“How about you, Rory? Will you and your sister be dining with us?” Miles asked.
Fiona visibly stiffened at the suggestion, and Rory picked up on the hint.
“As much as I would enjoy that, I expect Iris has made arrangements for us to dine with her friends.”
“All right.” Miles nodded. “See you later, then.”
He and Lara disappeared into the banquet room, and Rory was left alone with Fiona once more. She seemed to have relaxed her guard somewhat, and was actually smiling again.
“I’ve never been to India,” she said.
“I’ve never been to Blythe Village, so we’re even.”
She laughed. “What’s it like in India?”
“Hot. What’s it like in Blythe Village?”
“It’s a small, quaint little town…”
Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened. Rory followed her glance and was shocked to discover Lord Moordale and Iris approaching, arm in arm. His sister’s features had been transformed from sulky to beatific, but Moordale’s expression seemed strained.
“Oh, Rory, you’ll never guess what’s transpired!” Iris gushed. “Lord Moordale has just asked me to marry him, and I’ve accepted!”
Fiona gasped, and the bloom left her cheeks. Iris’s announcement caused a ripple of excitement to spread through the guests passing by, and a few of them cast amused glances Fiona’s way. As Lord Moordale quickly ushered Iris into the banquet room, Rory gave Fiona a concerned look. Before he could speak, however, Sir Harry brushed past.
“My dear, you look as if you’ve taken a turn. Would you like to sit down?”
“Yes. Thank you, Sir Harry.”
Although Rory was stunned at his sister’s unexpected engagement, his main concern was for Fiona. He followed Sir Harry as he led her toward the entryway down the hall. When she sank onto a chaise, the older man sat next to her—too close for propriety, in Rory’s opinion. In addition, he kept Fiona’s hand in his, as if she would run off if he didn’t keep her on a tether.
Sir Harry all but glared at him. “Mr. Braithwaite, why don’t you fetch Miss Lara?”
Fiona shook her head. “No. I don’t wish to disturb my sister, but I’ve developed a headache and I’d like to leave.”
“I’ll see you home,” Rory said. “I’ve no reason to stay.”
Her hazel eyes lanced him, as sharp as pins, but she directed her remark to the gentleman at her side. “Will you summon my carriage, Sir Harry?”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll escort you home myself.” Sir Harry rose to his feet. “Wait here and I’ll return directly.”
As he strode off, Fiona stared off into space with a stony expression. Rory knew nothing he could say would help the situation, but he felt compelled to try.
“Miss Fiona, please believe me when I tell you I’m aghast at what has happened. I can’t explain what may have prompted Lord Moordale’s sudden declaration to Iris.”
She rose. “You may render me two services, Mr. Braithwaite.”
“Anything.”
“After I depart, please inform Lara that Sir Harry has seen me home. I wish her to stay and enjoy herself at the ball.”
“Yes, of course. And how else may I be of service?”
“Never, ever speak to me again.”
Rory took a half-step back, almost as if she’d struck him. Although he wished to remonstrate with her, as a gentleman he was obliged to abide by her wishes. Moments later, Sir Harry returned with Fiona’s cloak and draped it over her shoulders. Rory was forced to watch as the man escorted Fiona from the house. Only after Sir Harry and Fiona disappeared through the front door did Rory realize his fists were clenched at his side.
Chapter Three
Very Truly Yours
FIONA COULDN’T REMEMBER ever having been so dispirited. She rode in Sir Harry’s carriage dry-eyed, but she knew the tears wouldn’t be long in coming once she returned to the Greystoke townhouse. Sir Harry rode on the facing seat in comforting silence, making no attempt to engage her in conversation. Although she was too numb to feel much of anything, she realized she owed the man a great debt. He’d been there right after she heard about Lord Moordale’s engagement, and he’d managed everything so she could leave the Quarterbury ball without delay.
When the carriage finally came to a stop, Sir Harry climbed out and helped her step down to the pavement personally.
