“This is wrong.”
He recoiled, releasing me. All I wanted was to feel the warmth of his body again. I felt so alone in the darkness.
“Having our engagement party tonight is wrong. Doesn’t Old Lady Gladstone remember my mama at all? Don’t you?”
For a long moment, the silence between us threatened to choke me.
He whispered, “I never knew her well.” After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Today has some special meaning, doesn’t it?”
“It’s the eleventh anniversary of the day she died.” I wiped the tears from my cheeks, but they continued to fall. If he asked me to stop, I didn’t know if I’d be able to.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was raw. “I forgot.”
At least he didn’t try to tell me that he’d never known. The day it had happened, I’d fallen apart in front of him. He’d held me as I’d wept into his shirt and commiserated, telling me about his father.
Edwin stepped closer again. He hesitated before he wrapped his arms around me and urged me closer. I didn’t resist. I wept into his shirt again, every bit as heartbroken today as I had been eleven years ago. Time was supposed to heal the wound of her loss, but it didn’t. It scabbed over from time to time, only to be ripped open at inconvenient moments.
Such as the night we celebrated our engagement.
I half-expected him to hurry me through my tears and urge me to return as if nothing had happened, but he didn’t. He didn’t speak a word but continued to hold me upright. If not for his arms around me, I felt as though I might fall apart. For this moment, I wasn’t alone, and I couldn’t send him away. I needed him here.
After a time, I whispered into his waistcoat, “Don’t you think we should return?”
He didn’t loosen his hold. “Let’s stay a few moments longer. I never cared for Society events, anyway.”
I rested my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as his warmth surrounded me, slowly soothing the bitter sting of Mama’s loss.
Chapter Eighteen
Armed with a sketchbook, pencil, watercolor paints, and a brush, I was reluctantly ready to make a fool of myself at Vauxhall Gardens again. This time, Edwin would be in attendance. He seemed unusually rigid this morning.
Wanting to spend time with Papa and remember Mama properly, even if it was after midnight, I hadn’t gone home with Edwin last night. However, much of our animosity had melted as he’d held me in the drawing room. For a time, it had seemed as though we were a team again. Now, however, we might as well have been taking separate carriages.
When the clatter of the wheels and the clomp of horses’ hooves started an echoing pound in my skull, I broke the silence. “I wasn’t aware that you were accompanying us today. I thought it would be only the women.” Perhaps I could be saved from painting another laughably inept watercolor sketch.
Edwin’s expression didn’t alter. He took a moment to contemplate his words before he spoke them aloud, reminding me of the reserved boy he’d once been. That boy did exist in him, albeit drawing him out was a challenge.
“I’ll be meeting with Graham and Quentin in one of the private boxes. I gather you ladies plan on touring the gardens.”
Drat! I’d have to paint after all. I stifled a sigh. If nothing else, Edwin would have one more ugly painting to hide from view wherever he’d placed the last. I certainly wasn’t bringing my masterpiece home if Jane insisted on hanging it.
“You’re the botanists. I would have thought the walks would hold greater appeal to you.”
“They would if we meant to meet for pleasure. This is business, I’m afraid.” He spoke in a final tone that warned I wasn’t to be included in this business.
Although I didn’t much care for whatever boring plant-based venture he cared to discuss with the Misters Craven, I bristled nonetheless. “I’m no bacon-brained ninny. I’m far more at ease with business than with watercolor.”
“I know.”
Edwin’s voice cut through my objection. I clamped my lips shut. His chest expanded for a moment, but he didn’t sigh.
Instead, he waited another heartbeat before he added in a calm, reasoning voice, “This particular deal is of no concern to you. You’ve made it obvious that you have no interest in botany.”
He had a point. “True…but any matter dealing with the law sounds far more interesting than whatever Annabel and Winifred have planned.”
“Try to be friendly,” Edwin answered, gruff. “You are still obliged to play the lovesick fiancée.”
Only for two more days. What would happen after that?
