“I don’t have a problem with that.” She shook her head. “I don’t even know his first name.”
“I’m not certain he has one. Never doubt, Fancy, that in spite of the circumstances, you were wanted.”
“I know. Still, I wish they’d been different for Mum. That it had been as she told me. For her sake.”
“She did love her husband.”
“But she was only a little older than me when she lost him. So many years alone.” She couldn’t help but wonder if she was facing the same future.
Mick returned to his newspaper, Aslyn to her porridge. Fancy took another sip of her tea and cradled her cup like it was a tiny bird to be protected. “May I borrow your carriage tonight?”
He jerked his attention back to her. “For what purpose?”
“Is it not enough to know I have a need for it?”
He looked to the ceiling as though answers resided there. “When did you get so stubborn?”
“You’re going to the Fairhaven ball,” Aslyn said quietly, approval lacing her voice.
Forcing her stomach not to knot up at the thought, she nodded. “I need to face them one last time, leave Society on my terms, not theirs.”
“Did we receive an invitation?” Mick asked, although she doubted that he’d stand on the formality of an invitation if he was determined to go.
“We did,” Aslyn said. “That’s why I know of it.”
With a nod, he settled back. “Then we’ll accompany you.”
“I need to do this on my own, Mick. None of you are to go.” Because she knew if she received a cut direct—of which she no doubt would receive many—her siblings would see the offender pay for the slight.
And she needed to stand alone in order to make her own statement: Fancy Trewlove was a woman to be reckoned with.
Chapter 26
Having given in to his sister’s pleadings, Matthew found himself at her damned ball wishing he was in his own residence, tossing back scotch, rather than waltzing with Lady Penelope. All of ten and seven, the girl was too flighty by half and talked constantly about subjects in which he held no interest: flowers, weather, her shopping expeditions. But then he’d experienced the same thing from the five ladies with whom he’d danced prior to her.
He’d not had a chance to visit with any of the gentlemen in order to catch up on the latest manly news, because the moment he’d entered the ballroom, the ladies had swarmed to him like bees in search of nectar.
Above the din of music and conversation, another arrival was announced, and he was grateful it was a young married couple who had no daughter in tow. Keeping his promises to all the ladies who had called upon him before he’d taken his sabbatical, he’d signed his name to a slew of dance cards and did his best to at least pretend interest, to offer compliments and a bit of flirtation, in spite of the fact that he was bored silly.
But then he’d felt that way ever since he’d walked out of his terrace. He’d gone nowhere—not even to his favorite club—and done nothing of any consequence except see Dibble sent to prison. Other than that, he roamed his empty residence with no purpose, a kite no longer tethered in danger of crashing and being destroyed at any moment. Every morning he opened the newspaper and searched for the announcement of Fancy’s betrothal, knowing that seeing it would flay his heart, would confirm that she would never belong to him.
He couldn’t sleep, thinking of her with Beresford, contemplating how he might have handled things differently from the beginning, how he might have ensured that she was his. He barely ate, nothing tasting as fine when he wasn’t sharing the meal with her. He couldn’t even take pleasure in reading because doing so reminded him of glancing across the mews to see her sitting in her window with book in hand. Every damned thing reminded him of her. He couldn’t draw breath without thinking of her.
As he now circled the floor with the young lady in his arms, he caught snippets here and there.
Beresford.
Miss Trewlove.
Scandalous.
Why I never.
It seemed the couple was on everyone’s tongue, except for the ladies with whom he danced, but then they were more interested in impressing him by sharing everything at which they excelled rather than gossiping about the latest scandal, one that would be put to rest by night’s end.
“I’m so glad you’ve decided to return to Society.”
He hadn’t, not really, but he was so hungry for the sight of Fancy that he’d placed himself in the precarious position of having to cross paths with her and Beresford without giving away that his heart refused to release its tenacious hold on her. She and Beresford were bound to arrive together at any moment because the earl wasn’t fool enough not to accompany her and use this opportunity to demonstrate his devotion and respect for the woman whom he was to marry. It was the first ball to be held since the Collinsworth affair. It was imperative that Beresford see his lady accepted and where better to begin than with the Fairhaven ball?
“Am I boring you, my lord?”
His dance partner’s quietly spoken words jerked him from his reverie. “My apologies. It appears I’m out of practice when it comes to entertaining a dance partner.” Especially when his mind was distracted with musings of Fancy. He didn’t know what he would have said to her if he’d managed to find her outside the courtroom. But he’d had a need to hear her voice, gaze into her eyes, and assure himself that she was happy with her decision that had landed her Beresford instead of himself. Although he still had a devil of time envisioning her succumbing to trickery in order to gain her place in Society.
“I’ve been unable to decide if you’re anticipating the arrival of another debutante or planning your escape.”
He arched a brow at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I notice your gaze keeps wandering to the doorway at the top of the stairs.”
“I find the announcement of arrivals distracting, and my gaze naturally leaps—”
“It’s more than that.” Perhaps the chit wasn’t as flighty as he’d first thought. “I think you’re looking for someone in particular.”