“I’m very grateful to you, Sir Harry,” she said. “I’m not sure what I would have done without you tonight.”
“I was glad to be of some small service, Miss Fiona.”
When she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, his beard brushed up against her face like fuzzy caterpillars. He gave her a kindly smile afterward, and a wink.
“At the moment, it may seem as if the world has stopped turning, but take heart. You’re worth so much more than to be discarded by a ridiculous popinjay like Moordale. Only a fool wouldn’t recognize you’re a brilliant jewel to be treasured.”
Her throat swelled with emotion. “Thank you for that.”
“In you go, my dear. I’ll call on you tomorrow to see how you’re getting along.”
One of the maids let Fiona inside the house. Due to her delicate condition, Angelica had already turned in for the night, but William came out from his study to greet her.
“I didn’t expect you for hours yet. Where are Miles and Lara?”
Although Fiona had a great deal of affection for her brother-in-law, she simply couldn’t put into words what had occurred. She forced herself to smile.
“They’re still at the ball. I developed a headache, so Sir Harry kindly brought me home.”
William’s eyebrows drew together. “Shall I summon a physician?”
“Please don’t concern yourself. I’ll use a headache powder and then go straight to bed. Good night.”
In her bedchamber, Fiona let Moira undress her and thereafter she slipped under the covers. As soon as the light was doused and she was alone, the tears began to flow. Her heart was a throbbing wound which no amount of salve could comfort. She found Lord Moordale’s proposal to Miss Braithwaite to be absolutely galling, and she burned with fury in between crying jags. Why had he acted in such a caddish fashion and rejected her in public? Furthermore, she’d contributed to her own downfall by prattling to everyone all night long about his invitation to dine.
Lara came home in the wee hours of the morning, and opened her door, but Fiona pretended to be asleep. Eventually, the pretense became reality and she drifted into a troubled dream of slipping on a patch of ice in front of Buckingham Palace. As she lay flat on her back, she was horrified to discover she was stark naked and the object of mocking scorn to all who passed. Children laughed as they pelted her with rotten vegetables and horse muck, and Fiona finally woke, trembling and crying once more.
As dawn broke, she stared at the murky light creeping around the edges of the drapery and tried to decide what to do. If the point of the Season was to find a husband, she’d utterly failed. Until the memory of Lord Moordale’s rejection faded, it was unlikely any eligible men would attempt to court her. Lara was all but officially engaged, and when she made it official, Fiona would be considered on the shelf. She was doomed.
When her maid came in to dress her, Fiona claimed illness, and not even Lara could persuade her to come downstairs for breakfast. When Angelica came to speak with her, however, Fiona finally sat up out of guilt. Her elder sister had dark circles under her eyes, and was shuffling around with a handkerchief pressed against her lips from pregnancy-induced nausea.
“You should keep to your bed, Angelica! Truly, you look dreadful.”
“I can’t rest while you’re suffering.” Her sister lowered herself into a chair. “Lara told me what happened with Lord Moordale last night. I could scarcely believe my ears.”
Fiona hung her head. “I’ve brought it on myself for my past wickedness.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“You know it
’s true. I was always envious of Lara’s looks and sweetness when we were children.”
“Envy is indeed a failing, but you’ve made great strides to overcome it. And consider that your beauty is simply different than Lara’s, no better and no worse. The right man will love your looks exactly as they are, above any other woman.”
“But envy isn’t my only sin, Angelica. I was jealous of Lara’s relationship with Miles and interfered abominably, even as recently as last Christmas. Such ugliness never goes unanswered in the grand scheme of things.”
“You’ve apologized for your interference and improved since then.”
“I have changed, I think. Truly, I’d never do anything to hurt Lara again…or Miles either, for that matter.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Miles and Lara have forgiven you, but I don’t think you’ve forgiven yourself. If you continue to hold on to your guilt, you’ll never move forward.”
Fiona nodded. “I can hear the wisdom in what you say, but I still want to go home.”
“Why? You’ll just feel even sorrier for yourself, knowing you’re missing all the fun here in town.”
