by Diana Quincy
“Martha, sir . . . I mean, Your Grace.”
“Martha,” Hunt said gently, still numb with shock, “did you see the direction in which she went? If your mistress is out there alone on foot, she is in great danger and we must find her.”
“She’s not on foot.” Fear etched Martha’s wide face. “And she ain’t alone.”
“What do you mean?” Devon demanded.
“A man helped her into a hackney and they raced away,” the girl said.
Hunt blinked. Nothing about this evening made any sense. “What man?”
“I can’t say,” Martha answered. “It was dark and I couldn’t see his face. They embraced and then he helped her into the hackney cab and off them went.”
“Did they say anything to one another?” Leela asked.
The maid nodded. “The young man asked her if she was sure, and she said aye, that she was, that she loved him and that Lady Devon had convinced her that love was worth fighting for, no matter what.”
“What?” Rage contorted Devon’s face. He rounded on Leela. “You knew about this?”
“Why am I not surprised?” Aunt Helene fanned herself with a lace kerchief. “This is a disaster. I shall never be able to show my face in society again.”
Hunt took in Leela’s pale face. “You did this?”
“Did you encourage Victoria to run off?” Devon demanded. “To abandon everything for love?”
“Not exactly, but something like that.” Leela licked her dry lips. “I thought she was referring to the duke. I certainly never encouraged her to abandon His Grace.”
Devon scoffed. “That’s a likely story. She was all but betrothed to Huntington by the time you returned from roaming the world. If only you had stayed gone. Perhaps you had an interest in seeing her jilt the duke.”
“That’s enough, Devon.” Hunt’s voice was like ice. He looked at Leela. “Why would Victoria feel she had to fight for my love?”
Her dark gaze held his. “She suspected you might be in love with another woman.”
His heart sank. “Why would she think that?”
“She felt you were guarding your heart because it belonged to someone else.”
Hunt flushed. “And you advised her to fight for love no matter what the cost.”
Her pale cheeks colored. “Yes.”
“Interesting.”
They were interrupted by a tap on the door. The butler poked his head inside.
“I told you we are not to be disturbed,” Devon bellowed at the man.
“Yes, my lord.” The butler cleared his throat. “But I thought you’d care to be advised immediately that two notes have just been delivered. They are from Lady Victoria.”
“What?” Devon snapped. “What are you waiting for then? Hand them over at once.”
The butler did as his master asked. “One is addressed to His Grace. The other to Lady Devon.”
Hunt bolted from his position on the sofa. “Give it here.”
Devon handed one note to Hunt and proceeded to open the other.
Leela jumped to her feet. “The second note is addressed to me.”
Devon barely glanced at her as he unfolded the letter. “Be that as it may, as her guardian, I intend to see for myself if you are responsible for corrupting my sister.”
“How dare you!” Leela exclaimed. “That is my private correspondence. You have no right.”
Devon glared at her. “I have every right.”
“Give her the letter,” Hunt said coldly. “Now.”
Devon paused before reluctantly handing the missive over to Leela.
Hunt scanned the note addressed to him, absorbing its contents in dazed disbelief. After a minute, he looked up. “It is done.”
“What is?” Devon demanded to know. “What did Victoria say?”
“That she intends to wed Foster because she is in love with him.”
“Foster?” the old lady asked. “Who in the world is that?”
“My secretary.” Hunt folded Victoria’s note and slipped it into his pocket. “Rather, my former secretary,” he clarified before walking out the door.
Leela stared at Tori’s letter for what had to be the fiftieth time. The words were finally sinking in a full week after Devon’s disastrous ball.
My dearest Leela,
Please forgive me if you feel I have deceived you.
I truly intended to honor my commitment to wed the Duke of Huntington even though my heart led me elsewhere. The time I spent with Mr. Foster at Lambert Hall has been the most meaningful of my life. We did not expect to fall in love and we both tried to fight our feelings. His Grace has been all that is decent and kind to each of us, but I have come to realize that Mr. Foster is indeed my destiny.
He appeared in my bedchamber on the evening of the ball and pleaded with me to come away with him. (He came in through the window. Isn’t that romantic?) Still, I was determined to honor my pledge to His Grace, but when I saw Mr. Foster waiting for me in the garden, I knew that I must follow my heart, as you have always urged me to do.
I shall be in communication soon, if you will still receive me. In the meantime, please do not worry. I am in the very capable and loving hands of my future husband.
With love always,
Victoria
Slumping back in her chair, Leela stared out the sitting room window. How had she missed all of the signs that Tori had developed feelings for another man?
Had the young woman seated herself next to Mr. Foster at dinner out of kindness? Or had she felt drawn to the man? And what of Tori’s surprising enthusiasm for the early morning golf outing? She’d known Mr. Foster would be present. Even their going into the woods together to search for that lost golf ball now seemed suspect. Tori and Mr. Foster had emerged after several minutes looking decidedly flushed. After their return to town, had Tori asked for a tour of Weston House in hopes of seeing Mr. Foster? Clearly, it was Mr. Foster, and not the duke, who was responsible for that recent glow on Tori’s face.
