by Brooke, Meg
“Yes, Miss, but—”
“Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Cynthia said.
He nodded grimly. “Yes, Miss.”
Cynthia went down to the parlor, where she dug her embroidery bag out from a corner and sat down on the sofa. She stabbed idly at the cloth. She had always hated embroidery, but she had not been able to deny Miss Cartwright’s argument that it provided something to occupy one’s mind. “Idle hands make light work for the devil,” she had said.
Cynthia did not believe in the devil. She had always been curious about God, had always believed that there was a divine presence that had benevolent intentions toward the world. Her father had never attended any church other than the congregations at Oxford, and had never encouraged her to believe in anything beyond human nature. Because he had taught her that people would do as they were meant to, she could not feel particularly angry about what had happened. The duke should not have behaved the way he did, of course, but it was hardly his fault that people had reacted so violently, and Cynthia did not think she could reasonably punish him for it by forcing him into a marriage with a wife he would certainly come to detest sooner rather than later.
She sighed and set the frame down in her lap. There was no point in trying to still her mind with light work.
There was a knock at the door, and Mallory came in. “Viscount Sidney, Miss,” he said.
Cynthia blinked at him. It was barely noon. What was Lord Sidney doing here? There was only one way to find out. “Show him in, please,” she said, and she stood as Lord Sidney swept in past the butler.
“Miss Endersby.” He bowed. She curtseyed.
“Lord Sidney,” she said. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
He looked at her for a space of time before he spoke. “May I sit, Miss Endersby?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said, and she was surprised when, rather than taking the seat across from her, he dropped onto the sofa beside her.
“Let me be frank, Miss Endersby.”
Oh, dear, she thought.
“Your reputation has been...” he paused, looking uncomfortable.
“Ruined,” she supplied.
“Yes. And I feel that it was at least partially due to my negligence. I should have made Bain’s—the duke’s—indiscretions known sooner, and then he would never have been in a position to humiliate you in such a way.”
Cynthia considered for a moment before she spoke. “My Lord,” she said at last, “I hold you in no way responsible for what has happened. Only two people were involved in the incident, the Duke of Danforth and myself. And even if you had made his conduct—which I am still not convinced was so terrible—known sooner, I could not very well have refused to dance with a man of his stature over an idle rumor.”
“It is not an idle rumor,” Lord Sidney insisted.
“I beg your pardon,” Cynthia said.
“In any event,” he went on, “it seems to me that you have only one recourse. You must marry.”
She looked away. “The duke has not—that is—”
“I did not mean him, Miss Endersby. I meant me. I think you should marry me, in all haste.”
Cynthia gaped at him. Silence hung between them for a long time. Finally she said, “I don’t understand, My Lord. You are blameless in this situation. Why would you offer for me?”
Now it was his turn to look away uncomfortably. “Miss Endersby,” he said, “I have been asking around town about you. Eleanor—my sister—says that you are a lovely young woman, and I am inclined to agree with her. You are accomplished and intelligent. You would make any man an excellent partner. I must marry sooner or later, and I see no reason not to do so to protect a woman’s reputation, since I do not expect to do so for love.”
She stood. “I think you should leave now, My Lord, while you still can. I will not marry you. I would never marry you. I appreciate the honor of the proposal you have come very close to making me, but there is no possible way I could accept. You are not at fault for my present situation, and it would be wrong to force the consequences upon you.”
He stood as well. “You are certain?”
“Very.”
He frowned. “I am deeply sorry for your predicament, Miss Endersby, even more so because you seem to me to be an honorable, decent young lady. I wish...I hope that the duke may endeavor to deserve you.”
“I thank you, My Lord, but I have no reason to expect a proposal from him.”
Lord Sidney let out a sardonic laugh. “You may be surprised, Miss Endersby. I have every reason to be angry with him, but I cannot deny that Charles Bainbridge always does what is necessary to protect his family’s good name.”
Then he bid her good day and turned to leave. She followed him to the hall, and so she was there to see Mallory pull the door open, revealing the Duke of Danforth standing on the stoop, one hand raised to the knocker.
The girl could at least have had the decency to look happy to see him, Charles thought as he stood in the hall. Leo had departed with a curt nod, leaving him standing on the stoop with the butler and Miss Endersby staring at him. Finally she had thought to invite him aside, and now they were eying each other across the small space, the butler looking very uncomfortable between them.
“Would you like to come into the parlor?” she asked at last.
“That would be very pleasant,” he ground out. She gestured to a set of double doors and he followed her through them into a small but well-furnished room. An embroidery hoop lay on one of the matching sofas. “I did not know you embroidered,” he said idly.
She stared at him for what felt like an eternity. “I do,” she said evenly.
“I suppose there are many things I do not know about you.”
“I suppose so.”
“Dammit, Miss Endersby—”
“Under the circumstances, I think it would be best if we kept our voices down,” she said with a cautious glance at the door. He wondered where her father was.
“Very well. You know why I have come.”
