She turned from the window and caught Mr. Dean’s eye. He must have sensed her doubts, for he gave her what could only be described as a heartening smile.
When she’d first gone to the study to ask Mr. Dean if she might join him on his journey to London, she’d expected resistance. Alex paid his salary after all, and Mr. Dean must have gathered from his employer’s abrupt departure that she had become persona non grata. Besides, traveling with two ladies was bound to complicate the journey.
Instead Mr. Dean had agreed without hesitation. “If I can be of help in any way, Lady Ayersley, nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
He’d sounded so sincere she had plucked up her courage enough to ask, “Did he look very angry?”
Of course she had not had to explain who he was. Mr. Dean had given a reluctant nod. “I fear so.”
“Oh.” Sinking down onto one of the study’s overstuffed chairs, Roxana had drawn a deep, fortifying breath. “This is all a silly misunderstanding.”
“It’s none of my concern, Lady Ayersley.” After a beat, he’d added, “Though I’m greatly relieved to hear it.”
The next step had been to convince Mr. and Mrs. Sherbourne to allow Fanny to come along. It had been easier than Roxana had expected, probably because Fanny’s father recognized the matchmaking possibilities inherent in Mr. Dean’s escort. When Roxana promised to chaperone Fanny as if she were her own sister, they’d given their consent.
So the three of them had set out together, she and Fanny and Mr. Dean. As travelers went, Roxana fell somewhere in the middle. She never became carriage-sick, and she did her best to keep a cheerful outlook, but she spent most of the journey either brooding or wishing she could get out and stretch her legs. Fanny, on the other hand, was the perfect companion. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed, and she took delight in every new prospect.
It didn’t hurt they were sharing a carriage with Mr. Dean. For the first leg of their journey, Fanny had been her usual shy self—quiet, unassuming, tending to answer Mr. Dean’s overtures with timid smiles and quick nods. As the hours and miles slipped by, she’d left most of the talking to Roxana. Roxana had tried to draw her out, offering every conversational gambit she could think up, but Fanny had kept her eyes demurely lowered and her tongue still.
Finally, Roxana could stand it no longer. She might have spoiled her own future, but she wasn’t going to let Fanny make the same mistake. While Mr. Dean conferred with the proprietor about their rooms at the coaching inn that evening, Roxana seized her friend by the arm and pulled her aside.
“Fanny, listen to me.” She locked eyes with her friend, willing her to understand how important this was. “I know how hard it is for you to put yourself forward. I know you’re not comfortable speaking up. But if I’ve learned anything in the past weeks and months, it’s that men haven’t the faintest idea how we ladies really feel. We have to show them. Tell them, even.”
At Roxana’s vehemence, Fanny stared in confusion. “What?”
“You may think Mr. Dean can see what’s in your heart just by looking at you, but gentlemen aren’t mind readers. It’s too easy for them to be mistaken.” She clapped a bracing hand on Fanny’s shoulder, giving her the sternest look she could muster. “You must encourage him, Fanny. As hard as it may be for you, you have to flirt with Mr. Dean. Blushes and sighs are all very pretty, but soft words butter no parsnips.”
And, somehow, Fanny had found the courage. Mr. Dean had ordered dinner, and the three of them had gone into the inn’s private parlor, Fanny darting anxious looks at Roxana. They’d sat down, Roxana had reached for her wineglass—and suddenly, out of nowhere, Fanny had let out a shriek and thrown herself at Mr. Dean.
Pointing into the corner nearest her chair with one hand, Fanny clung with the other to a surprised Mr. Dean. “Oh, a spider!”
Roxana peered into the shadows. Sure enough, there was a spider—a tiny one, hiding in an equally tiny web. And Fanny was not especially afraid of spiders.
But Mr. Dean didn’t know that. Fanny sat across his lap, huddled against him. He slipped an arm around her protectively. “It’s all right, Miss Sherbourne. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let it harm you.”
“But it was so close to me.” Fanny buried her head against his shoulder.
