The Casanova Code

by Donna MacMeans

  “Not at all,” Constance replied. “It was the proper thing to do.”

  The proper thing. Why did it always seem that propriety took precedence over the right thing to do? Edwina tilted her head, listening for the drum of raindrops, but heard none. “Thank you for your advice, Mrs. Trewelyn. I shall lend it serious consideration.”

  “Be sure you do.” She stood. “Allow me to have my driver take you home.” Constance squinted at Edwina. “You didn’t ride that awful bicycle here, did you?”

  Edwina was about to protest but remained silent. The sooner she left this woman’s company the better. She did, however, accept the offer of a ride in a small gig. A letter from Ashton was bound to be waiting at home, she closed her eyes and prayed. Please let there be a letter.

  • Nineteen •

  NO LETTER WAITED FOR HER AT HOME.

  No letter arrived the next day, or the day after that. Edwina was dizzy and dismal and took to her bed, claiming that being trapped in damp clothes had given her a chill. That was not exactly accurate. She knew the cause of her malady.

  She didn’t want to think that Ashton had used her and then abandoned her, but all evidence seemed to point in that direction. Regardless of what society might think, she didn’t regret losing her innocence to Ashton. That was a temptation well worth the taking. It was his departure without a word, without an explanation, that tore pieces from her soul. Had he been called to perform some task for the Guardians, surely he would have sent her word without actually disclosing his mission. Even if he had sent a letter in code, she would have understood.

  Constance’s story played again and again in her mind. Had he left her as Constance claimed he had left her five years ago. Given their last night together, his absence was a betrayal of all they had shared.

  Her own absence from the Crescent was noted by Claire and Faith, who came to call upon her. They ignored her mother’s cautions about contamination and insisted they be allowed to see Edwina in her bedchamber. Faced with Claire’s stubbornness and relentless demands, her mother acquiesced and allowed the girls upstairs.

  Edwina sat in bed, writing yet another letter to Ashton to tell him how he had hurt her. The letter, like the others, would not be posted, as she had no address to which to send it, but writing her feelings on paper made her feel better for a short time. Then she’d remember that she couldn’t tell him how she felt because he’d run off as if she were an ordinary trollop. How ironic, as everyone insisted that she needed to be more ordinary. She had mistakenly thought her uniqueness had appealed to Ashton, but in the end it appeared it was the very thing that scared him away.

  “Edwina, are you all right?!” Faith burst into her room and rushed to her bedside. “We were so worried when you didn’t appear at the Crescent.”

  “You don’t look sick,” Claire observed. “Your eyes are puffy and red, and maybe your nose as well, but sick people don’t sit in bed and write letters.”

  Blast that Claire. She was always too observant for her own good, and too quick to put those observations to words. Edwina quickly slipped her letter into her lap writing desk, then closed the lid before setting it aside. Isabella quickly abandoned attacking her blanket-covered feet with her tiny kitten teeth and claws and investigated the heavy lid on the lap desk instead.

  “What is it?” Faith asked. “Is it Mr. Thomas? Did he not ask for your hand?”

  The question so surprised her that she managed a sort of sad smile. “I haven’t seen Walter since church on Sunday,” she admitted. “He sent flowers.” She pointed to the colorful bouquet of daisies, carnations, and roses arranged in one of her mother’s blue vases.

  “How lovely,” Faith said, rising to inspect the bouquet.

  “It’s that Trewelyn, isn’t it?” Claire said, her gaze never leaving Edwina. “That Casanova fellow. He did something to you, didn’t he?” It was more statement than question.

  “Claire!” Faith admonished. The raised voice frightened Isabella, who stopped rattling the lap desk momentarily.

  “Look at her face, Faith.” Claire pointed with an extended arm. “She’s been crying her heart out.” She dropped her voice. “She wouldn’t be crying that way over Mr. Thomas.”

  She was right. Edwina had to admit that as nice of a person as Walter was, he never managed to capture her heart as had Ashton. If Walter disappeared from her life, she’d feel a little sad, but she doubted she would have soiled as many handkerchiefs as she had crying over Ashton’s abandonment.

  “He’s gone,” Edwina said, and immediately tears welled in her eyes. “He left and I don’t know where he went.” She lifted her hands in the air to express her helplessness. The gesture had to work, as her throat had constricted enough to make words impassable. “No letter,” she squeaked.

  Faith rushed back to her side at the onslaught of tears. “Now, now, Edwina. Don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about. You knew his reputation. You knew there was a chance he would do this. It’s a good thing that he left now before he took advantage of your sweet nature.”

  Claire marched around to the opposite side of the bed to offer comfort. As she lifted the kitten to move it from the lap desk, stationery that had snagged on its needle-sharp teeth slipped from beneath the lid as well.

  “What’s this?” Claire caught the squirming kitten in the crook of her arm and unfastened the paper. She started to read.

  Edwina’s face heated. “That’s personal,” she said, trying to grab the letter out of Claire’s hands, but Claire stood out of reach.

  Her eyes widened. She gazed down at Edwina. “It most certainly is. I can understand your concern over Ashton’s disappearance.”

