by Tessa Candle
Tilly was beaming as she petted one of the pups. “Molly had her puppies? Already? How exciting! And look at them. They are adorable.”
“Indeed.” His voice was hoarse. “I have to agree. But what are you doing here? I mean, I am overjoyed to see you, truly. But I did not expect you. Do you know my uncle?”
“No. And I am glad I heard your voice before I made it to the front door, for you have spared me the embarrassment of calling at a grand house where I have no business calling.” She laughed merrily enough to belie her professed scruple about imposing her company upon the household. “This is your uncle’s estate, is it? I had no idea you had such rich relatives.”
Rutherford smiled as he contemplated what effect his next words might have. “My uncle is the Duke Bartholmer.” He watched her face.
“Oh!” said Tilly with affected consternation. “Then it is a very good thing I found you out here first, before I had a chance to expose myself and my ignorance.”
He had hoped she would be more impressed, and perhaps make some further enquiry that would permit him a delicate way of revealing his own prospect of holding the title. But what of it? It was a beautiful day, her eyes were merry and her smile was as devilishly adorable as ever. He was happy. And he would make his own opportunity to reveal his future prospects. “So, I am overjoyed to see you, but whatever could have brought you all this way? Did you come to spy out your future home?”
She looked puzzled. “My future home?”
At that moment, Mrs. Colling came around the edge of the hedge carrying a large basket. She stopped suddenly. “Oh! I did not realize you had guests.” She did not sound pleased. She turned her face awkwardly away from Tilly as she placed the basket on the blanket. “Your uncle sent me with some victuals for you. But there is certainly enough for three.”
Rutherford looked at Tilly. She did not look pleased either. She was trying to get a better view of Mrs. Colling, who made to dash away as quickly as she had come.
Unworthy as the thought was, Rutherford saw the advantage of cultivating the suspicion that was clearly forming in Tilly's mind. “Oh, Mrs. Colling, please stay and let me introduce you to my friend and her companion.”
The introduction was awkward. Mrs. Colling seemed bent on not meeting Tilly's eye, and Rutherford could see Tilly was squinting at Mrs. Colling suspiciously.
Rutherford began to feel nervous that his plan was going a little too well, that Tilly was interpreting Mrs. Colling's inability to meet her gaze as a sign of guilty actions, not just guilty interests. She flashed Rutherford an unimpressed look.
But then, as she caught another glance of Mrs. Colling, who was adjusting her veil to better cover her face and making to leave again, a look of realization crossed Tilly's features. Now Rutherford was in the dark. What did Tilly know that he did not?
Chapter 33
Tilly only permitted herself a single glare at Rutherford before regaining control of her face. So this is what he was doing out in the countryside while visiting his uncle. Having picnics on the lawn with the beautiful Widow Colling. What a load of bollocks. Why had she brought herself out here, only to watch this?
He introduced them. The woman could not even meet Tilly's gaze. Was she so ashamed at having been found out? Good Lord, she was involved in a tryst with him. So this was what his declarations of unwavering love and proposals of matrimony came to. As soon as he was out of sight he was off invading whichever pretty petticoat the wind turned up.
Well, that was perhaps not fair. Even with the limited view of her face, Tilly could see that Mrs. Colling was an uncommonly lovely temptation. This did not make Tilly like the situation any better.
Mrs. Colling finally made to break away from the lawn party. As she raised her arm to pull down her veil more securely, Tilly caught a flash of sapphire blue pupils through the lace. She stifled a gasp. Tilly recognized that beautiful face, those gorgeous eyes. The truth of the scenario arranged itself plainly before Tilly's mind's eye.
She could not suppress a brief look of amused superiority. Rutherford had no idea what sort of petticoats he had gotten tangled up with. She would lead him a merry chase. Mrs. Colling, as she called herself, saw Tilly’s look of recognition, and met it with a fleeting expression of desperate pleading. Then she made her excuses in a barrage of mumbles and hastily departed.
