Edith let her tears fall. “I am to be married,” she said bitterly. The words felt sour on her lips.
For a moment, Lord Averton said nothing. He pressed a gentle kiss into her hair.
“You do not seem surprised,” Edith sniffed.
He stroked her hair. “Of course I’m not surprised. And nor should you be. You’ve always known your father intended to marry you well.”
She buried her eyes in his shoulder, her tears leaving wet marks on his shirt. “I begged Father to change his mind,” she said. “But he refused. He has his heart set on me marrying the Duke of Tarsington. He cares little about what I want.”
Lord Averton held her tightly, letting her cry. A cold wind hissed through the trees, whipping Edith’s skirts around her legs. She buried her face against the Baron’s chest.
Finally, he stepped back, his hands still pressed warmly to her shoulders.
“Edith,” he said gently, “look at me.”
At the sound of her name on his lips, she felt her heart quicken. She pushed her tears away with the back of her hand and looked up to face him. The wind was blowing his scruffy hair away from his eyes, and she could see sorrow in his gaze. Sorrow, yes, but there was something else there too. Determination.
“We will think of something,” he said firmly. “I swear it.”
Edith felt a faint flicker of hope. She clung to him. “I don’t want to marry anyone but you. I couldn’t bear it.”
Lord Averton pressed his lips hard against hers. “And you won’t, my love. I promise you that.”
* * *
Edith stood like a statue in the center of her dressing room while Annie and her mother danced about her, pimping and preening her like a doll. Her blonde hair had been heated into careful curls, then piled neatly onto her head, her pink silk gown laced and a diamond necklace fastened at her throat.
Edith stared into the mirror. She felt like she was watching herself from afar.
As a child, she had dreamed of this moment. Dreamed of being dressed up like a princess and paraded in front of the fine upstanding gentleman she was to marry. In her childish dreams, such a thing had brought her endless joy, endless excitement.
But here she was, staring blankly at her reflection, feeling nothing but emptiness. Coldness.
Her mother let out a wistful sigh. “Oh Edith, you are so beautiful, my dear. His Grace will be beside himself with joy when he sees you.”
Edith pressed her lips into a thin white line. Could her own mother not see what grief this arrangement was causing her? Perhaps the Viscountess was powerless to stop her daughter’s marriage to the Duke, but she could at least not act so damn excited. Edith clenched her fist, hit with a sudden burst of anger.
Her mother stood in front of her and clasped her daughter’s hands. “I know this is not what you want, Edith,” she said, her voice gentle, but firm. “But you must trust that your father knows what is best for you. And I’m sure if you give him a chance, His Grace will make you very happy.”
Edith nodded silently. She knew there was no point in arguing. No point in speaking at all.
Her mother swept out of the room, her silk skirts sighing across the polished floorboards. As soon as the door closed behind her, Edith felt her shoulders sink. She let out a heavy sigh of her own.
Annie met her eyes in the mirror. Now that the Viscountess had disappeared, her look had changed into one of sympathy and understanding.
“What am I to do?” Edith asked, knotting her fingers together.
Annie gave a sad smile and adjusted the diamond comb in Edith’s hair. “I’m not sure there is much you can do, miss. What choice do you have but to honor your father’s wishes?”
Edith nodded, her eyes down. Annie was right, of course. But she refused to accept that she was powerless to change this.
“Perhaps I could speak to the Duke,” she said. “Explain the situation. Have him tell my father…” She faded out, aware of the ridiculousness of the plan. What would the Duke care that she was in love with some scruffy baron? Her mother was right—young ladies of her class never married for love. Nor did young dukes.
“His Grace sounds like a fine young gentleman,” Annie offered.
Edith tried for a smile. She could tell it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, Annie. I’m sure of it.”
Annie put a hand to her mistress’s shoulder. “But your heart is with another.”
Edith nodded again. Said nothing. Her throat clamped and she swallowed heavily, refusing to cry. Lord Averton had promised her he would find a way to fix this. And she had to put her trust in him.
She looked up at a knock at the door. Her mother had returned and was peeking into the dressing room. “Are you ready, my dear? The Duke is here.” Her voice was breathy with excitement.
Edith nodded slightly, feeling a sinking in her stomach.
Ready as I will ever be.
She looked back over her shoulder at Annie, who flashed her a smile Edith assumed was meant to be encouraging. She sucked in her breath and began to walk slowly down the stairs.
Chapter 18
When Edith saw the Duke of Tarsington, her heart leapt into her throat. He looked so strikingly similar to Lord Averton she had to stifle a gasp. Was this her father’s idea of a cruel joke? Had he deliberately found her a husband-to-be who looked just like the gentleman she loved?
