by Erica Ridley
“Too much of a commitment?” she said hollowly. “I notice you didn’t deny the rest.”
Had she thought nothing could hurt her as much as that silly caricature? Being laughed at by all of England was not nearly as mortifying as realizing the most romantic moments in her life had filled Lawrence with shame.
“When I stole your carriage, you were terrified that passionless ‘compromise’ would lead to marriage. But it wasn’t compromise that scared you at all. It was the thought of being caught with a Wynchester. You even lamented, ‘Why couldn’t it have been Honoria?’”
Because Lawrence believed Bean’s legitimate daughter Honoria existed…and was an heiress. Even then, it had not been about the person but the money. Lawrence would have lowered himself to marry Honoria Wynchester for the right price. Chloe would not sell herself so cheaply.
Her hands and legs trembled with hurt and mortification. “Over the past two months, you and I have been in dozens of increasingly compromising positions. You’ve considered marriage at none of them, because you’ve managed to keep your dirty secret. No one knows, so you needn’t treat me like a respectable lady.”
He desired her but wished he didn’t. He was only biding his time until he found a debutante with duchess potential and a large dowry. He expected Chloe to understand.
Now she did.
She gave a mirthless laugh. “To you, Wynchesters are like writing plumes. We’re to be used and discarded.”
He shifted his weight. “I wasn’t going to discard you.”
“You were going to keep using me.” She fought the prickling in the back of her throat. “No, thank you, Your Grace. I’m not interested in discreet arrangements.”
Chloe had wanted so much more. She had wanted the fairy tale. Her stomach roiled at her own naïveté. There would be no magical moment. Her love was not enough.
She did have money, although perhaps not as much as Philippa could offer. Bean’s trust was meant to provide for Chloe’s future, not to be handed over to a duke and spent all at once. Yet the sum might be enough to tempt him. But was it worth the cost to her pride?
“Chloe…”
Her lungs struggled. She wanted him to choose her, not her inheritance. She didn’t want to be exchangeable for any other convenient heiress. She wanted to be loved for who she was. She wanted a husband who would be proud of her, not ashamed to be seen in her presence.
“What if I had money?” she asked in a small voice.
He winced. There it was. The expression he wore when he was about to explain some maddeningly basic concept he believed she failed to properly comprehend.
“It’s not just money,” he admitted. “I’ve spent years restoring my reputation and cannot throw that away on—”
Throw away.
He looked at her and thought throw away.
Just like her parents had done.
“Go to hell.” The words were shards of glass, ripping her apart from the inside.
She feared he would argue. He was as skilled at debate as she was. For a passionate statesman like Lawrence, important causes were worth fighting for. If he said the right thing, fell at her feet with confessions of love, her resolve might crumble.
Instead, he inclined his head and said, “I’m sorry, Chloe.”
Then turned and walked away.
That was it. She was not important enough to argue with. Not important enough to fight for. Not important enough to want her to stay.
She was a blank spot in a pretty dress, destined to be crumpled up and tossed away.
34
When dawn came, Chloe covered her aching eyes with her pillow. She would not cry over Lawrence. She would not. If he didn’t want her, she didn’t want him.
She’d repeated the mantra to herself all night in the hopes that she would believe it by morning. So far, it hadn’t worked. Her throat still burned and the backs of her eyes pricked with unshed tears.
But she was strong. She’d lived through far worse than a broken heart. She would survive this, too.
If she ever convinced herself to rise from bed and face the day.
By noon a rumble in her stomach reminded her that her siblings would soon wonder what was happening. She hadn’t gone down to breakfast. Hadn’t emerged from the solitude of her bedchamber at all. If she wanted them to treat her like nothing was wrong, she was going to have to show her face.
She shoved on the first bland, shapeless gown her fingers touched and ran a listless hand over her hair. Good enough.
With trembling fingers, she forced herself to wrench open the door handle and step out into the corridor. A murmur of voices came to an abrupt stop.