Leela and Hunt were so caught up in each other that they hadn’t noticed what was occurring right before them. And now they were left to deal with the consequences.
Tori’s defection triggered an enormous scandal. Society couldn’t get enough of the tale of the shy debutante who jilted the handsome but intimidating Duke of Huntington. Everyone in London seemed invested in Tori’s story. The broadsheets screamed with speculation about the runaway bride’s current whereabouts. Some maintained Tori’s brother locked the unbiddable girl away at Lambert Hall, punishment for shaming her family and humiliating the Duke of Huntington. Another paper reported sighting Lady Victoria on the continent in the company of her Italian lover.
The city’s most renowned cartoonists also immortalized the scandal. One caricature depicted Hunt stripped of his dignity, in the form of a tailcoat, left only in his underclothes as a bosomy, wild-haired girl, presumably Tori, danced a jig on his head. Hunt, who purposely lived a decorous life devoid of scandal and gossip, found himself at the center of a firestorm brought on by Tori’s dramatic defection.
Leela hadn’t heard a word from Hunt since that disastrous evening, but that didn’t keep him from occupying her thoughts. The papers reported that the duke was in seclusion. Leela couldn’t blame him for trying to disappear.
Her musings were cut short when the butler appeared to announce that the Earl of Devon was waiting to see her. She folded the letter and put it aside, coming eagerly to her feet. Perhaps Edgar had news of Victoria.
“Have you heard from her?” Devon inquired the moment he strode into the sitting room.
“No. Nothing.” She sank back into her chair. “I suppose that means you haven’t either.”
“Not a word. Where can she be?” He planted a fist on his hip while massaging the back of his neck with his other hand. “I assumed they were headed to Gretna Green to wed, but there’s been no sign of them along the North Road.”
“You sent someone after her?”
“Of course. I am her
guardian. It is my duty.” He plopped into a comfortable chair near Leela. “Although I have obviously failed miserably. She’s ruined herself in such a spectacularly public fashion that her reputation will never recover. She’s thrown everything away for a social-climbing fortune hunter.”
“We don’t know for certain that Mr. Foster is after Tori’s money.” Once a woman married, everything she owned became the property of her husband. Tori was truly at Mr. Foster’s mercy.
“Of course he is,” Edgar said bitterly. “Imagine the impoverished relation of a baron having the audacity to reach so high above himself as to marry the daughter of an earl.”
“Maybe he truly cares for her.”
“Victoria had better hope so, for her sake. Because she has no funds of her own.”
“How can she have no money?”
“Father knew I would take care of Victoria and see to her future, her dowry, all of it.” He scowled. “Unlike what he did with you, practically leaving you half of the estate. The old man was out of his mind.”
“Or in his right mind,” she murmured, “and it was nowhere near half of his estate.”
“So you see,” Edgar continued as if Leela hadn’t spoken, “Victoria has truly made a cake of herself. Let’s see just how much she enjoys trading her feather bed for a straw mattress.”
“I just hope she is safe and well.” Leela rubbed the pads of her fingers against her forehead to quell the headache taking form there.
“Meanwhile, the duke has gone completely out of his mind.”
She straightened. “How so?”
“He’s holed himself up in that house of his on St. James Place. I had a note delivered advising Huntington that I have engaged a pair of runners to locate Victoria.”
“And?” she prompted, eager to hear any news of Hunt.
“I received a brief note in reply informing me that His Grace has no interest in Victoria’s whereabouts given that any connection between him and Lady Victoria—and, by extension, our entire family—is irretrievably severed.”
“He sounds very angry, which is understandable considering the circumstances.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Huntington also demanded that I cease all future communication as any amity that once existed between our two houses is at an end.”
“Perhaps he will calm down a bit after some time has passed.”
“I, for one, will not hold my breath. Besides, who could blame the man? He’s been brought low, publicly humiliated by a foolish young girl who rejected a duke in favor of a clerk with no fortune or connections to speak of.” He rubbed his eyes, his exhaustion apparent. “She has ruined her life.”
“How is Aunt Helene faring?”
“She refuses to emerge from her bedchamber. She takes all of her meals in private and is not at home to any of her friends who have called.”
Edgar did not look like he planned on leaving anytime soon, so Leela rose to reach for the bellpull. “I’ll ring for tea. You look as if you could use it.”
“What I could use is something much stronger.”
“The only spirit I keep up here is sherry.”
“If you please.”
She filled two glasses, handed one to Edgar and settled back down with hers. “Where would Tori and Mr. Foster go if not to Gretna Green? Who else would marry them?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“There is a question that has been bothering me all week.”
“Just one?” He emptied his glass in two swallows.
“Why didn’t Tori leave you a note? She sent one to me and one to Huntington but nothing to you. Why is that?”
“She was angry with me.”
“About what?”
“As usual, you were the cause of discord.” There was no heat in his words.
“How so?”
“She discovered that I hadn’t told you about your inheritance.”
Leela smiled for the first time in a week. “That’s my girl. You must admit, that was very badly done of you.”
