All I can do is stare at him. This is hardly the reaction I was expecting — nor was I expecting how truly adorable he looks when he's amused.
No. He is not adorable. "What is wrong with you?" I say, stepping closer. "Is this really a laughing matter?"
He gets his laughter under control and stands upright again, wiping a tear away from under his cheek.
"I simply find it extraordinary you think me of such loose morals that I could father a child and not do my duty to care for her."
"Then what is this?" I ask, shaking the letters.
"Did it not occur to you that they are addressed to my father?"
My jaw drops, and suddenly I'm frozen in place.
The Duke of Harskbury. Your Grace.
The name Alex appears nowhere on them. Had they been dated? Did I even look?
The baby is his sister.
"I—"
I'm at a total loss for words. All this time I'd watched him, steaming, believing he was having the time of his life living in this mansion and ignoring his responsibilities.
But it was his father.
I shove the letters toward him, hating the way they burn in my hands. "What happened to them?" I ask, my voice suddenly hoarse.
Alex sighs and stares at the bundle for a long silent moment, as if lost in another world. His eyes turn soft around the edges, contemplative.
"The child's name is Amelia. I had no clue of her existence until after my father had passed. I discovered the letters in his study. It took me three months to find them. By then Amelia was nearly three."
Alex twists his cufflinks, an idle fidget that seems more characteristic of me than of him. That cocky flair to his posture has vanished, and for the first time, he looks like a teenager. "The mother was working as a maid for a baronet. They were managing. But Amelia deserved better."
Does he look... pained? Cripes, the guy actually cares about her. How could I have been so far off?
"They live in one of my family homes up north. Greysbrooke, to be precise. With a full staff, including a governess for Amelia."
I swallow, hard, my heart beating in an unsettled, erratic rhythm. "You're taking care of them?"
He nods. "My father should not have left them to fend for themselves. She may be illegitimate, but she is a duke's daughter."
"I am sure they are doing marvelously now, thanks to you," I say, feeling like a complete and total jerk.
"It is my hope that I can avoid the worst of the scandal and Amelia may one day enter polite society. With me on her side, I can ensure she has everything she deserves."
I nod my head, a thousand words swimming in my mind, but none surface. They're all lost somewhere inside.
I was wrong about him. And now here I am, sneaking around behind his back, thinking he deserves it all. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this right now. I'm basically lying to him right this instant to help Emily escape, and he doesn't even know it.
He spent months looking for a half sister he'd never known just to make sure she was okay. That's the kind of guy he is, apparently.
No, I refuse to believe that. He's been a jerk in all other aspects. Maybe he doesn't have a daughter, but he still thinks girls are second-rate. I shouldn't have to go behind his back; he should be helping Emily! But he's not, so I have to.
I refuse to feel guilty for this.
"Thank you for returning these," he says, bowing slightly. "I am not sure why I am compelled to keep them."
"Sure. No problem."
I can't think of anything else to say as he turns and walks away. I can only hope Emily is gone, or the plan is ruined.
I return to my room and walk to the window seat. The rain is coming down harder now, leaving rivulets of water on the windowpane. I can faintly make out the glow of a lantern beyond the glass, near the stables.
My own room is dark with shadows. A hot coal fire glows in the hearth, and a candle drips from its place on my little table. I sit on the window seat and pull my legs up beside me.
Emily is going to stay the night in a small gardener's cottage on the edge of Harksbury. She said no one has used it in at least two years, and no one will think of going there. She only has to be gone a single night for it to ruin her forever.
There's no going back. Whatever I've done, I can't undo it now.
Emily is ruined.
Chapter 23
The next morning, Eliza scurries into the room, and one look at her face tells me what I should have already known: I'm so busted.
"His Grace's requestin' yer presence."
Even though I know I should rush out, I just groan and throw the blankets over my head. No doubt he's already put two and two together given my weird antics yesterday and Emily's sudden disappearance. He'll know I was covering for her.
"Up with ye," Eliza says, ripping the blankets off the bed. Seriously. Did she have to do that?
I cross the cold wood floors and plunk down on the stool as she pulls a dress from the armoire. It's stuffed full now. Emily has been giving me gown after gown, claiming she doesn't like the color or the piping or the hemline. Girl knows a lot about dresses — I'll say that much.
"Did you have a good day off yesterday?" I ask as she pulls on my hair.
"Yes, miss. Thank you."
"No problem. I can't believe he never gives you full days off. That's totally unacceptable, isn't it?"
"'Tis twice as many afte'noons as most otha employers. 'E's quite fair."
Wait, what? Two half days a week is good here?
Humph. Figures. I'm batting zero at this point. I should really stop assuming things.
Gah. Whatever. Even if I was wrong about that, too, Alex is still arrogant and sexist. There's no way I'm wrong about that.
Right. So, uh, back to the plan. "So, um, did you hear Emily ran away with Trent Rallsmouth yesterday?" I say casually.
In order for this plan to work, everyone needs to know about Emily's getaway. And according to Emily, the best way to do that is to let the servants spread the rumors. Eliza stops brushing my hair, her hand frozen midstroke. I wish there was a mirror in front of us.
