Let It Be Love

by Victoria Alexander

  Aunt Edwina settled herself on the settee and patted the place beside her. “I blame myself for all of this, you know.”

  Fiona sat down and studied her aunt cautiously. “Blame yourself for all of what?”

  “For your unwed state, of course.” She heaved a remorseful sigh. “When your stepmother died, I should have insisted Alfred send you and your sisters back here to live with me instead of dragging you all off to Italy.”

  Fiona shook her head. “We never would have left Father.”

  “Then I should have persuaded him to seek a way for you all to return. If you had been here these last years, you would have had a proper London season and would no doubt be happily wed by now with children of your own. No, I shirked my responsibility to my husband’s only sister, your poor dear mother, to see to your well-being, and I shall not shirk it any longer.

  “But it’s not at all too late. With your looks you shall most certainly be considered a prize, especially given your inheritance. I have not asked, but I assume it is sizable.” She drew her brows together in concern. “Although Oliver did mention that he was consulting his solicitor about details of your father’s will. There isn’t a problem, is there?”

  “No,” Fiona said weakly. Other than not receiving her inheritance or her sisters’ dowries until she wed, and an unknown American no doubt on his way to claim her as his bride this very moment, coupled with writing a book of an erotic nature with the man who had rejected her proposal of marriage, there was no problem at all. “None whatsoever.”

  “Good. Fiona…” A troubled expression crossed her aunt’s face. “May I ask you something of a rather personal nature?”

  Fiona braced herself. “Certainly, what is it?”

  “You’re not one of those women who…well, I’m not quite sure how to say it.” Aunt Edwina’s brow furrowed. “Who prefer never to marry, are you? A reformer? A suffragist? Not that I don’t feel there is a great deal that needs reforming in this world. And between us, I think it’s a travesty that half of the population of this country has no say in its governance. Unfortunately, it is the way of the world in this day and age. But women have always wielded a great deal of power, albeit subtly and admittedly through their influence on men, primarily husbands.

  “I can’t say that I understand if indeed you are a…a free thinker.” Aunt Edwina squared her shoulders. “But you shall certainly still have my affection if for, whatever reason, you don’t wish to marry—”

  “Oh, but I do wish to marry.” Fiona laughed with relief. She’d had no idea what her aunt was going to ask, but Fiona’s beliefs as to the rights of women and any desire she might have to solve the ills of the world were not high on the list of possibilities.

  “Thank goodness.” Aunt Edwina studied her niece. “Then you are waiting for the right man? For love, perhaps?”

  Fiona wrinkled her nose. “Is that silly?”

  “No, darling, not at all.” Aunt Edwina leaned toward her in a confidential manner. “I have noticed Lord Helmsley here a number of times of late.”

  “His lordship is Oliver’s friend. He and I have simply discovered that we share…” Fiona struggled for the right word. Lust? Desire? “Common interests. Yes, that’s it. Common interests. In art and literature.”

  “Really?” A speculative light gleamed in Aunt Edwina’s eyes. “He is extremely eligible, you know. Is there a possibility—”

  “I don’t think so,” Fiona said firmly. The last thing she needed was her aunt trying to make a match for her with Jonathon. “I suspect Lord Helmsley and I are destined to be nothing more than friends.”

  “It’s not at all uncommon for friendship to turn to something more.”

  “I doubt that will be the case here. Lord Helmsley is pleasant enough, but…” Fiona shrugged.

  “What a shame.” Disappointment sounded in Aunt Edwina’s voice. “Well, I suppose there is something to be said for friendship.”

  “One can never have too many friends,” Fiona said brightly, and groaned to herself.

  She hated deceiving her aunt, but it could not be helped. One simply didn’t tell a woman like Aunt Edwina that Jonathon had suggested friendship as a way to keep their relationship from becoming more improper than it already was.

  Friendship between them was an excellent idea if, of course, Fiona could keep from throwing herself into his arms.

