“No. I will not deny exposure would be exceedingly unpleasant. But what, my lord, do you want from me?”
“Merely, Miss Stanhope,” he replied, placing his other hand on top of hers as it still held his arm, “to be allowed to take you for a drive tomorrow afternoon. You would not think I would be so ungentlemanly as to reveal all, do you? It will be our secret—that is, unless you find yourself otherwise engaged tomorrow afternoon. Until then, Miss Stanhope.” With that, he walked away, armor clunking as loudly as Titania’s heart.
The rest of the evening was a blur; Titania knew she had danced, laughed, and flirted with a number of kings, gods, sorcerers, and monsters; unmasked with the guests and listened to the oohs and aahs as everyone sorted out who everyone else was; drank at least one more glass of champagne, leaving her light-headed but no more lighthearted; and watched in amazement tinged with envy as Miss Tynte danced with all the joy that had fled Titania’s heart.
Would the morning bring anything beyond a new day?
THE MORNING BROUGHT no relief. Titania lay in her bed, unable to move. If this is inertia, she thought, is there such a thing as ertia? And where would she get some? She could not seem to lift herself out of this warm, cozy bed.
She lay still for a few minutes, hearing the normal household rumble below—Stillings pontificating, Cook grumping, the housemaids giggling—when she heard a knock at the door. That was odd—it is scarce eleven o’clock, and no fashionable person is about now. Oh, dear, she thought, hurriedly throwing clothes on, perhaps the bill collectors have come to collect.
A politely surprised Stillings was opening the front door to Julian and his mother as Titania scurried downstairs, thrusting her hair behind her ears.
“Good morning, Mrs. White, Mr. Fell. What brings you here so early? Not that I am not pleased to see you, of course,” she added hastily. “Would you like to join me in the sitting room? Stillings, tea, please.”
Julian stood in the foyer and dragged a chair from against the wall nearer to a table holding a vase of flowers. He swept the vase off the table, handed it to Stillings, and pointed to the chair. “Mother, you sit here, please. I brought you a book, too.”
Mrs. White bestowed a loving smile on her son. “Miss Stanhope, this is what comes of allowing your son to dismiss his tutor at an early age. I will sit right here, Julian, and pretend I am a proper chaperone.”
Julian waved Titania into the sitting room. “I will keep the door open, Mother,” he called as they sat down. “I would not want to offend your sensibilities.” A muffled chuckle was his only response. He turned to Titania, a concerned look on his face.
“My friend, you are in trouble, I know you are, and you cannot deny it. Well?”
His dark brown eyes filled with concern as they gazed at her. She began to feel some of her rigid control fall away. She shook her head, drawing her chair a little closer to his.
“It is a complete muddle. I believe I will have to tell you everything, although I wish I did not have to involve you in any deception. I am a Singular Lady.”
Julian looked puzzled. “Yes, that you are, but what does that have to do with anything? If you were not singular, I would not be out on the streets at this awful hour.”
Titania poked him in the arm. “No, you looby,” she laughed, “I mean I write that column as a Singular Lady, the one detailing a certain young maiden’s quest for a husband.”
“Ah, so you’re a writer, too? I should’ve guessed. How clever of you!”
“Yes, thank you, but that is not the point. The point is that Lord Gratwick has discovered my identity. I cannot imagine what he will want for his silence—he has demanded he take me for a drive this afternoon.”
“But why?” Julian questioned. “Why do you need to find a wealthy husband?”
“I know rumors have it I have a more than adequate dowry, but the truth is actually quite different. My father, well, as you know, my father was not the most...responsible person. When he died, he left everything—or so we thought—to Thibault and me, but when I arrived in town, his lawyer told me another, later will had been found, leaving everything but what is entailed to someone whom I do not even know. It was one of his...female acquaintances.”
“Infamous,” Julian muttered. “How can he have been so reprehensible? A lady should not have to worry about where her next bonnet is coming from.”
“It’s more than my bonnet, it is my family’s very livelihood. You see, my father was none too responsible before he died, either, so the estate is in serious need of repair, and all the funds we had were supposed to help in that effort. And my uncle... Well, without those funds, the land, the people working the land, our servants, all suffer. Marrying wealth is my only chance at putting the land and the people back to rights. At least, I thought it was my only chance, but then I had the idea to write the column. My editor says there is a chance the columns will be collected and published, but I will not know that until the end of the Season. I can pay my current bills with what he is paying me for the column, and by selling some of my mother’s jewelry, but that money alone will not last forever.”
Julian sat back, silent for a moment. “You mentioned your uncle. Can he help?”
Titania tried to stem the flow of tears. “No. He’s actually making it worse. I do not know if he can, but he seems quite certain he can take Ravensthorpe from Thibault if we are not able to pay the taxes. He offered to let us live with him if we hand it over, but I cannot do that. Ravensthorpe is all Thibault has.”
“What about Lord Worthington?” Julian replied. “It is no secret—to me, at least—that you have an inclination toward him. Must he marry for money as well?”