I'd love to see her expression. "They ran away together. She doesn't want to marry her betrothed."
It takes another few seconds before Eliza resumes her brushing. "Oh? Is he the gentleman who arrived last night?"
I have to bite my lip to stop the grin from crossing my face. It seems the servants really do gossip. I bet that's how Alex knows already. He didn't notice Emily was gone — he heard about it. Perfect.
"Yes. That was him."
"'Tis . .. quite interestin.'"
"Mhmm..."
She grabs a sky-blue dress with white piping along the cuffs and hemline, and I put up with her usual tugging and pulling and hair-ripping routine. I haven't thought of exactly what I'm going to say to Alex yet. I thought I'd at least have the morning to come up with a speech of sorts.
Minutes later I'm descending the stairs following Eliza, my heart hammering in my chest so hard I think it's trying to break free. I can't see him. I don't have anything rehearsed. Maybe if I'd thought ahead, maybe if I'd...
"Miss Rebecca Vaughn," Eliza says, as if to formally present me to Alex. I walk into some kind of parlor, trying to hold my head up high and act as if I'm not at all nervous. I halfheartedly hope Eliza will stay inside the room but she doesn't; she steps aside and lets me enter.
I walk to a high-backed brocade chair with gilded arms and legs across from the big sofa Alex is occupying and sit down. I cross my ankles and carefully spread out my skirts as if it's the most important thing in the world and requires every ounce of concentration.
Victoria would be proud.
"Where is she?" His voice comes out firm, demanding.
Wow. So much for stalling. I bite my lip. "Who?"
"Do not play games," he says.
I study my hands as they wring in my lap. I can play dumb, I can postpone this, or I can just tell him. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
>
"With Trent Rallsmouth," I say, peeking up at him from underneath my lashes.
His eyes fly open and he sits up straighter.
"The boy from the dance? Where?"
Oh God. He does not look happy. "The gardener's cottage on the eastern edge of Harksbury."
Alex stands like he's the incredible hulk — so quickly I'm surprised the whole sofa doesn't fly back and crash into the wall.
Oh God, this was so stupid; he's going to kill me.
Or throw me in that dungeon I'm still convinced he has...
"Please tell me they have a proper chaperone," he says.
I purse my lips and shake my head.
He sighs, a great drag of irritation, and crosses his arms at his chest. It makes his chest bulge with muscle, and I try to focus on the fact that he seems like he could wring my neck and not on the way he looks today.
Which, seriously, is pretty hot. His face is flushed in anger, which brings out his dark eyes...
Focus.
"And I suppose you encouraged this tryst?"
I stand because I can't take the way he's towering over me. "Yes," I say, once we're more level. "She can't marry Denworth. She'll be miserable. So she's run away with Trent instead. I don't care what you say; it was the right thing to do."
He takes a few slow, deep breaths and then turns away from me. I can't see his face. Which is worse, because what in God's name is he thinking right now?
"You fool," he says. It's so quiet I'm not sure I've heard him correctly.
"What?"
"You fool," he says, louder this time. There's no mistaking it. "It doesn't matter what he wants, or even what she wants. Her father has to consent!"
I stop breathing. "What?"
"She is three years from being twenty-one! Her father must sign papers consenting to the marriage!"
A sick feeling grows in the pit of my stomach and then spreads, until I start feeling shaky all over. I keep my hands at my sides and ball them into fists, so Alex can't see the way they tremble.
Why didn't Emily tell me this? How could she not know that her father has to sign something for her to be able to marry Trent?
I shake my head vigorously. "He'll agree to it. Denworth won't want her now. Not after she's been compromised. He'll break it off. And her father will have no choice." My voice comes out more desperate than I'd meant it to.
He whirls around so quickly I stumble backward on my skirts and he has to grab my arm to keep me from falling over. "You don't understand, Rebecca. "
Something about the way he says my name makes me want to shrink away.
"Her father is a spiteful man. He has refused to see me since my father died because he would have become the next Duke of Harskbury if it were not for my existence. Do you think a man like that answers to reason? And now she has blatantly gone against him. He'd sooner force Emily into life as a spinster than consent to the marriage."
His words ring in my ears, over and over, but I can't move or even acknowledge them.
A fatal flaw. That's what this is. A monumental, huge flaw in the plan.
I screwed up. I messed up the plan.
Not just the plan. Emily's life. How could I have done this to her?
But there's no going back. Only forward. This has to work. It just has to. There's got to be a way to salvage it. "But she doesn't need that when she's twenty-one? Can't they just... date until then?"
He shakes his head and snarls in disgust. "He is her guardian. She is legally bound to honor his wishes. If he chooses to lock her in her chambers until her twenty-first birthday, he may do so."
I think I am going to vomit.
Are Alex's lips still moving? Is he still talking?
What have I done?
Emily is the type to seek love. To crave it.
A life without it...
I barely make it to the chair before my legs buckle.
Alex groans and runs a hand through his unruly dark hair. "I have to fix what you've done. You'd better pray I'm able."
