A Singular Lady

by Megan Frampton

  “My dear Titania.”

  She startled at his presumption. “I have not given you leave to use my first name, my lord,” she said in her most Managing voice.

  “Have you not, my dear? I thought with all we had shared it would perhaps be understood. If not, then I will have to keep calling you Miss Stanhope...that is, until you agree to an elevation in title and become Lady Gratwick?” He turned his head and looked directly into her eyes. He wore what he probably assumed was a winning smile and what Titania thought looked just like that mean snake in paradise. She was certainly not even close to being tempted by his apple.

  She launched into the speech every young lady learned in the schoolroom. “My lord, I am aware of the honor you do me, but I cannot accept your proposal.”

  First of all, she thought, the idea of spending more than the duration of this ride in his presence was enough to make her ill; second, she was not so desperate as to sell herself for a pile of collectible books and some indeterminate amount of money; and third, she did not want to never marry anyone but Edwin. And he despises me, so that is probably not an option.

  Gratwick’s voice came cutting through the jumbled haze in her mind like a vicious dog through a pack of peahens. “Ah, the suitable maidenly reply, Miss Stanhope. I hope I might flatter myself you do not really mean what you say, and rest assured, I will keep your secret safe while you consider the idea. If you decline...” His eyes revealed his implied threat.

  “Why would you want to marry me, my lord, if you must blackmail me into it?” Titania spoke in as cool a tone as she could muster, although she quivered inside. The revelation of her identity would not be the worst scandal ever to hit the ton, but it would ruin her chances of marrying well and securing her family’s future.

  Much as she hated to do so, she had to keep Gratwick thinking she might say yes. “And my final decision, my lord, is due exactly when? I like to meet my deadlines, as I am sure you are well aware.”

  He chuckled. “A week should suffice. Any longer than that and it will be too late in the Season to announce the happy news. You have a week to become accustomed to the idea of being Lady Gratwick, and I believe, as you weigh its merits, you will find it will not be all that bad. I am intelligent, reasoned, and will not mind if you continue to write, provided we keep it our little secret. As for our congress, I have every confidence we will manage.” He stared deliberately at her mouth, darting his tongue out of his mouth to lick his lips.

  She felt nauseated by the sight.

  She would not marry someone she actively loathed. She could not let him see the extent of her dislike, however, at least not until the time he had deigned to give her was up.

  She smiled in mute acquiescence to his time limits, and changed the subject to the array of books she had discovered in his uncle’s library; at least if she was going to spend time with this too-knowing blackmailer, she was going to discuss something of interest to her, and she knew that for all his faults at least he was not stupid.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, he returned her home. She hopped down from his carriage before he could assist her.

  “Thank you, Lord Gratwick.” Thank you for possibly the worst few hours of my life. She’d be damned if she would allow him to condemn her to live the rest of her years in such agony.

  “Thank you for driving out with me today, Miss Stanhope, and I look forward to you making me the happiest of men in a week.” She was unable to repress a shudder at his confident tone, which he noticed, giving a little nasty chuckle as he urged his horses forward.

  WORKING WITH HIS FATHER was a blessed interval, Edwin thought as he tramped down the street, since it made him forget—or at least not remember—Titania for a few hours. Now, however, the pain was back, as searing as before. He decided to visit Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon; he was in just the sort of mood to beat the stuffing out of some unfortunate lord, and he wanted to do it in a place where others would make sure he did not lose control.

  Edwin found his punching bag in the person of a brawny lord who was apparently accustomed to being the strongest man in the saloon. Edwin quickly made the arrogant oak aware that his power was no match against a man who had slightly less strength but more than made up for it with incredible speed and finesse. Edwin dropped him with a blow to the stomach.

  That did not do very much to ease his agony, he thought as he stood over his foe. The pain was still there, almost as palpable as that of the man who lay groaning at his feet.

  “Lord Worthington! Perhaps you would like a real match?”