I nodded. “I won’t be the one to break our agreement, that I assure you.”
He hesitated as the driver steered the barouche around the corner. The breeze ruffled his hair. In a voice so low I almost didn’t hear, he asked, “Would you be open to extending our agreement?”
My heart flipped in my chest. Could he have changed his mind about a loveless marriage?
“For more money, of course.”
I clenched my jaw to keep my disappointment in check. Fortunately, I was saved the need to answer as the driver pulled the carriage to a stop in front of the open gate to Vauxhall Gardens. Edwin exited first, helping me down the steps.
He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “You didn’t answer me.”
“I’ll think about it.” I snipped off the words.
A furrow formed between his eyebrows as he frowned. To avoid looking at him, I slid my hand onto his arm and let him lead me to the gate, where he paid our entrance fee. Although I couldn’t read his expression, the tension in his body spoke volumes.
The gate walls loomed around us as we passed through into the open space. Vauxhall encompassed eleven acres of land, though with all the patrons here this afternoon, it felt like far less. The longer I had to feel Edwin’s strong body next to mine, the more uncomfortable I became. The tension knotted in my shoulders, his question hanging between us.
Continue on as we were…for more money. As if I mattered no more than a financial transaction.
Or…could he have phrased it that way because he thought it was the only way I would accept?
I glanced at him sidelong, gifted with a good view of his clean-shaven chin and stubborn jaw. At that moment, the group in front of us passed a statue of Venus and bypassed the tall building to our left in favor of the long walks. Winifred waved her handkerchief, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited next to the statue. Annabel juggled her easel and painting supplies next to her.
Edwin stopped shy of them and dropped his arm. “I’ll leave you, then.” He nodded toward the women, then strode for the building, where several boxes in a long line were separated from the gardens with a heavy crimson drape. One such was open, displaying the intricate Grecian scene painted on the inside of the box as well as its two occupants, the Craven brothers.
Annabel frowned as she approached me, her arms full. “That was odd. Why didn’t he stop to say hello?”
Was I supposed to make excuses for him? That might, by his estimate, fall under the category of behaving like a lovesick fiancée. I smiled, though it felt brittle as I lied. “He has a headache today. I’m certain his sour mood will pass.”
At the very least, it wouldn’t be my problem to deal with. Perhaps it was best that I wasn’t included in this business meeting after all.
Readjusting my hold on my meager supplies, I asked Annabel, “Would you like some help carrying that?”
“Heavens, no. I can carry my own things. Winifred?”
The blonde hoisted a wicker basket with a smile. “I’m ready. Choose your vantage point.”
Following meekly, I trailed Annabel as she toured the gardens, searching for the perfect spot. Several times, she asked for my opinion. Although I pronounced every location perfect, she continued to meander in circles until at last, she put her items down on the walkway. A tall stand of trees to our back granted us shade. The walkway overlooked a thatch of greenery
, beyond which the tall tower overlooked the firework grounds.
Annabel pulled her bonnet lower to shade her eyes as she turned to look at me. “What do you think of here? I’d like to sketch the tower. It’s quite a marvel from this vantage, seeming to sprout out of that thicket.”
“This will do. I’ll find a leaf to sketch…or perhaps the clouds. They’re looking particularly moving today.” Not to mention simple to draw. A few strokes of blue to indicate bare patches of sky, and I’d be finished.
Humming under her breath, Winifred deposited her basket on the ground and pulled out a thin blanket. She draped it over the soil beneath the trees and found a comfortable sitting position. “Don’t mind me,” she called. “I brought a book this time around to occupy me.”
Why hadn’t I thought of that?
Not wanting to crane my neck back to stare at the sky too long, I joined her on the blanket. Annabel continued to stand, her sketch book propped against her easel as she artfully brought her image to life with a simple outline of the shapes in her view. Her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth as she concentrated.
Stifling a sigh, I drew light circles on my page in graphite as though imitating the clouds. It looked a jumbled mess.
