Only You

by Cheryl Holt

  “You’ll call me Penelope? Yes? Say you will.”

  “Of course I will.” Theo forced a smile. “It’s certainly better than calling you mother.”

  “That’s what I told Harold!” Penelope leaned nearer, looking very much as if they were schoolgirls sharing secrets. “Guess what else?”

  “I can’t begin to imagine.”

  “You are in so much trouble, Theo!”

  “I am in trouble?”

  “Yes, your father received every letter your Aunt Edna posted. Is she a harpy? She sounded like a harpy.”

  “She’s my aunt,” was all Theo could bring herself to explain.

  “He is so angry with you! Let’s go up to my room and try on clothes, shall we? I’ll tell you everything that’s happened.”

  Theo wanted to jump off a cliff. She wanted to run out to the lake and drown herself in the deepest end. She wanted to fly off into the sky and never come down.

  But her stepmother was already leading her out, and she staggered along behind her like a puppet on a string.

  Susan sat in a rented cab, the veil on her hat pulled low to hide her identity.

  She’d expected the driver to climb down and help her out, but he didn’t budge. Finally, she dragged herself out, and she reached up and handed him his fare.

  “Would you wait for me?” she asked.

  “Not in this neighborhood. I might get my throat slit.”

  “If my acquaintance has moved, I’ll discover it right away, and we can leave.”

  “Fine, but hurry, would you?”

  She walked off, and as she spun away, he called to his horse and trotted off.

  “Rotten cur,” she muttered to herself.

  She gazed at the decrepit street, hating to be alone on it. Exhausted housewives tottered by. Destitute sluggards lounged in the stairwells, watching her with vacant stares. Grimy, hungry urchins studied her from the shadows. It was a far cry from the wide, pretty avenue where Edna’s home was located.

  Beggars can’t be choosers, Susan. Just get it over with.

  She entered the building she sought and trudged to the fourth floor. Neville’s apartment was there, in an attic with huge windows.

  He’d always claimed he’d never reside in another spot. Would he still be living there? What if he wasn’t? What if he was? Considering how she’d treated him before she left for Egypt, he might simply slam the door in her face.

  What would be worse? For him to have vanished with no forwarding address? Or for him to scorn her and order her away?

  It had been madness for her to lead him on, but she had—because he had been so fond of her. She’d been flattered by his devotion, but in her typical snobbish fashion, she’d taken it all for granted.

  Her friends had snickered about her affair, about him and his lack of ambition for any suitable venture. They’d teased her about the bohemian life she’d have if she married him. She’d heeded them and had coldly broken it off, refusing to be poor, to struggle in that tiny flat where there was no heat, water, servants, or food.

  Well, hadn’t she dropped down a few pegs since those arrogant days? In reflecting on that frivolous era, she’d realized that Neville was the only person who’d ever cared about her. He’d loved her! He’d told her so over and over, and she’d spurned him for reasons that seemed silly now.

  In light of her current predicament, there was no one else in whom she could confide. She thought he’d assist her, and if he wouldn’t, at least he would listen. He’d let her talk about the terrible things that had transpired, the terrible things she’d done.

  If she could just mention Preston and the events in Cairo, she was certain some of her distress would wane. From the moment she’d learned that he’d tricked her, she hadn’t been able to tell anyone.

  She might have approached Theo, but Susan had been so awful to her cousin that she’d wrecked any chance to vent about her woe. The fact that she’d been ill the whole journey hadn’t helped either. She’d felt too miserable to mend any fences, and Theo had been happy for her to suffer alone.

  Her nausea had faded somewhat once they’d docked in London, but her stomach hadn’t completely settled, and she’d begun to wonder if she hadn’t contracted a serious ailment. It had been the mocking whispers of her mother’s cook and housemaid that had clarified Susan’s situation.

  It appears Miss Susan is no better than she has to be!

  Which bloke do you suppose nailed her?

