Only You

by Cheryl Holt

  “I suppose,” Soloman grumbled.

  “I have you escorting Mrs. Valda,” Valois casually stated.

  “Cassandra is departing Cairo?”

  “Her husband is divorcing her. She’s rushing to France to dissuade him.”

  “Why would she dissuade him? Isn’t a divorce what she’s always desired?”

  “Yes, but if he succeeds, she will be quite poor after the legal matters are settled.”

  “She likely wouldn’t be half so beautiful or interesting if she was poor.”

  “Likely not,” Valois concurred. “So you don’t mind traveling with her?”

  “Not at all. At least I’ll be entertained on the ship.”

  “And while you are in London, you can check on Lady Theo for me. You know I can’t abide a distraught woman. I hate how despondent she was. It worries me.”

  “I’m sure she’s all right,” Soloman insisted.

  “Well, in case she isn’t, you can ask if there is any means by which I could be of assistance.”

  At the notion that Soloman might be with Theo again, his pulse raced with exhilaration, but he tamped down any gladness. He had business to conduct in London. He would slip in, take care of it, then sail back to Cairo.

  If he bumped into Theo while he was there, so be it, but he wouldn’t deliberately seek her out. It wasn’t as if he had any reason to speak to her.

  Valois continued, “Or if she needs help, perhaps you could aid her while you’re there. On my behalf of course.”

  “Oh, of course, you sly dog.” Soloman rolled his eyes. “I’m positive I won’t cross paths with Theo, so stop interfering. Theo and I parted ways when she left Cairo, and it was the only possible ending for us.”

  “Occasionally, Fate has a different plan.”

  “Not for me. My future is written in stone.”

  “We’ll see my cocky young friend. We shall definitely see.”

  Soloman stood and proceeded to his room, still desperate to fall into bed. When he noticed he was smiling, when he noticed he was actually thrilled at the prospect of going to London, he decided it might not all be horrid.

  And if there was a small spark of excitement about Theo, about giving her Valois’s regards and asking if either of them could assist her, he was delighted to fan that flame and let it burn all night.

  “Your cousin has come to call.”

  “Fenton is here?”

  “No, Miss Wallace. Are you at home?”

  Theo considered, then shook her head. “I don’t think I am.”

  The new butler was as snooty as he’d been the first day she’d met him. She hadn’t been apprised of what happened to his predecessor, elderly Mr. Jenkins. He—and numerous others—had been retired by Mrs. Mountbank so she could bring in her own people, but Theo couldn’t get a straight answer as to whether they’d been pensioned off or simply fired.

  “If I may add, Lady Theodosia,” the butler said, “your cousin mentioned there might be some doubt about her being welcome. She prays you’ll receive her.”

  Theo was sitting on the sofa in the front parlor at her father’s town house. It was a chilly, blustery autumn afternoon, and the fire in the hearth was very hot.

  Susan was out on the stoop, anxious to be invited inside. She was standing just a few feet away. Was Theo so petty that she would ignore her cousin? An eternity had passed since they’d quarreled in Cairo. Why shouldn’t they be cordial?

  Theo spent all her time with Penelope and Mrs. Mountbank, surrounded by servants she didn’t know and who seemed to have been told they could ignore her. She had no power or authority in the residence, so she ambled around like a ghost.

  The sole blessing was that Mrs. Mountbank’s brother-in-law, Bernard, hadn’t yet put in an appearance. Nor had her father raised the betrothal again, but he wouldn’t have forgotten.

  She couldn’t imagine accepting the proposal, and she struggled not to draw attention to herself, so he wouldn’t recollect that she hadn’t yet agreed. She hoped Bernard Mountbank would arrive and detest her on sight.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I will see my cousin.”

  “Very good, Lady Theodosia. She also asked me to tell you that she is Mrs. Pinkerton now and not Miss Wallace. Apparently, there was some reason for her to assume you might not have been informed about the wedding?”

  He watched her, his curiosity annoying. Clearly, he expected she’d supply an indiscreet remark he could share with the staff. “I’ve been aware of it for ages.”

