And yet, mayhap that was for the best? Because the longer she stayed here with Rafe, the more lost she became, and the more her heart beat for him.
And then, it was as though fate sought to taunt her for those yearnings as the duchess escorted one of the marquess’s daughters over to Rafe.
Edwina’s body went absolutely stock-still, the muscles of her face frozen to the point of pain, as she stood on the side, an observer to that introduction. The young woman, with her thick blonde curls and perfect, pale pallor, epitomized English gentility. And where Edwina was tall and gangly, there was a delicate lushness to the lady’s frame that was all voluptuous beauty, and it was a physical effort Edwina exerted to not give in to the tears, once more, threatening. For, as Rafe bowed over her hand, gracing the lady’s gloved knuckles with a kiss, there could be no doubting the intentions Rafe’s family had for him. Or the ones the nameless lady’s family had for her. Oh, God.
Just then, mid-conversation, Rafe looked across the room and his gaze landed on Edwina. He smiled, wholly oblivious to his father standing beside her, just as her heart was oblivious to that presence, too; instead, that organ in her chest was aware only of the effects Rafe Audley had on her. Then he returned his attention to whatever it was the duchess just then said to him.
“He . . . likes you,” the duke remarked, without inflection.
Not this. “Your Grace?” she ventured hesitantly.
“My son will barely speak to me, and certainly won’t take advice from me. Not that I expect him to. But I see that he listens to you.”
“Oh, you are mistaken. Mr. Audley is a man who knows his own mind, and I am just . . . just . . .” She floundered, searching about for some explanation of what exactly her relationship was with Rafe.
“And you are just underestimating your role and influence,” he said gently, and it was those kindly tones that served as proof that he still had no idea that she was hopelessly and helplessly in love with his son. For if he was, he’d not be speaking to Edwina so. For that matter, he would have had her belongings packed up for her, and loaded her in his carriage away from this place, and his cherished son. “He is . . . better for you.”
Better for her?
No. She, because of him. But she’d only brought him around to doing something that went against his moral grain. Who Rafe was, was entirely because of him.
She was saved from having to talk any further about the man she loved, with the man who employed her, by the appearance of the butler and the summons to dinner.
* * *
• • •
Following a five-course meal, with the duke and duchess’s esteemed guests, Rafe found himself with the shocking discovery . . . that the engagement hadn’t been so very awful at all. He’d expected the cut direct. But the men whom he’d spoken to were not only lords, but gentlemen who possessed business ventures.
And yet, as surprisingly well as the evening had gone, there was one particular aspect that he’d despised with every fiber of his being—the placements based on rank and title that saw him at the head, nearer his father, and Edwina somewhere at the lower middle, removed from him, and relegated to the bottom of the guests.
Even so, throughout it, he had watched her unabashedly, unable to look away; she sat like a queen. Perfectly at ease, and comfortable as she conversed with Lord Tweeddales’s youngest son and daughter. And the resentment he’d felt that night came from Rafe’s inability to be there.
Until the ladies and gentlemen separated after the evening meal, and came together once more, in the parlor.
She tensed at his approach. “You should not be here,” she murmured, her lips barely moving, her gaze on Lady Elizabeth at the pianoforte.
“That’s rot. Of course I can.” And Rafe rested a shoulder against the wall, indicating he’d no plans to leave.
“No. No, you cannot. I’m not company, Mr. Audley.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t ‘Mr. Audley’ me, Edwina.”
“And don’t put me in the position of being caught speaking to you, using one another’s Christian names in front of company.” There was something slightly desperate and pleading there that, coupled with the worry in her eyes, indicated the depth of her unease.
“I don’t care what they say.”
“Well, I have to care.”
He started, as that matter-of-fact deliverance lodged an arrow steeped in logic through the place that had been so consumed with his need to see her. “You spoke to the duke, the marquess, and as you are my,” he placed his lips nearer her ear, “instructor, I trust it is not unexpected that we might speak.”
Her lips formed a tight line. She wanted him gone. And . . . he hated that she did, as much as he hated the hurt that caused.
“How have I done?” he asked, as the chords of Lady Elizabeth’s playing filled the room, mingling with the quiet discussions also taking place.
And this time, Edwina’s features softened, and she looked at him. “You have done splendidly, and it is, as I said to your father, no credit to me.”
“You’re wrong,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here.”
“And . . . have you given more thought to whether you might stay?”
He tensed. Would he stay? “Is that my father asking?” he asked, unable to keep his lip from pulling.
“No,” she said gently. “That is I, wondering as your friend.”
A friend. “Is that what we are?” he murmured, working his gaze over her face. “Friends.”
Edwina glanced briefly down at her slippers. “Are we not?”
Friends . . . and lovers.
And what of more . . . ?
His mind balked and screeched at the question whispering around there. “Yes,” he allowed himself to say, owning the truth in that. “I rather think we are.” Rafe winked.
He and Edwina shared a smile, and just like that, he broke through her guard, and she was restored to the cheerful young woman always at ease around him.