“I don’t know if I can hold my head up! Everyone’s laughing at me!”
“Surely not everybody.” Angelica’s smile was teasing. “I expect there are some gentlemen who are relieved Lord Moordale will no longer be a rival for your affections.”
Fiona plucked at the bedcover. “I can’t think who…unless you mean Sir Harry.”
“Perish the thought! No, you won’t know for sure until you get up and throw yourself ‘once more unto the breach,’ as the Bard would say.”
Angelica was so adamant, Fiona allowed herself to be persuaded. “I’ll stay in town a little while longer, but only because I don’t want to be seen as a coward.”
“That’s the spirit. I know it seems hopeless at the moment, but these things often work out for the best.” Angelica paused. “I’ve met Lord Moordale, and I confess I wouldn’t have been happy to call him my brother-in-law. His manners are charming enough, but he comes off as quite pleased with himself.”
Fiona was astonished. “Why didn’t you say so before now?”
“You were delighted with his attentions, and I didn’t want to spoil it for you. To be perfectly honest, I feel somewhat sorry for Miss Braithwaite. I hope she realizes her mistake before it’s too late.”
Something like a smile found its way onto Fiona’s lips, and a sense of relief began to crack open the weight on her chest.
“I’ve always trusted your judgment, Angelica. Perhaps you’re right.”
“At the risk of sounding pompous, I’m most certainly right about Lord Moordale. Tell me, were you really in love with him?”
“Not especially. I mean, I liked him well enough, but I thought my feelings were unimportant compared to other considerations. He’s a viscount, after all, and marriage to him would have been impressive.”
“Ah. My advice is to listen to your heart next time and put those other considerations aside.”
Fiona rose and gave her sister a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, I shall. Now let me don my wrapper and I’ll help you back to your room.”
Rory could feel his sister’s gaze upon him as they ate breakfast with their father, Peyton Braithwaite. Due to his throbbing hangover, Rory had no wish to converse with anyone, much less nibble on food.
Peyton finally seemed to take notice of his condition. “You’re awfully quiet this morning, Rory.”
“Yes, he’s as silent as a monk and twice as jolly,” Iris said. “In fact, he disappeared after dinner last night and I didn’t see him until it was time to leave the ball.”
“I was drinking in the bar during the second half of the ball and socializing with the other gentlemen.”
Peyton chuckled. “Best thing to do at a ball.”
Iris’s eyes flashed. “Not once have I heard Rory say he’s happy about my engagement.”
Rory bit back a retort he knew would hurt his sister’s feelings and make him look boorish in the bargain. Instead, he murmured, “You have my best wishes.”
“That’s all I’m to expect after my engagement to a viscount?”
“Leave it alone, Iris,” Peyton said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re not engaged until Moordale asks my permission to marry you.”
“He’s to come around today. This afternoon, in fact.”
Iris was so smug, Rory couldn’t let it pass. “Speaking of which, how did you manage to extract his proposal?”
“I didn’t extract anything! Iggy asked to speak to me in private and thereafter confessed his love.”
“Iggy?” The word tasted foul in Rory’s mouth.
“His given name is Ignacio Wallace Montague, the Viscount of Moordale.” She giggled. “I’m to be Lady Moordale. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Rory’s response was as flat as possible. “I can scarcely contain my enthusiasm.”
His father gave him a warning glance. “Rory.”
Iris tossed her head. “Never mind, Papa. Rory’s just in a foul temper because the object of his affection is the laughingstock of London.”
Peyton peered at him, quizzically. “What’s Iris talking about?”
Rory was so annoyed at his sister, he barely heard his father’s question.
“We’ve vastly different notions of what constitutes a laughingstock,” Rory retorted. “And she’s not the object of my affection any longer. I rather think she wishes I would drop dead.”
Iris’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, her dislike for me has extended to you, has it? A thousand pardons.”
“Insincerity oozes from your every pore.”
“Wait just a moment.” Peyton held up his hands. “I insist on knowing of whom you’re speaking?”
