“He made me look ridiculous in front of everyone.”
“Not so.” Sir Harry cleared his throat. “Miss Fiona, you’re aware, I think, how much I admire you. If you’d agree to marry me, you’d make me the happiest of men. I’m not young, but I have other virtues. My home in Blythe Village is the finest in the county, and you’d want for nothing. As my wife, you’d be able to travel to London whenever you like. Several carriages would be at your disposal, along with a lady’s maid and a houseful of servants. I’m not a peer, but I have friends at the highest level of society, and few doors would be closed to you. You needn’t answer right away, but please say you’ll consider my offer?”
Her tongue was stilled by astonishment—not at Sir Harry’s proposal, but at the fact she was not immediately rejecting it. She’d mocked him behind his back last year for being old and musty, but that had been childish, uncharitable, and untrue. In fact, whenever she’d been near him, he’d smelled pleasantly of expensive cologne. In addition, she couldn’t deny he’d been especially kind to her last night, just when she’d needed it most. Was she…could she…seriously consider accepting him?
“I-I need some time to think about what you’ve said, Sir Harry. Much has happened recently to cloud my judgment, and I wish to do your proposal justice.”
Sir Harry crossed to the sofa and lifted her hand to his lips. “Miss Fiona, just to know you’ll consider me is enough for now. I’m returning to Blythe Village for a few days to deal with some business, and I’ll see you when I return.”
After sketching a bow, he took his leave. Slightly confused and bewildered, she stared at the empty fireplace. Considering her somewhat precarious situation socially, she’d be a fool to simply dismiss his proposal. Girls often married far older men for a variety of very good reasons, so the match wouldn’t even be particularly unusual. Although she felt little attraction for Sir Harry, she wasn’t repelled by him, either. The notion of becoming Lady Wren wasn’t as glamorous as Lady Moordale, perhaps, but it sounded grand nevertheless.
And yet, as soon as she’d almost persuaded herself to accept Sir Harry’s offer, Rory’s handsome face flashed into her mind. Blast it all…despite his shrewish sister, she suddenly yearned to know him better. He wasn’t a viscount like Lord Moordale, or quite as rich as Sir Harry, but Rory Braithwaite had a certain something in his manner that appealed to her. Although she hadn’t wanted to admit it until now, dancing and talking with him at the ball had been wonderful fun. He was a more polished dancer than Lord Moordale, if truth be told, and she enjoyed Rory’s sense of humor far better. Had she poisoned the well with her sharp tongue, or had her letter of apology paved the way for a cordial relationship? If there was even the slightest possibility of a future with Rory, she’d put Sir Harry off.
Already woozy from lack of sleep, she lay back on the sofa, closed her eyes, and drifted off into a dream about a tall, handsome young man whose lips made her knees grow weak. Seemingly moments later, she was roused by the sound of the doorbell. Although she sat up, she was still groggy when the butler entered the room with a silver salver.
“A message was just delivered for you, Miss Fiona.”
Fiona glanced at the envelope long enough to confirm the message was from Rory. As she took the letter from the tray, her stomach fluttered with excitement.
“Thank you, Kendrick.”
Although she hadn’t expected a reply quite so soon, perhaps her letter had struck a responsive chord. It was fortuitous that she happened to be alone when his message arrived! Certainly if Lara or Miles knew about their correspondence, she’d be obliged to answer awkward questions. She’d be forced to confess her rudeness and subsequent apology. If at all possible, she’d prefer to leave them in the dark about the entire mess forever, and deal with her shame in private.
Her fingers trembled as she retrieved a letter opener and slit open the top of the envelope. She swallowed hard as she unfolded the stationery and began to read. There’s no need to ask my forgiveness.
“Oh, thank goodness!”