“Chloe?”
She paused, her heart pounding. The sounds hadn’t come from downstairs in the dining room but from the Planning Parlor, just a few feet down the corridor. Her knees weakened.
What if her siblings were talking about her? What if they were discussing the caricature? They would all have seen it by now. Graham’s morning broadsheets were served right along with breakfast.
Her lungs begged for air. She hadn’t been able to breathe since her encounter with Lawrence. Maybe she would never breathe properly again. How could she? She didn’t have a nose or a mouth or a face, according to the rest of the world. She didn’t have feelings or thoughts or a place in society.
No. She couldn’t face her siblings. Their sympathy and kindness would break her.
Chest heaving, she dashed back through her bedroom door, closed it firmly behind her, and collapsed against it, her unsteady shoulders trembling against the immovable slab of wood. Blank, like her. Her heart hammered.
She stared at her wardrobe full of expensive, useless fripperies.
Silk and satin and lace and velvet. Earrings, feathers, tiaras, combs, pearls. Had she thought any of that changed who she was?
With Lawrence, she’d risked being Chloe. Sometimes fancy, sometimes frumpy, sometimes silly. She’d taken off the mask, hoping not to go unnoticed.
He’d wanted her to put it back on. Wanted to hide her away. No, throw her away. The real Chloe was worse than unremarkable; she was repellant. No amount of diamonds and curls could ameliorate the unfixable.
She didn’t want any of it anymore.
Why couldn’t she be enough just as she was? Why couldn’t she be seen, and remembered, and wanted as Chloe?
Vision blurring, she yanked open the doors to her wardrobe and flung each treasured item onto a growing pile in the corner. Rubbish, all of it. She’d give it away. It was past time to stop believing in fairy tales.
Her door swung open and Tommy burst in, her eyes wide and her expression stricken.
“Go,” Chloe croaked. “I can’t…”
Tommy rushed to her and wrapped her in her arms.
“Don’t you dare be kind to me.” Chloe stood as still as she was able, every bone brittle. “If I look at you, I’ll cry.”
“Then cry,” Tommy said, and the crack in her voice indicated she was already crying. She might not know the details, but she knew Chloe was in pain, and that was enough to hurt her, too.
Chloe hugged her sister hard, burying her wet face in Tommy’s neck. Maybe she had started crying first. Maybe she’d been crying this whole time and hadn’t realized it.
“I’ll kill him,” Tommy choked out.
“Can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear,” Chloe mumbled.
Tommy yanked Chloe out of her arms, her fingers digging into Chloe’s shoulders so she could glare straight into her face.
“You are not a sow’s ear. You are the cleverest, kindest, most compassionate person I know. You were born beautiful, inside and out. The happiest day of my life was when we became sisters. You’re the sun in my sky, Chloe Wynchester. Nothing glitters without you.”
“She’s the sun in my sky,” came Graham’s gruff voice from somewhere behind them.
Elizabeth pushed past him to wrap her arms about Chloe and Tommy both. “No, mine.”
A scrambling of feet indicated Jacob and Marjorie had joined the fray, jostling with Graham to be the next to join the embrace around Chloe.
“You’re perfect just as you are,” Jacob said.
Marjorie found Chloe’s hand and squeezed.
“You’re the reason we’re a family,” Graham said fiercely.
Tommy hugged Chloe harder and whispered, “You make all of us sparkle.”
35
Lawrence sat on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands.
Publicly standing up for Chloe had only made things worse. He’d hurt her, not helped her. It was the last thing he’d meant to do. He loved her, even if he couldn’t offer what they both wanted.
It had taken forever to realize she was the lucky one.
He’d been raised to believe everyone shared the same ambitions: an important name, an important title, a heritage, and entailed land. All those things were a privilege. Yet, if he could make any childhood wish come true, it would be to feel that he belonged, not just be another cold link in a dutiful chain of dukes. He’d wanted a large, boisterous, loving family.