Titania swallowed hard. “It seems the earl does not plan on marrying for money, but as for marrying me...well, I am afraid I have made a terrible mess of things. It is true that he has a...fondness for me, but now he knows I cannot marry him, and when I told him my situation last night...well, I am afraid he hates me.”
“If you could just find this mystery woman,” Julian said, “you would be able to explain your situation to her.”
“And she would take one look at my sad face and decide to return the money? That kind of thing happens only in fairy tales.”
“You could go through your father’s papers. Maybe there is a clue there, or one of us can go find one of those ladies and ask her.”
“Ask a Cyprian about which one of her cohorts might have known my father? That hardly seems like a realistic plan.”
Julian frowned, stroking his chin. “You’re probably right; there could be dozens of them.”
“My father would be honored you think so highly of him,” Titania said dryly. “But, honestly, I think the number of—of Cyprians who would speak to us would be none. Thank you for trying, though.”
With a friend like this, Titania thought, it was impossible for one’s heart to be completely at the bottom of one’s shoes. Perhaps it was lodged now around her knees, which was not so bad considering how far it had plummeted last night. She walked Julian and his mother out to the door, feeling as if a tiny bit of her burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
Titania climbed up the stairs with a weary step, intent on writing to escape her thoughts. Pen and paper were an inadequate substitution for Edwin’s arms, but they were all she had left.
“DAMN ALL WOMEN!” EDWIN swore, opening his eyes.
“Damn her,” he clarified, pulling his dressing gown on as he got out of bed. He stalked over to the washbasin, throwing cold water onto his face. It did nothing to ease the burning of his heart.
Five years ago, he had been entranced by Leticia’s face and adulation; with Titania, it was much more. And she was no better than Leticia. Women really were the devil. The sooner he forgot about her, the better. Now if only he could convince his aching, forlorn heart of that fact, he would be all right.
Edwin groaned and sat back down on the edge of the bed. He held his head in his hands, shaking it softly from si
de to side.
“My lord?” Henri came in at a tentative pace. He paused at the doorway for a moment, then headed determinedly toward the mess of clothing Edwin had tossed on the chair last night.
“Henri!” Edwin barked, glaring at his friend. “Stop fussing. I need to make a call today, a very important call.”
“The lady?” Henri’s smile was impertinent for a servant, but exactly suited a close friend.
Edwin scowled. “And I do not want to wear any of those frippery things you insist are in fashion. Something plain, please.”
“Not the lady, then,” Henri said with a frown. He walked to the wardrobe, drawing out the most somber of Edwin’s new coats and holding it out to his master for approval.
“Yes, that will do,” Edwin admitted with a grudging nod. Edwin picked the soap brush up from his washbasin and began to lather his face. He placed the brush down and lifted the razor, eyeing himself in the mirror with a grimace. The razor scraped against his prickly stubble, the rough sound the only noise in the room.
“Henri, were you not supposed to remind me never to get married?”
“Yes, but there is no stopping you once you have an idea in your head. Was it clear thinking that compelled you to leave your betrothed at the altar? No. Did it make sense to arrive in Canada with your fists clenched, trying to take everyone’s head off who looked at you sideways? No. And was it wise to—”
“To rescue a down-on-his-luck émigré from the wrath of the men he had just fleeced? No.” Edwin removed the cloth from Henri’s hand.
“And the lady?”
Edwin felt his body stiffen. “Never mind the lady. Help me get dressed.” Henri dressed him in silence, leaving Edwin to his own thoughts.
Would he ever recover? For just a moment, he considered going to her, his pride swept aside, revealing to her that he was indeed as plump in the pocket as any of the other bachelors eyeing her person in the marriage mart. And then what? Marry her, knowing that she was only able to commit her heart after she had committed her head? Spend the rest of his life with a woman he was not certain loved him or his fortune more?
Plunging headlong into his studies had helped when Leticia had proven herself false; perhaps working with his father would be just as effective now.
“EDWIN,” HIS FATHER said at the door, “I was not certain you would come.” Lord Worthington put his arm around Edwin’s shoulders, leading him into the large, open foyer. He gestured impatiently to the butler hovering at the side of the room.
“Mutter!” he barked. “Take my son’s books.” He paused before hoisting open the heavy oak-paneled door to the study. He stepped over the threshold and spoke to someone within.
“My dear, you will not believe who is home again. Edwin, I know this will be somewhat of a shock to you, to both of you, but I wish to present my wife, Lady Worthington. Of course you know each other.”
Facing him, smiling in a superior cat-ate-the cream kind of way, was Leticia. Leticia, still blonde and beautiful, her diamond-hard eyes glinting in the morning sun as it came through the windows. Edwin could not speak for a moment, could not even move.
That his father had been duped as the son had was not even a question; that he now knew what his wife was really like remained to be seen. Edwin touched his fingers to Leticia’s briefly.
“A pleasure, my lady.”
“I had hoped,” his father continued, “you would have heard of our marriage. We were the season’s scandal for almost a month, a lifetime in Society’s view, but apparently,” he finished, looking at his son’s drawn face, “you had not. It happened not so long after you left.”
