by Darcy Burke
“No, but she had enemies. Or at least others were cruel to her. I understand why you wrote that poem.” She stroked his arm as they turned onto Park Street.
She suddenly stopped walking, and her hand dug into his arm through his coat. She squinted down the street. “I think Sir Martin may be there already.”
He looked ahead to her house and saw a coach out front. “Damn and the devil. This is going to be awkward.”
“We can sneak in the back through the mews, and I’ll have you wait in the morning room.”
He looked down at her. “I can’t let you confront them alone.”
“Do you really want to come face-to-face with Sir Martin?”
His features creased in a slight wince. “Do you?”
“No, but I must,” she said with a hint of resignation. “I owe him an explanation.”
Beck couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man. “And what will you tell him?”
She averted her gaze. “That we are better suited.”
He sensed she wanted to maybe say something else but didn’t press her. They were well and truly out of time. “No, we’ll go in the front door,” he said, looking at her in question. She nodded in response.
As they walked up to her door, he felt the tremor in her body. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered just before the door opened.
It wasn’t a retainer, however, who stood on the threshold, but her father. And he looked ready to commit murder until his gaze settled on Beck. Then his brow wrinkled with confusion. He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed before stepping aside so they could walk into the hall.
Beck spoke up immediately. “I realize you’re entertaining another caller, Balcombe, but I should tell you straightaway that I’ve come to ask your blessing that I marry your daughter.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” The earl wiped a hand over his brow. “When I saw her walking back to the house on the arm of a gentleman, I was ready to call you out. My wife thought it was you, but I couldn’t tell.”
“You should wear glasses, as Lavinia does,” Beck said. “As she will.”
Lavinia beamed up at him.
The countess stepped into the hall, her lips pursed. She came toward Lavinia, her gaze noting that she still clutched Beck’s arm. “What is the meaning of this?” she hissed.
“Calm down, dear, they’re to be wed. Poor Sir Martin is out of luck, unfortunately.”
Now Lavinia withdrew her arm. “Will you please excuse me while I speak to him for a moment?” She gave Beck a half smile, and he watched her go into the room her mother had just left.
“This is going to be a scandal,” the countess said, and Beck couldn’t tell if that made her angry or pleased.
“It needn’t be,” Beck said evenly. “I’ll be seeking a special license, so we’ll be married with the utmost haste.”
Lavinia’s mother’s face fell. “No, you can’t. That will cause a scandal.”
And it was clear to him that one would be bad. He gave her a bland smile. “We’d prefer not to wait.”
“It’s only a fortnight.” The countess’s tone had turned pleading. “That’s hardly any time to wait.”
“It’s entirely up to Lavinia,” Beck said. “She’s had little say in things, and I insist she have the final word in this.”
Sir Martin emerged from the room with Lavinia walking a bit meekly behind him. He looked exceedingly perturbed.
The baronet sized Beck up with a grim expression. “I understand congratulations are in order.” He sent Balcombe a distasteful stare. “You might have mentioned she had additional suitors.”
Lavinia’s father smiled briefly and apologetically. “I’m afraid you both came up to scratch at almost precisely the same moment. Unfortunately, you endeavored to speak to me first, and Lord Northam went directly to Lavinia to ask for her hand. And in the end, it is her choice.”
Beck glanced toward Lavinia and saw her gaze soften toward her father. He was glad for her.
“Good day, then.” Sir Martin didn’t bow to anyone nor did he even look toward Lavinia before he left.
The countess frowned again. “Well, that was very awkward.” She turned to Lavinia. “You are in a heap of trouble, my dear. Sneaking out to meet a gentleman!” She speared an angry glance at Beck.
“My fiancé, Mother.” She kept her serenity rather well, but then Beck supposed she’d had years of experience with her mother.
“And what’s this nonsense about a special license?” her mother continued. “You’re my only daughter, and you’ll be married at St. George’s. The banns will be read tomorrow. If you’re in such haste, you can wed two weeks from Monday.” Her lips jutted into a pout. “But you will not deny me the pleasure of a church wedding and celebration breakfast.”
