by Burke, Darcy
He watched her until she disappeared into the dark corner with the gate. He looked forward to her next visit with great anticipation.
* * *
“Why are you pacing?” Beatrix asked Selina as she watched her cross their small sitting room.
“Rachel will be here shortly,” Selina answered without pausing. In fact, it looked as if she sped up. Tall, with long legs, she strode the distance in probably half the strides it would take Beatrix.
“Yes, and it’s just Rachel. You like Rachel. It’s not as if Lady Aylesbury is coming. Even if she were, there’s no call for you to be nervous.” Rachel was Selina’s bethrothed’s sister, and Lady Aylesbury was his mother. Both were lovely women.
Selina’s honey-brown brows knitted as she continued to pace. “I realize you were reared to believe you might move in such circles, but I was not.”
Raised in London’s East End and forced to thieve to support herself, Selina was still adjusting to the idea that she was marrying the son of an earl. Never mind that she and Beatrix had spent over a decade masquerading as genteel women. “We’re quite accomplished at pretending to be well-bred, if I may say so.”
Selina tossed her a look that said she wasn’t sure she agreed.
Beatrix rose from her chair. “Besides, they already adore you almost as much as Harry does.” She smiled at her sister who wasn’t really her sister but was the only family Beatrix had. Beatrix wanted to include her father and hoped very soon she could.
Intercepting Selina, Beatrix clasped her hands. “Truly they do.”
“Harry says so,” Selina said quietly, her blue gaze dipping. “I still can’t believe…” She shook her head.
Beatrix pulled Selina close for a hug. “I know you think you don’t deserve him, but you do. This is a new chapter in your life—in both our lives. Don’t look backward.”
Selina nodded, her head grazing Beatrix’s as she squeezed her in return. “Thank you.”
They separated, and both had tears glistening in their eyes. “You’ve cried more in the past week than in all the time I’ve known you!” Beatrix laughed as she blinked the moisture away.
“It’s true. I’ve become a bloody watering pot.” Selina wiped at her eyes just as they heard the housekeeper’s voice. “Rachel must be here.” Straightening, Selina took a deep breath. She brushed her hands over her cheeks and nodded.
“Mrs. Hayes has arrived.” Mrs. Vining, their housekeeper, appeared briefly before stepping aside to allow Harry’s sister into the sitting room.
With auburn hair and shining brown eyes, Rachel was the middle of Harry’s three sisters, all married. She was also the closest to Harry, and she’d taken a particular liking to Selina. “Lady Gresh—” Rachel rolled her eyes. “Selina. Bad habit, I’m afraid.”
Selina smiled. “Proper address isn’t a bad habit.”
Beatrix suppressed a giggle. And it wasn’t really proper address. Selina was no more Lady Gresham than Beatrix was Miss Whitford. Sir Barnabus Gresham had been one of the many wealthy people they’d sought to swindle. He’d seen through their ruse, something that almost never happened, but had liked Selina so much that he’d given them the money they needed to get to London and said he didn’t care if she called herself Lady Gresham. It turned out he was ill and was glad to help someone in need before he died.
“Let us sit,” Beatrix said. She took the chair she’d vacated while Selina and Rachel sat together on the settee.
Rachel had apparently divested herself of her hat and gloves in the entry hall. Once seated, she arranged her skirt in an elegant fashion and looked between Selina and Beatrix with an expression of barely contained excitement. “I have wonderful news.”
“About the wedding?” Selina asked, for that was the reason for Rachel’s visit—to discuss what needed to be done.
Rachel shook her head. “I have vouchers for Almack’s for the both of you.” She grinned broadly.
Selina turned her head to look at Beatrix, her eyes alight with joy. “That is wonderful news.”
Beatrix clasped her hands together in her lap and squeezed. At last, she could claim a crowning achievement for the Season. She’d begun to think it wouldn’t be possible—they’d come to the Season late and they hadn’t known anyone who could advocate for them to a patroness.
