by Erica Ridley
He’d yearned to believe that something as simple and pure and honest as true love could exist for someone like him.
But there was nothing simple about his relationship with Nora. He had known from the start that she did not fit Society’s definition of a perfect bride. Her lack of status, of a title, of money, of connections… the very fact that for someone of her humble origins, taking employment as a companion was a step up rather than down.
All those impediments were things he had slowly come to realize he could look past. He did not need a bride’s dowry or connections. More importantly, Nora’s lack of status was due to happenstance, rather than any fault of her own. In the face of true love, such details had become irrelevant. He could not discard her for circumstances beyond her control.
The caricatures, however… She had done them on purpose.
Perhaps she’d begun them out of a sense of duty to her own family, long before she’d met Heath, but she had consciously chosen to continue down that path. She’d gone so far as to immortalize his innocent sister. And all but lie to his face by allowing him to fall in love without the courtesy of knowing the truth.
Heart heavy, he turned to face the woman he had intended to spend the rest of his life with.
Nora was pale and trembling; her face puffy, her eyes bloodshot. She looked heartsick and miserable.
Good. So was he.
But here they were.
He rubbed his hands over his face in sudden exhaustion. The words needed to come out. “Just because I love you doesn’t mean I can forgive you for lying to me. For letting me make love to a version of you that doesn’t exist.”
“I know,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I accept that. I deserve your rage.”
Her admission did not make him feel better.
He let out a breath. “Then why did you do it?”
She closed her eyes. “I told you. For my family.”
He shook his head. “I understand poverty. I meant why use your obvious talent to hurt and mock the beau monde? Do you hate us so much?”
“Do you understand poverty?” she countered, her over-bright gaze haunted. “How often have you fallen asleep mucking out a stall or a chimney and startled awake a scant hour later to start the day all over again? How many times have you and your siblings been forced to butcher your last source of income in order to feed your starving bellies? How long has it been since you first realized that if you didn’t do something desperate to change the future, none of you would live long enough to see it?”
He stared at her, trying to process her words. These were not hypothetical situations suffered by hypothetical indigents. These were real memories Nora had been forced to live through. The woman he loved.
Nora’s voice shook. “You’re right. We are different. You accept money to sweep scandals under the carpet. I accepted money to bring them to light. But that gossip already existed. I made certain my sketches weren’t news to anyone.”
“You went out of your way to make peers of the realm look ridiculous to the rest of the population,” he stammered reflexively as his brain scrambled to catch up to his heart. He’d been so angry for so long. But the self-righteous argument no longer made sense given the context she’d just given him. Perhaps it had never made sense.
“Commoners daren’t find humor in their betters, you mean?” Nora’s eyes were glassy, her face pale. “Of course that’s what the high and mighty want. And I know why. Making the ton appear even more perfect than they actually are makes all of us who are nothing feel even more worthless and inconsequential.”
His lungs caught. The naked pain of her words twisted his heart.
All these years, he had thought he was taking the right actions. He still believed helping others was always the right thing. For the first time, he was forced to face the possibility that his selection of who in particular deserved his help had been far from unbiased.
Heath helped the beau monde because he knew them. He was a member of their community. He was surrounded by them every day of his life.
He helped his sister’s charity because it belonged to his sister. He loved her. He’d known her ever since her first breath.
He didn’t consciously believe that individuals outside of his class were unimportant, as his actions had made Nora feel.
It was worse than that. He simply hadn’t thought about those people at all. The ton’s outcry against her irreverent caricatures was because they exposed the beau monde’s ugly side to those beneath them. How much hubris did that outrage portray?
Worse yet was Heath’s belated realization that his plan to pay any price to unmask the caricaturist afforded him no greater moral high ground than Nora having sketched the drawings in the first place.
He had accepted money from a client whose stated goal had been to humiliate the caricaturist by being the first to spread gossip of his true identity.
It had not seemed hypocritical at the time. But he could not remain willfully blind to the obvious.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your family,” she said again, her voice small and miserable. “I was trying to save mine. I’m sorry I caused you pain.”
He took a deep breath. It was time to speak the truth. “So am I.”
She frowned up at him in confusion.
Heath tried to find words to express the turmoil within.
Nora had followed the wrong path and tried to make it right. She had chosen returning to poverty over continuing lucrative caricatures. That was the true character of the woman he loved.
She was willing to spend the rest of her days slaving on a sheep farm because she was willing to sacrifice her own happiness for those she loved.
Had he not prided himself on doing the same? What was love, if not the ability to understand and empathize with someone else’s perspective?
He stepped forward and took her hands in his.
“We’re both flawed,” he began. Understatement at its finest. “Only by helping each other be better can we hope for a future together.”
Her blue eyes were wide with emotion. “What are you saying?”
What she needed to hear.
The truth.
