“Tell me, how do you know our host?” he asked, trying to think of something to say that was not simply, “Might I call upon you one afternoon?” It was all he could think of, all that he wanted to ask her, and the pressure of it lingering in his thoughts was a little too much to bear.
Miss Burton laughed. “Oh, I do not know them very well at all!” she replied, her eyes dancing. “Lady Landerbelt is very well acquainted with them and introduced me only last week. I was very glad to receive an invitation. My mother received one also, of course, but she has taken unwell and is now resting.”
He frowned. “I am sorry to hear she is ill,” he said, only for Miss Burton to shake her head, a small but rueful smile on her face.
“There is no need to concern yourself overly much, Lord Sutcliffe, although I do appreciate your consideration,” she told him. “My mother is prone to fainting fits and is often required to rest.” She shrugged, opening her mouth to say something, only to freeze, looking at someone over his shoulder.
“Miss Burton,” Timothy murmured, his brow furrowing as he saw the color drain from her face, her eyes flaring in evident fear. “Good gracious, whatever is the matter?”
Miss Burton swallowed hard, her hand reaching out to grasp at him even though she did not turn to look at him. It was as if she required some support of one kind or another but did not dare take her eyes from the person who was, at present, bringing her so much fear.
“Miss Burton,” Timothy said again, now truly concerned. “Is something wrong? What can I do to assist you?” He said nothing about how painfully her fingers were digging into his arm, but reached across with his free hand and settled it over her fingers, which, in turn, made her jolt with surprise. That brought her gaze back to his face, but her expression still remained one of fear.
“I-I must depart,” she said hoarsely. “I mean, no, I cannot depart…I must…” Closing her eyes, she drew in a shuddering breath. “I simply cannot either see or speak to that particular gentleman, Lord Sutcliffe.”
Looking out across the room, Timothy frowned hard as he saw none other than Lord Musgrave meandering to their right—although, thankfully, he did not appear to be coming towards them. “Do you mean Lord Musgrave?”
Miss Burton’s hand tightened all the more on his. “Yes,” she whispered, stepping to one side of the room near to the shadows. “That is precisely whom I mean.”
Timothy’s eyes narrowed. Lord Musgrave had said that he had managed to press his lips to Miss Burton’s on one occasion already, although it had taken him some time to achieve it, but surely, given that Miss Burton would have wished for it also. Why then should she be so afraid of Lord Musgrave? He could have understood it if she was very embarrassed or even ashamed to be seen by him, but there was surely no reason for fear?
“Might I ask,” he said quietly, turning around to face Miss Burton and shielding her from Lord Musgrave’s sight, “why you wish to hide from Lord Musgrave?” His eyes searched her face, hating the fear he saw there. “Did he harm you in some way?”
Miss Burton sucked in a breath and then let it out slowly, clearly trying to calm herself. Her eyes were still darting about, never quite resting on anything in particular. He wanted to reach out and grasp her hands, wanted to force her to look up at him so that he might quieten her somehow, but instead he simply waited, letting the quiet murmur of the crowd around them bring a sense of stillness over them.
“Lord Musgrave,” Miss Burton began, a little shakily, “has attempted to pull me into various dark corners in an attempt to press his attentions upon me.” Her eyes finally found his, and he could see the depths of her fear deep within them, feeling his stomach tighten with disgust. A disgust that he had no right to feel, given that he had done precisely the same thing with other young ladies. Had they felt the same abject fear as Miss Burton now displayed? Had he simply never been aware of it?
“I continued to refuse him, of course,” Miss Burton continued, closing her eyes for a moment as though to draw strength from deep within herself. “I told him that I did not want his particular attentions, that I did not care for them. He was not the sort of gentleman that would think of anything such as matrimony or the like.” She shrugged one shoulder hopelessly. “My mother is not a lady who cares much for anyone other than herself, which, I fear, includes me also.” Again, that trembling breath that tore at his soul whilst burning coals were heaped upon his head knowing that he and Lord Musgrave had behaved in much the same manner.