“About four months after,” Leticia interjected. “Your father just swept me away, my lord, since I need not tell you I was suffering a bit at the time.”
His father gave a quick grimace. “It was sudden. I suppose I did sweep the lady away. We were living abroad for some time. We only returned when the duke asked for my help. We have not been in town long; we certainly have not attended any functions. Nor will we, since there is so much work to be done.”
Edwin heard a slight growl emanating from his ex-betrothed, now his...stepmother, and realized his father’s comment was aimed more toward his wife than his son. Edwin looked at Leticia a little more closely, noticing the fine lines spidering over her forehead. She was starting to show signs of aging, which must frighten her, as vain of her looks as she was; she appeared like a fragile piece of pottery that if handled too forcefully would fall into pieces.
“We could not entertain with the house in such a state anyway,” Leticia said with a look of disdain on her face. Her eyes widened as she saw Edwin’s father’s look of disapproval and she moved back a few steps. Edwin almost felt sorry for her.
“My lady, this house has secrets even my father does not know; remember, Father”—Edwin turned to the older man—“how I used to go missing for hours? You could not find me until I wanted to be found.” He gestured toward the fireplace. “If you work one of those bricks, you can open the door to a secret passageway. I bet there are still a few candles in there from when I used to hole up to read.”
His father chuckled. “I always wondered how you managed to make your escape. You will have to show us. And now, my dear,” he said, looking at Leticia, “you will excuse us? Edwin and I have a lot to catch up on. I believe you were going to consult with Cook on this evening’s dinner?” He paused, raising his eyebrows as he spoke.
“Yes, my lord, I was going to do that. Excuse me.” She scurried out the door, shutting it softly behind her. His father eyed the closed door for a moment longer, then turned toward Edwin.
“She is young, although not as young as when you knew her. She was so broken after you...you left, and I was in pain, too. But that was a long time ago, and people change. I would prefer not to speak on it again.”
His father drew him toward the desk perched in the corner, its top strewn with so many papers and books it was impossible to see the wood underneath. They began to work, slowly, hesitantly, until their shared enthusiasm and knowledge made them as giddy as schoolboys, gesticulating wildly toward maps, quoting long-dead and long-forgotten generals as if they were the latest players at the Drury Lane Theatre.
If it were not for that agonizing gash in his heart, Edwin thought as he glanced at his father, he would actually be happy.
“Edwin, are you listening to me?” His father was eyeing him with an amused glint in his eye. “You always were prone to daydreams, but it would be useful if you could concentrate on this for just a moment.”
“Certainly, and...Father?”
“Yes, Edwin?”
“It is good to be home.”
“It is good to have you home. I missed you, Edwin. Now, where were we?”
If nothing else, Edwin thought as he bent his head toward the papers on the desk, at least he was happy his father was returned to him. Or, more accurately, that he was returned to his father.
An hour or so later, Edwin was startled by a faint rumble. It had been completely quiet while he worked, the way he preferred it, and he had almost forgotten his surroundings. He looked over at his father, whose soft snores had interrupted his concentration. Edwin stretched, feeling his muscles protest at having sat in the same position for so long. It was time to leave.
He murmured a low good-bye to his father, who muttered something in his sleep, and slipped out the door, beckoning to the footman waiting in the hallway. “Please convey my compliments to Lady Worthington and tell my father—”
“Tell your father what, my lord,” Leticia said as she descended the grand staircase. Edwin turned to her, consciously striving to keep a light tone in his voice.
“My lady, I was just making my departure. I have brutally attacked my father with maps and strategies and other scholarly insights, and he is resting after the assault. Tell him I will return tomorrow, if you please.”
Leticia looked at him blankly, plainly not understanding just what her stepson was say
ing. Edwin recalled her air of dimwittedness had always made him feel superior, and he realized it was not just one of her affectations.
“My lady, I return tomorrow. Good day.”
Edwin took the hat and coat the butler handed him and walked through the door without once looking back.
Chapter 14
“A gentleman to see you, miss.” The maid gave a breathy squeak as she spoke, surprising Titania into dropping her pen as she tried to disguise her papers. Was Edwin here? Was it possible he had come to persuade her to change her mind?
The maid’s next words were like water on her imagination’s overstoked fire. “It’s Lord Gratwick. He says you have an engagement to go riding?”
It was an unnaturally subdued Titania who collected her bonnet and gloves and descended the stairs, hoping against hope that some disaster would transpire so she could avoid this extremely unpleasant ordeal—a rampaging chicken, perhaps, or a scuffle between Thibault and his most noisome waistcoat or Miss Tynte’s swain serenading her through the sitting room window.
Nothing occurred to save her.
She stayed silent as Gratwick assisted her into his phaeton. Titania had a few moments to enjoy the drive—she did love being outside, no matter the company, and she had not yet tired of seeing the same London parks every time she left her house with a horse—but Gratwick’s very existence pulled her from her enjoyment.
He drove the team to a somewhat secluded spot in the park, although a few carriages were still in view, slowing the horses to a walk as he leaned back against the seat.
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