“Will you play?”
“Regale them with more of my bawdy tavern songs?” Edwina waggled her eyebrows. “Oh, they’d be quite scandalized. I fear I’d never work again,” she said, recalling her as she’d been, wildly dancing and singing before the coalfield miners at the inn, startled a laugh from him.
A number of stares came their way, and then returned to Lady Elizabeth.
Biting back laughter, Rafe and Edwina stole a secretive glance at one another, that intimate moment they shared adding to the sense of connection.
“You are going to find me in trouble, Mr. Audley.”
“Hardly,” he scoffed. “Why, imagine what would be said about you if you were. Everyone would take you for an inattentive companion who failed to place sufficient effort into her errant charge’s tutelage.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” she said with mock solemnity, before giving in to another laugh, this one quiet and controlled, and as he looked at her, her cheeks entrancingly flushed and her eyes bright, Rafe’s breath lodged in his chest as he stared, captivated. And he didn’t want her to have to hide her amusement. Or them to shield their enjoyment together, as if it was a tawdry secret to be kept close and protected. He wanted . . . His chest tightened.
“What?” she whispered, her smile fading. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I don’t . . . know.” He wasn’t really certain of anything in that moment.
“There you are, Rafe!”
They looked up as the duchess approached with the marquess’s eldest daughter, Lady Elizabeth, on her arm.
Rafe swallowed a curse.
Edwina, however, was polite, and perfectly composed as she sank into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured, melting into the shadows.
“Miss Dalrymple, a pleasure,” the duchess returned.
Edwina dropped
one more curtsy before slipping off . . . leaving Rafe, the duchess, and Lady Elizabeth alone. Rafe’s mouth tensed, and he stared after her, wanting to call her back, not because he feared the duchess’s company, but because he wanted Edwina there, still. Since the museum, since she’d shared everything she had, they’d forged a bond that he didn’t want to break. Now, he watched as she moved along, hugging the perimeter of the room, part of the evening’s festivities . . . but not really. Ever careful not to step too close.
Even as she deserved to be there.
Even as he wanted her to be fully part of it . . . with him.
Chapter 23
The following evening, seated at the mahogany secretaire in her guest chambers, Edwina closed her notes on Rafe Audley.
Her work here was nearly done.
Tonight, Rafe had entered the duke’s ballrooms, presented before all of society as the Duke of Bentley’s son . . . and Edwina had not been there for the moment. She’d not be there for any of it.
Because that had never been her place.
Everything had just become confused where she’d felt closer to Rafe, and it had felt right to be with him, at his side . . . as his friend. And lover.
But that had never really been her place. Not truly. She’d always been a servant to his rank of cherished son—even if he hadn’t believed himself valued by the duke. He was. And she, as a mere servant, had no place wanting . . . that which she desperately wanted.
Him.
I want him.
Tears filled her eyes, and with a groan, she picked her notebook up and hit herself lightly across the forehead. What had she done? She’d gone and lost herself completely to the last man she ought.
A knock sounded at her door, and she instantly lowered her book to her lap. Puzzling her brow, she stared at the doorway, almost believing she’d imagined that soft rapping. Because who would be there for her?
There was no one who would seek her out . . .
Rap-rap-rap.
This knock came harder, firmer, more decisive.
Her heart knocking furiously against her ribcage, Edwina hurried to her feet, the chair scraping the floor, as she hurried across the room.
No one would be looking for her. She grabbed the panel and drew the door open. Except—
“Oh.” Rafe’s sister stared back. Not Rafe.
Cailin blinked slowly. “Forgive me. I did not mean to be a bother.”
Edwina immediately found herself. “No, forgive me. I was . . . not expecting you.” Which suggested she’d been expecting another. She grimaced. “Won’t you come in?” She urged the other woman inside.
Cailin hesitated, and then ventured into the guest chambers. Edwina shut the door behind them and motioned to the delicate gilded and caned canapé sofa near the fireplace. Rafe’s sister claimed a seat and drew her legs up close to her chest and folded her arms around her knees.
Edwina claimed the Rococo-style gilt armchair near Rafe’s sister.
There was a time when Edwina would have filled this moment with a lesson on the proper way to sit and not sit. Every moment of every day was filled with lessons. Only to find that when one filled one’s day with one’s work, then the most important parts of life were lost: how another person was feeling. What they were thinking.
Until Rafe, Edwina had not thought of people in terms beyond “charges” and “employers” because, well, there’d never been anyone in her life beyond her mother. And after her mother had died quickly of a wasting illness, there’d been only people whom she worked with and for in Edwina’s life. Until this family that had become so very important to her . . . for reasons entirely divorced from her assignment.
Now, she took in, not the manner in which the lady held herself, but what the lady said, along with how she did: her troubled gaze directed toward the lit fire, as she rubbed her chin back and forth in a distracted pattern.
Edwina gave the young woman several moments of that silence she clearly needed, before encouraging her to speak. “What is it, Cailin?”