A broad smile of relief lifted the corners of her mouth, but it soon faded. Blood hammered in her ears and the breath caught in her throat as she continued to read the missive. When she was finished, she sank to the floor, boneless. Her head bowed, agony wracked her body, and she buried her face in her hands. Deep down she’d always known Lara was prettier and kinder than she was, but it hurt to realize it was so obvious to everyone else. Rory’s dismissive words were not written on paper so much as they were now etched in her soul. And the notion that Miles secretly disliked her was so unbearable, she wasn’t sure she could stand it. How could she ever look at him again, knowing he wished her elsewhere? Even worse, Lara would be engaged by now if it weren’t for her. Oh, why had she ever been born?
A band of steel squeezed her throat, a hot poker lanced her temples, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. With both palms flat on the floor, Fiona forced herself to inhale and exhale until the dizziness retreated. A noise somewhere in the house reminded her that a servant or Angelica might walk in on her distress at any moment, so she got to her feet. With the horrible letter crushed into her pocket, Fiona ascended the stairs and rang for her lady’s maid.
“Moira, I’m unwell.”
“Shall I send for a doctor?”
“That’s not necessary, but I shan’t be leaving my room tonight. Please let Mrs. Greystoke know I won’t be down for tea or dinner, and tell her I’ve asked not to be disturbed. If I’m coming down with a cold, I don’t want anyone else to be exposed—especially not her.”
“Shall I bring you tea?”
“I’ll ring if I want anything, thank you.”
After Moira left, Fiona curled up on her bed with her knees hugged to her chest and sobbed. Her life as she’d known it was destroyed, and she desperately wished to go home. Her absence from the Greystoke residence would undoubtedly give pleasure to everyone except perhaps Angelica and her little nephew, Billy. Since Sir Harry’s offer was likely the only one she’d ever receive, she’d accept him and be grateful. If truth be told, he was probably better than she deserved.
Moordale’s emotions weighed down on him and made it difficult to mount the stairs in his boarding house residence. He tried not to notice the scratched wallpaper in the stairwell, or the unvarnished handrail which had taken on a blackened appearance from dirt. The place also had its own smell, which he’d come to realize was the odor of deprivation. Still, the boarding house was at least located in Pimlico, and not the East End. If he couldn’t bring his rent up to date, his next residence would smell like utter destitution. As depressing as it was, the sale of Bramble Hall would keep the wolf at bay. The only challenge would be in surviving long enough to see the money.
As soon as he reached the stop of the stairs, a squeak in the floorboards announced his presence. His landlord all but burst from his own residence to confront him.
“You’re behind in the rent, Moordale. I’ve got a family to feed, you know.”
Moordale winced. The fifty pounds he’d received from Peyton Braithwaite had largely been spent earlier that day when he’d paid other outstanding debts. Although prudence dictated he pay his rent first, he’d been forced to pay those creditors who might reveal his financial strain to those gentlemen who frequented the same establishments. Any additional funds in his wallet must be kept in reserve for his next game of cards.
“Yes, I appreciate your forbearance, Mr. Smith.” He felt in his pocket for some coins and handed them over with an apologetic smile. “Let me give you something on account, and I’ll try to get caught up by the end of the week.”
The landlord examined the few coins and all but growled. “You’re testing my patience, Your Lordship.”
The last two words had a mocking tone to them, which Moordale ignored. The time had long since passed he could afford to take offense.
“Quite so, but I need just a few more days.”
With another grunting growl, the landlord returne
d to his residence. Moordale let himself into his small, shabby apartment, shut the door, and sank into the rickety chair next to the desk. Tears burned the back of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Giving in to his humiliation would only make things worse.
After a ride in Hyde Park, Rory and Miles arranged to meet at their club on St. James for drinks and dinner. As they were seated at a table, Rory gave Miles a rueful smile.
“I’m glad we’re dining out tonight. Iris is in high dudgeon.”
“Really? I should have thought otherwise, considering her engagement.”
“There’s no engagement after all. Father and I sent Moordale packing, and Iris is furious at my interference.”
“Why did you do that? You’ve been wishing her married for ages!”
Rory related what he’d learned about the viscount’s aborted elopements. Miles peered at him, obviously aghast.
