Deborah closed her eyes. What if she had insisted on staying with Edith after they had visited the seamstress? What if she had never left her to speak with Lord Averton? Might her sister still be alive?
And that night outside Edith’s bedchamber, Deborah also remembered that well. She had been certain her sister had been crying. Had known she was lying, hiding things. At the time, she had thought it best not to push the issue. But how might things have been different had she ignored her sister’s wishes and gone to her bedside anyway? Forced her to spill what had been on her mind?
Deborah’s fingers tightened around the edges of the diary. A part of her was too afraid to keep reading. Too afraid of the truths she might discover.
Keep going. You have come for the truth. No matter what it is.
She drew in her breath and turned back to the diary. The knot in her stomach tightening, she cast her eyes downward and began to read.
I have lain awake all night, thinking of that scoundrel, Lord Averton…
* * *
How I wish I were able to erase him from my thoughts…
Edith put her quill down and let the diary fall against her chest. How full this little book had become in the days since she had met the Baron. And how quickly the tone of her writing had changed. At first, page after page of lovesick drivel. And now she was pouring her heart out in a flurry of ink, in the hope it might begin to ease the pain.
She lay staring at the curtained canopy above her bed. Pale dawn light was beginning to brighten her bedchamber. She had not slept a single minute.
But as she had sat up in bed in the early hours of the morning and scrawled page after page in her diary, Edith’s thoughts had begun to change shape.
None of this feels right.
It was true, she had never before experienced the love of a man. All of this was new to her. But something about the way Lord Averton had looked at her had seemed to reach through to her very soul. She had felt a deep connection. And somehow, she knew he had felt it, too.
She knew it instinctively, knew it in a place she could not find words for.
And somewhere beyond her grief, she knew there had to be a good reason he had not called on her the previous day.
She threw back the bedcovers and began to pace across her bedchamber. Restlessly, she pulled back the curtains. Bright sun was already beginning to spill across the neatly manicured lawns. The day promised to be bright and hot. Edith squinted in the light.
I need to find Lord Averton. I must speak with him.
The idea was so outlandish she almost laughed. But she knew well she would not be able to rest until she had answers.
But how do I go about finding him?
Lord Averton had not given her a calling card. Was she to stand on the river bank and wait for him to appear? Of course not.
But this was a small town. Someone in this place must know how to find the Baron of Averton. She could not undertake the search herself, of course. Such a thing would be seen as scandalous. If her father found out, he would likely never forgive her.
She could not go searching. But Annie could.
Full of fresh determination, Edith went to her writing desk and pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer.
She dipped her quill into the inkwell and penned a note in her neatest hand.
I need to speak with you, My Lord. Tonight, at the river.
She closed her eyes. This was likely the most foolish thing she had ever done. Or, was about to do. But if she did not go through with it, she would die wondering.
Before she could change her mind, Edith rang the handbell on her desk. Annie appeared at the door. “Miss Wilds?” She frowned. “Oh Miss, you look dreadful. You’ve not slept at all, have you? That Lord Averton, he’s not worth this. He’s nothing but a—”
“Here.” Edith thrust the letter toward Annie, before she could finish. In spite of all that had happened—and all the cruel words she had poured into her diary—she couldn’t bear to hear anyone speak ill of the Baron.
Annie looked down at the folded page. “What’s this?”
“I need you to find Lord Averton.” Edith couldn’t look at her. “I need you to give him this.”
Annie sighed. “Oh, Miss Wilds, are you sure this is wise?”
“I know it’s not wise,” Edith said, more sharply than she had intended. “But I’m asking you to do it anyway.”
Annie pressed her lips into a thin white line. She tilted her head, and Edith could tell she was deciding whether to speak. She tucked a stray dark curl under her mobcap and looked squarely at Edith. “How am I to find him then?”
Edith began to chew her thumbnail, a habit she had left behind many years earlier. “Go into the village. Ask people. He’s a nobleman in a small town. Surely someone will know how to find him.”
Annie slid the letter into the pocket of her apron. “Are you certain about this, miss?”
Certain? Not at all. But I need to do it anyway.
Edith nodded. “Yes. Just do as I’m asking. Please.”
* * *
That evening, Edith walked to the river with her head down and her cloak pulled up over her head. It was far too warm to be dressed so, but she needed to remain hidden. The sky was fiery and sultry, with just the faintest of breezes skimming across the water. An enormous dragonfly flitted past Edith’s face and she swatted at it uneasily, in an attempt to defuse a few of her nerves.
Annie had returned to the manor before nuncheon that day and found Edith in her bedchamber.
“Did you find him?”
Annie nodded. “Yes, Miss. He lives in that old manor house on the edge of the village.”
Edith gnawed her thumbnail. “And you gave him my letter?”