Beck said nothing as he waited for Lavinia to decide. She looked at him in question, and he barely lifted a shoulder, silently communicating that he would do whatever she wanted.
Lavinia exhaled and lifted her gaze briefly toward the ceiling before turning to her mother. “Fine. Two weeks from Monday, and not a day more.”
The countess visibly relaxed. “That barely gives us time, but I’ll try to manage. We’re going to be very busy, Lavinia.” Her tone held grave importance. One would think she’d been asked to solve a national crisis.
Beck stifled a laugh.
“Excuse us for a moment, please,” Lavinia said with considerable authority. “I need to speak with my fiancé.” She took his arm and dragged him into the room where she’d gone to see Sir Martin, closing the door behind them.
“That is one nice thing about being engaged,” he said wryly. “No one cares if we’re alone together anymore.”
She winced. “That makes me think of Miss Lennox. I do hope she’s not ruined after calling off her wedding to Sainsbury.” She looked up at Beck in horror. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He inwardly flinched. “No, it’s fine.” Was it? He still felt responsible and likely always would. He clung to the happiness of the past hour to keep any disquiet away. “I do want to make sure she’s all right.”
“I’ll pay a call on her this afternoon,” Lavinia said, touching his arm reassuringly.
“Will your mother allow it? It sounds as though your time may be occupied with planning our wedding.”
Lavinia rolled her eyes. “Not all of it. She’ll prefer it if I let her handle most of it, believe me. I’ve never been as interested in that sort of thing.”
“Perhaps it should be geology themed.”
She laughed and brushed a kiss across his lips. “I adore you.”
He froze for a moment. It wasn’t the word love, but it was close. Did she love him? Did he love her? He hadn’t loved anyone since Priscilla. He hadn’t thought the emotion would find him again.
“Trust me,” she said, drawing him back to the present. “I will make sure we have plenty of time for things we want to do before the wedding. We’ll just need to be…creative.” Her lips curled into a seductive smile, and he began to grow hard.
He took a step back from her. “I’d better go before I try to be…creative here and now.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Tonight—at the Morecott Ball?”
He hadn’t thought about his evening plans, but he supposed he must. And he’d take any chance he could get to see his soon-to-be wife. “Yes. I think it’s past time I danced with you.”
Her eyes glowed with anticipation. “Most definitely.”
“And wear your spectacles.” He went back to the hall, where he bid farewell to her parents who were still loitering, as he expected them to be. He and Lavinia might be afforded a modicum of privacy, but it wasn’t as if he could seduce their daughter in their sitting room.
Not today anyway.
* * *
After Beck left, Lavinia had to spend an excruciating hour with her mother planning the wedding breakfast. When she was finally free, s
he dashed off notes to Sarah and Fanny telling them her news and a third note to Jane Pemberton informing her of Miss Lennox’s aborted wedding. Then Lavinia dressed in a more appropriate costume for paying calls and went downstairs to tell her mother she planned to visit Miss Lennox.
“Oh, I’ll go with you,” Mother declared. “I must learn what happened.”
Lavinia gritted her teeth. “Mother, I’m not going to cull gossip. I want Miss Lennox to know she has support and friends during this difficult time.” While Lavinia didn’t know her very well, she thought it was important for Miss Lennox to understand she wasn’t alone. And not everyone would be as thoughtless as Lavinia’s mother.
A groom drove them to Albemarle Street where it looked as though there were several callers at the Lennox residence. As Lavinia and her mother made their way to the front door, two women nodded in their direction as they departed.
As much as Lavinia wanted to offer support, she also didn’t want to overwhelm Miss Lennox.
The butler admitted them into the house and showed them to the drawing room on the first floor. Mrs. Lennox greeted them with a weak smile. “Good afternoon, Lady Balcombe, Lady Lavinia. How kind of you to call.”