Edith pushed the thought away. She glanced again at the Duke. Perhaps she was being foolish. His Grace had the same dark hair as the Baron, although trimmed much more neatly, had the same broad shoulders, the same sharp jawline. But there were plenty of differences too, she told herself. The Duke’s eyes were brown instead of blue, his forehead was higher, and he was a least an inch or two taller than Lord Averton.
He doesn’t look a thing like him at all…
The two gentlemen shared little more than a passing resemblance, Edith told herself. Her lovelorn mind was simply seeing similarities where they did not exist.
“Miss Wilds,” said the Duke, taking her hand in his and planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “It’s a great pleasure.”
Edith forced a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, Your Grace.”
She felt removed from her body. She heard herself give obligatory answers to his polite questions—yes, I enjoy riding and singing, no, I’ve never traveled to Wales—but it was as though the words were spilling out of her mouth without any input on her behalf. She could tell her speech was detached and dull.
Edith chided herself.
I am being rude to him. And he does not deserve that. He was forced into this just as I have been. None of this is his fault.
In spite of everything, she did not want to come across as a cruel and bitter young lady. She did not want His Grace to leave this place thinking there was something he had done wrong. And so she tried her best to muster a genuine smile.
“We’ve spoken so much about me, Your Grace. Tell me a little about yourself.”
* * *
Edith was almost surprised when the Duke returned the following week. A part of her had suspected her coldness, her rudeness, had been enough to turn him away. Perhaps a part of her had wanted that.
But His Grace returned to the manor as arranged. And while her father oversaw plans for their grand marriage ceremony, her mother made appointments with the seamstress for a fine wedding gown to be made.
We will find a way, Lord Averton had said. And two weeks after Edith’s initial meeting with her betrothed, the Baron told her of his plans.
“Run away with me,” he said, gripping her hand tightly. Afraid of being caught on the riverbank, they had begun to meet in the woodland close to the Averton manor.
“Take me to your home,” Edith had goaded him.
There had been a sparkle in his eye at that, but he had refused. “No, my love. Not yet. I could never dishonor you in such a way. Besides, if anyone were to come looking for us, the manor would be the first place they would look.”
Edith had sighed in frustrati
on. But she knew he was right. But now, as she stood with her back pressed against a tree trunk and her arms wrapped around Lord Averton, she began to glimpse a way out. A life in which they might no longer have to creep around like criminals. A life in which they might be together.
A life in which we might be happy.
Her heart was pounding wildly against her chest. “Run away?” she repeated, breathless with excitement.
The Baron smiled, running his fingers down her cheek. “I’ve been making arrangements,” he told her. “Ensuring I had enough money to see us out of this place and settled. But it’s done. We can leave.” He flashed her a smile, and Edith could see a faint hint of nervousness in his eyes. “If that’s what you want?”
Edith smiled broadly. Yes, she wanted this. Wanted this so very much. She would leave this life behind. No longer would she be forced to marry a gentleman she did not love. She and Lord Averton could disappear from this place. They could forget who they were and where they had come from. Leave the ton behind. Spend their lives in each other’s arms.
Edith kissed his lips impulsively. “Yes,” she said. “I want this. I want it so very much.”
The Baron pulled her into a tight embrace. She pressed her head into his shoulder, catching his faint scent of rosewater.
“Where?” she asked.
“London, perhaps. We’ll have no trouble disappearing in such a large city. What do you say?”
Edith grinned. She had only ever been to London once, but she had fallen in love with the place at once. The city had a great excitement to it, a great energy. She couldn’t wait to start her new life in such a place.
She drew in her breath as nerves began to well up inside her. Leaving Bath, of course, would also mean leaving her family. Her beloved sister. Her caring mother. Her father who had only ever wanted the best for her. The thought was an ache in her chest, but it had to be done.
She would write to Deborah once she and Lord Averton had settled. Tell her everything. Edith knew she could trust her sister. Perhaps her mother and father would never forgive her for what she was about to do, but she knew Deborah would understand. Would hold no grudge.
She took a step back, pressing her hands hard to Lord Averton’s cheeks.
“When?” Her lips were inches from his.
“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Do you think you can be ready by then?”
Edith smiled. “Of course. I can hardly wait.”
Lord Averton pulled her into him and kissed her hard, his hands sliding down her shoulders and along her arms. He deepened this kiss as his hands continued to roam, working their way across her bodice and drawing her close.
Edith felt her legs weaken with desire.
Tomorrow night. I will be ready.
* * *
Deborah turned the page, her heart racing.
And nothing.
The rest of the pages were blank. She heard a cry of frustration escape her.
No! This cannot be the end!
Edith’s diary had told her so much, but Deborah did not feel any closer to knowing the truth of why her sister had taken her life. In her last entry, so had sounded so joyful, so full of hope for the future. What could have changed so dramatically?
