Love in the Bargain: A Sweet Regency Romance (Women of Worth Book 1)

by Kasey Stockton

  “And I learned some interesting things.” I promptly added, “From his perspective.”

  She was given a way out. If she wanted to deny anything, then I had created the opportunity for her to explain why Lord McGregor had thought such ludicrous things.

  Deflating, Rosalynn would not look me in the eye. “It was not official,” she said.

  Well, that answered that question. Lord McGregor had told me the truth of their engagement. Not that I had really thought he’d made it all up. But Rose had always been so firm in her convictions. I had wondered. A ruse on his part made more sense to me than the truth.

  “I could not bring myself to tell you and Freya. I am such a hypocrite.”

  In a sense, she absolutely was. But I was not about to say so. “Did you think we would be angry?”

  “I did not know what to think,” she said. “It all happened so fast. I have struggled with my feelings for him for years now, and when he launched a campaign to prove to me that he was different from the others, I believed he would fail.”

  “But he didn’t,” I said gently.

  “No,” she laughed. “He most definitely did not. He won my heart instead.”

  Tears trickled down her cheeks once more. “I worried so deeply that not only had I set you and Freya up for a life of loneliness but that you would despise me for finding happiness myself with a man.”

  “I could never despise you,” I said. “Both Freya and I made our own choices. I will not deny that you were quite the force to be reckoned with, even at twelve, but you did not compel me to drink that horrible Promise Juice.”

  Rosalynn burst into laughter, jolting me with surprise. I could not help but join in after a moment, imagining the three of us huddled in the chilly attic of our antiquated school, drinking globs of food and calling it juice.

  “I sort of did force you, but it is kind of you to say otherwise. And it was horrible, wasn’t it?” she said through streams of laughter.

  “What was in it anyway? Besides stew, if I remember correctly.”

  She turned wide eyes on me. “I shall never divulge that information.”

  “Oh come now,” I laughed. “You cannot seriously mean that.”

  She grinned and I found that perhaps it was better if I did not know. I leaned my elbows on the edge of the pianoforte, resting my forehead on my knuckles.

  Her voice sounded disembodied. “I spent so much time worrying that he was luring me in with his charms, only to steal my freedom and force me into the lonely existence my mother suffers from.”

  “But how do you know that won’t be the case?”

  A knowing smile tilted her lips. “I suppose I don’t. I can only trust him.”

  “What happened to ‘all men are pigs?’”

  Rosalynn laughed. “At one time I really thought that. But he talked me out of it.”

  That was only last night. It was shocking how many things were happening around me that I had not been aware of. I was saddened by her lack of trust in me, but I suppose there was nothing to say for it. Rosalynn did not trust easily. She built up a wall that protected her from her mother’s standoffishness and her brothers’ and father’s brutality. If she made the decision to trust Lord McGregor, then I supposed there was nothing for it; I simply had to trust her.

  “Then I must wish you joy.”

  Her eyes were distressed and I wanted to soothe away the sorrow. “We are going to wait to announce it.”

  I nodded, knowing. “Against Lord McGregor’s wishes.”

  “Because I do not think it is the right time. I must still speak with Freya.”

  “And your mother?”

  Confusion clouded her brow. “Oh,” she said, smiling. “No, I only gave him that excuse because I wished to speak to you and Freya first, but I needed to gain courage. If I used my mother as an excuse, it was both reasonable and bought me enough time to decide for myself whether I was making the correct choice. It was plain to me that once my father was apprised of the situation it would happen regardless of my wishes. I could not give Jack hope only to change my mind after. It would have devastated him.”

  Her eyes became soft when she spoke of him, and I knew. “You really, really love him.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I am behind you, whatever the outcome.”

  Rosalynn thanked me, and the tension eased that had built in my shoulders since my visit that morning. I watched her cross to the rope pull and call for some tea before joining her on the sofa. The maid brought in a service and left the door ajar, and I found myself staring into the distance when a figure walked through the hallway, paused, and then stepped back to stand in the doorway.

  My heart immediately plummeted. I had thought my first reaction to seeing Cameron after learning the truth would be anger or hatred. I was utterly mortified when my eyes sought his chocolate brown ones and my body was filled with hurt and sorrow. Rosalynn stopped adding sugar to my tea and crossed to the door. She said something softly to her brother and closed it, and I felt instantly bereft.

  I wanted to run to the door and throw it open, to fall into his arms and comfort him over his loss. And I hated myself for those feelings. I accepted the tea and drank it absently, listening to the silence while we sat companionably. It was enough for her that I was simply there, which was all I could give at present. I waited long enough that Lord Cameron could not still be waiting in the hallway before I stood to leave.

  “My maid is packing at present,” I said, regretfully. “I do not suppose I shall see you again. But please write to me, and I will try to make it back to London soon.”

  “We are to leave as well, but I will keep you apprised of my situation.”

  She did not ask about the bargain or the cottage we had planned to buy. Her mind was filled enough at present and I did not blame her, glad not to have to explain how utterly our plan had failed. She did not need to know of my father’s reckless gambling or my mother’s lies. She had enough on her plate.