  “Her husband is with her. Will you see him as well?”

  “How nice. Yes, of course. Show them both in.”

  He went to fetch them, and she stood, listening as he ushered them in. He offered to take their coats and hats, but they declined, claiming they only intended to stay a few minutes. Theo couldn’t decide if she was glad or disappointed.

  As they headed for the parlor, she could barely stifle a burst of curiosity. The notorious Neville Pinkerton was visiting! His adoration of Susan had sent them fleeing to Egypt to escape him, and although Theo would never admit it, she felt she owed him a great debt.

  If he had never loved Susan, Theo would never have met and loved Mr. Grey. The universe definitely worked in mysterious ways!

  They bustled in, arm in arm, their noses red from the cold. They seemed comfortable and companionable, and she had to confess that she was astonished by how striking Mr. Pinkerton was. He was blond and blue-eyed, his face perfectly formed, like one an artist might paint on an angel on a church ceiling.

  In all the stories about him, there’d been none that described him as looking like a Greek god. No wonder Susan had been smitten.

  “Hello, Theo,” Susan said.

  “Hello, Susan. Or should I say Mrs. Pinkerton?”

  “You heard?”

  “Yes, from your mother. She wasn’t very happy about it.”

  “We didn’t suppose she would be.” She turned to her husband. “Neville, this is my cousin, Theodosia, whom I’ve told you so much about.”

  He stepped forward and bowed over Theo’s hand with a flourish that had her smiling.

  “Lady Theo,” he said, “I am incredibly honored.”

  “Hello, Mr. Pinkerton.”

  “You must call me Neville.”

  “And you must call me Theo.”

  “I will.” He beamed with pleasure.

  She said to him, “May I categorically state that I’m amazed by your audacity in eloping?”

  “Yes, I was rather bold, wasn’t I? I waited until Mrs. Wallace had flown the coop, then I absconded with her pretty little hen.”

  But evidently, that was all the attention she’d get from him. He was already distracted by the paintings on the wall.

  “Well, aren’t these horrid?” he mused to himself. “Who picks the artwork for the house, Lady Theo? Is it Lord Wood? Perhaps I could prepare some pieces to replace these.”

  Susan clucked her tongue. “You’re not giving your paintings away any longer, Neville, remember? We’re only selling them for money.”

  He grinned at Theo. “My wife is determined to make a businessman out of me.”

  “I doubt I’ll succeed,” Susan said.

  He wandered into the hall, where the foyer and grand staircase were lined with even more artwork.

  “Are you happy, Susan?” Theo asked when he was out of earshot.

  “Happy enough—for now. I’m sure we’ll settle in as time goes by.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you will.”

  “For the moment, it’s awkward,” Susan confided. “I was so awful to him before we left for Egypt, so we’re still learning our way together.”

  “I didn’t realize you were fond of him.”

  Susan leaned nearer and whispered, “I wasn’t. Or I didn’t recognize that I was. He’s been very kind.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “No, I don’t imagine anyone does.”

  Theo thought Susan would e
xpound, but she didn’t. Instead, she took Theo’s hands in her own and gripped them tightly.

  “I had to tell you how sorry I am for how I treated you in Cairo.”

  “Oh.” It was the last comment Theo had expected, and she had no idea how to reply. She hadn’t exactly forgiven her cousin, but if Susan wanted to make amends, she would welcome any overture.

  “I was despicable to you,” Susan said, “and you needed me to be your friend.”

  “Thank you for saying so.”

  “I’m trying to improve myself. I’m trying to grow up and act like an adult.”

  “You’re off to a good start.”

  “What about you? How are you?” Susan asked.

  “I’m fine I guess.”

  “Do you miss Mr. Grey?” Theo might have denied it, but Susan said, “You can’t fool me, Theo. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “It hasn’t been that long, and I’m getting better. I’m just a bit blue every once in awhile, but mostly I’m better.”

  “He never showed up here?”

  “No.” Theo scoffed at the notion, even though she often pondered it.

