It was a morbid victory and a well-deserved ending.
Despite desperately trying to erase everything that her poor Charles had endured during the first twelve years of his life by introducing to him every known happiness a child deserved, and consistently showing him love and support, this was what it had all amounted to. Him thinking she wouldn’t understand.
Magdalene pushed out a breath, trying to fight the tears burning her eyes. “Charles. Whatever this is, surely you know that you can always—”
“No. Not this.” He shook his head and kept shaking it, his gaze withdrawn. He eyed the small crowd surrounding them and stalked back toward the ballroom, disappearing from sight.
The servants lingered, right along with Thornton.
All of them no doubt thought the worst of Charles.
She couldn’t bear it. London whispered enough about him.
Setting her chin, she coolly announced to the servants, “Ensure that no one is hurt and that the carriages commence lining up for all the guests. Have them use the side entrance, as opposed to this one. We will address the parlor later. Now go.”
The servants bobbed in respect of the command, grabbed up all the buckets and disbanded one by one.
She turned to the butler just as he was veering away. Knowing she had no choice but to face what Charles clearly didn’t want to, she demanded, “Where is this woman in question? Is she still up in the garret?”
The butler’s tufts of gray brows flickered. “That she is, my lady.” Digging into his soot-covered vest pocket, he produced a brass key and held it up. “Shall I—”
“No.” Magdalene took the garret key. “I will do it. Go.”
The butler inclined his head and departed.
She paused, realizing she stood alone with Thornton in the lingering fog of smoke. How fitting that they stand in diminishing embers.
His flat, stoic expression prolonged the moment. He eventually shifted his shaven jaw and provided, “You raised him well. Whatever this is, he isn’t to blame. You do know that, yes?”
A part of Magdalene’s soul melted and dripped into a pool at his feet. It was very much like Thornton to be a friend when she needed it most. It was the very thing she didn’t want to lose and why she had panicked that afternoon in the study. Because she didn’t want to lose the only man she had ever come to adore to the stupid passion that only ever ruined everything between a man and a woman. “Thank you, Thornton. I really needed to hear that.”
He half nodded. “I suggest you let me talk to him.”
She nodded, knowing Charles would, in fact, prefer it. She had an annoying tendency to coddle Charles and treat him like the child he no longer was. She couldn’t help it. Guilt over his wretched upbringing always brought out the worst in her. “If you could. A bit of man-to-man.”
“Of course. I’ll give him some time to himself first before I wander over. No man likes being cornered or chased.” He strode over to his evening coat and swiped it up. Draping it over his broad shoulders, he slid his arms into it and readjusted the coat back over his frame, covering his vest and linen shirt. He smoothed the lapels and eyed her.
It was as if he were reliving the way she had undressed him and then smacked him. She swallowed in awkwardness.
Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he departed with long, steady strides, momentarily stepping out through the open doors of the main entrance and into the night. He lingered, still making his presence known to her, that strong frame blurring within the shadows.
She sighed, sensing that he wanted to talk before wandering over to Charles but was too proud to be the first to do it. She slowly made her toward him. “’Tis good to see you.”
“And you.” His wry tone indicated otherwise.
“It’s been a hard month for me,” she confided.
“Has it?”
“Yes.” Not seeing Francine, Elizabeth and Sarah had been as equally unbearable as not seeing him. Whenever his girls gathered about her on her visits, one by one, all chipper and cheeky with radiant green eyes that matched his, she often forgot they weren’t even hers. They represented each and every child she had lost and the family she wished she’d always had.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she added, “I missed you.”
“I bet you have. I still have the mark to prove it.”
She cringed. “I’m sorry.”
“If you were sorry you wouldn’t have done it.”
He was making this so difficult. “Why did you come tonight, Thornton? To push this pitchfork into my side? I feel guilt-ridden enough as it is. As I have written in each and every letter I sent, you didn’t deserve it. Nor should I have perpetuated the situation. ’Tis my hope we can move past this. ’Tis my hope we can return to what we had.”
He said nothing.
“Thornton?”
He still said nothing.
“Thornton, say something.”
He still said nothing, merely lingered in the darkness.
She nodded. “This is but one of the many reasons as to why I panicked. I knew it would change everything between us. And it has.”
He huffed out a breath. “Do you know what I realized tonight? Shortly after I arrived and before the fire disbanded everyone?”
She hesitated, dreading what he was about to say. “What?”
“Men like you. Young, old, they are drawn to your presence and everything you are. The trouble is, you don’t like men. Every look and every glance they give you, you ignore like a nun on a Sunday. Perhaps you are not even aware of it, but I have a problem with it all the same, especially given that I myself am a man.”
Oh, now, that was white-knuckle-fisted male pride talking. Not common sense. “I don’t think I need to stand here and justify what my view on men is. ’Tis no different than your view of women. ’Tis why you and I have always got along so well. We never saw each other as a threat. And now you seek to change that? Why? I thought we were friends. Real friends capable of seeing past meaningless physicality.”
Silence pulsed between them.
“Magdalene?” he suddenly said in a strained, husky tone.
She swallowed. “Yes?”