Roxana was impressed. She hadn’t thought Fanny had it in her.
She wasn’t about to miss her cue. “Oh, dear! I’ll go and tell the innkeeper at once.” Rising, Roxana rushed headlong from the room.
When she returned minutes later—the poor innkeeper following with a broom, looking confounded by the freaks and crotchets of the paying public—Mr. Dean no longer had his arm around Fanny, and Fanny was no longer in his lap. Yet something had definitely changed between them. Mr. Dean was all smiles and eager attention, and Fanny was able to talk to him at last.
Back in the carriage the next day, Roxana had marveled at the speed with which they’d grown closer. Polite exchanges quickly gave way to heartfelt conversation, heartfelt conversation to unspoken rapport, rapport to lingering glances, and now Mr. Dean seemed to be hovering on the edge of either a declaration or a full-scale retreat—and Roxana strongly suspected it would be the former. That morning at the inn Fanny had preceded her downstairs by several minutes, and when Roxana had joined the two of them for breakfast they’d sprung apart with guilty looks, as if she’d interrupted a romantic tête-à-tête. Ever since, she’d sensed that the only thing keeping them from diving into each other’s arms was her continued presence in the carriage.
Roxana peered out the window again. “How far is it now, Mr. Dean?”
“Not far. We should be there within the hour.”
And, sure enough, presently the carriage drew up before an imposing mansion on Piccadilly, its broad façade impressive by any standards, but especially so for a London townhouse. As Mr. Dean handed her down from the carriage, Roxana looked up at the looming house, her stomach in knots. What would Alex say when he saw her?
A dark-haired butler of middle age met them in the entry hall. He glanced with discreet curiosity at Fanny and Roxana before addressing the only familiar figure. “Welcome back, Mr. Dean. I trust your journey from Derbyshire was a pleasant one, sir?”
“Pleasant enough, Burns, for as you may observe, I had most agreeable company. This is Lady Ayersley, your new mistress, and this is her friend and neighbor from the country, Miss Sherbourne.”
“My lady!” The butler’s eyes grew round. “Do forgive me for not having welcomed you more fittingly.”
Unbuttoning her pelisse, Roxana gave him a nervous smile. “It’s quite understandable, since you had no notion I was coming. Would you be good enough to tell Lord Ayersley we’ve arrived, and that I would like to speak with him?” She was proud of the way the request came out. Hearing it, one would never have guessed her heart was in her throat.
But Burns only looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, my lady, but his lordship isn’t here.”
“When do you expect him back?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say. He arrived late last Wednesday, stayed only the one night, and then set out again.”
“What?” Roxana stared in dismay. “You mean he’s left London? But where did he go?”
“He didn’t say, my lady.” At her crestfallen expression, the butler added, “But he did leave a letter for Mr. Dean.”
Roxana and Mr. Dean exchanged glances, and he made a quick dash for the study. He returned with the opened letter in his hand, immediately passing it to her.
Oliver,
I left some crucial business unsettled at Broadslieve and it requires my return. I’ll send word as soon as my plans are more definite.
Ayersley
Roxana looked up from the letter in consternation. “He’s gone back to the country.”
“We must have crossed paths on the road,” Fanny said, “and missed each other while we were changing horses.”
Mr. Dean began calculating aloud. “He covered the distance here in thre
e days, so he must have reached Broadslieve again some two days after our departure.”
Roxana couldn’t believe it. Five days on the road—so close to seeing Alex again she was still weak with nervous apprehension—and he wasn’t even there.
She spun to face Mr. Dean. “I have to go back.”
“But we just arrived.”
“Don’t worry, I realize you have responsibilities of your own. I don’t expect you to go haring off cross-country again.” She squared her shoulders. “My older brother lives here in London. I’ll ask him to escort me.”
Mr. Dean cast a worried glance at Fanny. “But what about Miss Sherbourne?”
“Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought of that.” Roxana turned to her friend with an imploring look. “I’m so sorry, Fanny, but I can’t very well leave you here without a chaperone. I know it’s a great deal to ask given we’ve only just arrived, but would you mind very much coming back home with me?”