  Mrs. Wallace will likely expire from mortification.

  I’m glad the Colonel isn’t alive to see this! If he wasn’t already dead in the ground, this news would send him there!

  They had riotously guffawed. Edna had been out visiting, and they’d assumed Susan was resting in her room, but she’d come down to the kitchen to ask for a cup of tea. She’d hidden in the hall, privy to every word of their blistering conversation, then had sneaked away.

  She was having a baby. She hadn’t consulted a doctor to have the debacle confirmed, but the servants’ remarks had rung true.

  She was a frivolous, stupid child. She’d understood that pregnancy could occur when a girl misbehaved, but it had been an abstract concept she hadn’t focused on as a real possibility.

  She’d figured it would be years in the future, when she and Preston were happily wed and eager to start a family. She hadn’t recalled that it could simply crop up out of the blue when she wasn’t prepared at all.

  She arrived at the small landing at the top of the stairs. Someone was walking about in the apartment, and she offered up a quiet prayer that it would be Neville. If he’d moved, she’d have no idea how to find him.

  She rolled back the veil on her hat, then knocked briskly.

  “Just a minute, just a minute,” a man mumbled inside. She heard footsteps, then the door was yanked open.

  And there was gloriously handsome Neville. With his flowing blond hair that curled over his shoulders, he looked like a Greek god. His blue eyes were a penetrating color, the same shade of sky he utilized in so many of his paintings. He was attired in the loose, comfortable clothes he always wore when he was working, an apron covering all, but still he was coated with blotches of paint.

  His sartorial condition had been a point of amusement to her and her friends, and they’d often scoffed and joked about it. Now though, after the appalling months away, she’d never witnessed a lovelier sight.

  “Susan,” he murmured.

  Though it was mad to hope for it, she’d thought he might hug her. She could definitely use a hug, but he gave no indication of being glad to see her.

  “May I come in?” she hesitantly asked.

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  He pulled the door wider, and she entered, quickly scanning the area. He had numerous projects in progress, each easel holding a partially-finished canvas. He had a sofa in the middle of the floor, but it was piled with debris and supplies. He rushed over and shoved it all onto the floor.

  “Won’t you sit?” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  She sat, and there was an awkward silence where he frowned down at her, not sure how to behave around her. She gestured to the empty spot next to her.

  “Won’t you join me?” she asked.

  “I suppose I can.”

  He eased himself down, gripping the opposite edge so he could maintain as much space between them as he could. Her heart sank. Did he hate her? Had his love faded away? Were they even friends anymore?

  “How was your trip?” He studiously avoided her gaze.

  “It was fine.” She halted, scowled. Why be polite? Why pretend? “Actually, it wasn’t fine. It was dreadful.”

  “I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “I stopped by your mother’s.”

  “Oh.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d left. I had to hear the news from a servant.”

  “Mother insisted we leave on the spur of the moment. I didn’t have a chance to sneak away and inform you.” It was a ba
ld-faced lie. She’d deliberately declined to notify him. It had been a cruel, spiteful act.

  “You could have found a way to apprise me. If you’d really wanted to, you could have.”

  Her cheeks flushed with shame. She’d been such a malicious, irresponsible person. “I was awful to you. You were so kind and devoted, and I was awful.”

  He made a waffling motion with his hand. “Water under the bridge, Susan. Water under the bridge.”

  “Why did you risk stopping at my mother’s?”

  “You hadn’t contacted me in ages, and I was worried about you. I was afraid something had happened, that you were ill or you’d had an accident.” He paused, then added more quietly, “Or perhaps that your mother had locked you away somewhere where I’d never find you.”

  The comment mortified her. He’d been doting and faithful, and if she’d eloped with him when he’d asked, if she hadn’t been such a snooty, arrogant shrew, she could have been living happily with him. She’d have evaded the entire catastrophe that was Egypt, and she wouldn’t now be immersed in the quandary that was crushing her.