“I will admit no such thing. You ran away right after Father’s death and didn’t bother to stay around for the reading of the will. Besides, I honestly don’t believe you deserve Parkwood. It should stay in the family. You’ve no children to leave it to.”
“Which naturally means I’m not worthy.” She also spoke without anger. This was probably the most honest conversation she and Edgar had ever had, and possibly their only real adult conversation. They still didn’t care for each other, but their mutual love for Tori bonded them. They were the two people in the world who cared the most for the young woman.
“I suppose, however,” he said with exaggerated disdain, “that I do owe you an apology for my transgression against you at Parkwood. I overstepped.”
“When you tried to make me your whore?”
He winced. “Must you be so indelicate?”
“Is there a more ladylike way to discuss such a base transaction?” she asked, both amused and utterly shocked that Edgar would deign to apologize to her about anything.
“I am trying to say that I am sorry. That was very badly done of me. I was foxed.”
“That is no defense. Do you make a habit of forcing yourself on women?”
“Of course not.” He looked affronted. “You may ask anyone.”
She already had, at least among the servants. Edgar could be petty and high-handed, but he apparently did not abuse his employees or demand sexual favors from them.
“Now,” he continued, “don’t you think you owe me an apology?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Whatever for?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He gestured toward his cheek. “For scarring me!”
“No indeed,” she said cheerfully.
He harrumphed. They were both quiet for a moment. Leela sipping her sherry and Edgar keeping whatever thoughts he had to himself.
After a minute or two, he spoke. “Just so that we are clear. This détente between us does not, in any way, mean that I accept your ownership of Parkwood. If there is any way on earth that I can retake control of the dower house I will do so. By any means necessary.”
She swallowed the last of her drink. “I shall consider myself forewarned.” She rose. “More sherry?”
He held out his empty glass. “Why not?”
Chapter Twenty
Leela slammed the door behind her as she exited Smith and Sons Publishers the following week.
Fuming, she marched down Albemarle Street. Yet another publisher had turned her down. When she first reached out to Mr. Smith, the publisher expressed great eagerness to collaborate with the author of Travels in Arabia. He’d written that he was very interested in publishing the third volume. Unfortunately, the hamar’s enthusiasm faded the instant he met D. L. Chambers in person and realized that he was in fact a she.
Leela was running out of options. Smith and Sons was her last hope of finding a reputable publishing home for her manuscript. Everyone else had turned her down. Frustration rippled through her. She had a hit book on her hands, but no publisher willing to touch it merely because she was a female demanding a fair share of the profits. Ufff. If only she could publish the darn thing herself.
“Lady Devon,” a masculine voice called out to her. “I thought that was you.”
Leela was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost collided with the man. She looked up into icy blue eyes framed by thick dark brows. It took Leela a moment to place that face.
“Viscount Griffin.” She vaguely recalled the man, a guest from Edgar’s house party at Lambert Hall. Although she hadn’t seen much of him. He spent a great deal of time in his bedchamber and, if memory served, he’d quit the house party early to return to Town.
“Good day, my lady.” He tipped his tall black beaver hat. “I hope you are well.”
“As well as can be expected.” She saw no reason to pretend the disaster with Tori hadn’t occurred. As a guest at the ball, Griffin had witnessed the debacle firsthan
d. “Given the circumstances.”
“It is a most unfortunate situation.” His harsh face darkened. “For all involved.”
She remembered then that Griffin was a particular friend of Hunt’s. “I trust His Grace is recovering from the shock.”
“I have not seen Huntington since . . . that unfortunate evening.”
“But I thought you were a particular friend of his.”
He paused. “If I may speak plainly.”
“Please do.” Her pulse quickened. “Is something amiss with His Grace?”
“Hunt lives a lonely life. His immediate family—his father, mother and brother—are all gone. He has cousins, but they are not close.”
“What of you? Aren’t you his friend? Should you not have inquired about his well-being after what occurred?”
“After your stepdaughter humiliated the man by jilting him in front of all of society?”
She registered the cold anger in his voice. “I should think His Grace needs a friend by his side now more than ever.”
“He isn’t receiving callers.” Griffin’s hand slid gingerly over his shoulder. He grimaced. “The butler says he is not at home to visitors. Hunt is isolating himself. I am concerned for his well-being.”
“He shouldn’t be alone after what happened.”
“On that we agree. Perhaps you will think to call on him. He might be at home to you.”
“Why would he see me?”
He did not answer, but that was answer enough. She felt her face heat. “I do not know what His Grace has told you—”
“He has told me nothing.”
“Then I do not see—”
Impatience flashed on his face. “Perhaps I am mistaken in my assumptions. If I am, I must beg your pardon.”
A knot formed at the back of her throat. “But what if he won’t see me?”
His imposing expression softened a bit. “What if he will?”
Leela decided to start with a letter. She took care writing it, inquiring after Hunt’s health and expressing her deep regret over what had happened with Tori. When she’d finished, she sent for Ivor, one of her brother’s footmen, who’d been with the family for many years.