  Faith looked from one face to the other. “What is it?”

  Claire handed Faith the letter with the kitten-mangled corner. “May I read this, Edwina?” Faith asked, with a glance to Claire.

  “You might as well. You’ll most likely know soon enough.” She stared daggers at Claire while Faith skimmed over the words. Her hand shook when she handed the letter back to Edwina.

  “Did you expect him to marry you, Edwina? Did he make promises?”

  “No. No promises.” While she could honestly say she didn’t think marriage would result from their interlude in the secret gallery, she hadn’t really thought through what would result. All she knew was that she wanted to feel what it was like to be intimate with a man like Ashton Trewelyn. She wanted to know why all those Japanese women were eagerly looking at the pillow books. She wanted to experience life just once before . . . before . . . before she was forced to play the role society had assigned to her.

  “It’s a good thing the no-good, son of a—”

  “Claire!” Edwina admonished. “He’s not like that. What he did . . . what we did,” she corrected, “I wanted as much as he did. I don’t know how to explain it. Everything was so . . . perfect and I wanted to know what a man felt like.”

  “But you have Mr. Thomas,” Faith said. “Won’t he be upset?”

  “He doesn’t need to know,” Claire replied. The other two turned to stare. Claire dropped the kitten on the bed before lowering herself closer to the other ladies. “Mr. Thomas wants to marry you, not your—” She wiggled her fingers at Edwina’s lower regions. “Men have all sorts of intimate experiences before marriage, why not women?”

  “Because we’re not men,” Faith said hastily. She turned to Edwina. “What are you going to do?”

  “I haven’t decided,” she said, though that wasn’t true. Even before she’d met Ashton, even before she’d lost her innocence, she’d planned to marry Walter. She wasn’t certain she ever had another option other than to accept his proposal. After meeting Ashton, she’d begun to hope for something different. She’d begun to hope that all her dreams and desires were actually obtainable . . . that she wouldn’t have to sacrifice them for the sake of secu
rity. Now that Ashton was gone, so were those flights of fantasy. She always thought she’d marry Walter; in fact, it was one of the reasons she did what she did. She just didn’t want to admit that her deception was intentional to her friends. She wasn’t certain they’d understand she was trying to make the sort of memory that would last a lifetime.

  “So . . . what was it like?” Claire asked. “What was he like?”

  “Did it hurt terribly?” Faith asked.

  Edwina smiled, remembering the innocent pushed into the secret gallery almost two months ago. She’d been curious about those things and more before she became experienced. “It pinched a little. There was some bleeding,” she told Faith.

  “I’ve heard that some women secret a small bottle of blood on their wedding night, then smear it on the sheets. That way the husband believes his wife is pure.” Faith and Edwina just stared at Claire. “What? It’s not as if he would actually look down there.”

  “Walter wouldn’t,” Edwina agreed. She suspected Walter had very little experience in this particular area.

  “You mean Trewelyn did!” Faith said, shocked. “Oh, my! Oh, my!” She looked around the room, then grabbed Edwina’s black feather fan from the bureau to wave at her face. Tiny feather filaments lifted in the furious created current.

  “He was tender and kind and . . . talented,” Edwina said, remembering the way her body exploded in waves of pleasant titillation. Her eyes drifted shut reliving the memory.

  “Where were you that you were able to do this in privacy?” Claire asked. “Did he take you to an inn outside of London?”

  Edwina didn’t want to answer. Fortunately, she was spared when Faith interrupted. “But what was he like? You know, his thing—was it very big? Were you scared?”

  “At first,” she admitted. “I suppose he was normal.” Who was she to compare him to? Trewelyn said the jade stalks in the pictures were exaggerated, thank heavens. So how was she to know about comparisons? “I know that once he pushed inside me, he felt enormous, and powerful, and so much a part of me that we couldn’t be separated.”

  They all fell silent until Faith spoke up. “What are you going to do now that he’s gone?”

  Edwina felt the lump return to her throat. “I’m going back to my old life. The way things were before Mr. Trewelyn purchased a pot of tea for me because he thought I was chilled.” The memory of his thoughtfulness slammed into her chest. Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t blink fast enough to keep them at bay.

  “Can you do that?” Claire asked skeptically.

  “I haven’t a choice,” Edwina answered, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a bit of the blanket.

  “I know how babies are made,” Faith said, her eyes downcast. “Is it possible he left one inside you?” She tapped her fingers on the bed for Isabella to attack. Edwina imagined it was Faith’s way to avoid looking at her face.

  “I don’t know,” Edwina replied. “I hadn’t considered the possibility at the time.” Or maybe she had and wanted to keep a piece of Ashton in her life. “Sarah will be so disappointed in me if I have a child out of wedlock.”

  The three of them sat still, though Edwina suspected they were all thinking the same thing. Marriage to Walter would solve that problem as well as many others. But would a marriage based on a lie really solve anything? Could she keep such a secret from a man she would see every day of the rest of her life? The answer was clear. “I’ll have to tell Walter.”

  Faith’s eyes widened. “Will he still have you?”