“You would have the wrong of it.”
“You’re an awful liar.”
He gave her a pointed look. “It does not serve a lady well when in search of a husband to call a prospective suitor a liar.”
“That might hold if you were in search of a wife—which you are not—and I were in want of a husband—which I am not.”
“Every unattached woman here is in want of a husband.”
“Not I. I want to be as independent as Miss Trewlove.”
Even as his heart tightened at the sound of her name, he scoffed. “Miss Trewlove. So independent she tricks a lord into marriage.”
Her delicate brow furrowed as she blinked repeatedly at him. “Are you referring to the Beresford debacle?”
“Debacle? She got what she wanted. She’s marrying a lord.”
“Whoever told you that?”
She did! But for some reason, his mouth wouldn’t form the words. He was trying to recall exactly what Fancy had told him. “I know she was caught in a compromising position. I know she tricked him—”
“Absolutely not. She’s a lady of integrity. She’d never do such a thing. Lord Beresford arranged the entire artifice, shame on him. Told my brother, as they are best mates, and a couple of his friends to gather some ladies on the veranda near the window that looked into the library. Then he got Miss Trewlove into the room and promptly kissed her. Knowing the lady as I do, I rather suspect she wanted only to see the rare Bible in Collinsworth’s possession, not be accosted by Beresford.”
He nearly tripped over his feet and hers. He couldn’t keep circling the floor as though everything were right with the world. With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her beyond the chalk circle to a vacant spot at the wall. “Are you sure of this?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. How could he even doubt it when Fancy was the most open and honest woman he’d eve
r known?
“Absolutely. My brother told me Beresford was in want of her dowry. It’s rather substantial. I gave my brother a good piece of my mind, I tell you, for going along with Beresford’s underhanded means. A lady should have a choice.”
He opened his eyes. “I know for a fact that the next day, Beresford met with her brother, to arrange the marriage.”
“That’s what he hoped to accomplish, but Miss Trewlove refused him. Then and there. Good for her, I say.”
Everything within him stilled. “You know this how?”
She sighed. “Several hours after the meeting, Beresford arrived at our residence, deep into his cups, bemoaning his misfortune, and my brother consoled him. I was listening at the door, as I’m wont to do. It’s the reason Lord Beresford isn’t in attendance this evening. He’s mortified she wouldn’t have him. I’m surprised you’d not heard all this. It was on everyone’s tongue for days.”
He could hardly blame Beresford for escaping into drink. Fancy was a diamond of the first water, and in spite of all his machinations, he had failed to gain her hand. But she’d told him she was going to marry the earl. Somewhere between his residence and her brother’s office, she changed her mind. Because he’d confessed to wanting to marry her? Or had she simply decided to place her own dreams ahead of her family’s?
“I’ve not been moving about in Society much.” He’d been holed up in his residence nursing his wounds, self-inflicted to be sure.
Lady Penelope angled her head thoughtfully. “I’m left with the impression, my lord, that you, also, are acquainted with Miss Trewlove, even though you’ve not attended any balls.”
In her tone, he heard no accusation, no search for gossip, merely interest. “I visited her bookshop.”
“Isn’t it the loveliest? Have you met Dickens?”
“I have.”
“He’s such a sweet—”
“Miss Fancy Trewlove!”
The majordomo’s booming voice echoed throughout the ballroom, bombarded Matthew’s soul. He swung around to see Fancy in an exquisite golden gown standing at the top of the stairs. Alone. Not a brother or sister in sight.
Standing tall, proud, and so beautiful in her glory that she fairly brought him to his knees.
“Will you excuse me, Lady Penelope?”
He barely heard her “Of course,” because he hadn’t waited for her response but was already frantically heading for Fancy, determined to ensure she was no longer facing this crowd of gossipmongers alone.
Fancy had never been more nervous in her life, or more sure of herself and her place in the world. She intended to prove that these people held no sway over her, did not determine her fate. She alone was mistress of her own destiny.
It had taken her a while to realize that. She’d done what her family asked of her for so long, occasionally slipping in a few of her own desires—her bookshop, her adventures, falling in love—that she’d lost sight of the fact that she was responsible for her own happiness, that she chose her own path. Sometimes she agreed with the dreams her family had for her, and sometimes, she had to go her own way. They’d given her the strength to stand on her own, and tonight she was putting it to use.
The announcement of her name was still booming around her when she took a deep breath and began her descent. She was well aware of couples stopping mid-waltz to stare at her, fought not to stare back, focusing her attention on the Marquess and Marchioness of Fairhaven, who waited at the bottom of the stairs. Then a stirring off to the side caught her notice, and she saw a dark-haired man pushing his way through the throng as though his life depended on reaching his destination, reaching her.
Her feet coming to a halt, she wrapped her fingers around the banister so tightly she feared she’d leave indentations. He broke free of the crowd and bounded up the steps. Dressed in evening attire, he’d never looked more devastatingly handsome, but she hardened her heart, refusing to greet him with so much as a pinch of gladness.