Another nod. “I did.”
Edith’s stomach had begun to churn the moment Annie had entered her bedchamber and had not stopped since. After dinner, she had slipped silently out the side door into the garden and out of the gate at the back of the property. She had instructed Annie to tell the Viscountess she was feeling unwell.
She knew she was asking a lot of her lady’s maid. If the Viscount discovered Annie had helped Edith escape the manor, she would be out of a position in an instant.
One day soon, Edith told herself, she would make it up to her lady’s maid. See her well rewarded for her friendship and loyalty.
“Are you certain about this, Miss Wilds?” Annie had asked as she’d watched her mistress bundle herself into her darkest cloak. It felt like the thousandth time Annie had asked her that question. Edith was well aware that she had not been making the wisest decisions of late.
She nodded anyway. “I’m certain.”
Terrified, but certain.
And so here she was at the river, roasting in her winter cloak and her empty stomach churning. She knew there was a chance Lord Averton would not come. And if that happened? How would she cope? How many pages of woe would she pour out into her diary?
She pushed the thought out of her mind. Lord Averton would show himself. He had to. She had seen the way he had looked at her.
The undergrowth crackled and Edith dared to look up. And there stood the Baron. He was wearing nothing but trousers and shirtsleeves that were rolled up to his elbows. His riding boots were caked in mud. He looked very much the way he had when their eyes had met across the water earlier that week.
Has it truly only been a week? I feel as though I have known the gentleman my entire life.
His expression was unreadable. Edith’s throat tightened. She didn’t know whether she wanted to cry with happiness or grief. She swallowed heavily, forcing away the swell of emotion.
He came.
“Miss Wilds,” he said huskily. He stood staring for a moment, his lips parted, the breeze blowing his messy hair from his forehead.
For several moments, neither of them spoke, the water burbling gently beside them. Lord Averton’s eyes met hers, and Edith felt as though he were looking through to her very soul. This fe
eling, this connection, it was real, she knew it. It was not just her feverish, lovelorn imagination.
Finally, she said, “You did not call on me.”
Lord Averton swallowed heavily and looked down. “You ought to leave, Miss Wilds. I’m sorry. We ought to forget each other. It’s better that way.” His voice was cracked and full of regret.
“What do you mean?” Edith pushed. “Why ought I leave?” Her voice began to rise a little. “Why did you not come yesterday? My father gave you his blessing!”
Lord Averton nodded slowly. “He did, yes.” He kept his eyes on his feet, as though unable to look at her. “But I’ll not make a good husband for you, Miss Wilds. A beautiful young lady like yourself can do far better.”
Edith frowned. “What do you mean you’ll not make a good husband for me? Why have you suddenly decided that?”
The Baron sighed heavily, gesturing to his worn trousers, his scuffed, mud-caked boots. “Look at me. I may have a title, but I’m no gentleman.” He sighed. “I have no fortune, no lands. I don’t even have any staff. I could never give you the life you deserve.”
Edith took a step closer to him. “I don’t care about any of those things. They mean nothing to me.” She looked at him intently, and finally, he looked up. She was standing so close to him she could see the gray flecks in his blue eyes. His breath was warm against her nose and it made a burst of heat explode inside her. She heard the sharp intake of breath from the Baron and she knew he had felt it, too.
Daringly, she reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers in his. A part of her was terrified he might pull away, but his fingers tightened around her own.
“Those things mean nothing to me,” she said again. “Truly, they don’t. What do I care if I have to make my own dinner and wash my own sheets?” She squeezed his hand. “Come to the manor tomorrow,” she said gently. “We shall have tea and cake and talk pleasantly and we’ll no longer have to creep about the place to see each other.” She smiled, but Lord Averton’s face remained stony.
He shook his head. “I can’t, Miss Wilds. I really can’t.”
Edith let his hand fall. “Why not?” she pushed. “I don’t understand, My Lord. Is it because you do not wish to see me? Because if that is the case, I implore you to just tell me. Be honest.”
“No,” he said hurriedly. “No. Not at all. There is nothing I would like more than to call on you. But you must believe me when I say it’s best that we do not see each other. I only want the best for you.”
Edith let out her breath in frustration. “You sound like my father.”
“Your father is a wise gentleman.”
“My father does not know everything.” She looked pointedly at Lord Averton. “You have his blessing, My Lord,” she reminded him.
“I know,” he said softly. “I know.”
Edith clenched her fists in frustration. Still, none of this made sense to her. Did the Baron truly believe she was better off without him, or was there something he was not telling her? All she knew was that she was not about to let this gentleman walk away. She was not about to give up so easily. He had made her feel things she had never felt before.