  Jonathon was not the only one having a difficult time keeping himself in check while concocting tales of ribald gods trying to seduce provocative nymphs. It was necessary for the proper telling of the story to use words like ache and need and want, and Jonathon used them far better than he gave himself credit for, but she was not unaffected. Indeed, it was most difficult to remain cool and serene and an ongoing struggle for her not to let on that she was every bit as bothered as he.

  She had always thought women were made of sterner stuff when it came to controlling their prurient desires than men were. Fiona had certainly never lost control, never been swept off her feet or given in to desire, although admittedly there was the distinct possibility she had never been as sorely tempted before. Certainly she had been involved in flirtations and had been kissed any number of times. On occasion, she’d even kissed back. But nothing in her experience had ever been so intense, so overwhelming as these feelings she had for Jonathon. The man truly did make her ache with a heretofore unknown longing. Jonathon wasn’t the only thread stretched to the breaking point.

  Still, she had a great deal more to lose than he did. Her virtue as well as her heart.

  “…and I believe Oliver mentioned she is a friend of his as well.”

  “What?” Fiona shook her head in confusion. “Who is a friend of whom?”

  “Do pay attention, dear.” Aunt Edwina cast her a chastising look. “I was saying that Lord Helmsley is apparently a friend of Lady Chester’s. But then Lady Chester has a great many friends and a great many gentlemen friends. However, as she is discreet and a widow, one tends to overlook such things. Besides, she is a charming lady and really rather tragic when you think about it.” Aunt Edwina shook her head in sympathy. “Poor thing. She was scarcely married a few years when her husband died, oh, at least ten years ago, now, I think.

  “I can understand it, really. Her behavior, that is, not his death. She is young and lovely and has a great deal of money. One can do very much as one wishes with a great deal of money and no family encumbrances. In truth, I rather envy her the freedom she has enjoyed.” Aunt Edwina grinned in a wicked manner. “I would have done precisely the same had I lost your Uncle Charles at a younger age. But I had Oliver’s future to consider and therefore responsibilities that I could not ignore. Still,” she mused, “I have not had a bad time of it.”

  “Aunt Edwina!” Fiona stared in surprise. Perhaps Aunt Edwina was the type of woman who would understand what was happening between Fiona and Jonathon after all.

  “Oh, dear, I don’t mean to shock you. I have not lived a life of scandal.” The older woman smiled in a satisfied manner. “But I have not been entirely without amusements through the years either. However”—her smile took on an air of conspiracy—“I do think it would be best if this was never mentioned to Oliver. I should hate to shatter any illusions the dear boy might have about his mother. Besides, I think he shocks rather easily.”

  Fiona choked back a laugh. “No doubt.”

  “But enough about that. Fiona.” Aunt Edwina took her niece’s hands and met her gaze directly. “I want you to know how delighted I am that you and your sisters are here. This is your home now and I want you to think of it as such, for now and always.”

  Aunt Edwina’s declaration caught at Fiona’s heart. She’d meant what she’d said about she and her sisters not being poor relations, dependent on anyone’s charity. Still, until she married, they were exactly that. Aunt Edwina had no idea of her situation and at once Fiona realized it wouldn’t matter to her if she did. Her aunt had a kind and generous nature and Fiona had no doubt she would
never treat them as anything less than members of her family.

  “We are not a large family, Fiona. Oliver is the last of his line, and other than you and your sisters there are no more Fairchilds. Aside from my son, all I have is you,” Aunt Edwina said simply.

  Would it be so wrong to accept the home her aunt offered, if only for the sake of her sisters?

  Aunt Edwina heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “I did so always wish for daughters of my own.”

  Fiona bit back a smile.

  “It would be a pity if the only family any of us have—”

  Fiona laughed. “Enough, Aunt Edwina. Of course we shall consider this our home, and we are most grateful.”

  “Good.” Her aunt beamed. “Now we simply have to find you a good match and all will be right with the world. We needn’t wait for the season for that, you know. Lady Chester’s ball is the perfect place to begin and there is not nearly as much competition as there will be later in the year.”