  Edwin turned, absentmindedly wiping the sweat from his neck with his hand, and saw Lord Gratwick leaning nonchalantly on the back of a chair, an obnoxiously superior look on his face. Edwin felt his chest get tight.

  “Whom, Gratwick, would you suggest? Certainly not yourself; no offense, my lord, but I believe I could snap you like a twig. I cannot oblige you. I do not prey on the weak, you see.”

  “Oh, but there are contests, my lord, and there are contests. Anyone will tell you I have bested many of the men who visit here regularly, but that is not my point. Perhaps, my lord, I was speaking just now of the contest to win a certain lady’s hand. I would oblige you by acting the twig, but I have just returned from a driving engagement with a lady, and,” he said, gesturing toward his clothing, “I am not suitably attired, and I must make an appearance at my mother’s house quite soon. I wish to make her aware of some upcoming alterations to my life, the addition of another dependent. But I will not bandy the lady’s name about here—perhaps you know to whom I am referring?”

  Edwin spun around slowly, hating to see the look of triumphant malice in Gratwick’s face. Was it possible Titania had actually accepted this loathsome worm’s offer over his? And even if she did not, was it at all fair that he got to see her today, while Edwin was forced to take out his frustrations at not seeing her? He knew that to say anything would be to provoke an argument, so he walked silently toward the changing area, Gratwick’s final words ringing in his ears.

  Edwin could barely see for the rage that enfolded his brain, and it took a great force of will not to tear off after Gratwick. But, he mused as the fire in his heart burned down a little, it was good practice for the force of will he was going to have to exert for the rest of his life: No, Lady Gratwick, I did not expect you would be here. And how is your delightful husband? And your seven children? Yes, well, I must be going back to my estate, the livestock are missing me. It has been my experience that animal husbandry is so much more rewarding than the human kind. Pleased to see you again. Please convey my dislike to your husband.

  TITANIA HEAVED A HUGE sigh as she entered the house, pulling off her bonnet and pelisse and handing them to Stillings.

  “Miss, might I suggest some tea in the sitting room? I have taken the liberty of asking Cook for some gingerbread, as well.”

  “Thank you, Stillings. It is very nice to be so well taken care of.” Titania shuffled slowly into the room, dropping herself down on the sofa.

  She had never been so muddleheaded before, not even when her father had died. She held her head in her hands, speaking aloud, thankful no one was around to hear.

  “Titania, you are a fool. How wrong you were.” Now that she truly understood what was at stake, how could she possibly do what she planned? At least it had inspired her column, which was the only ray of hope she had. She clung to it with impractical hope.

  What if her columns actually were successful enough to be printed, as her editor was implying? She knew there was not much money in writing books, but it might be enough for Ravensthorpe for just a little while.

  What if she confided in Thibault and the two of them worked together to retrench the estate? Could they make it work? And could she tell Edwin she’d made a terrible mistake and would be glad to be his wife, even if it meant both of them writing to eke out a living? Would that be so awful?

  It would be a gamble. She raised her head, speaking softly to herself
. “I am my father’s daughter, and I am willing to take the risk. I love Edwin. I cannot envisage a life without him, his wrinkled cravats, or his knock-kneed nags.”

  “Are you giggling, Titania?” Miss Tynte said in surprise as she entered the sitting room. “Stillings told me you were as sad as when you discovered Cambridge did not admit females. And yet, here you are with a silly grin on your face, and I do believe you are actually laughing! Tell me you are not losing your mind, are you, my dear?” she asked in concern.

  Titania laughed even harder at seeing her old friend’s bemused face. “Certainly I am not losing my mind, and even if I were, do you think I would recognize that? After all, if I am going mad, I am not of sound enough mind to figure that out, now am I?”

  “You are up to something, then, and you must tell me what it is. Just this morning you were moping and sighing as if the world were coming to an end, and now you are behaving like a giddy girl. I know that look, young lady, even though I have not seen it for many years...you have not switched the sugar and the salt again, have you?” Titania rolled her eyes.