A family like the Wynchesters.
He still wanted that, but there was one thing he yearned for even more. He wanted to belong to Chloe. To be worthy of her. He didn’t just want to prove to Chloe that her needs mattered. He wanted her to know she mattered. That he loved her more than words could convey.
But what could he do about it?
His situation hadn’t changed, and he’d only made hers worse.
He thought back to that moment at Gunter’s—the moment that had changed everything. And then he remembered what had happened right before the conversation with the patronesses.
Southerby.
The earl had flabbergasted Lawrence with his easy admission of his flaws and complete lack of embarrassment. Southerby would rather try and fail—even try and fail and become an object of mockery—than never to try at all.
Could Lawrence do any less?
He rose to his feet. If he truly loved Chloe, then nothing else mattered. The best ducal reputation in the world meant nothing without her. She was everything. Come what may, they could face anything as long as they stood together.
But first he needed to talk to his servants. Lawrence’s life would not be the only one impacted by the decision he wanted to make.
He hurried from his bedchamber and called an impromptu meeting in the parlor, next to the hat trunk. He looked around at Hastings, his butler. Peggy and Dinah, the maids. Mrs. Root, his housekeeper. Jackson, his footman. Mrs. Elkins, the cook. Lawrence had come to think of them less like servants and more like family.
“How is your niece’s baby?” Mrs. Elkins asked Mrs. Root.
Mrs. Root’s eyes shone. “Betsy and little Kenneth are hale and hearty. You should see the darling little scrunched-up faces he makes. His father is absolutely in love.” She turned to Lawrence. “When do you intend to start your family, Your Grace?”
He cleared his throat. “That is actually why I’ve summoned you all to this meeting. I would like to ask for Chloe Wynchester’s hand in marriage.”
Dinah blinked. “Shouldn’t you be saying this to Miss Wynchester?”
Lawrence met each of their eyes. “She has no dowry.” The words tumbled from his lips like lead weights. “If we wed, I will not be able to afford this town house. I don’t know how long I will be able to afford to pay you. Perhaps only a month or two. I will of course be writing effusive letters of recommendation.” He paused. “Or…I can resume my hunt for an heiress.”
Hastings reared back in surprise. “Give up Miss Wynchester, Your Grace?”
“And your chance at love?” Mrs. Root echoed, appalled. “Didn’t you hear anything I’ve been saying about the meaning of family?”
“Mrs. Root and I have watched over you for decades,” Hastings said, “waiting for the moment you would finally find happiness.”
Mrs. Elkins’s eyes were kind. “There are thousands of kitchens, Your Grace. But there is only one Miss Wynchester. Finding a new position will be well worth it, if it means you’re finally happy and loved.”
Peggy and Dinah nodded.
“What are you still doing here?” Jackson said gruffly. “Don’t you have a lady’s heart to win?”
“Thank you.” Lawrence’s throat was so thick, the words were barely intelligible. “I’ll…I’ll do whatever it takes to keep all of you close for as long as I can.”
Swiftly, he strode to his study. At his escritoire he withdrew ink, parchment, wax. He would not force himself back into Chloe’s life, but he would do his best to show her how much he needed her in his.
His plume scratched across the foolscap in fits and starts as he contemplated each word and phrase. If it took a hundred crumpled drafts to get there, so be it. He had one chance to get this right. To prove how much she meant to him, without a shadow of a doubt.
If she accepted his plea to accompany him to the opera, others would see her presence as a public proposal.
Chloe would know it was so much more than that. His private box was a window into his soul. An invitation was a declaration of love. Lawrence would be welcoming her into his world, just as she had done for him.
And if she did not accept…
Lawrence would have only himself to blame for a life without love.
36
The sun was setting when Chloe stopped her driver in front of St. Giles’s church, at the same post where she’d first met Bean. It seemed fitting.
The woman in charge of the Women’s Employment Charity rushed out to greet her.
