by Cheryl Holt
Mrs. Ford snorted. “I’m cautious with my finances, Miss Lambert. In light of your troubles, you’re rather a bad bet.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“How? There is no post on your horizon—and probably never will be—so how would you reimburse me?”
Mrs. Ford stood, indicating that the appointment was over. She went to the door and held it open.
Lily didn’t rise. She stared at the woman, wanting to say something pertinent, but not knowing what it should be.
There was such a sense of injustice about what had transpired. Lily shouldn’t have dallied with Penworth, but she hadn’t blithely ruined herself. She’d been madly in love. Why was that so egregious? And she’d certainly been penalized for her misconduct. How long would she be punished? Forever? Why was that fair?
Finally, she stood, too.
“You needn’t come back,” Mrs. Ford stated with great solemnity. “I’ve done all I can for you. Don’t waste your time. Or mine.”
She shoved Lily out, and in a matter of seconds, Lily was on the front walk. Crowds of pedestrians milled by, jostling her, but she dawdled, paralyzed by indecision.
Since her departure from Penworth Castle, she’d been plagued with doubts as to how she should proceed. She’d convinced herself that future employment through Mrs. Ford’s agency was the answer, but she’d failed in her efforts, and that was without her having confessed the worst aspect of her predicament: Lily suspected she was pregnant.
With each passing day, she was more sure of it. She knew the symptoms and couldn’t ignore them, especially the fact that—after she’d returned from Scotland—there had been no sign of her monthly courses. She prayed it wasn’t so, that her flux would begin soon, but if it didn’t, she would likely commit murder.
Somehow, she would find the means to buy a gun, then she’d go to Penworth’s house and shoot him dead. She wouldn’t suffer an ounce of remorse over her crime, either. She would march to the gallows with a smile on her face!
How could he behave so despicably? How could he abandon her to such a terrible fate? Who would treat a dog as he’d treated her? She’d once believed he was fond of her. Had it all been a sham? Had he possessed no genuine sentiment?
Off in the distance, a clap of thunder sounded, and it rolled across the sky. The clouds were very low, and they seemed to press down on her.
A raindrop fell, then another and another, a deluge commencing. She didn’t have a penny to hire a hackney, so she’d have to walk to her room in the torrent. When she arrived, she’d be soaked to the bone. She might contract an ague and perish. If she did, who would care?
She started to cry. Not that anyone would notice. She was invisible, a ghost that couldn’t be seen.
“Miss Lambert?”
She was so lost in her morbid rumination, that at first, she didn’t realize her name had been spoken.
“Miss Lambert, is it you?”
Glancing up, she was stunned to discover Edward Middleton bearing down on her.
“Mr. Middleton? Hello.”
“Why are you standing in the rain, you silly girl?”
“I just . . . just . . .”
She was too dejected to form a coherent thought.
He reached out and took her hand, which was very cold. “You’re frozen,” he kindly said. “And what’s this? Tears?”
She swiped at her cheeks, hating to have him witness her despair.
“I’ve been looking for work,” she admitted, “but I haven’t had any luck. I apologize. I’m a tad overwhelmed.”
“I can see that you are. I was wondering what had become of you. You fled Scotland in such a hurry.”
“Yes, well . . .” She peered at her feet, mortified to have him mention the scandal.
“Have you talked to my brother?” he inquired. “Have you sought his help?”
“No.” The notion had never occurred to her.
Approach Penworth? Beg his assistance? Remind him of his obligation to her? Tell him that he might have sired a child?
The pompous fiend was engaged to marry Violet Howard, a union he intended to pursue at all costs. Lily would slit her own throat before she asked him for a single farthing.
“May I be frank, Miss Lambert?”
“I suppose.”
“I felt John treated you very badly. Very badly,” he added for emphasis.
Lily did, too, but she didn’t respond, and he continued.
“If you’ve suffered a fiscal hardship because of him, it’s only fair that he rectify your situation. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Perhaps,” she equivocated.
“I have an idea,” Edward said. “You must come with me.”
“To where?”
“I want you to discuss your dilemma with my mother.”
“With . . . your mother?” Lily couldn’t imagine anyone less likely to aid her.
“Yes. You need a powerful advocate to plead your case to John, and she’s had her own troubles with him recently. She’d be more than happy to put his nose out of joint on your behalf.”
“I don’t know,” she muttered, disconcerted by his offer.
“I insist, Miss Lambert. I really can’t take no for an answer.”
JOHN entered his quiet, empty foyer, but his arrival went unnoticed. He removed his coat and hat, threw them on a chair, then proceeded to his library.
To ward off the chill, he poured himself a whiskey, then ambled over to gaze out the window at the small garden in the back. It was a cold, dreary afternoon, and the gray colors matched his mood.
“Hello,” he shouted, merely to see if he could generate a reply, if a servant would appear to attend him, but no one did.