The countess pressed her lips into a sympathetic line—not a frown, not a smile, but something meant to convey wordless support. Or pity. “We just wanted to make sure you know you have friends and support during this difficult time.”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her mother, Lavinia instead looked about for Miss Lennox, but she wasn’t present. Lavinia turned to Mrs. Lennox. “Would Miss Lennox care for a visitor?”
“I think not,” Mrs. Lennox said sadly. “She’s been through quite an ordeal. She’s not seeing anyone.”
A young maid came into the room and went to whisper in Mrs. Lennox’s ear. The older woman blinked in surprise, then turned her attention back to Lavinia. “It seems my daughter would like to see you. Her maid will show you upstairs.”
Lavinia turned and followed the maid out and up the stairs. The maid led her to a sitting room at the front of the house, where Miss Lennox stood near the window looking down at the street. She glanced over at the maid and Lavinia as they entered. “Thank you, Hobbs.”
The maid nodded and left them alone, closing the door behind her.
Lavinia wasn’t sure what to say. Why had Miss Lennox chosen to see her and no one else?
Miss Lennox exhaled as she turned from the window and walked to a chair near the hearth. “Good afternoon, Lady Lavinia. Would you care to sit?” She gestured to the settee in front of the fire as she sank into the chair.
“Please call me Lavinia.” She went to the settee and perched on the edge, waiting for Miss Lennox to guide the conversation.
“Then you must call me Phoebe.” She stared into the fire for a moment. “I’m quite glad not to be Mrs. Sainsbury.”
“I’m glad you’re glad,” Lavinia said, not wanting to be intrusive as to what had happened to make her that way. “It’s better than being sorry or having regret.”
Phoebe turned her head toward Lavinia and smiled. “Yes. You understand. You don’t feel sorry for me, do you?”
“I feel…bad that you apparently suffered an unpleasant situation. I can’t imagine it’s easy to call off a wedding.” Lavinia couldn’t even conceive of it, and she was planning one. “Particularly under the intense scrutiny of a London Season.”
“Precisely. You do understand.” She looked back to the fire and narrowed her eyes. “I expect most people will fault me for crying off, but I had exceptional reason.”
“I don’t wish to pry or make you speak of something you’d rather not.” Lavinia wanted to be clear about her purpose in coming.
“You’re very kind,” Phoebe said. “But I knew that. That’s why I invited you up. I saw you arrive, and you’re the first person I’ve wanted to talk to. You’re also intelligent, and you’ve suffered the notoriety of being one of the Duke of Seduction’s subjects.” She looked at Lavinia with a touch of admiration. “And you seem to have handled it with aplomb. I haven’t seen you rush into an engagement—not as I was foolish enough to do.” Her gaze darkened. “Marriage is not the shining beacon of feminine completion we’re led to believe.”
“Er, yes.” Lavinia felt a bit disingenuous since she was now engaged. And she’d tell Phoebe—in a moment. First, she wanted to ask about Beck. Rather, the Duke of Seduction. “Do you blame him? The Duke of Seduction, I mean. Without his interference, you would likely not have had to deal with this…problem.” That word was wholly inadequate.
“Possibly, but I don’t blame him. No, the blame rests firmly with Sainsbury and his inability for fidelity or, at the very least, discretion.” She shook her head and looked down at her lap. “Actually, I blame myself most of all. I was so anxious to marry.” She lifted her gaze to Lavinia’s. “That’s what we’re supposed to be, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Lavinia’s heart twisted for the other woman. Now she did indeed feel sorry for her—not because of Sainsbury, but because it seemed she’d learned a painful lesson.
“But you aren’t,” Phoebe said, her lip hitching up in a brief smile. “You and your friends defy convention. You cling to the perimeter, and you set your own terms. You blame the Duke of Seduction, I think. For your popularity.”
“Er, yes.” Lavinia said again, concerned that her discomfort might be plain. “I may not have been anxious to marry, but I did plan to. Do plan to, rather.” She summoned a tepid smile. “I’ve just become engaged to the Marquess of Northam, actually.”