Fanny looked worn to the socket after their long journey, but she smiled gamely. “Of course I’ll come.”
Mr. Dean had been watching their exchange, wearing an irresolute frown. “Miss Sherbourne,” he said suddenly, “might I have a private word with you?”
At the determined note in his voice, Fanny colored. “Of course.”
“Excuse us for a moment, would you, Lady Ayersley?” Taking Fanny by the elbow, he led her to the first empty room adjoining the entry hall, though Roxana could still glimpse the pair through the open door.
Roxana did her best to take an interest in the architecture around her, not really meaning to eavesdrop. Still, she could only feign so much interest in the woodwork, and it was hard not to overhear.
Mr. Dean sounded nervous. “You can go back to Derbyshire if you wish, Miss Sherbourne, but you don’t have to.”
Fanny made a soft protest. “But if Roxana—”
Be quiet, Fanny! Roxana had to bite her lip to keep from calling out. You were so good at it until just a few days ago. Now let him talk.
Mr. Dean took Fanny’s hand in his and got down on one knee. “I love you, Miss Sherbourne. Every minute I spend with you is a better minute than the one before. I may not be a rich man, but I’m a diligent one, and I believe I’m on my way up in the world. Lady Ayersley’s brother can see her safely back to Broadslieve, whether you’ll have me or not—but I hope you’ll have me. If you’ll only say yes, we can marry by special license, and you can stay here with me.”
Roxana held her breath.
Even the smallest attack of nerves could cow Fanny into silence, and she rarely raised her voice. Even so, eavesdropping on her answer was no great strain. Half of London must have heard it.
“Yes, yes. Oh, yes!”
* * *
Within the hour, Mr. Dean set out for the Faculty Office at Doctor’s Commons to obtain a special license from the archbishop, Roxana dashed off a note to her brother asking to meet with him, and both ladies made their way upstairs, Fanny in a daze at the extent of her good fortune.
Roxana stopped outside the door to Fanny’s room with her. The news of her friend’s engagement was almost welcome enough to make her forget her own troubles. “I’m so happy for you both.”
“I can’t believe it. And I have you to thank, Roxana. It was all those hours in the carriage that did it. If you hadn’t brought me with you…”
“If I hadn’t brought you with me, I’m sure Mr. Dean would have found some other time and place to pop the question—and I daresay it would have been far more romantic.”
Fanny shook her head, smiling beatifically. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t change a thing about today.”
Roxana hugged her, and they retired to their separate rooms. Roxana had long since changed out of her traveling clothes and given in to a fit of pacing when at last a reply arrived from her brother. By all means come tonight. I’m promised to Lady Huffnell’s rout, but I’m certain she’ll be thrilled to have you and Alex attend. It will be quite a coup for her to host the newlyweds on their first night in Town.
She ought to have told Tom in her note that Alex wasn’t with her. She’d just have to explain in person. She knocked on Fanny’s door, but Fanny looked far too wrung out to attend a party that evening, and urged Roxana to go without her.
Within the hour Roxana’s carriage was making its way through the darkening streets to her brother’s townhouse. It would be good to see Tom, but she didn’t intend to stay long at Lady Huffnell’s rout. She wanted to get an early start for Broadslieve the next day, provided she could talk Tom into accompanying her. Besides, she doubted anyone had ever been in a less party-going mood.
She stared out the carriage window at the glow of Mayfair’s streetlamps. She had always adored parties. She’d spent years longing for more glamour and sophistication in her life. Now she was in the world’s greatest city, on her way to a glittering ton gathering. She should have been beside herself with excitement. Yet the only thing she cared about was how soon she could leave, and when she would see Alex again.
Perhaps it hadn’t really been excitement and sophistication she’d been craving all those years she’d waited for George. Living at Riddlefield with her mother, she’d longed for something bigger than her narrow, girlish existence—not glamour or intrigue, it turned out, but a grownup life of her own. She’d had a taste of that with Alex, building a marriage together, shouldering the responsibilities of adulthood, facing the joys and sorrows of family life. If only she hadn’t had to lose it in order to recognize how much it meant to her.