Winifred, never one to remain silent for long, noted her page with her thumb and gave me a sympathetic look. “Hopefully it won’t take too much longer.”
Did she suspect how much I hated drawing? At the very least we weren’t trimming another bonnet. I glanced between her and Annabel. “For the sketch, you mean?”
“No, the contract. Didn’t Sutton tell you there would be a delay?”
To what contract was she referring? I bit the tip of my tongue to keep from voicing the thought aloud. Clearly, she thought me already privy to the details and that had no doubt loosened her tongue. “No, he didn’t. Why is there a delay?”
Annabel groaned. I hadn’t thought her to be listening. She turned, tucking her pencil behind her ear. “There’s a delay because our husbands are imbeciles.”
Not typically the way they spoke of their spouses. I pressed my lips together, hoping for more, which Winifred provided willingly.
Tapping the book on her knee, she muttered, “I’m certain their hearts were in the right place, but who in their right mind demands that their business partners be married?”
I couldn’t breathe. “I beg your pardon?”
“The contract,” Annabel elaborated. She left her easel to perch on the edge of the blanket. “They had it written in that the business partner they took on must be married.”
“It’s for us,” Winifred gushed. “So we wouldn’t be lonely. And, I imagine, so we’d approve of the wife and become friends. Our husbands will be spending a lot of time together, you understand.”
Did that mean she approved of me? No—of the empty-headed debutante I’d been playing.
Annabel added, “When I read over the contract and found that clause, I insisted they take it out. The marital state of their business partner has no bearing on the agreement. All they need in order to finance the additions to their greenhouse is a partner with deep pockets who they can tolerate working with for long periods at a time. We”—she nodded at Winifred—“are perfectly happy to keep each other company.”
“Not that we dislike you,” the blonde added hurriedly. She touched my arm, no doubt intending to be reassuring.
I tried to inhale, but didn’t feel as though I could draw a full breath. “This contract stated that Edwin had to be married in order to have a place in your greenhouse.”
“Yes, but we’ve rectified that. If we didn’t have to send the pages back to our solicitor to amend, it would have been ready to sign tomorrow as planned.”
Tomorrow. Fourteen days after we’d signed our contract. He’d only wanted me for a fiancée so he could buy himself a greenhouse? The bloom of pain was hot and ardent. I bit my lower lip hard to keep the accompanying tears at bay.
I would not cry for him. Never again.
Winifred patted me on the arm. “Don’t worry over it. We fixed it, and the delay shouldn’t be too long, a week or two at most.”
“It’ll be fine,” Annabel added.
That, I doubted very much.
Somehow, I managed to resume my role as Edwin’s fiancée long enough to finish that doomed watercolor, which looked more like an ocean of tears than it did a cheery summer sky. Winifred led the conversation, giving me plenty of excuse to be silent when I wasn’t playing the lovesick fool. I even took solace in playing the role. Although I simmered on the inside, outwardly, I didn’t need to be upset about Edwin’s deception.
At any point, he could have told me why he so desperately needed this charade, but he hadn’t.
Maybe his motivations have changed.
I buried that weak part of myself as I trailed behind the Missuses Craven as they led back to the supper boxes, where Edwin awaited with their husbands. Edwin’s motivations hadn’t changed. He’d asked me to extend our contract because his had been delayed. Clearly, he hadn’t yet learned why.
I was such a pigheaded fool not to see it. Simply because a man enjoyed having me in his bed did not mean he was in love. It didn’t mean he cared a whit for me. I was the means to an end, nothing more. Worst, he put plants above me on his list of priorities.
Although the Cravens asked us to tea, I begged off with a headache. Edwin frowned as he beheld me, but he didn’t try to convince me to stay. Instead, he shook hands and bid everyone adieu, escorting me out of the building.
I tried to remain silent, but I didn’t last until we reached the gate. My fury bubbled over, loosening my tongue as it always did. I rounded on him, blinking away tears. “You’re exchanging me for a place to put your plants?”