“You care for me,” she said boldly. “I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Yes.” Lord Averton’s gaze was unflinching. “I do care for you. And in other circumstances, there is nothing I would want more than to get to know you better. Make you a part of my life.”
“We do not have any other circumstances,” said Edith. “All we have is this.” Her heart was thundering against her chest, but she forced herself to continue. “I care for you too, Lord Averton. There is nothing I want more than to see you again. And if you will not agree to call on my at my father’s manor, we simply must continue to meet in secret.” She sucked in her breath. “Tomorrow night at sunset,” she said, pushing aside the nervous waver in her voice, “I will come here to the river. Meet me if you wish. If you do not come, I will never bother you again. We will both pretend none of this ever happened.”
Lord Averton’s lips parted, but he said nothing.
Is that a nod?
The gesture was too small, too imperceptible for Edith to read. She didn’t speak again. Just turned abruptly and hurried back toward the manor, her body alight with nervous energy.
Chapter 15
The following evening, Lord Averton was there waiting. He stood on the riverbank in the same scruffy shirtsleeves he had been wearing the day before. This time there was a glint in his eye.
Edith felt her heart soar. She couldn’t hold back an enormous grin. There was something so exhilarating about this. Something so delicious about creeping around this way, meeting a gentleman in secret. Still, she did not fully understand Lord Averton’s reasons for doing so, but right now, none of them mattered. All that mattered was that he was here. And so was she.
Without thinking, she raced up to him and threw her arms around his neck. “You’re here,” she gushed. “You came.”
He held her tightly. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t?”
Edith stepped back and met his eyes, hit with a sudden bolt of shyness. She gave him a small smile. “I was confident, My Lord. But I am still most happy to see you.”
He tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I’m so happy to see you, too.” His fingers traced their way down her cheek. “No one saw you leave the manor?”
Edith shook her head. “My lady’s maid, Annie, has been wonderful. She’ll see to it that no one notices me gone.”
Lord Averton smiled that playful smile she had seen from him that day in the street. “Good.”
Something had changed in him today. Was it the thrill of sneaking around? Was he enjoying the challenge of it as much as she was?
He offered her his arm. “Shall we walk?”
Edith smiled, sliding her hand around his elbow. “I would like that very much, My Lord.”
And so they walked, their bodies pressed close to each other, along the path to where the river wound its way through heavy woodland. Edith felt wonderfully hidden, wonderfully free. Wonderfully naughty.
“Tell me about yourself,” said Lord Averton.
She looked up at him shyly. “What do you wish to know?”
He returned her smile. “Everything.”
She let out a slightly nervous laugh. “I’m afraid I’m not all that interesting, My Lord.”
He grinned. “That I find very hard to believe. Especially after this little act of rebellion.”
Edith smiled to herself, feeling color rise in her cheeks. She did not feel like a rebel. But then again, here she was walking through the woods with a gentleman, unchaperoned.
I suppose I am something of a rebel.
The thought left a small smile on the edge of her lips.
And she found herself telling Lord Averton the story of her life, from the lavish childhood of governesses and riding lessons to the close bond she shared with her sister. Told him of her complex, yet loving relationship with her father, in the hope the Baron might agree to call on her. Exhilarating as this act of rebellion was, Edith knew the only chance she had of truly being with Lord Averton was if he agreed to call on her at the manor.
But the Baron made no response to Edith’s talk of her father. Said nothing to suggest he might agree to officially court her as the Viscount had agreed to. Edith felt a faint hint of frustration bubbling beneath her skin. But it was quickly pushed away by the feel of his shoulder bumping against hers. Quickly pushed away by the warmth he left inside her.
“And you?” she asked. “I want to hear everything about you, too, My Lord.” She wanted to know everything there was to know about this fascinating, non-conforming gentleman.
The Baron smiled slightly, looking at his feet as he walked. “I’m afraid it’s rather underwhelming. My parents died several years ago, leaving me with little beyond the house. Father was good gentleman, but he had little business sense, I’m afraid. Before he died, he was forced to
sell our family’s lands to pay off his debts.” He gave her a sorry smile. “As I said, these days, I cannot even afford to keep a household.” He sighed heavily. “I meant it when I said you could do far better than me, Miss Wilds. It’s best you just walk away.”
Edith stopped walking and turned to look into his eyes. “And I meant it when I said that none of that matters to me.” She swallowed heavily. “Is that truly what you want? For me to walk away?” She realized she was holding her breath.
“No,” Lord Averton said after a moment. “I do not want that at all.” His voice was husky. He stepped close to Edith and pressed his lips against hers. Edith felt heat flood her, felt her legs weaken beneath her. Felt her hands sliding over his shoulders, pulling him closer, without thinking.
Guilty Pleasures 0f A Bluestocking (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 9