“I forgive you for choices you made out of financial desperation.” He gripped her hands tighter. “I am still hurt and angry that you trusted me with your body, but not your truth.” He let out a breath. “But you were not wrong about how I would react to the news. I hope you can forgive me for that.”
Her hands trembled in his. “You… forgive me?”
“I love you,” he said simply. “If we can work through this, we can work through anything life can send us. From this moment forward, we are a team.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I love you so much more than words can say. There’s nothing I want more than to face the world and the rest of our lives together.”
“We’ll be unstoppable.” He cupped her damp cheeks with his hands and kissed her until they were both gasping for air.
A sudden frown creased her brow. “What about your clients?”
His stomach twisted.
She was right. It wasn’t just Nora he must worry about. Not one, but two paying clients were waiting for him to bring the caricaturist to light. Heath had taken their money and given his word.
“It’s all right.” Nora took a step back, her smile wobbling as if she had just surmised the direction of his thoughts. “I shan’t ask you to break your word as a gentleman.”
Heath’s temples pounded.
One’s word as a gentleman was inviolate. Yet he could not be all things to all people. He had given his word to paying aristocratic clients. But he had also pledged a vow to Nora by asking her to be his wife. By taking her innocence.
No matter which path he chose, Heath would have to break his word to someone in order to keep it for someone else. He could not protect his clients’ interests and protect Nora.
He pulled her back into his arms.
“I choose you,” he said hoarsely
. “I choose us.”
She buried her face in his cravat and shuddered against his chest. “But how can you?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. There was bound to be scandal.
She lifted her head to gaze up at him. “Did you promise to reveal my name or to make the caricaturist stop?”
Hope flickered within him.
“I promised a name to Lady Roundtree,” he said slowly.
Nora’s face crumpled. “Lady Roundtree?”
“It’s all right.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle. “She loves you. She will forgive you.”
Nora’s eyes shimmered. “She’s the only one who will have to know?”
“Yes. As for Mapleton, I only promised that I would make the caricaturist stop.”
She reared back in his arms. “You took Phineas Mapleton as a client?”
“I was planning to unmask the caricaturist anyway,” Heath pointed out. “His money went straight to my sister’s charity.”
“That man is a scourge.” She swallowed as if repressing a bad memory. “The things he said… How everyone laughed…”
Mapleton was indeed a scourge. “As I recall, I glimpsed a caricature you might have drawn of him.”
She sighed. “You’re right. His behavior does not excuse mine.”
He tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “Are you disappointed your career as a caricaturist is over?”
She shook her head in embarrassment. “There are so many other things I would prefer to be drawing.”
“Why don’t you?” he asked.
Nora shrugged. “Who would wish to see high fashions designed by a country bumpkin?”
“I suppose it could be convenient if you happened to marry a man who owns a gallery,” he offered slowly.
She hesitated. “About getting married…”
Had she changed her mind? His heart thudded. “Are you saying you’ve no wish for me to be your husband?”
“I’m saying you won’t wish for me to be your wife.” She bit her lip. “The caricatures weren’t my worst secret.”
He stepped backward in disbelief and trepidation. “What else did you do?”
“It’s what I cannot do,” she burst out. Her face filled with agony. “I can draw, but I cannot read. Not easily, that is. The letters just dance and blur… I would be an embarrassment by your side.”
Relief washed over him.
“I’m not hiring you to be my temporary companion, daft woman.” He grabbed her shoulders so that she would meet his eyes. “I am asking you to be my wife.”
“Even if my brain doesn’t work like it should?” she asked doubtfully.
“I fell in love with your mind exactly how it is.” He dropped to one knee. “Will you let me prove it by taking my hand in marriage?”
“Yes.” She melted into his embrace with a choking laugh. “Yes.”
Chapter 28
Four months later
From the familiar safety and anonymity of a ballroom’s rear shadows, Nora stared out at the busy dance floor before her. She had not been able to shake a bewildered sense of unreality. Nonetheless, the proof was right before her eyes:
This cozy soirée was for her.
She had been married for less than two months, and already her wildest dreams had been exceeded. Her life was perfect. Heath was perfect. And the dozen people who had responded so enthusiastically to a dinner invitation in her new home—
“There you are, my love!” Heath pulled her from the shadows and swung her to the dance floor beneath a crystal chandelier. His voice was teasing. “No wallflowering allowed when you’re the belle of the ball.”
It stole her breath to whirl amongst what had become a small, but treasured circle of friends. Lord and Lady Wainwright, Dahlia and Simon Spaulding, Bryony Grenville and her latest lovesick suitor. Nora made a mental note to prod her about it later.
Even the row reserved for Society dames was filled with friendly faces. Lady Grenville, of course. Lady Roundtree, whose kindness and loyalty had never wavered. Even Lady Pettibone, who might breathe fire at others but had chosen to give Nora her blessing.