He turned and strode out of the darkness toward her, pausing at a distance she knew was best kept between them. Without meeting her gaze, he said in a troubled voice, “Fool that I am, after receiving all of your rambling letters of apologies that gave me hope, I came tonight, not to rekindle our friendship, but to ask you to marry me. That is all I want out of this, and that is all I am willing to settle for.”
Her eyes widened. She gripped shaky hands together, the brass key to the garret biting into her palms. Her hands quaked beyond anything she’d ever experienced, knowing that she had already lost him. She had lost her closest friend to all the things they had both sworn to stay away from. “Please don’t do this to me. You and I both swore we would never go down this path. With anyone. We took the…the oath of ‘I’ve already been married and I’m not doing that again.’ Remember? You also still have three children to raise. Those girls need you. I don’t.”
His face went grim. “My understanding in this is that by giving myself more, I give my daughters more. They need a good mother and I need a good wife. Pardon me for assuming you were ever capable of being both.”
Her heart squeezed. He said it as if he meant it…as if he truly loved her and was looking for more than a mother to his children and more than a companion for his bed.
He stepped toward her and leaned in, inching his face close enough that the seductive heat of his breath frilled hers. “What are you afraid of? Is it the intimacy? Or is it me?”
Her legs quaked. Everything did. “I don’t want to lose what we have to something as stupid as lust and passion that will only l
ast in between breaths.”
“Nothing is going to change between us.”
“But it already has! You aren’t even looking at me the same.”
His gaze softened as he searched her face. “Magdalene.” Lifting his hand, he grazed the back of his finger against her cheek, his warmth penetrating her skin. “I have looked at you the same way for years. You have just never noticed it.”
She held that soft gaze and swallowed in effort to ease the anxious fluttering overtaking her body and soul. It reminded her of the way he had looked at her before he leaned in across that chess table and kissed her. It was a tenderness she had never seen in Adam’s face when he’d grabbed for her, stripped her and rode her until she climaxed in an effort to make her forget that he had just beat her. Lust, pleasure and pain in combination were Adam’s forte, and needless to say, she’d been avoiding all three ever since.
Thornton’s eyes trailed down to her lips and lingered. “Say something.” His finger softly slid its way down from her cheek to her exposed throat.
She fought against swaying from that touch. “Passion is a very dangerous game, Thornton. If we lose playing it, we lose everything, including each other, and I’m not willing to risk it. Lines blur fast. Adam taught me that much. His passion became my prison. He didn’t know whether to bed me or fist me.”
His features grew taut and derisive. “Don’t abase me, Magdalene, by comparing me to that prick. Allow me to resolve this. After tonight, we never see each other again. ’Tis best. Not only for you but me.”
Magdalene edged toward him, eyes widening. “You don’t actually mean that.”
“I do.”
She pressed a hand against her cheek in angst. “Why are you doing this to me? To us? Are we not worth more than a fleeting need to pursue intimacy that will never be as rewarding as the friendship we share?”
“Fleeting?” His expression stilled. “Given that you wish to categorize me with a dead man, I am asking that you not complicate my life by calling on me or my girls anymore, making us feel as if we are a family, when in fact, we are anything but. I also ask that you don’t send them any more of those damnable weekly trinkets that they’ve come to depend upon, waiting by the door like dogs. It isn’t fair to them and it isn’t fair to me.”
A part of her soul shattered knowing that he meant it. This was him never looking back. She could see it in that face and in those eyes.
She stepped toward him. “Thornton—”
“No.” He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “You and I have been doing this for five years, and I’m not doing it for another day knowing that I have been madly in love with you for at least four of those goddamn years. I had actually thought that the worst of this was you not noticing. But now I’m realizing that the worst part is that even now that you do know, you just don’t bloody care.” He rounded her, popping up both of his hands in disgust. “I am done. We are done, and I have nothing more to say. I am going to talk to Charles. He needs me. Whilst you, apparently, don’t.” He stalked down the corridor and into the ballroom.
Magdalene staggered, unable to breathe. Thornton loved her? Dear God, he…loved her? So all of this was, in fact, more than base attraction?
Upon her soul. Love was something she had never thought possible between them. Thornton had always merrily scoffed at everything pertaining to love and romance, which he believed only blinded one from seeing the death arrows pointed at one’s head and heart. He scoffed at flower arrangements. He scoffed at poetry. He scoffed at flirtations. He scoffed at picnics in the park and boat rides on the lake. He even scoffed at the waltz because it involved too much touching.
Clearly, his days of scoffing were over.
What a mess. She glanced down at the key in her trembling hand. It was going to be a very long night, and she only hoped poor Charles was in a better place than she was.
CHAPTER THREE
GATHERING HER EMBROIDERED satin gown from around her slippered feet, Magdalene hurried up the large staircase. Drifting past her own private suites, she made her way farther up toward the servants’ quarters at the very top level of the house, toward the garret. She eventually paused before a closed, paneled door.
Lanterns on wrought-iron hooks lit the quiet space.
She fingered the brass key, wondering if it was wise to open the door. Perhaps she should speak to the woman first and open the door last. She knocked. “Miss?”