Phoebe’s jaw dipped with surprise. “Have you?”
Lavinia nodded. “Today.”
“And are you happy about it?” Phoebe tipped her head to the side. “I can’t really tell.”
“Quite. We suit rather well. So in that respect, I must thank the Duke of Seduction.” She nearly told Phoebe the truth—that Beck was him—but decided it was a secret that should stay a secret. In fact, the duke should retire his match-luring poems entirely. Instead, Lavinia would persuade him to write poems that would inspire young women like Phoebe to seek clarity and purpose for themselves and not rely on the expectations of others.
“Well, I’m glad it worked out for you,” Phoebe said.
“And I’m sorry it didn’t for you. Truly. But this will pass, and there will be other opportunities.”
“Perhaps, but they needn’t be marriage. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I’ll marry for love or not at all. And he has to possess a good measure of honor and dignity—and display a high regard for women.” She winced slightly and hesitated a moment before asking, “Aren’t you a bit worried about Northam’s reputation?”
Lavinia glanced away, hating that she’d asked the question and yet knowing it would be on everyone’s lips the moment they learned he was betrothed. And to her of all people—someone who barely appeared on most people’s societal landscape.
“I’m not.” Lavinia had been, of course, but knowing he hadn’t looked at or thought of another woman since they’d met was enough for her. She supposed he could be lying, but she didn’t think he would do that. “Perhaps I’m naïve, but I believe he’ll be a devoted husband.”
Phoebe smiled warmly and clasped her hands together in her lap. “How wonderful. I do hope that will be the case.” Her smile faded. “It’s horrid, though, isn’t it, that if he was unfaithful, people would look at you as if it were your fault. Men are excused from nearly anything. I’m sure Sainsbury will find another gullible young woman who will fall for his charms, just as his cousin did.”
“His cousin?”
“Lord Haywood. He had a horrible reputation when he was a young buck, and he ruined at least one young woman and is rumored to have carried on with many more. Yet, he was able to marry an heiress just a few years later.”
“Yes, I’m quite familiar with Haywood’s transgressions,” Lavinia said grimly. “Thankfully, the woman he wronged was able to find happiness.”
&
nbsp; “She’s a peculiarity and very, very lucky. Most of us aren’t.” Phoebe waved a hand. “But I am not looking for sympathy. I will survive this, and I will be the better for it, whether I wed someday or not. In the meantime, I’ve persuaded my mother to allow me to return to the country.”
“Oh, then you’ll miss my wedding breakfast.” Lavinia had planned to invite her.
“I’m afraid I must. I don’t plan to discuss the details of why I called off the wedding, but people will talk anyway.”
“I won’t say anything,” Lavinia rushed to assure her.
“I know you won’t—at least not to anyone who will gossip. I imagine you’ll talk to Jane about it and maybe your other friends.”
“Only if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. It’s going to be a spectacle in any case, which is why I’m leaving town.” She rose. “I should start packing.”
Lavinia took her cue and stood. “I’m so glad to see you’re doing well. This will pass.”
“It will, but whether I’m able to weather it with a decent reputation is yet to be determined.” She shrugged. “I have no regrets—and that’s what’s most important.” She looked intently at Lavinia. “Remember that. If for any reason you decide you don’t want to marry Northam, you don’t have to. Take the time of your betrothal—and I recommend stretching it out if you can—to make sure this is what you want. Once you’re wed, there’s absolutely no turning back.”
A shiver tripped up her spine. She’d said something similar to Beck earlier that day, and he’d decided to plunge forward, without regret. She smiled at Phoebe. “I can’t imagine anything happening to change my mind.”
They said good-bye, and Lavinia went downstairs to the drawing room where her mother waited. Mrs. Lennox thanked Lavinia for visiting with Phoebe.
As she made her way outside, she couldn’t stop thinking of Phoebe’s advice and the fact that she didn’t need it. Nothing would stop her from marrying Beck. They had friendship, attraction, mutual respect…and she loved him.
Yes, she was completely in love with him. And that was all that mattered.