“I knew he had financial difficulties, but I hadn’t thought him so morally bankrupt. It seems both Fiona and your sister have had a narrow escape!”
“Yes, but I’m not certain either of them see the situation that way.” Rory paused. “How is Miss Fiona?”
“She looked dreadful when I saw her this morning, and she’s keeping to her room tonight. Her lady’s maid said she’s feeling ill.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“What are you going to do about your sister?”
“Iris has demanded to go to our aunt in Paris, and Father has asked me to accompany her. She’s vexed about that, too, but we can’t have her running off to Moordale on the sly. If he manages to ruin her, we’d have to pay him a huge amount of money to marry her.”
Miles shuddered. “What a dreadful notion.”
“At any rate, Iris and I will be leaving tomorrow, and I’ll return as soon as she’s settled.”
“I hope this entire incident with Moordale will have blown over and we’ll be back to normal by then. I don’t like to see Fiona distressed.”
“Nor do I.”
Rory took a sip of wine to cover his own unhappiness. Would his absence from London for a week or ten days be long enough for Fiona’s anger toward him to cool? Surely once she realized she was better off without the slimy viscount, she might feel more kindly toward Rory. If not, it was going to be a very long Season indeed.
Chapter Five
Wilting Iris
FIONA ENTERED THE DINING ROOM for breakfast the following morning, clad in a traveling suit. She was pleased to see Angelica at the table for the first time in a long while…as much as she could be pleased at anything. In fact, she felt rather dead inside, even as she plastered a vapid smile on her face.
“Good morning. I’m glad you’re well enough to be downstairs, Angelica.”
“Yes, I’m feeling much more myself this morning. How about you?”
“Tolerably well, thank you.”
Although she wasn’t hungry, Fiona helped herself to toast and tea. She sat down at the table on the same side as Miles, so she wouldn’t have to look at him directly.
“Why are you dressed that way?” Lara asked.
“I’ve had a change of plans. Moira and I are taking the train to Blythe Village today,” Fiona said.
Lara gasped. “Why?”
“We talked about this, Fiona,” Angelica said. “I thought you’d agreed to stay.”
“Yes I did, but Sir Harry paid me a call yesterday afternoon. He proposed marriage, and I mean to accept.”
A cacophony of protests ensued, but Fiona was unmoved. She’d resolved upon a course of action, and staying focused was the only way she could get through the morning without an emotional meltdown.
“Please don’t try to change my mind,” she said. “It’s a very good match for me, and certainly a step up the social ladder.”
Another round of remonstrations ensued. Finally, Miles held up his hands for quiet.
“I don’t think you should accept Sir Harry’s proposal until you’re feeling better about Lord Moordale. Rory discovered some things about Moordale that might help put him in perspective. His finances are in shambles.”
“Yes, Sir Harry mentioned as much.”
“That’s not all. Apparently, Rory learned that Moordale was paid to abandon his pursuit of certain young ladies last year.”
William’s eyebrows shot upward. “That’s a rather spectacular accusation. Does Mr. Braithwaite have any proof?”
“He talked to several gentlemen at Lady Quarterbury’s ball who claimed to have intimate knowledge of the situation.”
“I’m afraid that sort of testimony would never hold up in court, Miles,” William said.
“Perhaps not, but we’re in court of public opinion, so the same rules don’t apply.”
Fiona stirred sugar into her tea with feigned calmness. “I’m dismayed Mr. Braithwaite would stoop to gossip.”
“It is a rather thin evidence, Miles,” Lara said. “You know how cruel society can be.”
“In fact, Mr. Braithwaite’s assertion is somewhat unflattering to his own sister, if truth be told,” Angelica said.
Miles reddened. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have repeated what Rory told me, but I never imagined Fiona might consider accepting Sir Harry. I just don’t think she should make any decisions while in an emotional state.” He paused. “One other thing; Moordale isn’t to marry Miss Braithwaite after all. Her father also paid him a small sum of money to withdraw.”
