by Cheryl Holt
He wasn’t overly versed in women’s bodily conditions, but he caught himself picturing the calendar, curious as to when the blessed event had occurred. When he’d returned to Cairo after his voyage down the Nile to escape Theo, he’d planned to visit Preston Price to refund the money Soloman owed him.
Yet Price had vanished, with a mound of unpaid bills stacked behind him. He was still being cursed by vendors all over the city.
He wondered if Preston might be the father, but immediately told himself it was none of his business. She’d said her name was Pinkerton, so whatever had happened, Preston Price wasn’t a factor, and Soloman was in no position to query her over the identity of the father of her child. Nor was there any reason to conjecture.
“Who is the lucky Mr. Pinkerton?” he asked instead. “Would I be acquainted with him?”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be. He’s a struggling artist.”
“An artist! My, my. Your mother must be getting soft in the head if she allowed that sort of match for you.”
Mrs. Pinkerton grinned a conspiratorial grin. “She didn’t allow it. Mr. Pinkerton and I eloped. She’s quite vexed with me.”
“I can imagine.”
“I doubt she’ll ever recover.”
“That’s too bad.” He wasn’t certain if it was or not. If Edna Wallace had been his mother, he wouldn’t mourn any rift. “I hate to hear there are problems between you, especially with a baby on its way.”
She waved a breezy hand. “It was inevitable that we would quarrel. I don’t really know my mother, and she doesn’t know me. I grew up in England while she was in India with my father.”
“It must have been difficult.”
“It’s over.” She shrugged it away. “Why are you in London, Mr. Grey?”
“I have legal proceedings to attend.”
“Then you’re leaving?”
“As quickly as I can.”
“To go where? Back to Egypt?”
“Perhaps. I haven’t decided.”
“But you’re not staying.”
He chuckled. “Definitely not.”
“Will you accompany Mrs. Valda to France?”
“Gad, no. She’s rushing to Paris to stop her husband from divorcing her. I was merely the poor oaf who escorted her.”
“It couldn’t have been much of a chore for you.”
“If that’s what you suppose, then you don’t know Mrs. Valda very well.”
She snorted in a manner that might have meant anything. “Theo tells me she bumped into you at the theater.”
He paused, weighing his reply. He didn’t want to discuss Theo with Mrs. Pinkerton. The topic was embarrassingly painful, and what was the point? She was engaged to a perfectly respectable man approved of by her father—as Soloman never could have been. It was the ending he’d hoped to encourage by sending her home, and he wouldn’t mope about it.
“Yes, I saw Lady Theo,” he said.
“How did she seem to you?”
“Fine. She was with her fiancé. He appeared to be a…likable fellow.”
Soloman could hardly force out the comment. The cretin had probably been thirty years older than Theo, and he’d been a rude bugger to boot. During their brief meeting, Soloman had seriously considered punching him in the teeth.
“She misses you very much,” Mrs. Pinkerton brazenly announced.
“I have no idea why.”
“She still misses you—even after so much time has passed.”
“Really, that’s odd.”
“Oh, Mr. Grey, please don’t spar with me. Don’t pretend. Theo was madly in love with you, and I assumed you were in love with her too.”
“I was fond of her.” Cousin or not, he wasn’t about to declare the depth of his affection to a woman who was nearly a stranger.
“Then why let her leave you? She thought you had come to an understanding.”
“We might have.”
“She was devastated that morning.”
“Which morning would that be?” he blandly asked.
“The morning you sailed down the Nile without a goodbye. As I just mentioned, Mr. Grey, don’t pretend. It’s aggravating in the extreme.”
He was confused over how to play the conversation. He would never shame Theo by being indiscreet, but Mrs. Pinkerton was determined to get some answers.
Should he be candid? He was desperate to talk about Theo to someone who would listen.
“I was horrid to her,” he confessed. “We spent the night together, and I promised to marry her.”