Tom was deep in conversation with a friend when his butler admitted her. Her brother looked startled to see her arrive without Alex, but she could hardly give him the real story with a stranger looking on. Nor was she able to tell him on the way to the party, since Tom’s friend joined them in the carriage for the short drive. It wasn’t until they reached Lady Huffnell’s and took their place in the receiving line that Roxana was finally able to draw her brother aside and confess the truth.
Tom’s brows flew together. “What do you mean, he left you?”
“Shh! Lower your voice! Someone will hear you.”
Tom threw a furtive glance at the crowd of partygoers around them. “Why would he leave you? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. What makes you so sure it’s my fault?”
“I know Alex, that’s what. He would never leave you unless you’d done something really unforgivable. Good Lord, you’ve been married barely three months. How did you make such a hash of things so quickly?”
Terror had taken hold of her at the word unforgivable, and now she clenched her gloved hands and struggled for composure. “It’s all a mistake, Tom. Can’t you have a little faith in me? I came all the way to London to sort things out, but it turns out Alex has gone back to Broadslieve. That’s why I need your help. If you would just—”
“Good evening, Lady Huffnell,” Tom said with sudden heartiness. They’d reached the head of the receiving line. “Another famous crush, I see. May I present my sister, the Countess of Ayersley?”
Lady Huffnell was a svelte widow, a vivid brunette who could not have been much older than Roxana. “Ah yes, the new bride. Do you know, Lady Ayersley, I suspected from the moment I met your husband that he was in love with some lucky girl. Most gentlemen like to flirt, but he was always so proper, he might have been my older brother. And now I see why! How very lovely you are.” She looked over Roxana’s shoulder. “But where is the new bridegroom?”
Tom spared Roxana the necessity of telling a lie. “He’s still in the country. Business detained him, so my sister came on ahead.”
“That’s right, you’re from Derbyshire, aren’t you?” Lady Huffnell asked with a smile. “Another of my guests tonight is newly arrived from those parts. I wonder if you might know each other? He’s a cavalry officer, altogether dashing and très amusant—”
She went on with bright sociability, but even before she spoke the name—even before Roxana spotted the strapping
blond figure in the crowd behind her—she knew with a sick sense of foreboding who it would be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beware the fury of a patient man.
—John Dryden
“We need to leave right now,” Roxana said to Tom, latching on to his arm and practically dragging him in the opposite direction from George. “I had no idea Major Wyatt would be here.”
Tom frowned. “I can see how it might be awkward to run into the fellow, but if anyone should be embarrassed about the way your engagement ended, it’s Wyatt. And you’re married now. Why should you care—”
“No, you don’t understand. I don’t want to see him, but more than that, I don’t want to be seen with him. If Alex were to find out—”
Understanding dawned on Tom’s face, followed immediately by a look of profound shock. “Lord, Roxana, is that why he left you? Tell me you didn’t—!”
“I already told you, it’s all a misunderstanding. You have to believe me, Tom, because if you won’t, I don’t know how I shall ever convince Alex.”
“Very well, we’ll leave now, but I’m going to have a devil of a time getting our carriage in this crush, especially with guests still arriving.” He turned back the way they had just come.
Roxana seized his arm. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me here where George can see me!”
He looked down at her with an exasperated expression. “Do you want me to order the carriage or not? Look around you. Half the ton is here. Do you really think Wyatt is going to try anything untoward?”
Reluctantly, she let go of Tom, and he began shouldering his way through the crowd, swimming against the tide of new arrivals. Roxana glanced about her at the other partygoers, surprised that several faces looked familiar when she didn’t know another soul in Town. She’d seen them before, but where? Then she knew—in the satirical sketches that appeared in all the newspapers. She’d never before realized just how great the risk of scandal was in the rarefied atmosphere of the ton.
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