“Thank you,” Beatrix said earnestly. She released her hands and flattened her palms on the chair on either side of her.
“Don’t thank me. Mama has been working on her friend who is cousin to one of the patronesses, but she wasn’t sure it was going to happen. All of a sudden, this morning she received word that you were approved. Your vouchers should arrive later this afternoon. Truthfully, Mama isn’t sure what tipped the scale in your favor, but it doesn’t matter!”
Selina cast Beatrix a look of veiled distress. “Are the vouchers for tonight?” The balls were every Wednesday evening. Beatrix was going to need a new gown, and there would be no time to procure one for tonight.
“I believe they’re for the entire month of June,” Rachel said.
Beatrix exchanged relieved glances with Selina. “Oh good, I don’t think I could be prepared to go tonight.”
“I’m so glad I was able to deliver the news in person.” Rachel settled back against the settee. “Now we should discuss the wedding—though not in too much detail. Mama made me promise we would save the majority of the discussion for this Friday when you come for luncheon al fresco. Have you and Harry decided where you’ll live?”
“For now, we’ll live here, though he has expressed his desire to find a larger house,” Selina said. This house was rather small, and they were only leasing it through the Season. Harry’s house was no larger, and he’d insisted it was easier for him to move than for Selina to do so. As it was, he stole into Selina’s bedchamber most nights, so he almost lived here already.
The conversation turned to Selina’s dress and then the preliminary plans for the wedding breakfast that Harry’s parents were hosting.
“Mama can’t wait to present you to all of her friends,” Rachel said. “But I suppose you’ll meet many of them at your brother’s ball.”
Selina’s brother, Rafe, who’d also elevated himself from their background of thievery in East London, was now a wealthy gentleman with an opulent house on Upper Brook Street. They’d decided it was easiest to explain that Selina and Rafe were Beatrix’s half-siblings and that they shared a mother. It was, if Beatrix were honest, a bloody tangle and she sometimes feared she would spoil the ruse by misspeaking.
Rafe had come to Harry and Selina’s engagement dinner for the family at Lord and Lady Aylesbury’s the other night and expressed his desire to host an engagement ball. It was to be a masquerade and would be held a week from Friday. The invitations had already gone out. Beatrix wished Rockbourne could come.
“I’m quite looking forward to that,” Rachel was saying. “I’ve long wanted to see the interior of the house your brother recently obtained.”
Rafe had purchased one of the grandest houses on the street and was hurriedly completing renovations before the ball. It was to be his introduction to Society as much as it was Selina’s and Beatrix’s. Most importantly, he’d invited Beatrix’s father. Beatrix just hoped the duke came.
It could very well be the night that changed her life. Just thinking of it made her heart speed with anticipation.
They discussed the ball for a few more minutes before they returned to the actual wedding, which would be held at St. George’s in Hanover Square. “It’s going to be lovely,” Rachel said as she looked to Selina. “How does Harry feel about being married where he arrested a groom less than a week ago?”
“A trifle odd,” Selina responded.
That groom was, of course, Rockbourne’s brother-in-law. Thankfully, the arrest had happened prior to the wedding. Nevertheless, the bride, Miss Anne Pemberton, was still embroiled in the scandal. “It’s highly unfair that Miss Pemberton is suffering because of her betrothed’s actions,
” Beatrix said. “He was the extortionist.”
“Yes, well, some—not me—think she should have shown better judgment,” Rachel scoffed. “Women are always held to different standards. Take Chamberlain’s sister. Her death is an absolute tragedy, but everyone knows she was difficult and perhaps even unfaithful. Does anyone blame Rockbourne for marrying her?”
“They don’t?” Beatrix asked. Society fascinated her, but mostly she just wanted to know about Rockbourne.
Rachel shook her head, making a moue of disdain. “Of course not. As I said, different standards.”
Beatrix couldn’t keep herself from pursuing the topic. “Should he have known better?”