“My brother insists I would never want a London Season. Both of them,” she clarified, and fell quiet once more.
“Yes, that does sound like the both of them,” Edwina said dryly, diffusing the tension. They shared a smile. Edwina drew her chair closer to Cailin’s. “What about what you want?”
Rafe’s sister wrinkled her nose. “Well, I was so very certain that a Season was the last thing I wanted. I did, however, wish to come to London and enjoy anonymity as I did at the museum. Seeing anything outside of Staffordshire was enough.” The young lady’s cheeks colored. “Not that I believe I am in any way better than Staffordshire.”
“Of course not,” Edwina rushed to assure her.
“But I wanted to see museums and visit parks, and escape . . .”
“Escape?” she murmured.
“My sweetheart was grievously injured in the coalfields, and whenever I am there, that is what I see.” Cailin averted her face, but before she did, Edwina caught the way it buckled in grief. This was why Rafe had agreed to come to London, against all his wishes . . . not only for Hunter, but for the woman before her. And Edwina fell in love with him all over again for that sacrifice, even as her heart simultaneously broke at the sight of Cailin’s suffering. “But what I found . . . is that it doesn’t go away,” Cailin said, when she’d composed herself, and looked once more at Edwina. “He is still there. I still see him. And I will never forget him or what happened . . . no matter how the scene may change or where I live . . . but perhaps . . .” Cailin stopped herself.
“Perhaps,” Edwina gently urged the other woman to complete that thought.
“Perhaps I too might experience . . . all of London, as my brother is. I know it won’t be the same, as I’m a woman,” she hurried to add, “and even as bastards, women are not afforded the same treatment as men.”
It was an unfairness Edwina had always known.
“But mayhap because the pleasures in London are mindless, it would be wrong if I wished to take part?”
There was a question there from the younger woman, one that suggested she was hoping Edwina would confirm that opinion so Cailin might, in turn, lay to rest the wonderings she had about remaining in Town.
“No woman, nor man, should be made to apologize for wanting to experience life, and one certainly shouldn’t make apologies for whatever pleasure one finds in it.”
In that moment, it was hard to say whether Edwina’s quietly spoken words were for the young woman before her . . . or for Edwina herself.
Cailin smiled. “Thank you. I thought I might . . . steal a glimpse of the evening’s festivities. Will you join me?”
The proper governess within her said absolutely not, and strengthened that declination with a lengthy list of all the reasons it would be wrong to do so. The new person she’d become wanted to go. She wanted to see what Cailin saw . . . but for altogether different reasons.
Rafe.
To see how he fared, and what this world looked like with him in it, when she could not actually be there.
Edwina’s heart knocked hard against her chest.
She nodded.
Smiling widely, Cailin swung her feet to the floor and jumped up. “Come!” Taking Edwina by the hand, she tugged her to standing.
Still, Edwina made an attempt to talk herself and the other woman out of it. “This is inappropriate.”
“Then we shall take care not to be discovered.”
And so it was, some ten minutes or so later of winding their way through the sprawling household, they reached one of the alcoves that overlooked the dance floor, and Edwina’s mouth dropped at the sight of it. For she had attended events before, always as a companion. But never had she set foot inside an event . . . such as this.
In fairness, she wasn’t really setting a foot inside.
But t
hat was neither here nor there.
“My goodness.”
Whether those words belonged to Cailin or Edwina, or to the both of them, remained unclear. The two women, however, remained united in their awe.
Crystal chandeliers crisscrossed the length of the ceiling, resplendent in long white-tapered candles; at the center, a golden one hung larger than the rest, an extravagant, elaborate piece that fair hurt the eye to look at for the gleam of the metal.
Edwina and Cailin sank to the floor, like the naughty children of her employers used to do at the country balls their parents had attended. Except, as Edwina lowered herself onto her belly, and stared between the marble slats at the swirl of vibrantly clad dancers below, she realized for the first time: mayhap they’d not been naughty. Mayhap they’d simply wished a taste of the grandeur and revelry playing out, even now.
“It doesn’t . . . look so very terrible.”
“No,” Edwina murmured. “It doesn’t.” It was the insidious gossip taking place that was the real source of badness of this place.
But from up here, to a spectator above, there was only a kaleidoscope of color from the dancers sweeping across the floor, and the swell of the orchestra’s chords rising above the laughter. It was a world her mother had wished to be part of . . .
Edwina cocked her head.
And me, too . . .
She’d wished to know a hint of the excitement below. Only to find she didn’t want that, really. Not alone. She wanted to experience it with Rafe.
What had she thought?
More than that, what had she been thinking?
She didn’t love him. She liked being with him. She liked how he challenged her and made her see the world and her role as a governess in ways she’d never before thought, but love? Surely not. Surely—
Cailin pointed. “And my brother doesn’t seem to mind it so very terribly, either.”
Edwina followed the young woman’s gesture and froze.
Along Came a Lady Page 29