Tilly considered the situation for a moment, then decided she would keep Mrs. Colling's secret, for now. But she needed to have a quiet word with the widow. Rutherford, who had been smiling stupidly earlier, now looked dull—no, he looked confounded. He was feeling uncomfortably on the wrong foot. She suppressed a malicious laugh. Good. Served him right. Let him stay that way.
“Mr. Rutherford.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I came to tell you some good news. I have come up with an idea to dispose of my—of those business assets that you so disapprove of. A very good idea, I think. And here.” she pressed a flask and a paper with instructions into his hand. “This is a concoction that one of Lydia's servants makes. She is a clever herbalist, and she says it may help with—certain symptoms.”
He raised a brow. “Well, that will be a welcome remedy, assuming it is not just the devil that I don't know.”
Tilly shook her head. “She assures me it is not.” But then, why should he trust anything that came from her hand? “She gave a version of it to Lydia for the delivery. As it has been successfully tested on a countess, it ought not kill a strapping buck like you.”
“The delivery? So they are parents now?” Rutherford's features betrayed a twist of the jealousy that she herself had felt. “That is wonderful news.”
She yearned to hold his hand, stroke his hair, soothe his longing heart, but she dared not touch him. “Perhaps we shall see each other, if we both happen to go pay a call when you return to town.” What was wrong with her? Was she trying to arrange a meeting with the man that she was supposed to be giving up? Was she really that much of vain little ninny that she could be driven by jealousy to abandon all her plans to let him go be happy, free of her?
Rutherford looked for a moment like he thought she was referring to a rendezvous, but he seemed to dismiss the idea. “Perhaps we shall.” He was still puzzling over something as he looked at her.
She chose to believe that he was intrigued by her lack of reaction to his flirting with the widow. Well, not flirting, perhaps, but up to no good, she was certain. She had seen a flash of admiration in his eye when he looked at Mrs. Colling. No matter how her stomach boiled, she would not give him the satisfaction of a response.
Actually, a little contest would be diverting. Her nose twitched. She could not deny that a part of her relished the challenge of winning back Rutherford's affections from the trollop of a widow who was trying to steal them. But no, she was only lying to herself. She was well beyond the point where any of it could be construed as a game. And it was nice to have someone else to blame, but the central problem was not the pretty widow.
However, she had the advantage over him now and she was going to enjoy it. Tilly forced her voice to assume a friendly, conversational tone. “So do you plan to stay long at Blackwood?”
He reached for a sandwich plate just as she did, and his fingers grazed hers, as if by accident. “Would you want me to return to London soon?”
“Well, to be honest, if I am considering your health, no. I must say you are looking much better after a little time away from town.” It was true, and with a pang, she reflected that this was further evidence that all he really needed to get better was to get away from her toxic influence. “Perhaps country life agrees with you?”
“It does. But it would agree with me more if I could share it with the woman I love.” His eyes were full of his heart.
She wondered if it was just wishful thinking that made her believe he meant her. Was she still the woman he loved?
She needed to change the subject, before she became maudlin. “I believe I have made it through the worst of the craving after sweets. I
am down to one per day. I can see that you are also recovering.”
“I have been following your daily dosing, but I have divided it up into smaller doses, taken more often. My body is less racked with tremors and pains, and I can feel my mind clearing, too. And I have been taking exercise. My uncle still has a fencing master on staff, and he has been only too happy to have someone to spar with.”
“So we are both improving. And I want you to know that I took your strictures seriously. I have been trying to improve morally, as well.”
“My strictures on moral improvement?” His amused smile was not arch, only warm and wolfish, like she remembered him when they had first met. “You make me sound like a governess. I hope you have not decided to give up all your wanton ways...”
The look he gave her was so inviting that her heart and resolve melted into a plasma of lust. She steadied herself and cleared her throat. “I was referring to your lecture on the evils of my investments in certain commodities. I have thought of a way of diverting them to good use.”