“I have no idea, but the point is that if the roles were reversed, Lady Rockbourne would have been to blame while Rockbourne was revered. In fact, who’s to say what the truth of the matter was. Rockbourne has always been a bit of an enigma, and while rumors of Lady Rockbourne’s infidelity are well known, perhaps they are just that—rumors.”
Beatrix knew they weren’t. Unless Rockbourne had lied to her, and she didn’t think he had.
“Regardless, I feel terrible for him,” Selina said softly.
Rachel nodded in agreement. “It’s very sad. I daresay he won’t have trouble finding a new viscountess. After he mourns, of course. But that’s another way in which men and women are held to different standards. Because Rockbourne is a man with a title and no heir, he’ll be expected to replace his wife. And since he has a daughter to care for, he can do so in short order. If Rockbourne had died, Lady Rockbourne would have to shut herself away for months. In truth, no one would blink if she never remarried.” Rachel smiled. “On second thought, maybe that is an advantage.”
“I thought you were happily wed,” Selina said.
“Oh, I am!” Rachel rushed to say. “I just mean that in widowhood, a woman can enjoy a freedom other women can’t.” She looked over at Selina. “But you know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Selina murmured, her gaze dropping to her lap.
The lie of widowhood had given her and Beatrix the ability to come to London and enter Society in a manner they could not have if they’d both been unmarried.
“Do you think Rockbourne will remarry?” Beatrix asked, drawing a curious stare from Selina.
Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know him very well, but I think North does.” She referred to Harry’s twin brother, who was the Viscount Northwood and whom most of the family called North. “Perhaps I’ll ask him. I’m sure he and Lady Rockbourne would have been invited to the wedding breakfast. Before her death, of course.”
Beatrix found herself disappointed that Rockbourne wouldn’t be there.
They visited a little while longer before Rachel departed.
“That went very well,” Beatrix said after Rachel had left the house.
Walking back from the doorway after seeing Rachel off, Selina arched a brow at her. “Why are you so interested in Lord Rockbourne?”
Beatrix had hoped Selina wouldn’t ask. She hadn’t told her anything about meeting him. As it was, Selina didn’t particularly care for Beatrix going to spy on her father. Spy? Rockbourne would be amused at her choice of words.
“You’re smiling. Why?” Selina’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me.”
Beatrix exhaled. “Like you told me everything about Harry when you were falling for him?”
Selina’s jaw dropped, and she crossed the room to stand in front of Beatrix, who lingered near her chair after rising when Rachel had left. “What is going on with Rockbourne?”
“Nothing. I don’t even know the man.” That was close enough to the truth. She didn’t say she hadn’t met him. And she didn’t know him, not really.
“I don’t know what you’re hiding, but it’s something.” Selina’s features softened. “Let’s not keep secrets. I am sorry I wasn’t completely honest about Harry. I didn’t think anything could happen between us. It was like a dream. Talking about it would have made it real, and I…I couldn’t bear it.” She wiped her hand over her brow. “You’re right. We both deserve to be happy.”
“Yes, we do, and we’re well on our way.” Beatrix seized the chance to change the subject. There was no point in discussing Rockbourne anyway. If Harry had been a dream for Selina, Rockbourne was more in the realm of utter impossibility. Not that Beatrix was thinking of him in the same way Selina had about Harry.
“Almack’s!” Beatrix exclaimed. “I wonder if my father will be there.” She’d heard he made an appearance there once in a while. His son was in the market for a wife and was deemed one of the prime catches of the Season.
“Hopefully, he will be at Rafe’s ball,” Selina said.
“It’s your ball, not Rafe’s.”
“I suppose, but Rafe is hosting and paying for it.” Selina made a face. “Do you know what we could do with the money it costs to throw a Society ball?”
“I can guess. Isn’t Rafe giving you money for the new Spitfire project?”
Beatrix and Selina had joined an association of Society women called The Spitfire Society. They’d started as a small group of independent-minded women who’d flouted Society’s rules but had ended up banding together to work to help less fortunate women. Their numbers were growing, and next week they would meet to discuss plans for a new school and home of rehabilitation for poor women and children. Selina was driving the project and had found a surprising supporter in the Duchess of Clare, who was as passionate about the idea as Selina. For Selina, it was personal. She meant to save girls like herself from the streets.