“Do what you will,” a woman choked out from beyond. “Call the authorities. I earned it.”
Magdalene pressed a hand against the closed door. The woman sounded as if she’d been crying.
Magdalene hesitated then offered, “What is your name?”
“I hardly think it matters.”
“It matters to me.”
There was a shifting of weight behind the door. “And who are you?”
“Dowager Lady Kent. This here is my home.” She paused and added, “Whatever is left of it, that is.”
There was a groan and a penetrating moment of silence followed by a surprisingly gracious, “I’m so sorry about the parlor. My name is Miss Emma Vance. Daughter of Mr. Vance, the chemist. Though mind you, he’s been dead for a year.”
“Miss Vance, forgive me for not understanding the situation, and why you felt the need to trespass and rifle through my belongings, but—”
“All you need understand,” the woman interrupted, “is that your son, Lady Kent, is a scoundrel of the worst sort, and I not only want him out of my life, but I want those sketches he did of me back.”
Sketches? Magdalene drew in an astonished breath. “What are you referring to? What did he do?”
There was a momentary pause. “Do you know a man by the name of Mr. Royce?”
Magdalene paused. Shaking her head slowly from side to side, she supplied, “No. That I do not.”
A loud thud reverberated from within the garret. “Of course you don’t. ’Tis an alias of his. Calls himself Mr. Royce about town and is known to be quite the artist. Is very celebrated for his honest and realistic depiction of people. I met him in passing whilst he was sitting over at the docks, sketching. He wanted to draw me and even paid me for it. Only…I haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”
A diffident boy seeking anonymity while depicting the world for what it was. How utterly Charles. Despite him being a misfit who always ran about town instead of tending to estate matters, he was an honest, respectable boy. While his fellow peers debauched women in the name of England and a good time, he couldn’t even bring himself to talk to them. For a while, she’d actually wondered if he preferred men. Though clearly, he didn’t.
“Might I…open the door, Miss Vance? Can I trust you to—”
“I won’t slit your throat, if that is what concerns you.”
“Good. I am pleased to know that you and I have an understanding.” Magdalene pushed the key into the lock, turning it. She pulled the door open, bracing herself for what lay beyond.
The lanterns within the corridor filtered into the darkness, displaying uneven wooden planks, overturned buckets, brooms and the figure of a woman who remained hidden in the shadows. The figure drifted into the wavering light of the corridor.
Magdalene’s lips parted.
A pale but strikingly beautiful and youthful face appeared. She couldn’t have been older than nineteen. Thick tendrils of curling blond hair cascaded out from a lopsided chignon as the saddest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen met hers. Though her azure cotton gown was simple in its fabric and stitching, whispering of a merchant class, there was an unspoken sophisticated elegance to this girl. It was the way she held her chin despite having emerged from a dark space. Those hands flattened her loose gown against her sides. “Though I have yet to show, I am with child. Given that you are his mothe
r, I thought you should know.”
Magdalene staggered and placed a shaky hand to her lips, to keep herself from gasping. She could feel the pulsing within her own hand and lips and throat as she continued to stand there, unable to believe that Charles would do this. “Are you certain we are referring to the same man, Miss Vance?”
The woman lowered her chin and pursed her lips. “Tall? Astonishingly tall, actually. Dark hair? Brown eyes? Has a dimple on his left cheek when he smiles? Has a fancy for Latin words? Carries a leather-bound sketchbook that he makes use of at the oddest of times? Is that not him?”
Oh, but it was. “It is indeed him.” She swallowed in disbelief. “Have you informed him of your…condition, Miss Vance?”
“Yes. When he visited me last. Four days ago. He hastily gave me all the money from his pockets and left.”
Charles was going to be a father.
And the mother was the daughter of a chemist.
Heaven help her and the world itself, the boy had unknowingly followed the path of his father by impregnating a lower class woman. “Miss Vance. I apologize for not being more responsive. I am a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”
A gargled laugh escaped her lips. “You are overwhelmed?” Her voice now wavered, despite that chin still jutting out. “This tale has yet to end. Whilst I was going about my business, not even two days after I announced all of this to him, I was astounded to see Mr. Royce himself stepping out of a crest-emblazoned carriage on Regent Street. And he wasn’t wearing his usual wool and cap. He was wearing clothes meant to blow the whistle off a woman. So I paid a hackney to follow him about town. Imagine my surprise when I find he’s an aristo living all fancy here on Park Lane!”
With a flare of her nostrils, Miss Vance seethed on. “He’d been making a fool of me. All along. And the worst of it? He has dozens of nude sketches of me. Sketches I know could ruin what is left of me. Which isn’t much. So I snuck in to try to find them and burn them, going from room to room, and that’s when it all went to the pot. The butler caught me, and in an effort to get out, I knocked over one of the large lamps in the parlor. It shattered, sprayed oil and with the flame already burning in the lamp, it…” She winced. “I’m ever so sorry.”
Rules of Engagement: The Reasons for MarriageThe Wedding PartyUnlaced (Lester Family) Page 36