Deborah stared at her sister’s scrawled journal entry, as though trying to find some hidden meaning, something she had missed.
She frowned. Lifted the notebook so she might peer at it more closely.
She exhaled sharply. There, at the back of the book, she saw the jagged edges of torn paper. Edith had written more in her diary, she felt suddenly certain. And the pages had been torn out.
Deborah’s stomach turned over. Who had done this? Had Edith removed these pages herself?
She squeezed her fingers around the notebook and pressed it to her chest, as though trying to feel closer to Edith. She had felt as though she were so close to finding out the truth. And instead, she had been left with a deeper mystery.
This, Deborah realized sickly, was not the end at all.
Chapter 19
This didn’t make sense. Someone had clearly wanted her to see this diary. Had clearly wanted her to know these things. Whoever had left the notebook for her had sneaked into Edith’s bedroom to do it. And yet here she was, left with only pieces of the truth.
Deborah realized she was pacing. Her bare feet padded back and forth across her bedchamber. She pulled the blanket from her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders to keep out the chill.
And she kept pacing.
So Edith had fallen in love with the Baron of Averton. Had intended to run away with him. Instead, she had taken her own life beneath the apple tree. What of the Baron? Was he still here in Bath? Deborah had never heard of him, but perhaps he had kept to himself after Edith’s death. He surely would have had every reason to do so.
Wherever he is, I must find him. He will know what happened, surely.
But what if the Baron was the reason for Edith’s suicide? Her sister had portrayed him as a kind and loving young gentleman, but what if she had been blinded by love?
And who knew about Deborah’s plans to run away? Had her father any thought that Edith had taken her betrothal to the Duke so hard?
The barrage of questions knocked about inside Deborah’s head until she wanted to cry out.
Stop. Breathe.
She closed her eyes, pulling the coarse blanket tighter around her. She tried to untangle her thoughts.
Deborah had no idea where to begin looking for Lord Averton. But there was someone else she knew could help her. Someone she felt certain she could find. Someone who Edith had confided in throughout this whole ordeal.
Her lady’s maid.
* * *
Deborah made her way through the house, searching for Mrs. Barton. She found the elderly housekeeper in her father’s smoking room, dusting the shelves.
“Mrs. Barton?”
The housekeeper looked over her shoulder and smiled at the sight of Deborah. She stopped dusting. “Good morning to you, Miss Wilds. I heard you were unwell. Are you feeling better then?”
Deborah hesitated. She had forgotten about her feigned illness. She let out an obligatory cough. “I’m feeling a little better,” she lied. She stepped into the guest room and closed the door softly behind her. “There’s something I need to ask you,” she said tentatively, knotting her skirts around her finger. “My sister’s lady’s maid, Annie Barnes. Do you remember her?”
Something inexplicable passed across Mrs. Barton’s eyes. “Yes. Annie. Of course.”
“She left hurriedly after Edith’s death,” said Deborah. “I don’t suppose she ever told you where she might have been going?”
Mrs. Barton didn’t speak at once. She passed her dusting rag from one hand to the other. Finally, she said, “Annie and I spoke the day of your sister’s burial. I asked her about her plans. Your father offered to keep her on here at the manor, but she told him such a thing would be far too difficult.”
Deborah nodded wordlessly.
“Annie told me she planned to stay here in Bath,” Mrs. Barton continued. “Her mother and father are here, you see. I don’t know if Annie sought work at another household. I’ve not seen her since she left.” She eyed Deborah curiously. “Do you wish to speak with her?”
Deborah nodded shortly. “Her parents. Do you know how I might find them?”
“The cottage opposite St. Michael’s church,” said Mrs. Barton. “At the end of the village. The one beside the vicarage.”
Deborah nodded. “Yes. I know it.” She managed a small smile. “I’ll try there. Thank you.”
“Is this about your sister’s death, Miss Wilds?” Mrs. Barton blurted, before Deborah could leave the room. “Do you think perhaps Annie might have answers for you?”
Deborah hesitated. A part of her wanted to tell Mrs. Barton everything. She longed to share the weight of the things she had discovered in Edith’s diary. But she knew this was a thing she had to keep to herself. At least u
ntil this knowledge had a chance to settle. Until she had a chance to make sense of all she had uncovered. And all she was yet to uncover.
She would share what she had learned soon enough. She could feel a need growing inside her to share these things with the Duke.
But then Deborah thought back to her conversation with Mrs. Barton in the kitchen several days earlier. Remembered the housekeeper’s heartfelt words,
“It’s only natural that you want answers. I truly hope you find them.”
Guilty Pleasures 0f A Bluestocking (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 11