He strides to the door and then stops. "You'd best hope my mother doesn't hear of this until it's resolved. She has a fragile constitution. I won't have you risking her health."
I nod but I'm not sure I even heard what he said.
This is a disaster. I should have tried some other way, some way that didn't involve duping Alex and sneaking around and...
When I look up again, I'm alone.
Alex is gone.
In a daze, I walk into the hallway and find my way to the foyer, where the butler is standing. "Was the letter to Lord Denworth delivered this morning?"
Please say no. Please say no.
The man nods at me. "Yes. Hours ago."
"Okay," I say, barely seeing the ground in front of me.
Even if I wanted to undo things now... it's too late. We sent a letter to Denworth telling him what Emily was doing. Telling him she wouldn't marry him and she was giving herself to Mr. Rallsmouth. It was our failsafe, in case the servant's gossip didn't reach him.
According to Emily, the perception of being ruined is all it takes. Just some rumors. It won't matter if we tell him it was staged.
Denworth probably read the letter. That, coupled with the way the servants spread gossip... It's done. Emily is ruined.
I turn and head up the stairs toward my room, gripping the banister so I won't trip. I can barely see the steps, I'm so dizzy.
I wonder what Denworth thought when he read that letter.
I wonder what Alex is doing right now.
I wonder if this is all going to end in disaster.
Chapter 24
My nightmare has officially commenced. I'm sitting in a high-backed dining room chair, wearing a stiff gown and a corset, and the only other person in the room is Victoria.
Based on the way she's nonchalantly slurping her soup, she has no idea what's going on with Emily.
And I have to keep it that way.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have missed something as important as the need for parental permission?
I bet Alex went straight to that cottage. I have no idea what's going on. It makes me long for the simplicity of a telephone. At least then I could call and see what was happening!
This is pure agony, sitting here just wondering and freaking out!
Victoria asked me at the start of dinner where Emily was, and I made something up. I don't even remember what it was.
The worst dinner of my life is dragging by more slowly than the tick tock of a grandfather clock, and all I can think about is what is going on in that little cottage a few miles away. Is Alex yelling at Trent and Emily? Has Trent agreed to stick by Emily no matter what happens?
The only time I stop thinking about it is when Victoria reminds me of her ever-so-delightful presence. "Rebecca, dear, slouching is rather unbecoming," she says.
I hate myself, but I actually sit up straighter when she says that, out of pure instinct. Victoria just has that motherly vibe, like you'll immediately comply with her before you realize what you're doing. I should have slid lower in my chair, but the corset makes doing that impossible.
If I ever get the chance to travel back in time again, I'm finding the guy who invented corsets and we're going to have a serious talk.
A servant sets a big hunk of beef down in front of me. I wait and watch Victoria before picking up the same fork, holding my knife in the same hand, and cutting the meat into bite-size pieces exactly as she has done. Watching her eat is like watching a how-to video on dinner etiquette. Simon says...
Part of me feels a little sorry for her. Her whole life is all about the proper thing to do and the rules and restrictions. How much do you want to bet it's all a facade? How much do you want to bet her obsession stems from the fact that her husband had a mistress, and all she could do was put up a good front and make everyone believe everything was perfect?
No wonder pretenses are so important to her. Her husband cheated. He fathered a child with
someone else. But Victoria made sure everyone would think all was perfect in the Duchess of Harkshury's life. She's flawless, can't you tell? Not a care in the world.
I guess I shouldn't have judged her so harshly.
"The roses are in full bloom. Emily and I walked around in the garden yesterday and it smells like perfume," I say, trying to be nice.
Victoria chews on a piece of meat and stares me down. "Yes. The gardens are always beautiful this time of year. The late duke had them designed to ensure that the scent would be a constant companion to those who walk the paths."
Her late husband. She's acknowledged him. The words have fallen like cannonballs, heavy and overwhelming. I'm not sure what to say, so I just stuff another bite in my mouth and hope the moment passes.
How many courses could there be tonight? I hope only three. I simply can't handle sitting here for another four or five or six courses. All this stilted conversation is too much, and given my rep, I'll blurt out something about Emily to fill the gaps.
Victoria grips her fork so hard her knuckles turn white, as if she's realized the mistake of mentioning Alex's dad. Then she sets the fork down and wriggles her fingers. Next she sets her knife down, too, and massages her hand and wrist. Her face flashes for a moment with pain, and then she's back to picking up her fork and knife as if she hopes I didn't notice.
"Something wrong?" I ask.
"All the embroidery over the years seems to have finally gotten to me," she says. I'm kind of surprised she admitted that at all. She's Victoria the fearless. Victoria the faultless.
"What does it feel like?" I ask.
"My hand tingles at times."
"It's probably carpal tunnel."
She just stares.
I shrug. "It's a pinched nerve. Do your best to keep it straight at night. If you can get some kind of brace, it will help. After a few weeks, it should feel a bit better."
Why am I doing this? I'd prefer if her whole hand fell off.
"Thank you," she says in a soft voice. But then a second later she seems to remember we're sworn enemies. "You've an elbow on the table."
Prada and Prejudice Page 12