Having pushed everybody out of his life, he was all alone. He cut a pathetic figure, but the solitude was his own fault.
He’d rebuffed his mother, had let Lily go without lifting a finger to learn what had happened to her. He’d broken off his betrothal to Violet. Esther and Edward had been tossed out. In light of events, no other ending had been possible, but still, he was saddened by the loss.
Only the twins remained, which he deemed a sorry statement on his condition.
They were confined to their bedchamber, and he’d ordered them not to come downstairs until Miranda’s wedding on Saturday.
He refused to see or speak with them, and he would be vastly relieved when they were gone. Melanie wanted to live with Edward and Miranda, and she’d suggested that she might pick her own husband. John was happy to let her.
There was no reason to pretend he’d been any sort of guardian to them. He’d failed them miserably and would repair the damage by forcing Edward to marry Miranda. Melanie would soon be wed, too, then John’s duty to them would conclude.
He would be left to putter around his sprawling mansion with just the servants for company.
Out in the garden, rain pelted the earth, and he watched it fall, his palm on the cool glass of the window. He wondered where Lily was, and he hoped she was warm and dry and safe.
Go find her! a voice in his head urged. Bring her home!
He wished he could, but pitifully, he had no idea where to start looking. In all the time he’d spent with her, he’d never inquired as to her background or friends. She was an orphan, but he’d gleaned no other information.
Who might know where she was? Who might assist him in any search?
He hadn’t a clue.
Their sole common acquaintance was Mrs. Ford at the employment agency. John had bumped into her one morning, and he’d asked about Lily—where she was working, how she was faring—but Mrs. Ford claimed to have had no contact with Lily after she’d traveled to Scotland as part of his entourage.
Apparently, she hadn’t returned to London, or if she had, she hadn’t sought a job with Mrs. Ford.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, winging toward him, and he glanced over at the door, curious as to who was hurrying about. Old habits died hard, and he half expected Esther to bustle in,
but when he saw who it was instead, he had to blink and blink to clear his vision.
Was he hallucinating?
“Barbara?”
“Hello, darling,” she said.
“Barbara?” he repeated more stridently. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m preparing the guest list for your party on Thursday night.”
“I’m not having a party on Thursday night.”
“Of course you are. You have to let everyone know you’re back in Town—especially now that you’ve jilted that odious Violet Howard.”
She was clutching a lengthy piece of paper, scratching names on it. It was crisscrossed with so many lines and arrows that it resembled an army general’s convoluted war plan.
“I don’t intend to announce that I’m back,” he insisted, “and I have no desire to entertain.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. After your ordeal in Scotland, rumors of your deteriorated condition are running rampant. You must quell them, and a very public party is the best way.”
“Let people talk. I don’t care what they say about me.”
She blanched with surprise. “You don’t care? Are you ill?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
“You have to show you’re hale and healthy—and that Violet is but a distant memory.” She grinned. “Did you know that stupid child fancied herself in love with Edward?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“That fact alone should tell you how unqualified she was to be your countess. You’re not pining away, are you? She was a spoiled idiot. You’re lucky to be shed of her.”
“No, Barbara, I’m not pining away.”
“I’m so relieved. Now then, you need me, and I have everything under control.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” She studied her list of names again. “You’re still friends with Jordan Winthrop, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m told he’s married a commoner, but you’re such a stickler for proprieties. May I invite him and his new bride or not? I wouldn’t want you to collapse from an apoplexy if she strolled in on his arm.”
He thought about all the effort he’d wasted, focusing on status and rank. How could any of it have mattered so much?
Esther was a countess, but it wasn’t too much of a stretch to say she could thrive in an insane asylum. His brother, an earl’s son, was an irresponsible wastrel and not worth knowing. Violet, a duke’s daughter, was an immature flirt who was fickle in her loyalties and easily led astray by inappropriate influences.
He was left with Barbara—his loose, notorious, unfaithful mother. But she’d returned and, despite his disregard, his insults, his ignoring her, she was determined to befriend him.
Why keep pushing her away? What purpose was served by remaining aloof?
Yes, she’d erred. She’d shamed the family and disgraced his father, but she’d been little more than a girl when she’d run off, just a year or two older than Violet. The impetuousness of youth had to have played a part in her rash conduct.
She seemed filled with regret, and she’d gone to such lengths to reestablish their bond. Hadn’t she earned a second chance? If he tossed her out again, if he rebuffed this latest attempt, what did it say about him as a man? As a son? As a Christian?
He believed in redemption. He believed in miracles, and it dawned on him that he was absurdly glad she’d arrived.
“Yes, you may invite Jordan to the party,” he said, “and please enclose a personal message from me, telling him how much I look forward to meeting his wife.”
“Marvelous.”
“While you’re at it, I need you to arrange a small, quick wedding.”
“A wedding?”
“Saturday morning.”
“Here at the house?”
“Yes.”
“Who are the bride and groom. Anyone I know?”