“You left instead. Why?”
For a long moment, he debated whether to blurt it out, and finally, he pressed ahead. “Because your mother convinced me it was for the best.”
“I thought so,” she fumed. “Theo always figured Edna tricked you somehow. What did she do?”
“She simply pointed out the obvious: I had no money or home or family, and I have the world’s worst reputation. Theo’s father would never have allowed a marriage between us.”
“True, but I deemed you to have a stronger temperament than that. You would have had some obstacles to overcome with Theo, but so what?”
“Your mother also said she was already engaged.”
Mrs. Pinkerton furiously scowled. “To whom?”
“To a neighbor who was a friend of her father’s. I presume it’s the idiot I chatted with at the theater?”
“Edna told you that?”
“Yes, and she claimed he was rich and settled and he’d be kind to her. When I could give her nothing, and he could give her everything, I agreed we should part.”
“And you left Cairo immediately.”
“Yes. Your mother and I knew she’d race to Valois’s to try to change my mind, so I fled from her.” Pathetically, he added, “I’m sure you don’t believe me, Mrs. Pinkerton, but I wanted her to have a better life, to be happy.”
“There’s only one problem with that whole scenario, Mr. Grey.” She halted, then frowned. “Actually, there are two problems with it.”
“What are they?”
“First off, there was no doting neighbor or quiet engagement. Edna lied to you.”
“Then who was that dolt at the theater? Theo introduced him as her fiancé.”
“Well, he wasn’t her betrothed the other night, so I can’t imagine why she would have, but she’s definitely betrothed to him now. Her father insisted, and he threatened to lock her in an asylum as a lunatic if she wouldn’t.”
“Would he have?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the second thing?” he asked. “You said there were two problems with my forsaking her.”
“You did it to make Theo happy, but she’s not happy. On the voyage to England, my mother and I often worried she might simply jump over the rail and drown herself. Her despair was that great.”
“Over me?” He scoffed. “That can’t be right.”
“Trust me, Mr. Grey, it is. She was positive you didn’t mean to spurn her, that Edna must have deceived you so you’d abandon her.”
“Apparently, Edna succeeded.”
“Theo had such faith in you that she’s been looking over her shoulder ever since. She was certain you’d arrive in Cairo, find her gone, and you’d follow her.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Mr. Grey, I’m absolutely serious. When she saw you with Mrs. Valda at the theater, she finally had to accept that you hadn’t missed her, that you hadn’t loved her.” She paused, her words sinking in. “She finally had to accept that her waiting for you had been in vain.”
Sick at heart, he stared down at the floor. Why had he let Edna trick him? Why hadn’t he chased after Theo? Why had he tottered around London for a week without so much as attempting to learn her address?
He was an ass, a lazy, irreverent, unreliable ass.
Mrs. Pinkerton stood suddenly and glared at him. “Theo relented about the marriage. Her father has been pestering her, and she kept refusing, because she’d be
en so sure of you.”
“I wish you’d just take out a pistol and shoot me, Mrs. Pinkerton. I felt wretched enough as it was, and now I’m ten times worse.”
“I’m so afraid about all of this. Theo doesn’t even know Bernard Mountbank. He’s some fellow her father dragged into the mix, so there’s likely a financial tangle in it that will leave her in hideous shape.”
“Why would he treat his own daughter that way?”
“Because he couldn’t care less about her. No one has ever cared about Theo, except maybe you, but you were too cowardly to help her.
“Yes, I was. I admit it.”
“Her betrothal gala is Saturday, Mr. Grey. Her father is trying to have history repeat itself, but with a better ending. He’s announcing the engagement at midnight.”
“Isn’t that how she got in trouble with Lord Trent at Christmas?”
“Yes, that’s exactly how.”
There was a writing desk by the window, and she went over and retrieved a piece of paper from the drawer. She dipped a quill in the ink pot and penned a quick note. Then she turned to him.
