The Shocking Secret of a Guest at the Wedding (Millworth Manor)

by Victoria Alexander

  He nodded slowly. “I can see how you might have been surprised by that.”

  “Surprised?” Mother’s eyes widened. “I was stunned. To think that you would take such a step without so much as a note to me. And poor, poor Lucinda of course,” she added quickly.

  “Poor, poor me.” Lucy shook her head in a mournful manner.

  “I didn’t know I needed your approval.”

  Mother hesitated. “It’s not that you need my approval but I don’t even know this young woman. She could be, well, wrong.”

  “Although everyone does speak quite highly of her,” Lucy said helpfully.

  Mother ignored her. “And even if you pay no heed to my feelings, what about her?” She gestured at Lucy. “Have you considered her feelings?” She shook her head. “Poor, poor Lucinda.”

  Lucy heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “Poor, poor me.”

  “Lucy?” Jack studied her closely. Was she really upset? He’d thought she was just playing along with his mother but perhaps he was wrong. And if he was wrong about that, was he wrong about everything when it came to his good friend? Had she meant to release him from any commitment to her or had he misunderstood? His stomach lurched. The last thing he would ever want to do was to hurt Lucy. “Are you—”

  “I really would prefer not to talk to you about this in front of your parents, Jackson.” Lucy rose to her feet. “Perhaps, we could speak elsewhere.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, of course.”

  “Jackson, I don’t believe we’ve finished.” Indignation sounded in his mother’s voice.

  “I’m not sure there’s anything more to say. At least not between the two of us. Although I suspect Father has a great deal to say to you.”

  His father nodded. “And past time too, Betty.”

  Mother’s jaw clenched.

  Jack resisted the urge to grin and cast his mother an affectionate smile. In spite of her faults and misdeeds, she was still his mother and in her own misguided, self-centered way had done what she’d thought was best. “I assume you’re still staying for Christmas.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “If you will have me.”

  “I’ve been wanting to have you here for Christmas for thirty years,” Father said gallantly.

  “I doubt that.” Mother scoffed. “I daresay you haven’t given me a second thought in, well, longer than I care to say.”

  “You’d be surprised, Elizabeth.” Father paused. “You were not the only one to make mistakes.” His gaze met his wife’s. “Obviously, you and I have a great deal to talk about as well.”

  “Obviously.” She paused, then cast him a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose my earlier comment, well, promise really—”

  Father raised a skeptical brow.

  “—about making amends is enough on this particular subject?”

  “It’s barely even a beginning.” Father grinned.

  “Yes, I was afraid of that.”

  Father chuckled. “Would you care for a brandy?”

  “Good Lord, yes,” Mother said with relief. “I was afraid you were going to offer me more tea.”

  Lucy caught his gaze and nodded. Jack moved to the door, opened it, and allowed Lucy to slip out a step in front of him.

  “While I like tea,” Mother continued, “I never realized before that I don’t like quite so much—”

  Jack closed the door behind him. “We could speak in the library if you’d like.”

  “All right.”

  Jack led the way to the Millworth library. He couldn’t recall ever in his entire life feeling the least bit uncomfortable around Lucy yet, at the moment, he was distinctly uneasy.

  Lucy gazed around the grand room. “Oh my, this is wonderful.” She wandered around the perimeter of the library. “It’s very much like your grandfather’s only larger and older. And filled with the history of your family and the past. Are all these portraits ancestors?”

  “I think so.” He smiled. “I’m still trying to sort it all out myself.”

  She stopped before a painting of a woman and three young girls. “Is this your aunt?”

  He nodded. “The twins are Camille and Beryl, you’ve met Camille, and the other girl is Delilah.”

  Her gaze fixed on the painting but she directed her words to him. “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?”

  “About what?”

  “Whether you wish to be the next earl or not. When you left, you said you had no intention of accepting the title. But then you also intended to return to New York. Now, however . . .” She glanced at him. “It’s apparent, at least to me, that everything has changed. You have changed.”

  It was pointless to deny it. He wasn’t the same man who had said good-bye to her less than two months ago.

  “To be honest, I haven’t decided about the title yet.”

  She continued around the room, pausing to study another portrait. This one of a man in the garb of the last century.

  “Do you have any idea how I felt when you wished to postpone our engagement yet again to go to England?” she asked abruptly.

  A heavy weight settled in his stomach. “I am so sorry, Lucy. I would not have hurt you for anything.”

  “Goodness, Jackson, don’t be so dramatic.” She cast him a wry smile. “I’m not the least bit hurt. When I told you not to consider yourself under any obligation to me, I meant it. I should have said it a long time ago. Perhaps you haven’t noticed but I have gone through a great deal of trouble in recent years to avoid marrying my best friend.”

  He drew his brows together. “You what?”

  “You needn’t look so indignant although I suppose I would be a tiny bit offended if you looked relieved.”

  “What I am is confused.”