Far more important than the rulers of the haut ton was the elderly couple seated in the very same row as the important ladies.
Nora’s grandparents had made their first journey in order to attend the wedding. They’d had such fun in Town that talking them into a second visit had been no hardship. Grandmother and Grandfather had been delighted to learn that Nora and Heath would build a country home near the farm and come for long visits every single year.
Lady Roundtree had even agreed to allow Captain Pugboat to accompany Nora on such trips. A romp amongst rolling green hills was the perfect holiday for any growing pup.
As far as Nora’s brother…
Carter was paying far more attention to the refreshment table than the other guests, but that was entirely her fault. She’d had the kitchen stock the buffet with her family’s favorite treats and a few new ones she’d been certain would prove irresistible.
“Is this really happening?” she asked her husband as he swept her into her favorite waltz. “Can one person truly be this lucky?”
His eyes shone with love. “Two people can.”
He was right.
The rest of their lives would be filled with beauty.
Epilogue
Despite the eager queue stretching around the block, Heath could not help shifting his weight in nervousness.
Today was the grand opening of his gallery. It had taken months to select just the right pieces and arrange them in just the right order. At least, he hoped he’d achieved the magic he wished to convey.
He had put Nora’s work in the north salon, exciting canvases from a young Welsh painter in the east salon, stunning sculptures from a Scottish talent in the west salon, and a breathtaking sequence by a Cornwall-based artist in the south salon.
He hoped the steady river of patrons found as much joy in the carefully chosen selection as Heath had experienced whilst discovering it.
Nora squeezed his hand as the next dozen patrons streamed through the door. “Already a success, I see. I knew it would be.”
“Of course you did. You engineered it,” he told her fondly.
His wife could move mountains with her pen.
Three days earlier, an anonymous caricature had appeared in all the newspapers. In it, everyone who was anyone was standing outside the Grenville Gallery of Art, which bore only a sign reading SOON in the front window. Among the spectators, every sketched lapel bore a different flower. The queue tumbled over itself like a basket of kittens as they tried to peer inside the mysterious window.
The caption beneath had read simply, “Limited engagement.”
Her stratagem had worked brilliantly.
Not only had everyone who glimpsed the caricature been compelled to be the first to know just what was so interesting on the other side of that door, wild speculation had only fueled the chatter. What was in the gallery? Was wearing a flower the key to being permitted inside?
More than half of today’s crowd had pinned fresh blooms to their person in case the accoutrement was a requirement for entry or privileged status.
“I still can’t believe you invented a fashion,” he whispered to Nora.
She grinned back at him. “That’s my job.”
Pride coursed through him as he squeezed her to his side.
Over the past few months, Nora had quickly become the most sought-after designer of fashion plates in the city. Tailors and modistes paid any price to have her sketch their creations, and Ackerman’s was trying desperately to convince her to sign a contract exclusive to them.
The north gallery salon was stocked with her latest designs, some of which had never before been presented to the public. Other pieces had already been glimpsed upon the frame of such personages as the Duchess of Ravenwood.
They were a splendid team. Nora had already been marvelous when he married her, but together they were so m
uch more than either could be alone. Her art would help his gallery succeed, and his gallery would help artists spread their reach.
He tried to stay to the shadows in order to allow the art to speak for itself.
Many familiar faces peppered the crowd. Maxwell Gideon, Lord Hawkridge, the Fairfaxes, Lord and Lady North-Barrows. It seemed everyone Heath had ever met and a whole host of new acquaintances had come to the grand opening.
“Are you happy?” Nora whispered up to him.
Happy? It was all Heath could do not to pump his fist in the sky and bellow a victory shout.
He whispered back, “I have never been more contented.”
Joy and mischief sparkled in her eyes. “Then you’re going to have to try harder.”
He frowned. “What are you—”
She pointed toward the door. His family was just entering the gallery.
Camellia and her husband, Dahlia and hers, Bryony. Their mother. And beside her…
His heart leaped in shock. “My father is here?”
Nora squeezed his hand.
Heath stared in disbelief and hope.
His father had received the invitation. He had come.
When their eyes met through the crowd, the baron nodded his head gruffly and pointed to his lapel. A pink rose bloomed from his breast pocket. Heath’s breath caught.
Father had not been forced to attend the grand opening. He had chosen to show his support of the gallery and his pride in his son.
Heath’s head spun.
“You did this?” he whispered to his wife.
She pressed her palm to his cheek and gestured at the gallery. “You did this, my love.”
“We did this.” He swept her into his arms in elation.
“Stop that,” she giggled. “You’ll cause a scandal.”
“Let them talk,” Heath said, and lowered his head for a kiss.
* * *
THE END
What will happen when Cloven Hoof owner Maxwell Gideon discovers Bryony Grenville is his silent partner… and she refuses to sell?