“Thank you so much, Miss Wynchester.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Your donation will aid countless parishioners to obtain posts and receive wages. This will change so many lives.”
Chloe was happy to help. She’d kept a few of her plainest clothes for the future adventures of Jane Brown, but the majority were inside the trunks several volunteers were now hauling into the church.
Trunks delivered, she turned back toward her carriage.
A little boy of perhaps six years of age stood awestruck in front of it, staring upward, eyes wide.
His shoes were too small for his feet. The tips had been cut away to allow his toes to protrude. His threadbare shirt and trousers hung large on his narrow frame, as though he was meant to grow into them. She doubted the tattered material would last until summer.
Chloe bent to one knee before him, mindless of the grime now seeping through her skirt. She could afford new clothes. This boy could not.
She reached into an inner pocket and handed him a simple drawstring bag.
He shook his head. “Wot do I want wiv a girl’s purse?”
Ah. He wasn’t a pickpocket, like her. Not yet, anyway.
“There’s a gold sovereign inside.” The one Bean had given her here, at this very spot. “And warm red mittens.”
The latter proved the more convincing. He snatched the bag from her hand as if afraid she would change her mind, and raced into one of the many dilapidated homes without a backward glance.
Chloe pushed to her feet and swiped the dirt from her knee. The mittens now had a new home, with an owner who would appreciate them.
As to the coin…who knew? Perhaps it would purchase a new pair of shoes. Or perhaps a decade from now a young man would pass the sovereign along to another child in need.
She felt lighter on the road back to Islington. The wardrobes in her bedchamber were no longer bursting at the seams. Rather, they contained the items Chloe actually wished to wear. There was something for every eventuality: a neighborhood assembly here, a clandestine raid there.
She didn’t need the Duke of Faircliffe or the world of the ton. Let them disparage her and discard her if they wished. She was done allowing herself to be hurt.
As she walked up her front path, she pasted a carefree expression on her face for her siblings’ sake. She might not be happy yet, but she would be. She did not want them to worry about h
er…or, worse, to pity her.
Graham and Elizabeth were seated at the dining table when Chloe summoned the courage to walk into the room. They smiled at her as if they, too, were pretending today had been a normal day like any other. But the newspapers were there on the table.
“I’m so sorry, Chloe.” Elizabeth’s words were gentle. “We want you to be happy, and we don’t know how to make it so. If you want to set fire to everything, we support you. If you’re in love with Faircliffe, we support that, too.”
“He’s going in the Thames either way,” Graham warned. “But I’ll fish him back out if you love him.”
Tommy and Marjorie walked in and took seats close to Chloe.
“What are we talking about?” Tommy asked.
“He Who Does Not Deserve Our Sister,” Graham answered.
“And who shall never be mentioned again,” Elizabeth added.
The butler appeared in the doorway.
“Delivery.” Randall held up a silver tray. “For Miss Chloe from the Duke of Faircliffe.”
“He Who Shall Never Be Mentioned, Except by Our Butler,” Graham amended.
“I’ll take it.” Chloe accepted the folded parchment with unsteady fingers. “Is his footman awaiting a response?”
Randall shook his head. “No, miss. The letter arrived some hours ago while you were out.”
Her siblings exchanged glances, then stood up from the table as one.
“We’ll give you privacy,” Elizabeth murmured.
Tommy’s eyes met Chloe’s. “I’m right upstairs if you need me.”
Chloe nodded gratefully. She waited until her siblings’ voices faded, then slid a shaking finger beneath the fold of parchment to break its seal. Was this a rebuke for having upended Lawrence’s life for a deuced painting? After their last encounter, what was left to say?
Something strange was inside the folded letter. An oddly shaped flat disc, rather like a piece to a jigsaw. She tilted it into her hand.
It was an ivory ticket for the Duke of Faircliffe’s private box at the theatre.
My dearest Miss Chloe Wynchester,