Fiona’s hurt stemmed not from Lord Moordale’s defection, but from another source entirely. Unfortunately, she couldn’t reveal the truth without divulging Rory’s letter.
“I’m sorry for Miss Braithwaite, I suppose, but her broken engagement is of little consequence to me.” Fiona put down her teacup and stood. “Excuse me, but I must see how my maid is getting along. I’d like to catch the nine o’clock.”
Moira was in Fiona’s room when she returned, frantically filling trunks and suitcases with gowns, shoes, hats, and accessories.
“Oh, don’t bother packing everything, Moira. I just need a small trunk with essentials for now. Mrs. Greystoke will make sure the rest of my clothes are sent along directly. Are your things packed?”
“Yes, Miss Fiona.”
“Good. Run downstairs and ask Kendrick to summon a cab, please.”
Nobody said a word after Fiona left the dining room…until they were sure she was out of earshot.
“This is all exceedingly strange,” Angelica said finally. “I’ve never seen Fiona like this before.”
“She seems very preoccupied, to say the least,” Miles said. “Perhaps it’s my imagination, but I felt as if she was avoiding my gaze.”
Lara sighed as she tucked her napkin by her plate. “I’ll go talk to her. Maybe she’ll tell me what’s really going on.”
Angelica shook her head. “No, she needs to be alone for a little while, I think. Maybe the loss of Lord Moordale was more of a blow than we’d imagined and she needs time to sort it out.”
“Miles is right about one thing; I hope Fiona sorts through her feelings before she agrees to marry Sir Harry,” Lara said. “He’s respectable and wealthy to be sure, but I don’t think he’s suited to her temperament.”
“I couldn’t agree more, but I’m reluctant to press the point with her at the moment,” Angelica said. “In a day or two, she’ll see things differently and come to her senses.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but I find Rory Braithwaite’s interference in this matter quite odd, particularly when any evidence of wrong-doing is so thin,” William said. “If he’s mistaken, he’s slandered Lord Moordale rather dreadfully.”
“From what I understand, it would be difficult to slander Lord Moordale,” Angelica said. “He did accept money from the senior Mr. Braithwaite to withdraw his offer of marriage. That fact, at least, isn’t open to debate.”
“Although I’ve always trusted Rory’s judgment implicitly, I confess you’ve managed to poke holes in his story,” Miles said. “Now I wish I h
adn’t said anything. I seem to have worsened matters.”
“No, your concern for Fiona’s welfare does you credit, and she’s entitled to know all the facts before she makes up her mind,” Lara said. “Is it possible Mr. Braithwaite has some further evidence to buttress his argument?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t inquire. He’s to escort his sister to Paris today and won’t be back for a week or so. Nevertheless, I’ll probe a bit deeper upon his return.” Miles’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t mean to betray a confidence, but he’s expressed his regard for Fiona in no uncertain terms. I can’t imagine he’d do anything to hurt her.”
“If he’s formed a design on her, his judgment may be flawed,” William said.
“Indeed,” Angelica said. “Perhaps he’s guilty of casting aspersions in order to clear the field for himself?”
“I simply can’t believe that,” Miles said. “I’d sooner accuse you of mischief, William, than I’d accuse Rory Braithwaite.”
Lara, Miles, and Angelica were assembled in the entryway, along with the nanny and little Billy, when Fiona and Moira descended the stairs,
“Oh, dear,” Fiona said. “I didn’t mean to discommode you all.”
“William was obliged to leave for work, but the rest of us want to say good-bye,” Angelica said. “William sends his best wishes for a safe journey.”
The butler stood by the doorway. “Your trunk has been loaded, Miss Fiona.”
“Thank you, Kendrick.”
Fiona gave her elder sister a hug. “Angelica, I can’t thank you and William enough for letting me stay with you these past few months. I’ve imposed far too long on your hospitality.”
“Not at all. Take whatever time you need, and then hasten your return.”
“You’re very kind. I hope it isn’t too much trouble to send my things along? Moira and I are traveling light today.”
A Gift for Fiona (The Love Letters Series Book 2) Page 5