  “I was certain he’d come after you. When I think of how he always looked at you…well…”

  Theo couldn’t bear to talk about Mr. Grey or what might have been. She hastily changed the subject. “What about you, Susan? Whatever became of Mr. Price? Wasn’t he the man you fancied?”

  A hint of despair was there and gone, vanishing so quickly Theo wondered if she’d really observed it.

  “He had business in Italy,” Susan breezily said, “so he had to leave Cairo in a hurry. I’ve had to accept that it wasn’t meant to be.”

  They were still holding hands, and Theo sensed an entire story churning below the surface. Susan didn’t seem inclined to share any of it or perhaps it was too painful to share. Perhaps she was in the same boat as Theo and unable or unwilling to reflect on what had occurred in the exotic land.

  “What now, Susan?” she asked. “Will you stay in London or what?”

  “Yes, Neville has obtained a patron. Lady Henley?”

  “I’ve met her. I like her very much.”

  “So we have an income, and it’s enough to move to a bigger apartment. That’s my initial chore, to find us a place to live. It has to have lots of windows for Neville. Nothing extravagant, mind you, just lots of light.”

  “Aunt Edna won’t help you financially?”

  “No, there’s no chance of that.”

  “Have you spoken to her?”

  “No, we just arrived from Scotland, and we stopped here first. As I turn over all my new leaves, I wanted to begin with you.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “What about you, Theo? Have you any plans?”

  “My father married while we were away.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “It’s been a challenge.”

  “I can imagine.” Susan leaned in again. “Do you like his bride? What’s she like?”

  “It’s complicated,” Theo murmured. “I don’t belong here anymore.”

  “A wife has usurped your spot! How dreadful for you!”

  “Her mother is actually the one who’s usurped it. It’s all a tad bewildering and unpleasant.”

  “Her mother?”

  “His bride is very young, so her mother has taken charge.”

  Susan appeared very shocked. “My goodness.”

  “And since Lord Wood has wed, he is hoping I will wed too. In fact, he’s demanding it.”

  “You’re hardly ready for a husband, are you?”

  “My fiancé hasn’t shown up yet, so I haven’t had to make a decision.”

  Susan gasped. “Your betrothal is official?”

  “My father is at the blustering stage, but I believe it will be coming very soon.”

  Lord Wood wasn’t blustering though. He expected her to marry Bernard Mountbank at a Christmas wedding. Theo knew there had to be an odd angle to the betrothal she didn’t understand. Was it about money? It had to be about money. There was no other reason her father would arrange it, but Theo didn’t have a dowry, so she couldn’t unravel the convoluted knot of what was transpiring.

  Just then, Penelope burst in like a whirlwind, her bulging stomach proudly leading the way. She was dragging Neville by the arm.

  “Look who I found, Theo!” she gushed. “Isn’t he cute? He’s like a puppy! He says he’s a painter. Should I pose for him? I’d like to have a huge portrait of me hanging over the fireplace.”

  “That’s a splendid idea,” Theo told her, and she spun to Susan. “Susan, this is my stepmother, Penelope.” Susan’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Penelope, this is my cousin, Susan Pinkerton, and you’ve met her husband, Neville.”

  “You must both address me as Lady Wood.” Penelope paused, then frowned. “Aren’t you the two who eloped? Honestly, I’ve never chatted with such scandalous people before. If Mother learns you stopped by, she will have an absolute apoplexy. Theo, I realize Mrs. Pinkerton is your cousin, but I am Lady Wood, and I can’t associate with such a disreputable pair. They should go immediately.”

  “Yes, probably,” Theo agreed.

  She herded Susan and Neville to the foyer. From the parlor, Penelope called, “Theo, would it be wrong for Mr. Pinkerton to paint me? He’s so handsome, and it would be amusing to spend time with him. We could pretend we’re not aware of who he actually is. Could we hide his identity from Mother?”

  “I don’t think so, Penelope.”