He stopped two steps down, which gave her the advantage in height, made it so much easier to meet his gaze head-on. “Fancy—”
“I didn’t expect you to be here.” He’d been at no other balls. Why would he be here?
His lips, that had done such wicked things to her, twisted into an ironic but slight grin. “Lady Fairhaven is my sister.”
She remembered the lady’s green eyes and black hair. How had she not seen the resemblance? But then she’d not been looking for him among the aristocracy. Still, she glanced around, imagining him visiting his sister, enjoying dinner. “Your niece is here, then.”
“In the nursery upstairs. I read one of Aesop’s fables to her before she fell sleep. I thought of you.”
A time existed when she’d wanted to meet his niece, would have enjoyed watching him read to her. A time when knowing she was on his mind would have brought her joy.
“I never think of you.” She made to move past him, and he stopped her with a gloved hand to her arm, and she was grateful it wasn’t skin to skin. She didn’t know if she’d have had the strength to resist his silken touch.
“You’re not a skillful liar.”
He had the right of that. She thought of him nearly every minute of every day. “Unhand me.”
“You haven’t your reticule filled with books.”
“I’m very good at shoving.”
Slowly he unfurled his fingers. “Come somewhere with me so we can talk.”
“No.” She intended to do little more than walk through the throng, stare them all down, and be on her way. She started her descent and he moved in front of her, barring her way.
“You rejected Beresford. You’re ruined. They’ll turn their backs on you. You’ll receive cuts—”
“I’m well aware of what I’ll be forced to endure, but I shall leave Society on my terms, not theirs. I was invited to this ball, and so I have come.”
“At least let me accompany you.”
He offered his arm, and she merely shook her head. She only possessed so much strength when it came to refusing him, and if she touched him, her resistance was likely to crumble into a heap at her feet. She despised the way her heart pounded and her body strained to be nearer to him as though he were her North Star. “I’d rather you didn’t, Matthew.” Momentarily, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Pardon my slip. I mean, Lord Rosemont.”
She started down, aware of him not following, further noting that music no longer played, that all eyes had been upon the drama playing out on the stairs. She’d wanted to face them all head-on but hadn’t expected to do it all at once.
“I love you, Miss Trewlove.”
In spite of the gasps and tittering, his voice echoed around her, his words slamming into the very fabric of her being. But this time, they seemed more intense, larger, more profound. Staggering to a stop, every muscle tensing, she slowly turned to face him. “Don’t do this, Matthew, not here.” So publicly. She hated that they had an audience, but in the aristocratic world, everything always seemed to be on display. “It will not go well.”
“Because I hurt you. Because we hurt each other.” He went down one step, then another. “If not here, if not now, then where and when?”
“Never. You didn’t tell me who you were.” She’d lowered her voice, but still it seemed to echo up the stairs.
“You know who I am, Fancy. You just didn’t know what I am.” He spread his arms wide. “Now you know. How am I different?”
How did she explain that he was more? Or at least he should have been. But all she saw standing before her was the man. The man who had eaten a meat pie with her on the steps, had looked at a naughty photograph, had come to her aid, had kissed her senseless. Who had introduced her to passion and shown her how to soar. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because from the moment I met you, you captured my heart with your kindness, your generosity, your openness, your acceptance. You are the most gracious, unassuming woman I’ve ever known. For me, you were never a passing fancy. I don’t
believe that can be said of all the gents here.”
She knew he was referring specifically to Beresford. Was he in attendance? She hoped so. She wanted to face him as well. Matthew was saying all the right words, but he’d once said the wrong ones. “You believed me capable of deceit.”
His eyes closed, his jaw clenched. Several heartbeats passed before he finally opened them. “I was blinded by my past. I don’t excuse my accusations or my actions—and I know now that Beresford sought to compromise you. But he didn’t count on you having the strength of will to reject a life or a gentleman you didn’t favor.” Another step down. “That took courage, Miss Trewlove. As well as an understanding of your own worth. A good many ladies could learn a great deal from you.”
Another step nearer. One more and his feet would land on hers. One more and she would have no choice but to wrap her arms around him to avoid tumbling backward. Take that step, a corner of her heart pleaded. Give me an excuse to touch you once again.
“Tell me that you don’t love me.”
She hadn’t expected the command. She could no more lie to him than she could to herself. He’d told this entire assembly that he loved her. How could she do any less? “Before Lord Beresford offered to show me the library, I had decided that I wasn’t going to attend any more balls, that I didn’t want to be part of the aristocracy because you weren’t there. And afterward, when I realized to spare my family shame, I would have to marry him, I knew that never again would I know a moment of joy because you would no longer be in my life.” The tears burned her eyes, and she blinked them back. “I love you so much that I can barely remember a time when I didn’t.”
The depth of emotion reflected in his green eyes weakened her knees. With one hand, he cradled her cheek. “I desperately want to kiss you, Fancy.”
“I desperately want you to.”
“Will you give me leave to call on you?”
She shook her head. “No, but I will give you leave to marry me.”
His grin was devilishly wicked, filled with promises. “For you, Fancy, it must be done right.”
The Earl Takes a Fancy Page 30