  He had smart, interesting, talented acquaintances who were writers and artists and actors. During her affair with him, there had been nights at the theater, openings at galleries, and amusing supper parties where the conversation was vivacious and the company worth keeping.

  She’d tossed it all away because her friends had scoffed at the prospect of her marrying an artist, because her mother had claimed it was impossible. She’d let everyone convince her to be horrid to him. Had she no spine at all?

  Apparently not, but she had to grow up and behave like the adult woman she was desperate to be.

  “No, Mother didn’t lock me away,” she said. “She demanded I travel with her to Egypt, so she could split us apart.”

  “It definitely succeeded.”

  He stood and went over to the windows, and for a lengthy interval, he stared down at the street. He was stoically silent, and she couldn’t guess what he was thinking.

  Eventually, he turned, his hips leaned on the sill. “I have some news.”

  “What is it?”

  “A cousin of mine met Lady Henley. He showed her some of my portraits, and I’ve won her patronage.”

  “That’s marvelous, Neville. I always thought you deserved recognition.”

  “I’ll have some money now, and I’ll be moving to a better apartment in a better neighborhood. I haven’t yet, because…well…you know me. I’ve been busy with my painting, and I haven’t had a minute to search.” He pointed to the windows. “I would have to have this much light—or more.”

  “I know that about you.”

  They shared a fleeting smile, then his faded.

  “What are you doing here, Susan? After all this time—without a goodbye, without a letter of explanation—and suddenly, you just pop in without warning. I assumed we had an understanding. I assumed we were…oh, I don’t know what we were.”

  “You were so wonderful to me.”

  He shrugged. “It appears it was a wasted effort.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I was spoiled and petty and focused on ludicrous issues.”

  “Yes, you were, but I liked you anyway.”

  “I was so lucky, but I didn’t realize it. I apologize for how I treated you.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  She sensed he wanted her to leave, but he was too polite to say so. She couldn’t bear to depart without confiding in him, and while it was hideously pompous of her to inflict herself on him, to force him to hear her story, she had to unburden herself. If she didn’t, she truly felt she might perish from the poison of all the secrets she was carrying.

  “You wish I’d go, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Not really. You’re welcome to stay if you like, but I should probably get back to work.”

  “I don’t have anyone to talk to, and I really need a friend.”

  “If your mother learns you visited me, where will she take you next to keep you from me? America? China? The North Pole?”

  “Nothing about her would surprise me.” Tears surged into her eyes, which she hated. She hadn’t intended to be maudlin, but she was so overwrought, and with the babe growing in her belly, her emotions were constantly bubbling over. “Could I talk to you, Neville? I need your advice, and I know you’ll be honest and frank. Please?”

  He sighed. “Poor, poor, Susan. You’re so sad, and I can’t turn away from a damsel in distress.” He pushed away from the window and sat with her again. “What is it? Tell me all of it.”

  With him urging her on, it was simple to spit out the whole sordid tale. He was very patient, hardly interrupting, hardly asking questions. He let her drone on and on, and when she finished, the afternoon had waned, and the sun had drifted over to the western sky.

  She didn’t have much more time to linger, but she was so glad she’d come. She felt ten pounds lighter from getting all of it off her chest.

  “You’re certain you’re with child?” he inquired.

  “I have no doubt.”

  “Oh, Susan, aren’t you in a pickle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your situation is quite ominous.”

  Her tears started to flow—as if a dam had burst. She couldn’t stop them and didn’t try. He retrieved a kerchief and dried her cheeks.

  “What should I do, Neville? I can’t imagine confessing it to my mother. I’m so confused and ashamed.”

  He patted her hand. “It’s all right, and you needn’t fret.”

  “It’s all I’ve been doing since I left Egypt. I’ve been desperate to devise a solution, but I don’t know what it should be.”

  “The answer is so simple, Susan. For a girl who’s as smart as you are, it amazes me that you can be so dense.”