  “For the moment perhaps but . . .” She turned and met his gaze firmly. “We have always been honest with each other, at least about everything but this. In all honesty, Jackson, you must admit you don’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry you.”

  “I was perfectly prepared to marry you.”

  “Exactly the kind of declaration a girl wants to hear.”

  He grimaced. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  “I know that, I know you. I have known you my entire life. You are my closest friend in the world. Which is probably why I don’t really want to marry you.”

  “That makes no sense,” he said slowly.

  “It makes perfect sense. It seems to me if one is going to be married for the rest of one’s life, it should be at least a tiny bit of an adventure. And knowing absolutely everything about the other party sounds frightfully dull.”

  “Are you saying I’m dull?”

  “Not anymore.” She studied him for a considering moment. “I said you’ve changed and I wish I could tell you how but I can’t quite put my finger on it. There’s a look in your eyes that wasn’t there before. You’re more, I don’t know, solid than you’ve ever been. More complete perhaps. I know that makes no sense.”

  “Probably not but I understand.”

  “You’re more exciting as well.”

  “Would you marry me now then?” He grinned.

  Her brow rose. “Is that a proposal?”

  “More a matter of curiosity,” he said cautiously.

  “Good, because my answer is absolutely not.” She smiled. “But even if I would consider it, I could never marry you after seeing you with Lady Theodosia.”

  “Oh?”

  “Even from across the room, it was obvious, at least to me, that you and she belong together. There’s something between you, something, I don’t know . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t think you and I ever looked quite that . . . right together. Silly romantic nonsense of course but there you have it. Besides, you have never looked at me the way you looked at her.”

  “And how is that?”

  “As if she is everything you ever wanted and never knew you wanted before you met her.” A slight wistful smile curved her l
ips. “I would be quite jealous if I weren’t so happy for you.”

  “I am sorry, Lucy. About you and me, that is. And not looking at you . . .” He shook his head. “You have my deepest apologies.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” She scoffed. “I never looked at you the way she does either.”

  “She looks at me in a certain way?”

  “Good Lord, yes. The woman is quite head over heels for you. Anyone can see it.”

  He blew a long breath. “Not anyone.”

  “You haven’t noticed?”

  “No.” Jack shook his head. “Worse than that, neither has she.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The next day,

  The residence of the Countess of Sallwick

  and Lady Theodosia . . .

  “Are you certain you wish to see him alone?” Mother’s gaze searched hers.

  “I don’t wish to see him at all.” Teddy cast her mother a weak smile. She and her mother had grown closer than they’d been since before her father had died, thanks to Cyril’s letter. Which almost made up for lying to Jack.

  She had hated lying to him. Hated the look on his face the other night that said more than words that he knew she was lying. And worse, that he knew there was something she was keeping from him, something she didn’t trust him enough to share. Still, it wasn’t all a lie. She did feel awful. A heavy weight had settled in the pit of her stomach the moment she read Cyril’s letter and realized the man she had believed was out of her life forever was back.

  And now she had to face him. “But he did ask to see me alone.”

  “Very well.” Mother’s lips pressed together in a firm line. “But I fully intend to press my ear to the door the moment it’s closed. And I shall be right here should you need me.”

  Teddy narrowed her eyes. “Please tell me you don’t have a pistol hidden in your skirts.”

  Mother hesitated, then smiled in an overly sweet manner. “I don’t have a pistol hidden in my skirts.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “I would never lie to you about a thing like that.” Mother raised her chin. “And I’m really quite offended that you think I would.”

  Teddy studied her. “If I phrased the question differently, if I left out the part about where the pistol is perhaps, would your answer be different?”

  “It seems to me it would be better for all concerned if you simply didn’t ask.”

  Teddy stared. “Who are you?”

  “I thought you understood, dear.” A determined smile lifted her mother’s lips. “I am your mother.”

  “Well then.” She met the countess’s gaze and nodded. “We have nothing to worry about.” Teddy stepped to the parlor doors, adjusted her skirts, squared her shoulders, and swept into the room in as cold and heartless a manner as she could muster. It wasn’t hard.

  “Theodosia.” Cyril’s face lit with alleged delight, but his eyes said something altogether different. “Good God, I have always loved your hair.”

  “How very kind of you to say, Cyril. Might I mention that I hate the fact that you are apparently alive and well.”

  His brow arched upward. “You’d rather I’d be dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “What? No polite hesitation? No moment to ponder the question?”

  “It seemed pointless.” She shrugged. “I had no need to ponder that particular question.”

  “Come now, Theodosia.” He clasped his hand over his heart. “You wound me deeply. Is that any way to greet your resurrected fiancé?”

  “You are not my fiancé.”

  “In the eyes of the world I am.”

  Unfortunately, he had a point. He had died before anyone knew she had broken off their engagement. “In the eyes of the world you are, oh, how shall I put it?” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Dead.”

  He grinned. “But remarkably spry for a dead man.”

  “What do you want, Cyril? Why are you here?”