“Pray, tell me that your mother took notice of this and tried to protect you,” he found himself saying, growing angry towards Lady Bainbridge, even though he knew little about her. “Surely, she must have seen what he was attempting to do – or did you lack the courage to tell her?”
A harsh laugh rang from Miss Burton’s lips, making him wince inwardly.
“It is not that I did not have the strength nor the courage, Lord Sutcliffe,” she told him, her eyes now filled with tears, “but rather that my mother would care very little if anything were to occur. Most likely, she would have cried foul, forced me into a marriage that I cared nothing for, and would have congratulated herself on a match well made.”
Timothy shook his head in disbelief, his hand out now in search of her own. He wanted to rail against Lady Bainbridge, against Lord Musgrave, but his own guilt would not allow him to speak even a word.
“Lord Musgrave, determined that he should have what he wanted, set up a ruse,” Miss Burton continued, dropping her gaze to the floor, her shoulders hunched as though she were the one to blame. “My mother was supposedly taken ill and was resting, requiring my presence at once. I should not have believed without question what was told to me by a footman; I should have gone in search of her, so as to verify what was said.”
“But you did not,” he murmured, seeing the wretched expression cross her face. “Out of love and fear for your mother, you went precisely to where you were required to go.”
Miss Burton’s head dropped.
“You surely cannot berate yourself for such an action,” Timothy said gently, fearful that Miss Burton was now taking on a guilt that was not her own. His eyes searched her face, feeling a heavy weight settle in the pit of his stomach. He did not have to guess what had happened next. He and Lord Musgrave were of such similar ilk that he could already predict what had then occurred. “Must I now presume that Lord Musgrave was then waiting for you where your mother was meant to be resting?”
Tears fell onto her cheeks as she nodded, unable to look up at him.
Anger fell over him, shrouding him like a mist, and yet his guilt weighed down on him all the more. He would not have gone as far as Lord Musgrave to achieve what he desired, but he could not claim to be vastly different in character. In fact, had Lord Musgrave told him what had occurred and what he had done, then most likely, Timothy knew that he would have congratulated the man and laughed uproariously.
“I am truly sorry,” he said with honesty. “I can understand your desire to stay far from Lord Musgrave. Were you discovered or did you manage to evade him?”
Finally, Miss Burton looked up at him, pulling her hand from his so that she could find her handkerchief. She wiped her cheeks delicately and then dabbed at her eyes before, much to his surprise, she reached out and took his hand again.
He did not deserve her trust nor her kindness, not when he was as foolish and as wicked as Lord Musgrave himself.
“That is how I became acquainted with Lady Landerbelt,” she explained, a watery smile crossing her face. “Lady Landerbelt discovered us and was soon able to discern that I was not there willingly.” Shuddering, she closed her eyes again. “I cannot imagine what would have occurred should it have been someone else, someone less inclined towards compassion, less eager to listen.”
“Lord Musgrave is not a gentleman who would be willing to marry a lady he was found with in a less than proper situation,” Timothy murmured, knowing all too well that Lord Musgrave would have either cried foul or merely laughed
it off. He would not have been so bold had Miss Burton had a stern father or elder brother, who could have called him out or demanded retribution for what had been done, but he knew Lord Musgrave would have ensured such a thing was not present before pursuing Miss Burton so fiercely.
“Are you acquainted with him?” Miss Burton asked, suddenly sending Timothy into a spiraling anxiety. “You seem to speak of him as though you know him.”
Timothy hesitated, feeling a bead of sweat run down his back. He did not want to admit that he knew the Lord Musgrave, but if he did not, then it might be made known at an inopportune moment—and he did not want that.
“I am acquainted with him, yes,” he admitted quietly. “And I know his reputation very well indeed.”
Miss Burton nodded, clearly quite contented to accept this. “You must think me very foolish to be hiding here when he has entered the room. I have not seen him in such close proximity since that day. I am sure he has been at many of the same balls as I, but I have not caught sight of him nor had to greet him.”
