by Stacy Reid
“You knew she was marrying today.” Percy stood above him, unwrapping the thin leather from his hands. “I thought that was the reason you wanted to spar so desperately. Good God man, when are you going to realize fine ladies like her ain’t for the likes of us?”
Never. But he made no reply. “Are you certain she is unwed?”
Percy scowled. “If you had been out instead of holing up in your townhouse, you would have heard. The news is all over town. Lady Fanny slapped Trent’s cheek and then ran away from the altar and into her carriage. From all accounts, the lady's action is ruinous. Rubbish if you ask me."
Sebastian went cold. Ruined. He did not want that for her, not when he had discreetly observed how being cut had hurt her. Sebastian had met her a few years ago at a dinner party to which her brother, Lord Banberry, had invited him. They were friends of sorts, for a while Sebastian was certain he commanded the respect of most of the fashionable lords because of his wealth and business shrewdness, though he did not belong to their elevated circles. The title of Viscount had been conferred upon him only two years past, just because the previous viscount, a cousin twice removed had been unlucky enough to die without an heir.
Society had been amused with Sebastian’s lack of refinement to his embarrassment. It seemed a grave sin that he had not been born into wealth and power, and worse still his father at one point had been a butler before he had made his wealth through trade. The few times he had attended a society event, those who fancied themselves his better, had treated him with a thin veneer of courtesy, and he had been quite conscious he was not considered to truly belong to their society and probably would never be fully accepted.
The only worthwhile thing that had resulted from the few balls he’d attended was meeting Lady Fanny. At their first meeting, Sebastian had been struck by her prettiness and charming manners. Several times he had bumbled in his speech around her, and he had been flummoxed that he could feel so witless from a smile. He was considered ruthless and feared in some circles, his wealth unmatched by most lords, his business empire vast and growing fast across the continent, and Lady Fanny had on more than one occasion reduced him to a stammering schoolboy. The mere memory had him scowling.
Though he did not like speculating about her like a gossip, he asked, “Did the rumor reveal the why of her actions?”
"No. But it is clear to me he dealt her an egregious insult. The rest of society only seems to be concerned that she jilted a marquess.”
Sebastian’s heart had yet to settle inside his chest, as his thoughts skipped from one notion to the other, all improbable and dangerous. He wanted to go to her, find a way to woo and court her. And he also wanted to give her time to recover from whatever had caused her to act without care of society’s judgment. And he wanted to slay whoever had caused her hurt, but most of all he wanted to roar his triumph that she was no longer lost to him. A foolish desire to be certain for a genteel lady wasn’t for the likes of him. He had a title now, but he was still the same coarse man in his thoughts, deeds, and friendships. Sebastian did not give himself the airs of gentility, he wouldn’t even know how. His inaction before had seen her engaged to another when he had wanted her desperately. During their rare encounters over the past several months, his admiration had grown, but he had never shown it. This was providence.
He pushed from off the mat, prowled to the lone sofa in the corner of the room, grabbed a towel and raked it across his skin. With impatient motions he dried the sweat from his body, ignoring his friend's curious and mocking glance. "What do I do?" he asked, putting on a white shirt, and quickly making himself presentable before walking through that door. He had learned one did not cavort half-naked in front of servants.
“Do you really want my advice?” Percy asked quietly, his brown eyes unusually somber.
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I want to call on her, but it would be outrageous for me to do so.” I’m making the same mistake as my old man.
The intrusive and unwelcome voice had his thoughts careening to a terrifying halt. The first pause he’d had since the wicked need to claim Lady Fanny Dashwood commanded his regards.
His father had loved his mother with every emotion in his soul, and that man had died waiting for her to love him back. And Sebastian feared she never did, simply because his father had been a merchant and she had been the daughter of a country gentleman. He didn’t think his mother had ever forgiven her family for marrying her off to a man so low in connections and education. Their marriage had been an odd one, certainly devoid of mutual love and respect, and while Sebastian had loved his mother, even as a child, he had seen the contempt she had for his father. A contempt born from the notion that she was his better in every way.
A rough sound issued from him. “I know what you are going to say, no need to repeat it.”
Percy had been cautioning Sebastian against his admiration for Lady Fanny for months now. It wasn’t possible for her regard to be returned, she was the daughter of an earl who had known her place in the glitter and pomp of high society since her birth. The thoughts he had of her in the nights, that illicit one of stripping her bare and splaying her across silken sheets while he feasted on her loveliness would never be realized.
“But will you heed my warnings?” Percy asked.
“For now,” Sebastian murmured, walking away and out the door. He made his way to his study.
“So, you will not be epically foolish and rush over to Mayfair?” Percy demanded hurrying to catch up to him.
“I’m not a blathering idiot, nor am I insensitive to the privacy her family must require now.”
“Ah…so you are retreating to plot your moves. How diabolical of you,” he drawled.