  “I suppose I had better confess. You will discover it eventually.”

  She pulled her old friend near to the sofa, and told her everything: about the column, her editor’s kind words, and the potential for some financial remuneration, her uncle’s threats, Gratwick’s blackmail, her own misery at playing out the hand she had dealt herself, and the last encounter she had had with Lord Worthington, leaving out, for discretion’s sake, the near miss she and her virtue barely avoided.

  Miss Tynte seemed to guess what had not been spoken, however, sitting back in the seat cushions as she narrowed her eyes in concentration. She glanced over at Titania a few times, but did not speak for several minutes. It seemed like a lifetime.

  “I did not fully understand the depths of torment you have been suffering, my dear,” Miss Tynte said in a low, sympathetic voice. “It is natural for you to guard your feelings a bit more than your parents, who were, well, a bit exuberant with their emotions.” She reached out and took Titania’s hand, continuing to hold it as she talked.

  “There is nothing more shameful than being like your parents, especially at a certain age, is there not? But I am so accustomed to your taking care of everyone, from Sarah’s aches and pains to Thibault’s latest caper to Cook’s chickens, that I do not always remember that underneath your very competent demeanor, your Managing Ways, is a young woman. My love,” she said, turning to Titania with a determined look on her face, “if this scholarly pugilist is your destiny, you must follow it, even if it means we cannot help those people whom we all think of as family. I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself so, now that I know how much your heart is engaged.”

  Titania threw her arms around her old friend, her wise teacher, in a fervent clasp that told more of Titania’s feelings than her normally carefully chosen words could.

  Drawing back, she looked down at her hands, rubbing one finger on her palm in an absentminded rhythm. “I must find Edwin, explain the situation, apologize for being so stupid, and find out if he can forgive me. It is all so easy,” she said with a rueful smile.

  “And if he will not forgive me,” she continued, “I will never forgive myself.”

  Despatch from the battle front, April 1813

  A girl’s first Season is a delightful time, filled with parties, new gowns, new friends, the latest scandal, and the most eligible bachelors.

  It is also a time when a girl can become a woman.

  Not in that way, you lurid people, but in a way far more difficult to accomplish: realizing that life is not about eating your cake and having it, too.

  My heart is not engaged. My head will not take no for an answer.

  The inevitable conflict is the stuff of poetry, epic romances, and this humble column.

  Even I do not know the ending, and yet the end is fast approaching. Until then, I remain,

  A Singular Lady

  Chapter 15

  “The damask rose? Or the violet?” Titania asked, as much to herself as to Sarah and the undermaid who was assisting in the all-important task of getting Miss Stanhope prepared for the evening, a party that seemed to be the most important event of the season.

  “The damask is lovely on you, miss,” Sarah said, “but I think the violet brings out your eyes, and of course you can wear your mother’s amethysts with them, too.”

  Titania smiled, remembering seeing her mother stop by her room before she went out when Titania was just a young girl. “Yes,” Titania said, “I do believe you are right, Sarah. The violet is the best choice.”

  Titania had not yet worn this particular gown, finding it so delicately lovely she was afraid of ruining it by spilling something or tripping. But if she never wore it, what was the point of having purchased it? And what better time to wear it than tonight, when her very life hung in the balance? She needed to play her hand with as many advantages as she could muster, and this violet gown represented a veritable pair of aces. She eased into it, taking a long look in the glass as Sarah adjusted the hem.

  The gown was molded to her figure, enhancing her bust and slim waist, revealing the subtle flare of her hips as it cascaded down to her feet. Just under her bust, a darker-hued purple ribbon encased her ribs, and the straps that held the gown up were made of the same material. Hopefully the gown would provide her with the confidence she knew she would need to speak to Edwin.

  The soiree was already an overstuffed, hot, uncomfortable affair when Titania and Miss Tynte arrived.

  Titania looked for Edwin immediately, knowing she would be in agony until she spoke to him. Not spotting him, she found a footman bearing champagne and discreetly sipped it until it was gone, then found herself another glass.