He tilted his head sceptically. “Do tell.”
“Do not be such a suspicious beast. I have decided that, rather than selling out to someone who might be even less well-motivated than I—”
Rutherford interrupted, “I hope I did not say you were ill-motivated when I was out of my senses with this drug fever. Tilly, you have an irreverent mind, which I love. It may lead you astray at times, but I can see, in your heart, you desire only to help your little parcel of urchins and foundlings, not to enslave incautious customers, like me.”
Tilly petted one of the pups. She barely heard what he said after the point where he spoke the word love, which launched her into a dream of kissing the beautiful lips that pronounced it.
She shook her head. “You need not try to soothe me. I do not deserve it, and I did not mean that you gave me any offence with your observations. I flatter myself that I am liberal-minded enough not to resent the truth when I hear it. Anyway, do you want to hear my idea, or not?”
He chuckled and waved his hand for her to continue.
“I am going to make a series of healing spas for people to recover from their opium habits. They will be styled as private retreats. Patients will go on a regime of doses, reduced over time. The other aspects of the inmates’ wellbeing will also be attended to through healthful food and opportunities for regular exercise and other amusements.”
He surprised her by suddenly pulling her into an embrace. It was uncharacteristically chaste for Rutherford. He did not fondle any private part of her person. He kissed her cheek. She could only call it… affectionate. It pulled at her heart, but at the same time, she began to wonder why there was no passion in it. Was his heart already lost to her? Was friendship all that remained? And wasn't that what she had wanted for him?
He released her from his strong arms. “Tilly, you are a wonder! You have hit upon the very way to extract the most good out of the worst evil. I think the idea is a marvellous one.”
She could not stop herself from blushing girlishly, which was such a rare occurrence for her, that she reached up and touched the hot spots on her cheeks with wonder. It was so nice to feel admired by Rutherford—not the object of his passion, nor the longing of his heart, but the idol of a higher consideration.
He thought her to be doing good, and that mattered to her so much. Though there was no risk that he would take her right there on the lawn, or propose to her again, her heart, her whole soul was now in peril of becoming his own. He knew of her dabbling in the demimonde and yet he still thought she was good.
No one but her brother and Mr. DeGroen knew this side of her. Would there ever be another man who could see past appearances, into her heart and see all the positive goals she strove for behind all the evil she did?
Her situation was horrid. She knew Rutherford was the man she wanted, needed in her life, and not only was she not good enough for him, but he probably was already well on his way to falling for another.
Desperate to escape the downward spiral of such thoughts, she brought herself back to the topic at hand. “And if this potion is efficacious, I thought we might use it as part of the treatment in the spas.”
Rutherford busied himself with tucking the few pups who had collapsed on the lawn back in the basket with their mother and nursing siblings. “When you say we, do you mean you and Mr. DeGroen?” His voice had something perilously close to resignation in it.
Tilly blanched. Was there any hope? Was there any way that she could extricate herself from her obligation to marry DeGroen? Not without doing a great wrong. And yet, it was not DeGroen, but Rutherford that she saw as her partner in this effort. However it defied logic, in the back of her mind that had been her vision.
“I had hoped,” she faltered, “as you have some experience, and as it was you who put me on this path, that you might be part of the venture.”
“And yet, I cannot. Do you not see?” His smile was sad.
Tilly's heart clenched, because she knew what a sad smile meant. It was a white flag. A grimace of fury or an irritated brow meant a struggle of passion. A wistful curl of the lips meant surrender and disengagement. She was losing him, if she had not already lost him. She had persuaded herself that it was her duty to see him happy with another, but it was not her desire.
She lifted her chin in selfish opposition. “I do not see. Who better than you?”
“I have had time to do a lot of thinking while on this little retreat to Blackwood.”
Yes, thought Tilly, bitterly, a lot of thinking about a pretty little dissembler who could not even give you her real name. She said nothing, but her shoulders drooped.
