Only You

by Cheryl Holt

  A mishap must have occurred. What if he’d had an accident and was incoherent or in the hospital? How would she find him? Oh, the whole scheme of meeting at the docks had been mad from the outset! They should have left the hotel together! She should have insisted!

  “Where are you?” she mumbled to herself. “You rat, Preston! Where can you be?”

  A local man strutted up, and he seemed to hold a position of authority. He was wearing a bulky uniform, and he had on a hat with a brim.

  “Miss, you’ve tarried here for several hours.”

  “My goodness. Hours? Has it been that long?”

  “Yes. May I assist you? Have you encountered some difficulty?”

  She studied him, wanting to say she was fine, but the sun was over in the western sky, providing stark evidence that the afternoon had flown by and evening would soon be upon them. What then? Would she dawdle by herself in the dark? The notion didn’t bear contemplating.

  “Yes,” she told him, “you could assist me. My husband hasn’t arrived, and I’m nervous that something may have happened to him.”

  The man glanced down at her satchel, then peeked at her hand where there was no ring on her finger, and she tucked it into the folds of her skirt.

  “Come with me to the ticket office,” he advised. “We can check with the agent. Perhaps he has seen your husband.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Of course we should speak with him.”

  They hurried down the wharf and entered a small building. A man was behind the counter, and her escort led her over to him.

  “This young lady,” he explained, “has been waiting for her husband. I’m hoping to confirm that he’s purchased their tickets.”

  She didn’t like the way he put such emphasis on the word husband. Did he suspect she was eloping? Did she look as if she was? Did girls often show up with packed satchels and no rings on their fingers? Would the pair seize her and return her to her mother?

  Her mind whirred with terror, and she forced herself to calm down as her escort said, “Miss, what is your husband’s name?”

  “Mr. Price. Mr. Preston Price.”

  The agent scowled. “A Brit? Forty or so? Suave manners, expensive clothes?”

  “Yes, that sounds like him.”

  “He sailed last night.”

  “What?”

  “I remember him well. He claimed he’d had enough of Egypt and was heading off to greener pastures.”

  She blanched. “That’s not possible.”

  The agent pulled out a passenger list and pointed to it. “See? Preston Price. Right there, plain as day.”

  She nearly fainted, so overcome by shock that she had to grip the counter so she didn’t fall down. “Did he mention his destination?”

  “No. His ticket was to Alexandria, but from there he could continue on to any port in the world.”

  “There has to be some mistake,” she murmured. “A hideous, peculiar mistake.”

  They stared at her, their expressions sympathetic, and her escort said, “Could I summon a chair for you, Miss? It’s getting late.”

  “Ah…yes, I should probably return to my hotel. I’m sure my husband and I are simply having a miscommunication, and I’ll find him there.”

  The man guided her out, his arm light and gentle, as if she was an invalid or a lunatic. He whistled to some porters, and they hustled over.

  “Have you money for the fare?” he asked her.

  “Yes, I have plenty.”

  “Are you confident you can make your way back? Would you like me to accompany you?”

  “I’m used to traveling by myself,” she lied. “Thank you for your help. You’ve been very kind.”

  He gave directions to the porters, and they raced away. Shortly, they were at the hotel, and she climbed out.

  Sick with dismay, she stood under the grand portico, mentally debating the facts. Preston couldn’t have left without her. They were going to Italy. The captain was to have married them on the ship. It would have been so romantic!

  She staggered into the lobby, her thoughts convoluted and tormented. As she proceeded to the stairs, she saw the manager, and she went over to him.

  “Hello, Miss Wallace. Are you all right? You look as if you’ve suffered a mishap.”

  She was sweat-drenched, her hair drooping, her bonnet askew, so she comprehended why he’d ask the question.

  “I was out in the heat for too long,” she said, which was certainly true.

  “The heat can be dangerous. You need to be careful.”

  “I try to be. I just had a bit of a…day.”

  “Yes, those can happen, can’t they?”