“I’m giving you the direction to her father’s house. The party is being held there.”
“What is it you’re asking of me?”
“If you can’t figure that out, Mr. Grey, there’s really no hope. I’ve done what I can to fix this. The rest is up to you.”
With that, she sauntered out.
He walked to the desk and studied the address. For a long while he pondered it, then he shrugged.
Cassandra was departing Saturday morning, sailing with the tide, so he had no plans for Saturday night.
What could it hurt to stroll by Lord Wood’s fete? It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Why must we wait until midnight?”
“It’s when Lord Wood wants the announcement to happen,” Theo said.
“It’s another half hour!”
“It will pass quickly, Penelope. You’re so impatient.”
Theo smiled a tight smile.
Penelope was draped in a fabulous Parisian gown, her neck and wrists dripping with jewels. She looked as if she was the one who was about to become engaged.
In contrast, Theo was in a simple blue dress, with no adornment except for the necklace Lord Trent had given her on the evening of her ruination. After the debacle had ended, no one had realized it was his, so there had been no demands that she send it back to him.
Since then, she’d kept it hidden away, deeming it to be a hilarious and galling memento of the defining event of her life.
On this current significant occasion—of a betrothal to a man she hardly knew and arranged by a father she detested—a malicious impulse was driving her. She’d pulled out the necklace and strapped it on, and she almost wished people would comment.
She could envision herself blithely saying, This old thing? Why, Lord Trent gave it to me as a parting gift!
“Are you madly in love with Bernard?” Penelope absurdly asked. “Is that why you’re marrying him?”
“I’m marrying him because Lord Wood told me to. I’m a dutiful daughter.”
“You have to love him though! I think amour is so wonderful. I was desperately in love when we lived in York. Did Mother ever tell you?”
“No.”
“With me being an heiress, it was a completely inappropriate relationship, but it was ever so much more fun than being courted by Lord Wood. He’s not romantic at all.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Is Bernard romantic?”
Theo glanced over in the corner where he was chatting with a handsome, dapper young man. He was always surrounded by young men, and it didn’t bother her. They were charming and amiable, and she imagined they would have interesting guests in their home.
She wouldn’t contemplate it beyond that. Her father had commanded she wed, and he’d picked Bernard. She would learn to be content with the decision.
“Yes,” Theo lied, “Bernard is very romantic.”
“I just knew he would be! But he’s terribly old, isn’t he? Like Lord Wood. Mother says old men are better husbands. They tire easily, and they’re not so obsessed with their passionate desires.”
“I’m sure that’s a benefit.”
“At least he has all his hair. Lord Wood is bald as a ball. I adore a man with hair. Do you suppose Lord Wood would wear a wig for me?”
Theo bit down a caustic laugh. “Please ask him, Penelope. I’m eager to hear his reply.” She slid away. “Would you excuse me? I need to freshen up.”
“Of course.” Penelope’s rude gaze slithered across Theo’s very plain dress. “It’s a pity you couldn’t have donned something fancier, Theo. It is your betrothal party.”
“Bernard and I didn’t want a big fuss.”
“Everyone is making a fuss but you! You’re so silly.”
“Yes, I am.”
Susan was on the other side of the parlor, and Theo started toward her. It took forever to reach her, and when she arrived, her cousin hugged her. She didn’t see Neville anywhere.
“There you are!” Susan said, looking happy and plump with good health.
“Where’s your husband?”
“He was painting. I couldn’t drag him away.”
“You didn’t mind?”
“He’d have been a beastly companion.”
“You’re doing awfully well as a wife. You seem to have figured him out already.”
“He’s not that complex.” Susan gestured around the packed room. “Can you believe this crowd?”
“No. I don’t know anyone. It’s simply hundreds of Mrs. Mountbank’s closest friends.”
“How is she paying for all of it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Wouldn’t it be fabulous to have her fortune?”
“Yes, but if she keeps up this pace, it won’t last long.”