“He is,” Selina said. “I don’t know how much, but then I’m afraid to ask how wealthy he’s actually become.”
“I’m not. I’ll do that next time I see him.” Beatrix laughed, and Selina joined.
Sobering, Selina pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I can scarcely believe how we got here. And you’re on the verge of achieving your dream. Your father will see how lovely you are, how welcome in Society, and your relationship will be rekindled.”
“I hope so.” Her primary goal these past fifteen years had been to get back into her father’s good graces. If he rejected her, she didn’t know what she’d do. He was the only blood relative she had. Yes, she had Selina, but they weren’t actually related. And now Selina had been reunited with her brother after nineteen years apart.
Beatrix wanted a family of her own. She’d had one, and she meant to get it back.
Chapter 3
“Papa!” Regan bounced into his study, her pale blonde curls swinging. “Alice and I came for our hugs.” She stopped in front of his chair near the hearth and held up her doll.
She didn’t look like a girl whose mother had been buried the day before, and for that, Thomas was exceptionally grateful.
“It must be time for your nap,” he said, taking Alice. The doll stared at him with wide blue eyes. “Sleep well, Alice.” He hugged the doll, then returned her to Regan.
“My turn!” Regan bounded into his lap, and he held her close. Love for her filled his soul.
Thomas brushed his lips across the crown of her head. She smelled of lavender soap and the energy only a little girl possessed. “Sleep well, my love.”
“Yes, Papa.” She slipped from his arms and skipped back to the doorway, where her nurse waited with a warm smile.
Inclining his head toward the young woman, Thomas mouthed, thank you. A moment later, his butler appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Holcomb is here, my lord. I’ve showed her to the front sitting room.”
“Thank you.” Thomas stood to meet his aunt, glad she’d arrived.
Charity Holcomb stood in front of the windows that faced Grosvenor Square. Though her hair was gray, she appeared nearly a decade younger than her fifty-three years. She also reminded Thomas so much of his mother—her older sister. Thomas was certain this was close to how she would have looked today if she’d survived the birth of her second child.
“You appear as though you slept,” she said, walking to
ward him. “I knew once she was buried, you would feel better.”
“I can’t say better is the right word,” he said mildly. “Are you going to check on me every day?”
“For the foreseeable future. Unless you tell me not to.”
In truth, her presence was a comfort. “You should probably just stay here.”
“Nonsense. The last thing you need right now is someone intruding on your household. I am quite content at my brother’s. How is Regan?”
“Fine. Normal, really. She hasn’t asked for her mother at all.” That wasn’t unusual. She’d grown accustomed to not seeing Thea every day.
“That’s just as well.” Aunt Charity went to the settee and sat down. “It’s good she wasn’t attached to her.” Aunt Charity rarely referred to Thea by name, preferring pronouns. She made no secret that she’d never liked her, though she’d always been polite. Thea hadn’t liked her either. Consequently, Thomas hadn’t spent as much time with his beloved aunt, who lived thirty miles away in Wycombe, as he would have liked.
“It is a blessing,” Thomas said even as he’d wished it had been different. He’d hated that Thea hadn’t been close to their daughter. A child was love in its purest form. How a parent could turn their back on one mystified him. That wasn’t true. It enraged him.
“Only think how wonderful it will be when you remarry and Regan has a real mother.”
In the process of lowering himself into a chair, Thomas sat down rather hard upon hearing what his aunt said. “Er, yes.”
Aunt Charity tipped her head to the side. “You can’t tell me you haven’t already thought about it. After five years of marriage to…her?” She shuddered. “I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but I am glad you have another chance at happiness.”
Did he? Thomas had botched things so badly with his first try that he wasn’t certain he trusted himself to make a better choice the second time. “I’m in no rush.”