  “I don’t know, but I won’t live with that sort of lie between us. It would eat away at our relationship.” The painful constriction eased in her throat. Perhaps she’d been hiding in her bedroom, not to avoid his proposal, but to avoid telling him the truth. She would always mourn the loss of Ashton in her life and the promise of adventure and excitement they’d shared, but he’d run away, leaving her to face reality . . . and Walter.

  A sense of calm and, yes, maturity settled over her. “Thank you,” she said, patting her friends’ hands. “You’ve helped me see what must be done.” The two exchanged a dubious glance, but neither said a word.

  Claire rummaged in her reticule. “You asked me to do some research for you. I’m not certain you’re still interested.”

  “Yes,” Edwina said, curiosity chasing away lingering maudlin thoughts. “I am. What did you discover?”

  Claire pulled out a small notebook, the sort that Sarah had given her to take notes at Lady Sutton’s soiree. She wondered briefly if Sarah had supplied them all with such notebooks for newsworthy opportunities.

  “You asked me to check on husbands or businesses that include an image within a circle as a symbol of their business. I discovered there are quite a few of them.” She glanced up from her notes. “Including your father.”

  She shouldn’t have been surprised. She had her suspicions, after all, but there was something about the confirmation . . . “May I see the list?”

  “Tell me first, what does it mean?” Claire asked. “I have at least twenty men on this list in various industries and all of some financial significance.”

  “I believe they’re all part of the Guardians.” Edwina waited, wondering if they’d remember the reason for the evening surveillance of the Trewelyn residence.

  Claire’s eyes widened. “You mean that group of men who lure innocents to a life of debauchery? The ones who advertised their meetings in code?”

  Edwina shook her head. “We don’t know that they lure innocents—”

  “They did one,” Faith said quietly.

  Edwina turned toward her. “That was my desire, my curiosity, and my decision. That was not the Guardians. I haven’t found evidence that they are a malicious group at all.”

  “Then why the secrecy?” Claire asked.

  “I haven’t figured that out yet,” she admitted.

  • • •

  LATER THAT EVENING, EDWINA DRESSED FOR DINNER. AS she walked down the steps, she checked the hall table to see if any letters had arrived while she was abed. The silver receiving platter was empty. Unfortunately, after so many days of silence, that was not unexpected . . . disappointing, but not unexpected.

  “Edwina,” her mother called. “You’re going to join us for dinner this evening? How lovely. I’m sure Walter will be happy to see your return to health.”

  “Walter?”

  “He’s speaking with your father in the library. I’m certain they’ll be out shortly.”

  A bit of fear shot through her, as well as anguish and a strong desire to return to Isabella and her bedroom, but she kept her chin high and walked toward the library. She’d been avoiding Walter long enough; it was time to settle the uncertainties between them. She took a deep breath, then knocked lightly before opening the door.

  Her father’s scowl shifted to a smile the moment he saw her at the door. “Come in, Edwina. We were just speaking of you.”

  She glanced to Walter. His beaten expression lifted hopefully. He crossed rapidly to her to place a clammy hand on her cheek. “No indication of fever, but you shouldn’t be on your feet. You should sit.”

  She took Walter’s hand between her own and removed it gently from her face. “I’m feeling much better, and I’d prefer to stand. Thank you, however, for your sincere concern.” She nodded her head in a sort of acknowledgment of gratitude. Walter’s face softened. A gentle smile lit his weary eyes.

  Still holding Walter’s hand, she turned to her father. “I wonder if I might speak with Walter alone, Father.”

  His eyes darted from her face to their clenched hands. “Certainly.” He beamed. “I suppose the moment calls for privacy, no?” He walked toward the door but paused a moment to kiss his daughter’s cheek. “You two take all the time you wish. I shall wait for your news with your mother in the drawing room.”


  The moment the door closed behind her father, Walter took both of her hands in his. “Edwina, you know how I’ve felt about you from the day we met. I—”

  “Wait, Walter. There’s something you should know before you say another word.” She pulled her hands from him and took a few steps to put distance between them. “I’m not the woman you believe I am. More to the point, I’m not the innocent you assumed me to be.”

  It was amazing how much lighter she felt as the result of her confession. Just as discussing her circumstances with her friends had helped heal her heart, so did this admission. Still, she knew her words would not be accepted with joy and gratitude. She braced herself for scorn and insult.

  Walter appeared confused, then a wide grin chased his concerns away. “My dear, I suppose your friend Claire has probably introduced you to some political attitudes of which you weren’t previously aware. We can discuss those later if you like, but I should warn you that, in some contexts, the word ‘innocent’ takes on a different sort of meaning. It implies—”

  “I’m aware of what it implies, Walter,” she interrupted. “I’m not speaking of politics. I’m trying to say that I’ve recently become personally acquainted with the intimacies that can exist between a man and a woman.”

  He still appeared confused, or perhaps shocked. It was difficult to tell the difference. Even so, she needed to know that he understood precisely what she was trying to say.

  “For pity’s sake, I’m not speaking in code.” She walked over to stand in front of him, took his hands in hers, and looked him square in the eye. “Walter, I’m no longer a virgin.”