  They were at the door, the butler opening it so they could exit.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Susan mouthed, and Neville peeked back at Penelope as if he couldn’t quite figure out who she was.

  “You oughtn’t to visit me again,” Theo said, “at least until matters with Father are more settled. Lady Wood is correct that her mother wouldn’t like you to be here.”

  “After we’ve moved, I’ll host a party,” Susan said. “I’ll send you an invitation.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Susan linked their fingers and squeezed them tight. “Stay calm and try to muddle through. Things will get better. I’m sure of it.”

  “They couldn’t get worse,” Theo muttered in reply.

  Even though they were whispering, the butler must have heard it all, but she didn’t care. He could tattle to Mrs. Mountbank. He could shout the details of their conversation from the rooftops. Anymore, she did not, did not, did not care about anything.

  “Goodbye,” Susan said.

  “Goodbye.”

  “I’ll keep you apprised of where I am—in case you need me.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “If I can help, let me know.”

  “I’ll survive this, Susan. Truly, I will.”

  Her sad expression must have belied the comment, and for a moment Susan looked as if she’d argue the point, but merciful blessings, she didn’t.

  Her husband ushered her out into the cold afternoon. The butler closed the door after them, and instantly Theo felt as if she were suffocating in the dreary, dim house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Theo stood on the verandah at the back of her father’s town house. She’d snuck outside, desperate to find some peace and quiet.

  Mrs. Mountbank was hosting another of her glamorous parties, and raucous laughter wafted by. Musicians were tuning their instruments, and dancing would soon begin.

  Her father wasn’t present, but no one seemed to notice or mind.

  Supposedly, he was off at a gambling club and would return later, presumably after he’d lost the last of his money, then he’d start in on Penelope’s. Theo wondered how long it would take him to burn through all of it.

  Penelope’s father had been a rich brewer in York, her dowry stupendously large, and the widowed Mrs. Mountbank had used that fortune to wrangle a spot for her daughter in London’s aristocratic high society. They loved to entertain so the residence was constantly filled to the brim with visitors.

/>   Since Theo had come to the city from Oakwood, there hadn’t been a single evening where there wasn’t a lavish fete. After having grown up in a very quiet world, this new one was loud, hectic, and too busy for her tastes. It was also ridiculously expensive.

  Surely it wasn’t wise to overspend in such a copious fashion. If the money ran out, where would they all be?

  Theo tried not to be snotty about it—it wasn’t any of her business really—but she couldn’t stop herself from calculating the cost of things: the dozens of extra servants, their uniforms and salaries, the food, wine, candles, and all the rest.

  Every night, Mrs. Mountbank and Penelope arrived downstairs in fabulous gowns, ornate jewelry, and elaborate tiaras. Despite Penelope’s advanced condition, she was allowed to participate—as if Mrs. Mountbank was flaunting the girl’s fertility to prove Lord Wood had been shrewd in selecting her.

  Though Theo was a baron’s daughter, she couldn’t imagine wallowing in such ostentation. Yes, her father was a nobleman, but they’d never been wealthy, and he’d certainly never been inclined to waste funds on fripperies.

  Were there any limits to Mrs. Mountbank’s excesses? Apparently not.

  A man approached, and she hid a grimace. She couldn’t endure another tedious chat with a stranger about how lovely Penelope was or what a gracious hostess Mrs. Mountbank was.

  When those conversations commenced, she gritted her teeth and agreed with every comment, counting the minutes until the person had offered sufficient inanities that they moved on.

  “What a horrid crush,” the man said. “May I tarry on the verandah with you? Please don’t deny me this favor. If you force me back into that parlor, I’ll likely suffocate on all that hot air.”

  “It is stuffy in there,” she carefully said.

  “Well, when you fill a house with buffoons, what can you expect?”

  She was stunned by the blunt remark. With Mrs. Mountbank so new to society, people were feeling their way around her, trying to decide if she would end up impressive and respected or not. In case she turned out to have staying power, no one would insult her just yet.

  “You’re welcome to dawdle with me,” she told him.

  “Thank you. You’re an angel.”