  She walked me out and I embraced her near the door, glad to have mended our fractured relationship.

  HE WAS WAITING OUTSIDE, leaning languidly against the railing at the bottom of the stairs. The sun was still shining, though beginning to make its descent. My breath caught when the magnitude of Cameron’s rugged handsomeness hit me in a wave. I resolved to treat him with the dignity and respect that set us apart, for I was not the false floozy he had painted me to be in his wretched articles.

  I was still deciding whether to give him the cut direct or to carelessly greet him when he beat me to it.

  “Elsie,” he said beseechingly.

  Every decision I previously made went out the metaphorical window when he deigned to use my Christian name without proper leave, after all he had put me through. I marched directly up to him and spoke with all of the fire in my being. “You forget yourself, sir. You have neither the right nor the privilege of addressing me so, and I beg you will consider our situations and take yourself off.”

  I stormed toward my carriage, the coachman opening the door and assisting me inside. My chest heaved in indignation and oddly, I did not feel better for the words I had said. I resolved to look away from him while I waited for the coachman to climb onto his perch, but faltered at the last moment and caught stricken, broken eyes that melted my hatred and seized my heart. The horses were prodded and we took off. I jumped to the other side of the coach, sidling to the window. I watched Cameron’s face until he disappeared from sight, aching over his grief-stricken, downturned face.

  He glanced up just before we turned down the street and he caught my gaze. I feared that last fleeting look we shared would be burned into my mind for the remainder of my life.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Father was gone. He had taken his horse and valet and rode out of town earlier that morning. I had gone to Mother’s dressing room shortly after, hoping Father’s absence would make her more inclined to bend the rules, and I had been gratified by the agreement of one
extra day. I invited her along with me to bid Aunt Georgina farewell and she declined on the basis that she must oversee the remainder of the packing. I did not argue, for I knew Aunt Georgina would be equally grateful if she stayed away.

  I stood in the foyer awaiting my carriage when a knock sounded at the front door. I waited a moment for Billington to see to it, but silence carried on and when the knock came again I pushed aside proper convention and opened it myself. I promptly shut it again when I came face to face with Cameron, a look of relief crossing his features before the door slammed against them. I had not expected to see him and I shook myself, opening the door again with a smile pasted on my face.

  “Good day, Lord Cameron. May I help you?”

  He seemed to see through my false cheer. I did not back down, but neither did I open the door further to let him inside.

  “I had thought you would be gone by now. I hoped to speak with you.”

  My voice was wooden even to my own ears. “I apologize but I do not have time. I am on my way out.”

  “Allow me to accompany you?” he asked. He must’ve been desperate in order to disregard convention and push himself on me in such a way. I weighed my options, but I did not want him ruining the little time I had left to say goodbye to Aunt Georgina.

  I opened the door and he stepped inside, closing it behind himself. I turned for the small morning parlor we had on the ground floor that we hardly used, and I knew would be void of people, if a little dusty.

  I chose not to sit, walking to the center of the room and turning to face him, I clasped my hands in front of me and put on the bravest face I could conjure, mindful of Aunt Georgina’s advice to feign courage if needs be.

  He stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar and removing his hat. He played with the brim in his fingers, spinning the hat slowly while his brown eyes tried to read my face. I hoped it was as impassive as I was trying to appear, for I was certain the boiling emotions within me would erupt shortly if we did not end this conversation soon.

  “When I began to write those articles, I did not know I was going to fall in love with you.”

  Stunned silent, I took in his nervous form on the other side of the room and tried to make sense of his words. He stepped forward and placed his hat on the small table at the end of the sofa. Clearing his throat, he said, “Ignorant that I was, I thought mentioning you in the papers would give you a boost in society. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

  It made sense now, why Rosalynn was not mentioned during the musicale despite her amazing performance and later outburst. He had been protecting her.

  “Not everything you wrote was positive,” I reminded him. “‘Guffawing like a caged bird’? A mention in passing would have been a boost. The articles’ utter obsession with me was marked attention. I was a target.”

  “I did not intend to focus so wholly on you,” he said softly. I hated his soft words. I wanted anger and defense. I wanted a reason to vent my anger on him.

  “So you accidentally wrote about me and nothing else?”

  “You could say subconsciously.”

  I shook my head. What a heap of rubbish.

  He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I can see that you do not believe me. It took me quite some time to realize I was developing feelings for you. At first, I wrote about you because I knew your name and my man at the paper requested real stories about real socialites. I assumed mentioning one of Rosalynn’s friends would be nice of me and Miss Hurst seemed off-putting. You, on the other hand, intrigued me.”

  “Is this an apology?” I begged. “You must see how much cause I have to be furious.”

  “Of course you have cause to be furious. I would be livid if I were in your shoes. When I learned how considerably you hated the articles, I tried to put a stop to it, I even refused to write for the paper at all. But all they did was assign my column to a different writer and tell him he needed to focus on you. That is when things started getting nasty.”

  “That was when they began harassing you, as well,” I said, understanding.

  He shot me a rueful smile. “That particular writer and I have never quite gotten along.”