  “How is it simple?”

  “We’ll elope to Scotland.”

  “No, Neville! It’s not what I require from you. It’s not why I came.”

  “We’ll go tomorrow. You need a husband, and I’m willing.”

  “But…but…I’m not here to pressure you. I was merely anxious to tell someone who would listen and who wouldn’t judge me.”

  “Have you asked me for anything—besides to listen?”

  “Well…no.”

  “I’m a grown man, Susan, and I can make my own choices. I wanted you before—when it was easy to want you. What sort of person would I be if I was only interested when it was easy? What would it indicate about my character?”

  “You are so kind to me, kinder than I deserve.”

  “Kind, maybe. Or maybe I’m just insane.” He laughed, then sobered. “I always hoped to marry you, Susan. I guess I’d still like to.”

  “Do you…still love me?”

  “I’m not sure. We’ll have to see.”

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “I’ll have to ponder that too.”

  “I could never wed you if you were angry with me.”

  “We’ll work on it.”

  “I don’t know what’s best,” she wailed.

  “Think about it over night. Sleep on it. If you wish to proceed, send me a note. We can depart immediately.”

  Could she do it to him? Could she put him in such a predicament? Was she that selfish and vain? She thought she probably was.

  After how horrid she’d been, it seemed wrong to let him rescue her. Then again, if he was willing after what she’d shared, she would have one goal for the rest of her life, and it would be to constantly remind him how grateful she was.

  He rose and pulled her to her feet. “Now then, let’s get you home. I’ll help you find a cab and I’ll ride with you.”

  “You have the money for a cab?”

  “Yes.” He grinned. “I have a benefactor, remember? And she’s incredibly generous.”

  “I’ll write you in the morning with my decision,” she said.

  He placed a palm on her stomach. “You have a bit of a belly starting to show. Don’t wait too long
.”

  She flushed a deep shade of red. “I will never recover from the humiliation of it.”

  “Yes, you will. It will all be fine. I’ll make it fine.”

  As if they were adolescent sweethearts, he linked their fingers and led her out of the apartment and down the stairs. She was so undone, her knees kept buckling, but every time she staggered on the steps, he was there to catch her, to steady her.

  Perhaps everything would be fine after all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I failed you, Harold.”

  “You certainly did, Edna.”

  Edna stared at her brother, feeling sick at heart over how she’d neglected to bring Theo back with her reputation restored.

  They were at Oakwood, locked in Harold’s library, just the two of them conversing privately. For a few minutes, it had looked as if Harold’s mother-in-law, Isobel Mountbank, might join in, but Edna had refused to parley over family issues in front of a stranger. Harold might be cozy with her, but Edna wasn’t.

  Harold was fifty-five, and the widowed Mrs. Mountbank was thirty-five. She was very flashy, very pushy, and intent on having her way. Edna had no doubt that Mrs. Mountbank arranged Harold’s marriage to the ridiculous Penelope who was only sixteen, but now had to be addressed as Lady Wood.

  Edna had frequently chided Harold about his single status, but he’d claimed he wasn’t ready to wed again. She’d never imagined she’d come home to such a fiasco. Penelope was carrying what would hopefully be Harold’s heir, but Mrs. Mountbank was running the house, running the servants, and running Harold. Her daughter was too flighty to be in charge, and all of it seemed highly irregular to Edna.

  Harold was overly infatuated by his mother-in-law, and Edna declined to ponder what was actually occurring between them. She was sure it was too unsavory for a Christian woman to contemplate.

  “Of all the men in the world, Edna,” Harold complained, “how could you let Soloman Grey within a hundred yards of her?”

  “He met her at a native’s bazaar. I wasn’t with her, and I should have been. I take full blame for the entire debacle.”

  “As well you should.”

  “She was smitten before I realized the danger of their acquaintance. He’s very dashing, very handsome.”