  He gasped in mock dismay. “Shouldn’t you first, as the loving fiancée that you are, ask how is this possible? What miracle has brought me back to you?”

  “Very well.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re supposed to be dead. Why aren’t you?”

  “Any number of reasons I suppose. Fate. Destiny. Brilliant planning.” He shrugged. “I’d be happy to give you all the details if you wish. Don’t you want to know where I’ve been?”

  “Not especially. My curiosity is not nearly as great as my desire to remove you from my life forever and as quickly as possible.” She forced a tight smile. “So again—why are you here?”

  “If you insist on being rude.”

  “I would think you would be grateful that I am merely rude.”

  “I see.” He studied her curiously. “So my sins were not forgiven with my death?”

  Her jaw tightened. “As you are not dead, no.”

  “And when you thought I was dead?”

  “No.”

  “You are a hard woman, Theodosia Winslow.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “I never suspected it. I had hoped you would have gotten over the misdeeds of your late fiancé by now.”

  “Misdeeds?” She raised a brow. “You led my father to lose his fortune and ultimately his life. I would scarcely call those misdeeds.”

  “Mistakes then.” He shrugged. “Errors in judgment.”

  “Crimes?”

  “Such a harsh word.” He shook his head. “And, as no charges were brought, no evidence presented, it’s inaccurate as well.”

  “The investigation ended when you and Father died. Although now that you’re alive . . .”

  “Ah, but any examination of my activities would trigger a closer look at your father’s. I can’t imagine you’d want that.”

  Yet another point.

  “So I think it’s best to avoid any renewed inquiry. As much as it might pain you to agree with me about anything surely you can agree on that.”

  She resisted the urge to scream in frustration. “What do you want, Cyril?”

  He frowned. “That is getting tiresome.”

  “My apologies. I shall try to think of another way to ask what you want.”

  “A man has a great deal of time on his hands when the world considers him dead, Theodosia.” Cyril slowly meandered around the perimeter of the room and Teddy had to turn to keep him in sight. The last thing she wanted was this vile creature where she couldn’t see him, even for a moment. “More than enough time to consider what he has done with his life. To reflect, if you will. On his mistakes and errors in judgment.”

  “Are you trying to say you’ve repented?”

  “Indeed I have.” Sincerity rang in his voice but didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “So are you here to ask my forgiveness?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “Forgiveness would be a beginning. If you could find it in your heart—”

  “My heart?” She scoffed. “I wouldn’t appeal to my heart if I were you.”

  “We meant something to each other once.” He picked up a figurine and examined it.

  “Come now, Cyril, you know as well as I you never had any real feelings for me. I was nothing more than a way to get to my father.”

  Pity she hadn’t figured that out until after Cyril was, well, dead. She’d been a fool not to have seen it long before but she had thought herself in love. Cyril was a blond-haired, blue-eyed handsome figure of a man, charming and dashing and very nearly irresistible. On a list of everything she had thought she wanted in a suitor, in a husband, he’d had it all. Not the title but everything else. There were clues, of course, as to his true nature through the time they were together. Little things she paid no attention to until it was too late. Now, she knew there was no greater fool in the world than a woman who believes herself in love.

  “I still remember the first time I saw you.” He set down the figurine. “You were stunning, Theodosia, in a white gown if I recall, with all that red hair, like molten mahogany I thought, and th
ose eyes that sparkled even in the moonlight.” His gaze slid over her and she resisted the urge to shudder.

  “You’re wasting your time, Cyril. And your questionable charm.”

  “You used to like my questionable charm.” He chuckled. “You used to like a great many other things as well.”

  Heat washed up her face. The last thing she wanted was a reminder of how he had seduced her and how she had allowed him to do so. No, she hadn’t allowed him. She’d encouraged him and on more than one occasion. Still, regrets were pointless. One learned and moved on. Cyril Goddard was a mistake she would not make again.

  “I never noticed how calculating the look in your eyes is,” she said coolly. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. It’s really quite remarkable.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you know how easy you were, Theodosia?” He smiled a slow, nasty sort of smile. “You were twenty-two. Not quite irredeemable in terms of a good match.”

  “Are we sharing fond memories now?” She stared at him, determined to avoid even an iota of anything other than disgust on her face. “I really have more important things to attend to.”

  “Oh you were pretty enough,” he continued. “Really quite lovely, just not as, oh, fresh as the newest crop of debutantes. Not desperate by any means. Not yet.”

  She sighed in an exaggerated manner. “Do you have a point to this, Cyril?”

  “Yes.” He smiled slowly. “I want you back.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then laughed. “You’re mad if you think I want anything whatsoever to do with you. If that’s all then”—she nodded toward the door—“this reunion is at an end.”

  “Actually, it’s just beginning.” He settled down on the sofa as if he intended to stay for a while. “Sit down.”

  “I’d prefer to stand.”

  “As you wish.” He considered her thoughtfully. “But you may want to sit for this. I’m about to answer your question. Why I am here.”