Edwin’s jaw slackened. His eyes clouded over as he took an imperceptible step away. “I asked you to marry me outright.”
“So you could secure a greenhouse! That isn’t why you marry a woman, Edwin.”
Looking uncomfortable, he glanced from side to side. Those milling nearby now craned their necks to see the commotion I was making. I wrapped my arms tight around my middle, the edge of my sketchbook and the horrendous painting digging into my flesh. Don’t cry. I bit the inside of my cheek. Mary Babington-Smith did not cry, certainly not in public.
He murmured, “Can we have this conversation at home?”
Whose home? Because although the Sutton townhouse was his, it would certainly never be mine. I clenched my teeth as I nodded. I didn’t want to fall apart in public.
However, when he dropped his hand to my back to guide me through the gate, I flinched. He removed it swiftly. I scurried a pace ahead of him so I wouldn’t have to see his face. He’d used me for financial gain…the same way all our peers used women. Marry a rich heiress and once you begot an heir and a spare, you could hide her in the country where you wouldn’t have to look at her. I was no heiress, but he’d used me just as cheaply, as if my only worth lay not in who I was but in what lay between my legs.
Once he flagged down his waiting carriage, I climbed into the barouche without his help. I tossed my paints and sketchbook onto the seat next to me with abandon. I didn’t want them. For him, I’d turned myself into someone that I’m not.
“Let me explain.”
“Why?” I wiped my cheek and looked away. “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” With Annabel and Winifred’s interference, he didn’t need a wife any longer in order to strike his agreement with his botanist friends.
“This was supposed to be a matter of mutual convenience.”
Convenience. I hated that word with every pore of my being. My breaths ragged, I twisted to face him. How could he look so calm?
“When you took me to bed, was that convenient for you? And what of when you held me yesterday in the parlor?”
I thought you cared. Our arrangement had never included sharing my body with him—or my heart. I’d given him those things freely when I’d fooled myself into believing he felt the
same way. I wanted more than money. I wanted him.
He broke eye contact and stared at the passing buildings. His jaw was clenched, his fists balled on his knees. With every passing second, my heart broke more. All you have to do is admit that this was more than a contract to you.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his voice tight, he offered no more than his profile and the words, “If this is no longer convenient for you, let’s end it now. You’re right. I got what I wanted. You’ve won. I’ll send you the money in the morning.”
“I don’t want your money anymore.” I slid to the edge of the seat and reached for the door handle.
He whipped his head around. “Mary, no! Bloody hell, stop the carriage!”
I gathered my skirts to my knees with one hand, using the other to grip the side of the barouche for balance as the driver sawed on the reins. Without looking at him, I confessed, “Never once did I take the scope of our contract beyond public image. Behind closed doors I wasn’t playing a part.”
Swallowing hard against the raw feeling in my throat, I jumped out of the carriage. My knees wobbled as I acclimated to solid ground beneath my feet. The carriage clattered to a stop ten feet further down the road.
“Mary!” Edwin vaulted from the carriage to pursue our argument.
I bolted down the nearest alley, determined to lose him. I knew these streets better than he did—I knew myself better than he did. And I would never let him take advantage of me again.
Chapter Nineteen
“Forgive me. So sorry I’m late.” I’d been delayed by the fulfillment of Edwin’s promise. He’d franked over a signed letter to his banker releasing the sum of two thousand pounds to me. I’d nearly burned the letter before I recalled what dire straits we were in. If this meeting with Old Lady Gladstone didn’t progress as planned…
I froze on the threshold of her informal dining room. The room, as big as my sitting room at home, smelled of pea soup and fresh-baked bread. A mahogany table bigger than my bed devoured most of the space in the room. A long mantle was laden with covered dishes. Dressed in the Gladstone livery, Harry guarded the food with a defensive stance as though trying to make himself unseen.
How to Fall for the Wrong Man Page 20