She batted her eyelashes at him and said in a false simper, “Why, no, Your Grace. I cannot imagine why you are here in my little parlor.”
He threw his hat down on the sofa in lieu of shouting. “What did Leo tell you?”
“Lord Sidney? He told me nothing—nothing more, that is, than he told me on Friday night at the Farringtons’.”
“But he has made you think the worst of me.”
“No,” she snapped, “you have done that all on your own.”
He took a deep breath. Be calm, he told himself. She will never accept you if she doesn’t know the truth. “May I tell you the story?”
She shrugged and dropped onto the sofa. “If you wish.” She gestured to the seat opposite her. He ignored her and sat down beside her.
“Leo—Viscount Sidney—has three younger sisters: Eleanor, Georgina and Maris. The last two are twins, and they made their come-out last year. I barely know either of them, but Leo was worried that they would not take, and asked me and the Earl of Stowe to do them a good turn, dance with them at balls and walk with them at parties, that sort of thing. But then Stowe married, and his wife found herself in a delicate condition almost immediately, and he was much occupied with her.”
“Yes, I know,” Cynthia said.
He had forgotten that she and the Countess of Stowe had been friends. “Of course. Anyway, I ended up escorting the girls all over the place for most of the Season, and Georgina—she is the more sensible of the two—saw it for what it was, a polite gesture by a friend of their brother. But Maris took it into her head that I was courting her, and when I didn’t propose to her at the end of the season as she expected she was rather put out. But then our paths crossed again at the Middlebury’s house party in September and she did something rather...foolish.”
“What?” Cynthia asked, clearly not caring that she had dropped her disinterested facade.
“Instead of arranging to be caught in a compromising pos
ition with me as any other smart debutante would have done, she tried to make me jealous by flirting with Lord Tamarline for two days. Then she came up with an elaborate scheme, the central point of which was that I would discover the two of them in a compromising position and fly into a jealous rage. Instead, Georgina told me about the plan and I broke it up, but in the process I gave Lady Middlebury the impression that it was I who had planned the assignation and not Lord Tamarline. It was all very embarrassing, though not bad enough to be strictly ruinous, and Lady Middlebury is a circumspect woman. But Leo has barely spoken to me since, and I suppose he still thinks the worst of me.”
“Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”
Charles looked away. “Because he wouldn’t have believed me. I have a reputation as a...as a...”
“A rake?”
“Yes. And I think he was prepared to assume I was guilty. I have worked very hard to cultivate the impression that I am a shameless libertine, after all.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Miss Endersby,” Charles said, unable to keep from smiling a little, “I am about to let you in on a great secret: I have no talent for dissolution. For some men, drinking and carousing and visiting brothels is endlessly exciting, but I do not find it so.”
“Then why cultivate that image?”
“It suits my purposes,” he said. He could not tell her about Jacqueline, about the lengths to which he had gone to protect his half-sister. Not yet, anyway. He didn’t want to frighten her off.
“But I don’t understand,” she said. “You have hardly compromised my reputation any more than you did Lord Sidney’s sister’s. So why are you here?”
“You mean, why am I about to propose to you?”
“Is that what you’re planning to do?” she asked evenly. Couldn’t she at least have the decency to be a little flustered?
“It is.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons, Miss Endersby. First: because the incident with Miss Maris was not printed in every scandal sheet for days on end and bandied about town by every gossip with a tea-table. Second: because I didn’t want to marry her.”
“But you want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
She blinked at him. “Why?”
“You use that word with startling frequency,” he said. “I am beginning to dislike it almost as much as I dislike the word ‘duty’. I wish to marry you, Miss Endersby, because you are beautiful and intelligent and graceful—in short, you are all the things a duchess should be. But I must be frank: I also wish to marry you because it will preserve my family’s good name and yours.”
“I see.”
“So?”
“So what?”
Charles realized that he hadn’t actually asked her yet. He slid off the sofa and dropped slowly onto one knee. “Miss Endersby,” he said, feeling a little light headed, “will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
“No.”
He gaped at her. He opened and closed his mouth, but couldn’t quite make any sound come out. At last, he managed to stammer, “N-no?”
“That is correct. My answer is no.”
“But...whyever not?”
“Because I do not wish to marry you.”
Charles blinked a few times, wondering if he had somehow fallen asleep and was still sitting in the carriage having some sort of terrible dream. “I don’t understand.”
She gave him a look of mock sympathy. “I know,” she said in a pitiful tone, “but I think you will survive it all the same.”
He stood. “You cannot mean it.”
“I assure you I am in earnest,” she said calmly. “I will not marry you.”
“Your reputation will be ruined,” he said.
“I would rather that than punish a respectable man eternally for such a minor infraction. My answer is firmly, finally no.”
He looked down at his hands, then back up at her. What was the girl thinking? “If I went to see your father right now, would he give me the same answer?”