“Then why do we not do so now?” he asked, seeing how the fear jumped immediately back into her eyes. “I am here with you, and if we greet him together, then I am sure you will feel a good deal better and certainly less fearful.” His own stomach knotted with anxiety, dreading that Lord Musgrave would then go on to say something that might alert Miss Burton to their close acquaintance, but also eager to do something that might bring Miss Burton a little relief.
He would also have to speak to Lord Musgrave on another occasion about what had occurred between himself and Miss Burton. If Lord Musgrave expected Timothy to behave in much the same way as he had done, then there would be a good deal to discuss.
In addition, Timothy felt now, more than ever, that this wager was no longer something he wanted to continue with. Miss Burton was becoming a little important to him and seeing her so injured, so hurt, and so afraid had broken his heart with more pain and guilt than ever before.
“I do not know if I can.”
Her quiet voice and her wide eyes made him want to pull her into his embrace, to hold her close in reassurance. Her hand was still in his, her fingers tight and betraying her tension.
“It need only be the quickest of greetings,” he told her, gently. “Then the fear of seeing him again will be gone.” Leaning a little closer, he looked into her eyes and saw her watching him intently, as though he was the gentleman able to save her from her difficulties.
“Have the reassurance that you have done nothing worthy of the guilt you may feel,” he stated with quiet firmness. “You were not wrong in going to see your mother. The guilt rests entirely on Lord Musgrave and his attempt to steal from you what ought not to be taken.”
Miss Burton took in a long, deep breath, closing her eyes and slowly letting out her breath again. Her shoulders lifted slowly, her head rising until she was no longer shrinking away into the shadows but standing with a little more confidence than before. Despite his own anxiety, his own nervousness as to what Lord Musgrave might say, Timothy felt his heart swell with relief and gladness at seeing her even a little improved.
“You are quite correct, Lord Sutcliffe,” she said, with another lift of her chin. “I cannot hide here, nor at any other gathering in the future simply because of him and what he has done.” Her fingers loosened on his, and she pressed her hand lightly against his chest for just a moment. “Your encouragement and confidence has given me a little courage, Lord Sutcliffe, although,” she continued, her eyes dimming just a little, “I do not think I can greet him without your presence beside me.” Her hand dropped to her side, but her gaze fixed on his.
“I would not even think of leaving you,” he told her firmly, delighted when the smallest of smiles nudged at her lips. “Come now, let us walk together around the room.”
After a moment’s pause, Miss Burton took his arm and, together, they stepped out of the shadows.
He could feel her trembling as they walked together, but he pasted a smile on his face and walked with both ease and confidence. As they neared Lord Musgrave, Timothy heard Miss Burton take in a sharp breath, glancing at her to see her head held high and a hint of steel in her eyes.
“Good evening, Lord Musgrave,” Timothy said, inclining his head and silently praying that Lord Musgrave would not say anything that would alert Miss Burton to their wager. He now was quite sure he wanted free of it, but given that he could not trust the fellow, Timothy’s stomach was tight with nervousness.
“Good evening,” Miss Burton said, her voice a little louder than he had expected, perhaps forcing a confidence into her voice she did not truly feel. “I hope you are having a pleasant evening, Lord Musgrave.”
Lord Musgrave glanced from Timothy to Miss Burton and then back again. A thin smile crossed his lips, and he inclined his head, with something like frustration burning in his eyes.
“Good evening, Miss Burton,” he answered, his voice cool. “I am enjoying my evening, yes.” He looked at Timothy, who gritted his teeth but remained silent, every single sinew in his body tense with nervousness. “I presume you are enjoying it also, given your present company.”
Miss Burton looked up at Timothy, who merely smiled back at her, before returning his gaze to Lord Musgrave.
“I am,” Miss Burton replied, her gaze still fixed on Timothy. “I find that, these last few weeks, I have found myself much happier with the company I keep.” And, with that, she took Timothy’s arm and led him away, leaving him both elated and relieved in both Miss Burton’s confidence and in Lord Musgrave’s lack of response.