Sebastian had no response to that, for that was precisely what he would do. Watch from the shadows and plot. He was being given a second chance, and he would not muck it up. Hell, he wasn't even sure what he wanted. To marry Lady Fanny Dashwood held vast appeal, but he was ever aware their union might turn out to be the misery that had been his parents' marriage. But Sebastian was not the type of man his father was. When he wanted something, it became the sole direction of his regard, and he did not believe in failure. If he had, he would have still been that boy struggling to emerge from the box society had placed him in.
“Will I see you later at Lady Marriot’s ball?”
The very fact Sebastian got an invitation to the ball was only because Lord Marriot needed his money. They supposed he should be grateful to part from it because he had received a nod of approval from their lot. Silly. “No. I’ll be working.”
There were several meetings planned for the day, and he intended to take a tour of one of his iron factories in Leeds in the near future. He had bought several new machines, and his workers were frightened they would lose their livelihood. There were even murmurings of strike actions and union organization, and so he needed to take a walk through and quell those fears. Not that they were unfounded. Because the way of the world now was to use the best machinery to make businesses more profitable. But Sebastian could not in good conscience fire the workers who were becoming obsolete. A solution needed to be found, and there could be no delay.
The next few minutes were spent on business matters, and while he wanted to keep his mind on the task at hand, Sebastian couldn’t help being distracted.
Lady Fanny Dashwood. A woman who was cultured, genteel, and pure. Everything he was not. But a woman who by a twist of fate he had not lost, and could not allow to slip from his grasp again.
One week later…
Mayfair, London.
Fanny sat on the windowsill in the drawing room and watched the trees dancing in the wind. The curtains were drawn, and the family was not available to callers. To Fanny, the somber atmosphere brought to mind when papa had died. The sleeting rains and horrid rumble of thunder did not help. Nor the chilling disapproving distance her brother and mother maintained, nor the piercing pain that lingered in her. But why was she m
orose? It was not as if she had loved the marquess with her entire heart.
I thought I could. That had been enough for her. A promise of love, a promise of a family.
It still distressed her when she recalled that he had been so good-natured, and attentive. His few kisses had always been pleasant. In truth, it was the loss of something which she had hungered for that ripped through her with vicious claws.
Only a few days before, her future had seemed so clear and bright. She would have been the mistress of her own home, a husband she liked and respected, and children. Fanny fought the despondency that wanted to weigh her down.
“What are we to do?” Darcy, countess Banberry, demanded of her husband. “Fanny’s reputation is in tatters, and it is affecting us all as a family. We cannot hope she will ever receive another respectable offer. It was bad enough when she jilted Lord Aldridge. But at least that was before they were at the altar. She ran away this time, with the whole of society looking on.”
It was only one hundred pairs of judging eyes. More than enough to spread what they witnessed to the ton.
“The cloud of her disgrace will hover for years. And her actions have irrefutably harmed our position in society. I was not extended an invitation to Lady Prescott’s annual garden party. That has never happened before, and I am beyond mortified.”
Fanny turned from the windows and laced her fingers tightly before her. “Darcy…” A lump formed in her throat when her friend turned from her as if pained to look upon her. Since the debacle at St. George’s Church, her sister in law, who had become her dearest friend, had not given her a chance to be heard. Nor had her brother. Her mother had been beside herself and promptly took herself off to their country estate in Hertfordshire.
Fanny had spent most of her time in her room, weeping at her crumbled dreams. Her brother had ignored her and had even sent a note she was not to join them for dinner and was to take a tray in her room. As if she were a petulant child being reprimanded. Fanny had ignored his edicts, but the terrible silence she had been treated to at the dinner table had encouraged her to eat alone since.
“She must marry immediately, but I cannot imagine who would have her now, so she must return to Hertfordshire and not show her face—”
Colin rapped his knuckles onto the small walnut table, and his wife’s lips flattened. “Darcy, my love, if you will grant me a few minutes with my sister.”
The countess flushed, lifted her chin, and exited the drawing room with quiet dignity.
Finally, he turned his regards to Fanny. Tears burned the back of her throat at the disappointment she saw in light green eyes very much like her own.
“I have been too angry with you to have this conversation before, Fanny. But I see now, it can no longer be delayed. What in the devil’s name possessed you to run from committing to your vows and inciting such scandal and speculation into our lives? What possible justification could you have?”
Fanny had thought mamma told him. “There was something wrong,” she whispered, a tight ache in her throat.
“Wrong?” her brother snapped. “What could possibly have been wrong? Lord Trent is imminently respectable, his estate is wealthy, and he has the ear of parliament, Fanny. How could you have been so foolish?”
In clipped tones, she told him what she saw.
Shock bloomed across her brother’s handsome face, and he fisted his hands at his side. “You invited the ruin you are now facing because of a harmless embrace—”
She shot to her feet. “I am not a fool, brother, it was not a harmless embrace. Miranda Shelby is Lord Trent’s mistress and seems to be with child.” Fanny’s voice cracked on that admission. “They have been together for ten years I have been told.”
A flush ran along her brother’s cheek. “How would you know of mistresses?” he demanded furiously. “That is something you needn’t worry over. It is the way of the world for men to have mistresses. You would have been a marchioness, with an allowance that would give you the freedom to dabble in your passions, and you threw that all away for what?”