  “How very…fortunate,” Fiona said with a forced smile.

  “Although the opportunities to make a good match are far more plentiful in the spring,” Aunt Edwina continued without pause. “There are so many social events one scarcely has a moment to breathe. If you have not found a husband before then, with my sponsorship and your looks, I daresay we shall still have you wed before the end of the season.” She patted her niece’s hand in a confident manner. “You needn’t worry about a thing.”

  “I’m not the least bit worried,” Fiona lied, although in truth, barring the far-fetched success of The Book, she would probably be wed long before spring to Whatshisname and already living among the native savages in America.

  “As for your sisters, it’s selfish of me, I know, but I rather hope at least the twins don’t make a match this year. I should like to think we had another season to look forward to after this one. I don’t mind saying I am probably more excited by the thought of it all than they are.”

  Her aunt’s excitement was contagious and Fiona grinned. “I’m sure we will all have a grand time.”

  “Indeed we will. I haven’t looked this forward to spring since my own first season.” Aunt Edwina heaved a sigh of pure bliss. “I tell you, Fiona, I dearly love Oliver, but it’s not the same with a son during the season. Young women and their mothers are looking for suitable matches, while young men are looking for escape. Which leaves their poor mothers to smile in a weak manner and fabricate excuses about their sons not being ready to settle down or having too many responsibilities to take on that of a wife or on occasion mutter something about”—Aunt Edwina’s voice lowered and she refused to meet Fiona’s gaze “—the madness afflicting the male members of the family.”

  “Aunt Edwina!” Fiona choked back a laugh. “You didn’t?”

  “I might have.” Aunt Edwina thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Yes, I believe I did, but in that case it was to the mother of a young woman who was far and away too fast and loose and will probably end her days in scandal. I thought it was best if she set her cap for someone else, and saying Oliver might have an inherited tendency toward insanity seemed like a brilliant idea at the moment.”

  Fiona laughed. “I assume this is something else I shouldn’t mention to him.”

  “I daresay he’d like this,” Aunt Edwina said wryly. “Now, then.” She got to her feet. “Oliver suggested I take your sisters to the British Museum this morning and then perhaps we might pay calls on some of my friends and I daresay we will be gone most of the day. Would you care to join us?”

  “Thank you, but no.” Fiona stood. “I may draw today or possibly write.”

  “No doubt you have any number of friends in Italy who are anxious for word from you. Correspondence is endless, isn’t it?” Aunt Edwina shook her head. “I am dreadful at keeping up with it.” She frowned. “I should probably stay home as well, I suppose.”

  “Oh, but the girls would be very disappointed,” Fiona said quickly, and wished she had had the sense to keep her mouth shut.

  “As would I.” Aunt Edwina nodded and moved toward the door. “Besides, they are Englishwomen and it is past time they learned of their heritage and what it means to be a proper Englishwoman. In addition, we shall have a most enjoyable time.” She reached the door and glanced back at her niece. “And the moment we get you married”—Aunt Edwina smiled in a determined manner—“we shall have to find a wife for Oliver as well.”

  Fiona sat at the table in the library awaiting Jonathon’s appearance and reread all they had written yesterday. It was suggestive rather than explicit, with a sort of erotic elegance. At least in her opinion. Even so—a hot blush flushed up her face—it was most definitely arousing. But would it appeal to the elite clientele Jonathon aimed for? In short, would it sell?

  Fiona heard voices in the hall and braced herself for another day of pretending that she was not the least bit effected by Jonathon’s words. Or the images they conjured in her mind. Or the tremulous feeling they triggered in her stomach. Or, for that matter, the heat in the room that didn’t seem the least bit excessive at the start of their day but bordered on oppressive by day’s end.

  The door flew open and a petite blond lady sailed into the room. “Good morning, my dear.”

  The woman looked a few years older than Fiona, was quite a bit shorter and extremely pretty. Fiona rose to her feet, and caution edged her voice. “Good morning.”

