but I forced myself to turn away. If I was destined to be distracted, I’d rather it happen after we examined this house for sale.

  “Isaac,” I called as I turned down the corridor. If Edwin wanted to wear his fancy boots today, he’d already confessed to needing help.

  Once both men were situated in the bedchamber and Edwin was well on his way to being ready to accompany me, I pilfered two cookies from the larder and ate them while I searched for paper and a graphite pencil. The paper was easy enough to find, situated in the desk in Edwin’s front parlor. The pencil was not as easy to come by. Ink would be impractical to bring with me in order to take notes of the state of the house.

  If not in the parlor, then perhaps Edwin kept pencils in his study. I stuffed the second cookie into my mouth—these soft, sweet confections tasting strongly of cinnamon—and returned above stairs to continue the search. The study was sweltering. To keep from sneezing as long as possible, I kept the door open as I proceeded to search near the table serving as a makeshift workbench. A large, leafy plant blocked most of the surface, so I lifted it to check beneath its overflowing fronds.

  “I’m surprised you’re able to handle that.” Fully dressed, Edwin smirked from the doorway.

  “Why?” I examined the plant, wary. “Is it related to chrysanthemums?” My nose and eyes had started itching the moment I’d walked in.

  “No, that’s a spider fern.”

  I plunked the pot back onto the bench with alacrity. “Spiders don’t grow in it, do they?”

  He laughed. “No. It’s so named because of the sweep of its leaves.”

  I glared at him as I snatched the sheaf of papers I’d collected from the parlor. “Very funny.”

  He grinned. “What are you looking for? I assume you aren’t trying to sabotage my plants.”

  “Why yes, I’m so jealous that I can’t stand for inanimate objects to hold your attention more than I.” I strutted toward him, batting my eyelashes.

  With another laugh, he cupped my face. “As if anything could prove quite as distracting as you when you’re in a room.”

  “Is that meant to be a compliment or an insult?”

  “Both.” Smiling, he leaned down to kiss me, long and slow. He tasted bitter from tooth powder, but I melted into his frame nonetheless. By the time he lifted his head, my knees were weak. “Good morning,” he said, his voice rough.

  “Good morning,” I answered, even though it must be afternoon by now.

  He ran his thumb across my lower lip, making me shiver. “Now, are you planning on telling me what it is you’re hoping to find in here?”

  Yes. The building for sale. I pulled away, trying to regain my faculties. I couldn’t think straight when he touched me. In fact, all I could think about was maneuvering him back into bed and divesting him of his clothes, which would interfere with my purpose this afternoon.

  “A pencil,” I answered.

  He looked at me blankly. “You want a pencil?”

  I hefted the blank pages I’d taken from the writing desk. “Yes. For notes. Where do you keep them?”

  “I have one or two in the bedchamber…”

  “Wonderful.” I stepped past him and hurried to that room. After shutting the door, he followed.

  “Perhaps a better question would be what do you intend to take notes about?”

  He paused in the threshold of the bedchamber as I continued into the room, heading for the bedside table, where I thought it most likely he’d keep a pencil on hand. I sidestepped Isaac, in the process of neatening the room, on the way.

  With a hint of enthusiasm, Edwin asked, “Are we attending another botanical lecture?”

  I snorted and turned toward him. “Don’t be absurd. I only snuck into the last because I was looking for you.”

  Edwin shrugged, his face carefully impassive. “I thought it
possible. I woke up next to you this morning, so there’s a high probability I’m still dreaming.”

  Was he trying to say that I was the woman of his dreams? My stomach did funny things at the notion. I cleared my throat and returned to my search. “You’re not.”

  Isaac froze, looking from one of us to the other. “Would you like me to leave? This sounds like a private conversation.”

  I snorted. “As if anything is private in this house. I’m looking for a pencil, then we’ll be on our way.”

  “On our way to where?” Edwin asked. He sounded a bit frustrated.

  Isaac slid a graphite stick from between two books on the bookshelf and held it out to me.

  “Thank you,” I said as I accepted it. When I crossed to Edwin, I offered him the scrap of paper with the address on it. “We’re going here. A friend wrote this morning that there’s a house for sale that might do for my animal shelter.”

  Edwin glanced at the page. He crumpled it in his fist and tossed in on the ground, barring my exit. “No.”

  The word rang through the air. For a moment, rendered speechless, I wondered if I was dreaming. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem nearly as pleasant as Edwin had made his morning sound. Closer to a nightmare.

  “No?” I echoed, still off-balance.

  We were a team. He’d promised to help. He loved—

  No. He’d never said he’d loved me, had he?

  “Do you have any idea where that address is located?” His voice and expression were hot—with indignation and anger, not passion.

  I bristled. “Of course I do. I’ve lived in London my entire life.”

  “So you want to walk into a dangerous neighborhood, knowing full well that even in that shoddy disguise you won’t necessarily be safe.”

  He was insulting my attire now? I brushed my hand over my chest, reassuring myself that I’d bandaged it tightly. “I was going to hide my hair beneath a cap.”

  “It isn’t good enough. That area is rife with crime. You’re small. That makes you an easy target.”

  I scowled. “Perhaps that’s why I stopped to bring you along.” It wasn’t, but if it eased his mind, I would pretend.