  And then she saw him: Edwin, sumptuously attired in a black evening coat, a black waistcoat picked out with gold embroidery, and a black cravat. The black and gold drew attention to his sun-darkened skin, the tawny lights in his hair, and the emerald green of his eyes. He was a breathtaking sight, and Titania could almost hear all the susceptible females in the room heave a collective sigh. He seemed unaware of the effect he was having, heading directly for the gaming room.

  “Quite a display, is he not?” Alistair said in her ear, startling her so much she spilled some of her champagne. He gestured quickly to obtain her another glass—her third, she counted in surprise—and continued, “It seems the boy has taken my advice and gotten himself some decent clothing. You would think he would have done so upon arrival—he would have saved himself a lot of idle speculation.”

  “Idle speculation? What do you mean?”

  “Oh, only that my friend is not nearly as impoverished as he appears,” Alistair replied. “The estate he inherited, although apparently in need of some attention, will yield a healthy per annum, and he had already gained a small fortune while in exile. So although he wished to give the appearance of a pauper, for reasons known only to himself, he is actually quite flush in the pocket.”

  Titania felt in her pocket for the small of piece of wood she still carried. She dug the sharp end into her palm until she felt the urge to scream subside.

  Edwin was as wealthy as any of her other suitors. She would never be able to convince him she loved him before discovering the truth about his fortune. The perfect man, in intellect, looks, and, yes, fortune, despised her.

  “Are you all right, Miss Stanhope? Perhaps you need to take a turn on the balcony to get some fresh air?” Alistair escorted her quickly to the balcony entrance and led her outside, taking care to refresh both of their champagne glasses.

  “Here,” he said, returning her glass to her limp hand, “drink this, you will feel better.” She drank it down unprotestingly, noticing that the world seemed a little fuzzier and she was having slight difficulty figuring out where she was. “Are you all right, Miss Stanhope?” he repeated. “You are so pale, should I summon your cousin?” Titania held up her hand to stop him.

  “No, no.
A slight dizziness, that is all. Please, do not trouble Miss Tynte, she would worry, and it is nothing. If I could just ask you to sit with me for a moment, I will be fine.”

  “Of course,” Alistair replied, seating himself next to her on the stone bench. It was a warm night, and a light breeze brought some temporary relief, although Titania barely noticed, since her insides were completely frozen.

  “Miss Stanhope,” Alistair said, looking more serious than Titania had ever seen him, “I realize now is perhaps not the most appropriate time, but I’ve lost my nerve so many times that I just must talk to you now.”

  “What...what is it, Mr. Farrell?”

  Please do not propose right now. Please let it be anything else but that.

  “Miss Stanhope, I know you believe me to be nothing but an empty-headed fop, and perhaps I am, but I am also someone who believes that a man can change if he has the right person to help him. I want you to be that person, Miss Stanhope. I want you to marry me. Will you do me the honor?”

  She had no honor. Not anymore.

  “Mr. Farrell, I am aware of the great honor you do me, but...”

  “But you will not,” he finished. “I suppose it was too much to hope that you would wish to be married to someone as brainless as I am.” His glum expression wrung Titania’s already sore heart.

  “Mr. Farrell, do not think my refusal has anything to do with any presumed lack found in you. My...my affections are already engaged. But you are my friend. And, Mr. Farrell,” she said in a low aside, “you might want to make sure your bride is someone who will not be overwhelmed by your sartorial splendor.”

  “Oh, but Miss Stanhope,” Alistair said with a quick return to his normal, urbane mien, “no lady could possibly compare. I pledge that whoever finally accepts this elegantly attired ex-soldier will be a drab wren so as not to compete with her devastatingly gorgeous husband.”

  Titania chuckled, as she was meant to, giving Alistair a friendly smile. She felt her insides warm as well. She laid an impulsive hand on his arm, turning to look directly into his dark brown eyes.