Rory and Iris answered at the same time. “Miss Fiona Robinson.”
The elder Mr. Braithwaite thought a moment. “Isn’t she William Greystoke’s sister-in-law? One of a pair of twins, as I recall.”
“The very same, but Miss Lara is the pretty one,” Iris said.
Rory bristled. “You wouldn’t know a true beauty if the queen pointed her out.” He turned to Peyton. “If you wish to hear the sordid details, sir, Lord Moordale was courting Miss Fiona before his sudden and ill-timed proposal to Iris last night.”
“No, Iggy was courting me before he was courting her,” Iris replied. “If you really like Miss Fiona, I’ve done you a favor, actually. She’s now free of any entanglements.”
“Yes, now that you’ve taken Moordale off Miss Fiona’s hands, the lady detests all the Braithwaites rather thoroughly. You have my eternal gratitude, Iris, but please keep any future benefaction to yourself.”
“Enough bickering!” Peyton exclaimed. “Iris, your conceited manner this morning is intolerable, I must say.”
“Thank you, Father,” Rory said. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“And as for you, Rory, however much you may dislike Lord Moordale, if he’s to marry your sister, you must welcome him to the family. I suggest you get to know him better.”
“Thank you for that, Papa,” Iris said. “It’s the least he can do.”
Rory’s eyes narrowed. Despite what his sister might believe, he was convinced the man’s change of heart wasn’t as it seemed. He’d spent the latter part of the evening on a fact-gathering mission, and Moordale’s intentions hadn’t passed muster.
“Might I have a word with you after breakfast, Father? There are some things we must discuss.”
Once Angelica was settled comfortably in her bedchamber, Fiona dressed quickly and went downstairs. As she gazed into the mirror, her blotchy, wan reflection made her groan, but there was little she could do to improve her appearance at present.
When she entered the dining room at long last, the conversation came to a halt. The guilty way Lara’s eyes dropped to her plate told Fiona she’d been the topic of discourse.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had a difficult night.”
&nb
sp; She went to the sideboard buffet to fill her plate with stewed figs, eggs, bacon, toast, and sliced tomatoes. Even though her back was turned, she suspected her family was exchanging glances with one another.
Fiona sighed. “It’s all right; I know full well how dreadful I look.” She sat down at the table. “William, I assume you’ve heard about Lord Moordale’s engagement from Lara and Miles?”
“Yes, and I consider Moordale’s actions to be ungentlemanly in the extreme.”
She gave William an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself when I came in last night, but I was too dispirited.” A pause. “Angelica just informed me that she never liked him.”
From the uncomfortable expressions around the table, Fiona concluded everyone agreed with her elder sister.
“If that’s the general sentiment toward the man, I suppose I’m better off.”
“I didn’t dislike him…necessarily,” Lara said. “He just didn’t seem to be a man of substance.”
“All of us want to see you happy, Fiona,” William said.
“Thank you. After last night I was considering going home, but Angelica convinced me otherwise.”
“Good for her.” Miles nodded. “Retreat is not the solution to your troubles.”
“I don’t think you should let one disappointment ruin your Season,” Lara said.
“I agree,” William said. “In fact, I’m relieved Moordale’s engaged to someone else. It’s not generally known, but he’s fallen on hard times financially and I’ve heard he’s a spendthrift.”
Fiona stared at him, wide-eyed. “I’d no idea! Perhaps I should have asked your opinion before now.”
“Rory has my condolences,” Miles said. “It sounds as if Moordale will be an unfortunate addition to the family. I can’t imagine anything more unpleasant than disliking an in-law.”
“Speaking of Mr. Braithwaite, when he told us what had happened last night, he was exceedingly crestfallen,” Lara said.
“I agree, now that you mention it,” Miles said. “His dark mood was very out of character.”
William shrugged. “Perhaps he disapproves of Moordale as much as we do and doesn’t wish to see the man wed to his sister?”
A Gift for Fiona (The Love Letters Series Book 2) Page 3