  “I was wondering about another guest.”

  “Yes? I don’t know if I can supply any information. Our records are private.”

  “I understand. It’s that…ah…I was supposed to meet Mr. Price for tea this afternoon, but he never arrived.”

  At hearing her mention Preston, the manager stiffened with offense. “Are you referring to Mr. Preston Price?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s not a guest in this hotel.”

  “Yes, he is. He called on me and my mother yesterday.”

  “If he was in this establishment, he must have slinked in like the cur he is.”

  She was taken aback by his venom. “What?”

  “Mr. Price stayed with us for several weeks a month ago, but he did not pay a penny of his bill. He snuck off in the middle of the night, and we’ve been on the lookout for him ever since.”

  “You must have him confused with someone else. He’s very rich and honorable. He wouldn’t fail to pay a bill.”

  “Rich, ha!” the manager snorted. “And as to honorable, I’ve made numerous inquiries, Miss Wallace. He is a renowned confidence artist and libertine. If he’s been calling on you and your mother, I’ll have a word with Mrs. Wallace so she avoids him in the future.”

  “You’re wrong. You have to be,” Susan mumbled, and she stumbled away.

  “If you see Mr. Price,” the manager said, “tell him he better keep his sorry self out of Cairo. We have laws about defrauding innkeepers. I’ll have him jailed, and I can guarantee he won’t like the accommodations.”

  Susan didn’t reply, didn’t glance around. She continued to the stairs and climbed to her room. She was astonished and aggrieved, and the saddest part was that there was absolutely no one she could talk to about the debacle.

  Clearly, he’d tricked her. He’d seduced her without ever intending to follow through on their plans. She wanted to die! She wanted to drop down dead and die!

  Feeling bewildered and alarmed, she lurched toward the door to the suite she shared with Theo. As she reached for the knob, her stomach churned with a sudden burst of nausea. The past few days, it sprung up when she least expected it. Typically, she’d sip some tea or eat a biscuit, and it would fade.

  She darted inside, and Theo was sitting in a chair over by the balcony and gazing out at the river. She appeared young and lost, as if she might float off into the sky and vanish forever.

  Luckily, Edna was nowhere in sight.

  “Where have you been?” Theo asked. “Your mother has been searching for you all afternoon.”

  “Bugger my mother,” Susan crudely muttered. “She can sod off. The whole bloody world can sod off.”

  She threw down her satchel and raced into the bedroom to grab the chamber pot. She fell to her knees and vomited over and over and over until there was nothing left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Oakwood estate, three months later…

  Theo stared out of the mail coach as it lumbered down the road leading to Oakwood, the Postlewaite family seat. She was back in England and slowly making her way home, but she was in no hurry to arrive.

  Once they’d docked in London, she’d called on her father—the great and grand Lord Wood—at his town house, but the place had been shuttered, which was odd. It meant he was at the estate, but he never visited the proper
ty. Maybe he was hosting a hunting party. With it being September, he might have arranged something.

  The driver stopped at the gate, and as she climbed down, he tossed her valise onto the ground. Her traveling trunk was in London at Edna’s, but Theo didn’t care if the rest of her belongings were ever sent to Oakwood.

  She didn’t want to keep a single item that would remind her of the horrid trip.

  The coach pulled away, and after it vanished from view, she started up the lane toward the manor.

  Edna had intended to come with her so she could personally speak to Lord Wood about Theo and Mr. Grey, but Theo refused to participate in such an awful meeting. The minute Edna had left to do some shopping, Theo had left too and headed to the country on her own.

  Before they’d departed Egypt, Edna had written to Lord Wood, apprising him of Theo’s scandalous conduct. If he’d received the missive, she would be in a very deep hole. The mail was extremely unreliable though, so she could only hope the message had gone astray.

  Through the trees, she saw the majestic mansion, and there was smoke wafting from several chimneys. There were numerous carriages in the drive, and dozens of people were strolling outside, playing lawn games, and loafing on blankets to enjoy the afternoon weather.