  The blonde’s assessing gaze swept over the younger woman. It was most discomforting. Fiona resisted the urge to shift from one foot to the other. “My, you are pretty. Why, one would never imagine you are as old as you are.”

  “Thank you.” Fiona forced a pleasant note to her voice. “I daresay you don’t look as old as you are either.”

  The lady’s eyes widened and she stared, then abruptly burst into laugher. “Well said, Miss Fairchild.” Her brows drew together. “You are the elder Miss Fairchild, aren’t you? Miss Fiona Fairchild?”

  “If there is a Miss Fairchild even older, she is no doubt in even more dire straits than I,” Fiona said wryly. “And you are?”

  “How rude of me not to have introduced myself before I began making comments of a personal nature. I tend to forget those sorts of details on occasion. I am Lady Chester.” She cast Fiona a genuine smile. “But you must call me Judith.”

  “Judith,” Fiona said slowly. So this was Jonathon’s friend? “How nice to meet you.”

  “Is it?” Judith raised a brow. “Why?”

  Because you are Jonathon’s friend. “I have heard a great deal about you.”

  “Most of it scandalous, no doubt.” Judith leaned toward her in a confidential manner. “And all of it true.”

  Fiona stared and in spite of herself returned Judith’s smile. There was something engaging and genuine about this woman. And surprisingly candid. “All of it?”

  “No, not really.” Judith straightened and shrugged. “Probably about half is true and the rest is, well, jam on the toast, as it were. And rather a pity, I think, not to have earned every bit of an interesting reputation. I would have had an even better time of it than I have.” She grinned in a wicked manner. “And I have had a very good time.”

  Fiona laughed.

  “Oh, good, a sense of humor. I was afraid you might be one of those women with no appreciation of the amusing nature of the world.” Judith glanced around the room and gestured gracefully at Fiona’s chair. “Please, do sit down. I really don’t plan to stay more than a few minutes, and in truth I am rarely up and about at such an uncivilized time of day.

  Fiona grinned. “It’s nearly midday.”

  “I know.” Judith shuddered and perched on the edge of a nearby wing chair. “You probably wonder why I am here at all.”

  “It had crossed my mind.” Fiona settled into her chair.

  “I wanted to extend a personal invitation to you to attend my ball.” Judith smiled brightly.

  “I am most appreciative,” Fiona said in a cautious manner, “although as you
r invitation arrived yesterday, hand-delivered by one of your servants, I believe, I’m still somewhat confused as to your appearance here now.”

  “Very well, then, you’ve caught me. I confess, I simply wished to meet you in person.” Judith studied her curiously. “You have quite set Lord Helmsley on his ear, you know.”

  “Have I?”

  Judith nodded. “The poor man even came to me for advice.”

  “Is that good?” Fiona held her breath.

  “Very good. I have known his lordship for many years, and he is not one to ask advice about anything.”

  “How interesting,” Fiona murmured.

  Judith studied her for a long moment. “May I be completely candid, Fiona—oh, may I call you Fiona?”

  “Please.”

  “As I said, I have known Lord Helmsley for a very long time and I consider him a dear friend. He has never failed to”—she thought for a moment—“come to my assistance when I have needed him to do so. That he feels he failed to do so with you weighs rather heavily on his conscience.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Fiona said slowly.

  “You know precisely what I mean. I know about your situation in regards to your father’s will.” Judith shook her head in exasperation. “Lord save us all from well-intentioned men. And I know as well about Jonathon’s scheme to earn the money you need to save you from an unwanted marriage.”

  “Lord save us all from well-intentioned men,” Fiona repeated under her breath.

  “My dear girl, it certainly could succeed. From what Jonathon has told me, your work is excellent and, frankly, in an endeavor of this nature, I’m not sure the words are nearly as important as the pictures.”

  “I fear they’re too…artistic. I mean, they really don’t show anything except for unclothed bodies.”

  Judith raised a brow. “And is that not enough?”

  “I just don’t think my drawings are…prurient enough. What I mean to say is that they don’t show people, well”—she grimaced—“cavorting.”