“You did very well,” he told her, feeling her clutch his arm. “Well done. The worst is over.”
“I could not have done it without you,” she whispered, a happy smile settling on her face as they drew near to each other.
“I am sure you could have,” he replied, seeing her swift shake of the head. “I do hope, Miss Burton, that you might permit me to call upon you now? Have I done enough to earn your trust?”
The way she looked up at him, the smile on her face, and the happiness in her expression as she nodded sent such a heat of shame running through him that he feared she would be able to feel it as she walked with him.
“I would be glad of it, Lord Sutcliffe,” she told him. “Tomorrow?”
It was his turn to nod now, hearing her contented sigh and finding his heart aching in a most peculiar manner. She had agreed to him calling on her now, at least, which, had it not been for the weight of his guilt on his shoulders, would have made Timothy feel very contented indeed.
5
“Is there something wrong, Lady Landerbelt?”
A cold hand grasped Ivy’s heart as she looked at her friend, seeing the shadows in her eyes and the worry in her expression. In the last three weeks, Lady Landerbelt had never once considered Lord Sutcliffe to be anything other than what she believed him to be – a rake and a scoundrel. Ivy had said nothing, knowing that Lady Landerbelt was, most likely, correct to be so concerned and yet finding her heart growing very fond indeed of the gentleman.
“I am concerned,” Lady Landerbelt said honestly, as they sat in Gunter’s, each enjoying some tea and cake. “Lord Sutcliffe has been very attentive, I will admit. What you have told me of him speaks very highly of him. My other acquaintances have told me that he does not seek out his usual company and has, it seems, changed his ways a good deal.”
“Then I cannot see what the difficulty is,” Ivy answered truthfully. “Do you fear him to be insincere?” She did not have to hear Lady Landerbelt’s answer, for the serious look in her eyes and the straight tug of her lips told Ivy everything. It seemed that Lady Landerbelt did not feel the same reassurance and hope that Ivy herself did.
“I know that he has called on you twice already,” Lady Landerbelt said softly, looking back into Ivy’s face with a quiet kindness. “Tell me, Miss Burton, how do you feel towards him?”
It was a direct question and one that Ivy had not expected. A li
ttle embarrassed, she picked up her teacup and sipped at it, thinking quickly and carefully about what she might say.
“I enjoy his company,” she said slowly, choosing her words with great care. “I find him amiable and kind.”
Lady Landerbelt nodded but did not smile. “I quite understand,” she said, as though Ivy had just admitted to something most grievous. “You have allowed your heart to become involved with him.”
A sudden bolt of anger ran straight through Ivy, and she found herself slamming one hand down flat on the table, alerting the rest of the tea-drinking visitors to her presence. “I do not see why that should be such a great difficulty,” she hissed, ignoring everyone else in the tea room. “Perhaps he is not as bad a character as he first appeared.” She remembered how he had come to her defense when Lord Winchester had been so rude about her scar, how he had helped her greet Lord Musgrave when she had been practically quaking with fear. Did that speak of a gentleman who had a selfish nature and cruel heart? No, it certainly did not! Was it foolish of her to begin to hope that he had turned his back on such things, that he had found a contentment in her company as she found in his?
“I do not mean to anger you,” Lady Landerbelt replied gently, not taking the least bit of offense at Ivy’s tone. “You are clearly quite caught up with Lord Sutcliffe, and I can understand why that is.” She gave Ivy a small smile, but Ivy did not respond in kind, feeling herself growing angrier by the moment.
“Do you think me foolish?” she asked, her voice thin and her eyes narrowing. “Is that what you are trying to say, Lady Landerbelt?”
Lady Landerbelt’s eyes flared. “No, indeed not!” she exclaimed, her expression now a little hurt. “I do not think you foolish, not in the least! It is only that Lord Sutcliffe is a rake and a rascal, and I fear that his ways of manipulation and convincing are working rather well.”
“For what purpose?” Ivy asked, throwing up her hands and almost knocking over her teacup in the process. “Why would he wish to do such a thing?”
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 60