He came over, gripped her shoulders and shook her. “For what Fanny?”
“Love,” she sobbed, the tears finally spilling. “I couldn’t face a lifetime with Lord Trent knowing he held no esteem for me, and that the rumors saying he already has a woman he loves with his whole soul, but because of her lower status made her his mistress, were true. A life such as that would have been unbearable.”
Her brother let her go and closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear looking at her. “You’ve ruined us for the stupid, idealistic notion of love.”
Her stomach cramped. “No, I—”
“Can love provide you with fine clothes and carriages. Can it fill our pantries and place wages in our servants’ pockets?”
She inhaled sharply. “Are we in dire straits?”
“No, we are not,” he said tightly. “You could have been a marchioness, Fanny.”
And there it was. The elevated dream her father and mother had long possessed for her. That their family would be aligned with the most powerful and noble bloodlines of the aristocracy.
“There is more to life than a title and more riches,” she said quietly. “I believe—”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not this poppycock again. Let me be clear. You have ruined your chances at any respectable alliance. You will not drag our family name through the mud again. Immediate marriage is what you need to render you respectable. I went back over all the men who’ve made an offer for you at your come out and wrote to—”
“You didn’t,” she cried, humiliation crawling through her. “How could you act in such a despicable manner?”
He shot her an incredulous glare. “I daresay you are confusing our actions. I am attempting to render you respectable. If that is at all possible. Earl Worsley is willing to marry you post haste.”
An image of their fat, balding neighbor in Hertfordshire, who was old enough to be her father…perhaps her grandpapa floated through her thoughts. "He is decrepit." Though actually, he was a very kind soul who had always made her feel at ease. As the largest landowner in their village, Fanny had been invited to several balls and picnics hosted by the earl. He was charming and rather amiable, but she had no desire for him. Lord Worsley had always treated her like a daughter, and the very thought of the earl trying to kiss her was alarming to her nerves.
Colin’s eyes went cold as if he sensed she would not fall in line with his plans.
“Do not be melodramatic, he is six and forty, hardly that old. And desires you despite your foolish behavior. I am doing what is best for you, Fanny.”
She tried to maintain an air of dignified calm “By pushing me onto a man for whom I have no regards? Surely you can see such an action is what is best for you.”
Her brother gently gripped her shoulder. “Look at me,” he murmured.
He held her gaze, a disquieting sorrow burning in his eyes. “I’ve long known of your desire to have a family of your own. This is your chance for that family. It took three years after your last disgrace for a gentleman to propose to you. And a marquess came your way, Fanny. And you gave him up for romantic idiocy. No other man will have you, and I do not have the heart to have you under my roof for several more years until another suitor comes along.”
She flinched, biting her tongue to prevent the cry of pain that almost tore from her. As it were, the tears burning in her throat spilled down her cheeks even harder. “You want to distance yourself from my scandal.”
“The rumors call you the worse sort of flirt, leading on a man to only render his humiliation. This is the second time you’ve jilted a man.” He prowled over to his desk and snatched up a crumpled newspaper and thrust it toward her. “Do you know what they’re calling you? The double jilt. You are ruined. Darcy hasn’t had a caller since this farce. And you have not extended an apology to the marquess or this family.”
Her heart was a dull thud in her ear, and her mouth went dry. �
�I’m…I’m…” she closed her eyes. She could not pretend contrition. The marquess had been intimate with a lady only minutes before attempting to marry her. That man was the worst sort of scoundrel, and she would have withered away in their marriage. It hurt, somewhere deep inside that her family only seemed to care about their social status, and not the blow that was dealt to her pride and heart. “He has a mistress,” she whispered. “I could not marry him, and I cannot apologize for protecting myself.”
“All men have mistresses,” Collin roared.
“Do you?” for she knew he loved Darcy with every emotion in his heart.
He stared at her as if he could not believe her gall, but something akin to guilt flitted across his face. Fanny had often remarked to her friends how much her brother doted on his countess. It had never occurred to her he might have a soiled dove in his keeping. Her stomach cramped that he too might act with such dishonor and disregard for his wife’s sensibilities and the love she had for him. “Do you have a mistress, Colin?” she demanded.
Her brother took a breath, leashing his impatience, but he made no reply. Silence blanketed the library as she stared at him in disbelief.
A ragged breath filled with such pain sliced through the stifling air. She whirled around to see Darcy hovering on the threshold, her delicate hand resting at her throat. The eyes that peered at her husband were wide and questioning, filled with doubts, denial, and pain.
Colin dealt her a wrathful glare. “Damn you, Fanny.”
The shock of her brother cursing her paled to the knowledge he must have a lover. Dear God.
A cry broke from Darcy’s throat, and then she whirled about and ran. Colin dashed after, calling for her to stop. With legs that trembled, Fanny made her way over to the windowsill and lowered herself on the small ledge, resting her forehead on the cool glass.
Everything was ruined, and she had no notion of how to escape the despair scything through her soul.