  Her spirits flagged. She couldn’t bear to have guests. With her mood so sour, her attitude so morose, she was in a dreadfully poor condition to be civil to anyone.

  Just ask Edna, Susan, or Fenton.

  Edna had begged Theo to sail to England with them, to abandon her preposterous plan to remain in Cairo so she could confront Mr. Grey. Initially, Theo had declined to heed her aunt, but after a lengthy night of anguished pondering, she’d realized that she had to go with the Wallaces.

  She’d had no money to stay in Cairo, and even if she’d had some, the prospect of tarrying by herself in the foreign city was too frightening to consider. The other problem had to do with Mr. Grey. Even if she’d dawdled until he returned, she could never have mustered the courage to accost him.

  Any discussion would have been humiliating. She was simply an ordinary woman from a rural estate who’d spent most of her life alone. She’d fallen in love with a cad who hadn’t loved her back. While at first, she’d been desperate to know why he hadn’t, there wasn’t any valid reason for her to know.

  Any answer he’d supplied would have killed her.

  So…she’d journeyed home with her aunt and cousins, but it had been a grueling voyage. She’d mostly avoided them, hadn’t dined or socialized in any significant fashion. Many of the tedious hours might have been passed in the cabin she’d shared with Susan, but Susan had been seasick for the whole trip, the air rancid from her vomiting.

  Instead, Theo had ceaselessly walked on the deck and reflected on all that had happened.

  She understood—and Edna had vigorously counseled—that she shouldn’t constantly ruminate, that she had to forget and move on, but she couldn’t seem to. She’d just been so fond of Mr. Grey, and she couldn’t figure out where to put all the emotion that was still swirling. How was she to get rid of it?

  Bizarre as it sounded, she hadn’t believed he’d intended to part with her. She’d truly believed he would return to Cairo, find her gone, then chase after her.

  For weeks, the possibility had weighed on her so heavily that she had barely been able to eat or sleep. She’d been positive she’d peek over her shoulder someday, and he’d be standing there, but as the miles had flown by, as she’d travelled farther and farther from Egypt, she’d identified her ludicrous thoughts for what they were.

  Ultimately, she’d had to accept that he wasn’t coming. After she’d acknowledged that fact, she’d grown calmer. She’d started to treat her aunt with a modicum of civility. She hadn’t made much headway with Susan or Fenton though and wasn’t concerned over the shattering of those two relationships.

  The biggest surprise for Theo had been Mr. Price’s disappearance. Theo had been so disconsolate over her own tribulations that they’d been at sea before she’d realized Susan hadn’t stayed behind with him.

  Theo had been certain her cousin was plotting with the dodgy fellow. If she and Susan had been closer, Theo might have asked about him. But Susan had never cared about Theo, and Theo wasn’t interested in learning what had occurred.

  She approached the house, surreptitiously glancing at the various people who were strolling and chatting. She didn’t recognize any of them, so they didn’t recognize her. She went to the stairs and climbed to the front door. It was propped open, and as she entered, a butler was there. It wasn’t her butler though. It wasn’t elderly, kind Mr. Jenkins who’d worked for the family for over fifty years.

  On observing someone else in the foyer in Mr. Jenkins suit of clothes, she was so stunned that she peered about to be sure she wasn’t in the wrong residence. Had Mr. Jenkins died while she was away?

  “Hello,” the butler said. “May I help you?”

  “We haven’t met, but I am Theodosia Postlewaite.”

  He gaped as if the name meant nothing to him. “Miss Postlewaite, have you come for the party? I wasn’t informed that any relatives would be arriving.”

  “I am Lady Theodosia. Lord Wood is my father.”

  He snapped to attention. “Oh, oh, yes, milady. Pardon me.”

  “Where is Mr. Jenkins?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know him.”

  “He was our butler for several decades.”

  “I’ve never heard of him. I was hired on three weeks ago. The staff is new.” He gestured to the receiving parlor. “Would you like to sit?”