  He was close now and I backed up, placing the sofa between us. “What about the book?”

  “I told my publisher I was through and he would not be getting the manuscript of the sequel from me.”

  My eyebrow raised of its own accord. “Am I meant to simply believe you?”

  “Yes,” he said emphatically. “Can’t you trust me? I would never purposely hurt you, Elsie.”

  “Do you not see that you already have? Nevermind that my reputation is in shatters, you brought to light Mr. Hurst’s other family, causing them unending trauma and questioning Freya’s legitimacy. And you have ostracized Lord Fischer, to say nothing for countless others. That book was a horrible, horrible thing and I cannot love a man who would knowingly do that to so many people.” I was crying now, my face distorting in frustration. “I am ashamed I read it, that I enjoyed it!”

  “You love me?”

  “No!” I shouted. “I despise you. Did you not hear me correctly? I could never love you. I could never forgive you.”

  Hurt washed over his face and I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. I was sick to my stomach, and I wanted nothing more than for him to leave.

  “I am leaving London,” I said. “And I don’t expect to see you again.”

  It was a clear dismissal. But one he obviously chose to ignore.

  “I refuse to leave things this way.”

  I shrugged, my voice breaking. “You do not have a choice.”

  We faced one another, his frustration mounting. “You would do this to me on the day after I learned of my brother’s death?”

  That was a low blow. I sucked in a sharp breath, reminding him, “You have done this to yourself.”

  “What can I do?” he begged. “How can I prove I am sorry? That I love you enough to protect you always?”

  I looked away, forcing myself not to falter at his pleading. “You can let me go.”

  My words seemed to slap him, his expression turning to one of surprise and hurt. He gathered himself together, placing his hat upon his head and making it to the door before he stopped, facing me with his hand resting on the wall. “I am sorry, Elsie.”

  He left, taking all of the air from the room with him. I waited until the door shut before I crumpled to the floor, sobbing into my hands. I had gotten what I wanted, the chance to yell at him. But somehow, again, it did not make me feel better as I had hoped it would.

  “WHATEVER HAS GOTTEN into you, Elsie?” Aunt Georgina asked. I continued to stroke Coco’s fur, my eyes focusing on the chocolate brown of her coat that perfectly matched Cameron’s eyes.

  “Elsie,” she said again, this time with more force.

  “Yes?”

  “What is distracting you so terribly?”

  “I am sad to be leaving,” I said.

  Her eyes narrowed on me. “I do not doubt that, but that is not all. What has happened?”

  I did not know how much to share. I could not give away Cameron’s role as the writer of The Green Door without making him look terrible. Despite what I had said earlier, I did not despise him. In fact, I felt much the opposite. I only knew I could never trust him again.

  “I discovered the author who wrote those horrible articles about me.”

  “Don’t let that get you down,” Aunt Georgina said with a disregarding wave of her hands. “Wendel is a pompous moron who escaped his own countrymen to be hated by ours.”

  “No, it wasn’t Mr. Wendel, it was—”

  She lifted her eyebrows and I wondered whether we were speaking of the same thing. She came out with the name so readily I could not help my growing suspicion. “How do you know that?” I asked instead.

  “Because I have orchestrated gossip for the newspapers for years, darling. For payment, of course.” She took a sip of tea, unbothered by the fact that she just admi
tted she threw her friends into the lion’s den for money. “I did not do so for years without earning favors of my own. When they turned nasty, I knew Lord Cameron had ceased to write for them and I had to know who it was.”

  “You knew about Cameron?”

  She scoffed. “Of course I knew about Lord Cameron.”

  “Well,” I said, focusing on Coco’s pouting eyes, tears pooling in my own. “I did not.”

  The silence was thick until Aunt Georgina finally spoke. I could hear her grin through her words. “And I thought the rumors false. But you have fallen for him, haven’t you?”

  I was afraid to admit it aloud. “Yes. But it can never be. I could never trust him.”

  “Oh, pish,” she said. “It has nothing to do with trust and everything to do with his intent. Did he set out to hurt you?”

  “No, but—”

  “Has he spread false rumors and lies about you?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Then what is there to be so angry about?”

  I stared at her, smugly sitting in her golden armchair, and saw her differently. Could she really be so callous? “He used me! I happen to value integrity. I made a decision long ago that I couldn’t marry, for it would be forcing me to give my power to a man. If I give that up now to the first man I have deep feelings for then what is it saying about my ability to stick to my ideals? How am I valuing myself if I readily disregard the ways he has hurt me?”

  “It was not his idea,” Aunt Georgina said. “Who do you think the busy Society matron was who entertained all of the witless victims?” She spread her arms out in indication.

  So she really was so callous.

  I stood to depart, forcing Coco to jump from my lap. “We are leaving in the morning and I will miss you terribly.” I stepped forward and kissed her cheek. I did not respect her anymore, but I still loved her. “I do not know if I shall return. I have many things to figure out first.”

  I was close to telling her that Father had lost all of our money gambling but decided not to feed the gossip mill. It was a difficult thing to learn that I must guard myself in the future in what I said to Aunt Georgina.