She smirked. “My father is away from home until Friday,” she said, rather too smugly, he thought. “He made it quite clear that he did not wish to be troubled with the matter until then,” she added, and the bright tone of her voice dimmed ever so slightly. They had had an argument about it, Charles realized. If her father was angry with her, then what was she playing at by refusing him? There were more forces at work here than he recognized, but there was still an avenue, an opportunity to change her mind. If her father was not back until Friday, that gave him a little time.
“Very well,” he said. She nodded and rose. “But there is still the matter of our agreement.”
She froze. For a moment she kept her gaze fixed on the doors, but then she sighed and looked down at him. “What of it?”
“You have agreed to tutor me, to help me prepare for the session. I cannot lose that—you have seen how much work there is to be done.”
She nodded, lips set firmly in a frown.
“So here is what I propose. There are six more Tuesdays and Thursdays until the Opening. Six days that you have agreed to give me, and it just so happens that there are six days until your father returns and I can press my suit.”
She sat back down, leaning against the arm of the sofa as if trying to put as much space as possible between them and folding her arms across her chest. It made her ample décolletage even more visible, which was inconvenient for him. “These things are all true,” she said.
“You and I will keep our afternoon appointments for the next six days. But that will do nothing to help your reputation, and I think you would rather preserve your standing in society if you can. Am I right?”
She nodded stiffly.
“My sisters and I will come up with a list of social events at which we can appear as a party. This will give the appearance that you and I are …connected in some way. It will quell some of the rumors, at least, though only the official announcement of our betrothal will silence them completely. At the end of the week, you will give me your answer to my proposal.”
“I have already given you my answer,” she insisted, but he held up a regal hand to silence her.
“You cannot imagine the consequences of refusing me,” he said.
“On the contrary,” she argued. “I believe I understand the consequences very well. I am simply prepared to accept them.” She looked so grave that he was inclined to believe her. Perhaps she thought she could escape the traps that were laid for women who lost their good reputations. But even she was not that clever.
“But wouldn’t it be easier to accept my proposal, to continue to live the life to which you are accustomed? You and I both know what happens to gently bred women without the protection of a family or independent means.”
“I suppose it would, Your Grace. But I have decided never to marry, and I mean to hold firm to that.”
He stared at her, trying to understand the jumble of thoughts whirling through his mind. When she held her chin like that and insisted upon her independence, it made her so frightfully attractive to him that he began to suspect there was something wrong with his brain. How could it be that with every refusal he only found her more appealing? He had never particularly liked strong-willed females, and yet he found this one so irresistible that he was convinced he would never be satisfied until she was his. “Miss Endersby,” he said, trying again, “I like you. I find you…attractive. And I want to help you. I don’t want to see you forced down that path. You understand, don’t you, that it would be very easy for me to force you into matrimony if I wished?”
She nodded.
“But that is not the kind of marriage I want. So I mean to give you a choice, to show you that ours would not simply be a marriage of convenience. Six days, Miss Endersby. Not even one week. Give me six days to show you that there is a better option than poverty and ruination. Please.”
And then he did something that was either very foolish or very wise. He reached out and too
k her hand. She jumped when his fingers brushed hers, but she made no other move. She looked up at him, and a small smile touched the corners of her lips. “All right,” she said very softly.
Ridiculously, his heart swelled. He took her other hand and pulled her close, and a moment later his lips were touching hers. It was only then that he asked himself what he was thinking, but then she shifted a little and kissed him back and he forgot all his scruples. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her even closer.
She made a muffled sound of protest and pushed him away, springing up off the sofa at the same time. For a moment she stood staring at him. She put one hand to her chest as though trying to catch her breath. “My sentiments exactly,” he said, rising. He glanced at his watch. It was half past twelve. “I will see you at Danforth House in an hour and a half.” Then he turned and strode to the door. But just as he reached it, he remembered the question he had meant to ask before her little smile had gotten the best of him. “Why did you agree?” he asked, turning back.
She looked evenly at him. “Because you said please,” she said.
He nodded and left without another word.
TEN
After the duke had gone Cynthia sat in the parlor for a long time, trying to plan her next move. First, she thought, she would get her hands to stop shaking. Then she would take several deep breaths. Then, when her mind was a little calmer, she would forget the way his lips had felt against hers, the firmness of his hands at her waist.
That was as far as her plan went. What happened next was a mystery.
She leaned back against the sofa. Why on earth had she agreed to his ridiculous plot? She knew why, though she didn’t wish to admit it to herself.
She wanted him.
If the confusion she had felt at the Farrington’s ball and her strange dream that morning hadn’t told her that, his kiss certainly had. Perhaps her father had been right after all, and the romantic novels he had forbade her in her adolescence but which had been sneaked to her by Clarissa had, indeed, warped her mind. As he had kissed her, all the legitimate arguments she had against agreeing to his foolish plan had flown from her head, replaced by thoughts of what his wooing her entailed. They would go to the theatre and balls and parties. He would say romantic things to her, would try to win her favor.