  There were guests in the parlor, and she didn’t want to speak to anyone. “Actually, I should greet my father. Could Lord Wood grant me an audience?”

  “No, he’s out, but Lady Wood is here.”

  “Lady…Wood? Who on earth is Lady Wood?”

  “Your father’s wife?”

  Theo blanched, and the butler gawked at her as if she was an imbecile. Her father—the consummate bachelor—had wed? He had a…wife? No wonder there was a party in progress. No wonder there were guests hanging from the rafters. Another woman was in charge of Theo’s home.

  She sighed. “May I simply go to my room?”

  “It’s not available.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lady Wood’s mother has moved into it.”

  “Lady Wood’s mother?”

  “Yes. I heard her say it was the nicest suite in the manor.”

  “I see.” She cast about, frantic over what to do.

  Her father had allowed a stranger to swoop in and confiscate Theo’s bedchamber. It had been Theo’s since the day she’d left the nursery. An outsider had brazenly appropriated it?

  “Just…ah…take me to the library,” she mumbled. “Have the housekeeper attend me to tell me where I am to sleep.”

  He flashed an obsequious smile and motioned down the hall. “If you’ll follow me?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  While growing up at Oakwood, she’d never had servants escorting her. With Lord Wood never visiting, they hadn’t had to fuss with fancy etiquette. It was absurd to have a new and quite unlikable butler directing her steps. She felt as if she’d tumbled into a fairy glen where all the rules were topsy-turvy.

  She was deposited in the library, and once he departed, she went over to the window to stare across the park.

  She was used to Oakwood being very quiet and empty. Now there was a subtle hum of voices and activity, and she tried to ignore it as she took stock of her situation.

  Lord Wood had a bride and mother-in-law in residence. They likely wouldn’t want Theo underfoot. His bride especially would want to put her own stamp on the place.

  Where did that leave Theo?

  Suddenly, someone was rushing down the hall, a skirt swishing, soft slippers gliding on the marble floor. Before Theo could blink, a pretty girl dashed in. She couldn’t have been much more than sixteen, and with her silvery blond hair and viol
et-colored eyes, she was youthful in a wholesome manner.

  She was shorter than Theo, barely five feet in her shoes, and she was very plump, her full bosom practically falling out of the bodice of her gown. And she was very, very clearly in the family way, her swollen belly announcing even more blatantly how matters had changed while Theo was away.

  “Are you Theo?” she gushed.

  “Yes.”

  “Please, please let me call you Theo. We can’t be formal.”

  She hastened over and clasped Theo’s hands, and she searched Theo’s face, assessing her features.

  “You are…?” Theo stammered.

  “Lady Wood, your father’s bride!” She laughed and laughed. “You didn’t know, did you?”

  “No.”

  “I told Harold you’d be surprised.” Harold was Theo’s father.

  “I am surprised.”

  “You have to call me Penelope. We’ll be just like sisters. Mother said I should try very hard to be your sister, but I’m actually your stepmother! Isn’t that hilarious?”

  “Yes, it’s incredibly hilarious,” Theo murmured, wishing as she had many times the past few months that she could simply become invisible and float away.

  Penelope rested her palms on her stomach. “I’m having a baby!”

  “I see that.”

  “Harold insists I have a boy or I’m not worth the bother. Mother nags at me that I’d be failing at the job I was picked for. Your father could have selected any girl, but he selected me, so it’s sons or nothing.”

  “Most men have that opinion.”

  “Mother is so anxious about it, she sent me to a midwife to have myself checked. The drunken woman swore it will be a son, but I’m convinced she simply said it because she was afraid to upset your father. Harold claims he doesn’t need another daughter, that he had you and that was enough.”

  “No, he definitely doesn’t need another one of me.”

  Penelope was like a whirlwind, like a child who’d had too much excitement. Theo was shocked and horribly distressed. This manic tempest was her father’s bride? She was very fetching, but she was so young and immature and annoying. What had he been thinking? The notion made Theo weak with fatigue.