“Edward is marrying Miranda—if I have to hog-tie him and drag him before the vicar.”
“Edward and Miranda?”
“We had an incident,” was all he supplied by way of explanation.
“Ah . . .”
She scribbled some furious notes, then gradually, her quill drew to a halt. She glanced up and frowned.
“What is it?” she inquired. “Why are you staring?”
“You didn’t bring that oaf Dudley to London with you, did you?”
“No. He dropped me off, then kept on going.”
“Good. It was unnerving, seeing him and my mother . . . well . . .” He blushed from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.
“He proposed marriage to me afterward—if it makes you feel any better.”
“It doesn’t.”
“But I refused him.”
“Really? Why?”
“Why would I wed again? I was awful at it the first time, and I didn’t suppose I’d improve with practice.” She winked at him. “You throw a mean right hook.”
“I belonged to a boxing club when I was at university.”
“He had a black eye for two weeks.”
“The cad.”
“Yes, he was, but I liked him anyway.” She sighed like a young maiden who’d had her heart broken.
A silence ensued, where they gazed at each other, and he was astonished to realize that he had her exact same smile. He hadn’t noticed before.
“What shall I do with you, Barbara?” he asked.
“Don’t do anything. Just let me watch over you for a while. I want to. It will make me happy.”
I wouldn’t mind a bit of mothering, he mused.
What could it hurt to have her stay? If he wasn’t careful, he might even grow to like her. Why not?
“Would you join me in a whiskey?” He tipped his glass toward her, offering to pour her one.
“Why, John Middleton! It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and you’re drinking. What’s come over you?”
“I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”
“About damn time.”
BARBARA was walking past the front door, when the knocker was banged. She peeked out to see a man on the stoop, holding a sealed letter.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I’m to deliver this to Lord Penworth. Is he at home?”
“Yes.”
She extended her hand to accept it, and he hesitated.
“My orders are to give it to him personally.”
“Sorry, but he’s extremely busy. May I inquire as to what it’s about?”
“I’m to say it’s a private matter,” he mysteriously said.
“Ooh, that sounds intriguing.”
She went to the table in the hall, grabbed some pin money, and stuffed it into his coat. Instantly, he relinquished the letter.
“Will you wait for his answer?” she queried.
“No. If he chooses to act, the instructions are all written down, neat and proper.”
He spun and dashed off, and she hastened to the library where John was buried in correspondence.
She entered the room, picking at the wax seal, trying to peer inside at the clandestine message. She wasn’t yet brazen enough to snoop through his mail, but if she managed to stumble on a fascinating detail, she wouldn’t feel guilty.
“Are you having an affair?” she asked as he looked up.
“Not that I know of.”
“Are you being blackmailed?”
“Not that I know of,” he said again. “Why?”
“You’ve received a secret letter, meant for your eyes only.” She dropped it on the desk.
“Is the courier waiting for a reply?”
“No. He claimed—once you read the contents—your instructions will be clear.”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
He sat back in his chair and opened it, and as he perused the words, he froze. The strangest expression crossed his face, and he muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“What is it? Not bad news, I hope?”
“No, no. It’s from
. . . Lily.”
“Miss Lambert?”
“Yes. She left Scotland without a good-bye and without providing any information as to where she went. I would have tried to find her, but I had no idea how.”
Barbara thought it a peculiar comment. Angus had told her the family sent Miss Lambert away to contain the scandal. By family, Barbara had assumed Angus referred to John, but if John hadn’t arranged Miss Lambert’s departure, how had it come about?
“I was just thinking about her,” John admitted.
“What does she say?”
“She’s had some trouble. She wants to see me, and she needs my . . . my help!”
He smiled, as if Miss Lambert’s seeking his assistance was the most spectacular thing that had ever happened to him.
As if he’d forgotten Barbara was present, he shut his eyes and pressed the letter to his chest, directly over his heart. He held it there as she watched—agog and amazed—at how the missive had riveted him.
Suddenly, he rose and raced out.
“John!” she called after him. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get her, to beg her forgiveness, and bring her home where she belongs.”
He continued on, and to the empty room, Barbara murmured, “Good for you, my wonderful lad. Good for you.”
Chapter 24
“HE won’t come,” Lily insisted.
“Won’t he?” Esther replied. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that if I were you.”
“He doesn’t care about me!”
“Ha! That’s what you think.”
“You said so yourself back in Scotland. He threw me out so Lady Violet wasn’t discomfited.”
“I lied. He and I never discussed you. I wanted you gone, and I tricked you into leaving.”
“What?”
“I was still foolish enough to suppose that Edward had a chance with Violet, and I was able to tell her that I’d gotten rid of you.”
“Well, your scheme certainly worked.”
“John was livid when he found out that you’d sneaked away.”
“Really?”
“He was determined to chase after you, but I talked him out of it by reminding him of his duty to Violet. He was always a stickler for doing his duty. It was easy to persuade him to forget you.”