Susan leaned in. “Can I be very snide and hope it vanishes quickly? Lord Wood shackled himself to Penelope because she was so wealthy. I’d like to imagine him stuck with her when she’s poor!”
Theo chuckled. “Let’s imagine exactly that.”
Suddenly, Mrs. Mountbank appeared by her side, almost as if they’d conjured her by talking about her.
“Lord Wood asked me to check on you,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not to wander off. The announcement is in a few minutes, and he wants to be sure we know where you are.”
“Have you invited Lord Trent?”
“Absolutely not,” she huffed.
“Then I’m probably safe from stupid behavior.”
Rage flashed, but she tamped it down. “Don’t be smart, Theo.”
“I wasn’t being,” Theo responded, her eyes wide with innocence.
“Stay near the dais. Lord Wood will call you up when it’s time.”
“I can’t wait,” Theo said.
Mrs. Mountbank’s focus narrowed, and she assessed Theo as if wondering whether there was sarcasm buried in her comment, but she didn’t find it. She spun and stomped off.
“Is that her?” Susan hissed. “Is that the infamous Mrs. Mountbank?”
“The very one.”
“My Lord, Theo. I’m so glad you marrying Bernard. I’m so glad you’ve found a way to escape this house.”
There was some jostling behind Susan, and she was shoved into Theo. Her glass of red wine sloshed down the front of Theo’s dress.
“Drat it!” Theo moaned.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Susan tried to brush it away, but she only made the stain worse.
“I can’t face this crowd with wine all over me. I don’t have much pride, but I can’t abide that.”
“We still have about twenty minutes,” Susan said. “We’ll run up to your bedchamber, and you can change. Lord Wood won’t know you’re gone.”
“If he sees me sneaking out, it doesn’t matter what the reason is. He’ll have an apo
plexy.”
“I don’t care. Do you?”
“No.”
“You can’t get engaged when you’re such a mess.” Susan pushed her toward the door. “Hurry!”
They wound through the parlor, then raced down a hall that grew quieter and emptier as they headed for the rear of the mansion. Giggling like schoolchildren, they dashed up the servant’s stairs. They slipped into her suite and rushed past the outer rooms to the dressing room beyond.
Theo only had half a dozen dresses, the blue she’d been wearing her best one, which was a pathetic statement on the condition of her wardrobe. She took stock of her choices, then asked, “How about the pink one?”
“It will have to suffice.”
Theo lit a candle, then they hastily stripped off the offending garment. Shortly, she was standing in her corset and petticoat, when from behind them, a man said, “I don’t like her in pink. The color doesn’t flatter her.”
She and Susan whirled around to see Soloman Grey.
“Mr. Grey!” Susan grinned from ear to ear. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yes, I thought you’d find it interesting, Mrs. Pinkerton.”
“I couldn’t decide if I should count on you or not,” Susan said.
Theo scowled. What did her cousin mean?
“I’m a fellow who can be counted on occasionally.” He shrugged, then added, “I have a few things to say to your cousin. Would you excuse us?”
“With pleasure,” Susan replied.
“Susan, don’t you dare leave!” Theo said.
But Susan scooted out, and though Theo reached for her, she vanished like smoke. Theo was on her own and face to face with Mr. Grey.
He was attired in formal clothes, as if he was off to the theater—or to an engagement party—so he would have fit in with the milling guests. How had she not noticed him? Wouldn’t she have felt his presence?
He was casually leaned against the doorframe, looking handsome and debonair and too delicious for words. Her body recalled how dearly she’d loved him, how physically attracted she’d been, but her mind was blaring a loud warning: to remember herself, to remember how he’d hurt her, how he’d broken her heart.
She was over him, and she was moving on. She had a fiancé who was eager to wed her. He hardly knew her, yet was prepared to bind himself as Mr. Grey had never been willing to do. A stranger would bind himself to her before he would.