He continued with a grave sigh. “And this drug still has a hold on me. I am not yet free of its spell. Even speaking of your plans for the spas makes me aware of a great emptiness, like there is a hole inside of me. I do not wish to sound gloomy. My health improves, and my perspective becomes clearer every day. But I am not so far away from the ordeal that I cannot still see the brink that I stood upon. I am well aware of the chasm that yawns behind me. In short, I know that I cannot be trusted to handle any part of a project involving this poison.” He shuddered. “I hope you understand.”
She did understand. In fact, she understood, as perhaps he didn't, that his continued health probably also depended upon staying away from her. She sighed. “Yes. Of course I do. I should have thought of that. Forgive me for being selfish.”
He laughed heartily. “Oh Tilly, I have learned a lot about you, since we first met. You are not what you seem. And you are neither greedy nor selfish, however things appear.”
Her heart fluttered, and a tear came to her eye, but she was kept from replying by the reappearance of Mrs. Colling with a servant at her elbow.
Tilly cursed the sight of her. Just when their conversation was getting interesting, she had to arrive.
The beauty looked uncomfortable, but said, “His grace has awakened, and would like to meet your visitors, Mr. Rutherford. Stokes will clean up the picnic things.”
Rutherford gathered up the dog basket. Neither Tilly nor Mrs. Colling were afforded his arm as they walked to the manor.
Chapter 34
Rutherford sipped his tea happily as the duke spoke to Tilly about her connections to see if they had any common acquaintance. The presence of Mrs. Colling was clearly helping his situation. He could see that, however composed she kept her features, Tilly hated the sight of her, and that was a very good sign, indeed.
Mrs. Colling also seemed highly apprehensive, however, and that concerned Rutherford. He did not flatter himself that it could be jealousy of Tilly. The pretty widow had only recently stopped showing a marked distaste for Rutherford's company—well not distaste, precisely. It was, rather, a sort of mocking dismissiveness, as though he were merely another young puppy and not to be taken seriously.
As loathe as he was to admit it, this acted on Rutherford much more effectively than flirtation would have done. It made hi
m want to impress upon her that he was no puppy. But the only real way to do this was to behave indifferently toward her, which, to his irritation, appeared to suit her very well.
She was no Tilly, but she was fascinating. He could not suppress his curiosity about the real story behind the veil. Had she murdered her husband? Was she a misanthrope? Was she truly a fortune hunter with her sights on a rich duke?
His ear pricked up to an item of chit-chat between Tilly and Bartholmer. The duke had asked her about her upcoming wedding. Rutherford gritted his teeth.
“It is in two weeks, your grace.” Tilly replied in such a demure, maidenly fashion that Rutherford could have laughed aloud at the fraudulence of it. But the substance of her words shot a pain through his heart, and the dull ache in his shoulder flared up.
“Well, then,” said Bartholmer with a piercing look and a mischievous smile, not unlike that which Tilly's lips so frequently wore, “it is quite a wonder that you should be out here in the wilderness visiting Rutherford. He is very fortunate to have such a dedicated friend.”
“It is I who am lucky,” said Tilly, and all trace of dissembling left her features. “I do not know a finer person than Mr. Rutherford.”
“Except, of course,” corrected the Duke with a provoking smile, “your betrothed.”
“Neither of us is deceived about our marriage, your grace. We do not wed for romantic reasons. Though I hold him in high esteem and great respect, and he is a very dear friend, I should not put even my betrothed above Mr. Rutherford.”
Rutherford coughed. He wanted to cry out to her, Then why don't you just ruddy well marry me? But he could not. His shoulder throbbed, and a cold sweat ran down his back. He could feel a spell of tremors about to take him. “I hope you will all excuse me a moment.” He dashed from the parlour.
When he had composed himself and taken his quarter dose of laudanum, he returned to the parlour, took a breath and opened the door. But in that very moment, Mrs. Colling ran from the room and directly into his arms.