Lenora waited to speak until the footman had exited. “Did you know that Mr. Asher is sending Catherine to a school in Wales for troubled girls?”
Aunt Gwen raised her eyebrows. “Whoever told you that?”
Lenora recounted her conversation with Mrs. Warner.
“Mr. Asher would have told us if that were the case.”
“He has made no mention to you of other plans?” Lenora confirmed. The angry heat in her chest had not gone away, and it made her suspicious of everyone, even Aunt Gwen. Maybe she was hiding the information from Lenora for some reason, thinking Lenora would quit if she knew that Catherine would be shipped to Wales.
Wales! Lenora clenched her fists at her sides.
“I’d have told you if he discussed anything with me,” Aunt Gwen said, her jaw tight. “And I’d have a pretty bit to say to him about what I thought about it, too.”
Lenora began pacing. “Perhaps he made the plan without us because he knew we would object to it.”
“I can’t imagine it is his idea,” Aunt Gwen said.
Lenora was in no mood to absolve Mr. Asher. Yes, Miss Keighly might have been involved, but Mr. Asher had been clear—in word and deed—that he was the one who took responsibility for Catherine’s care. But he was to marry in January, not the summer, so perhaps he was already turning the decisions over to Miss Keighly.
“Mrs. Warner said she gave the address to both Miss Keighly and Mr. Asher earlier this week. At the very least, he is in agreement. It is exactly as I thought. He is a man of low character with little regard for the commitments he makes.”
“Now, Lenora—”
Lenora turned toward her aunt and did not let her finish. “He blackmailed me into helping Catherine at Mrs. Henry’s school.”
Aunt Gwen’s eyes went wide, and Lenora had to look away, already regretting having blurted out such a sensitive thing. Now that it was out there like feathers from a pillow, she had to explain. “He’d caught me at the river one night and then recognized me at the parents’ tea. He said if I did not help Catherine, he would reveal me.”
“Goodness,” Aunt Gwen breathed, setting down her glass.
“I know you thought me pious and unforgiving in my measure of him when I learned of his engagement, but I did not make that decision lightly. It was not only that he would so easily break his commitment to Miss Keighly, but also that he would stoop to such levels of using my actions against me in the first place. He is opportunistic, and now, after convincing us of his good graces toward his niece, he is ready to send her off as surely as his other relatives did. She will be caned and threatened and . . . not loved at all.”
She tried to hold back her tears but was unsuccessful and brushed at her cheeks. She faced the window so her aunt would not see her crying. She thought back on all the years she had lived in fear of making a mistake and how she’d seen that same fear in Catherine. She thought of the progress Catherine had made, and the confidences she had shared with Lenora. The idea of bringing all of that to an end was staggering. And Mr. Asher was supporting it? Any warmth of compassion she had ever felt for him was extinguished, leaving behind only rage—an emotion she had never felt in her life.
“I think we need to have a conference with Mr. Asher,” Aunt Gwen said, standing from her chair and moving toward her writing desk. “I shall ask him to come first thing tomorrow morning.”
Lenora shook her head. “I cannot sleep with this spinning through my mind.” She clenched her fists. What if her anger continued to build through the night? What might she do when Mr. Asher arrived tomorrow? She imagined pushing him down the stairs while calling him every vile name she had ever heard, which wasn’t very many, truth be told.
“It is too late to ask him to come tonight,” Aunt Gwen said.
Lenora looked at the clock. It was nearly ten. Definitely too late, not to mention that Catherine was with him for the weekend. But to wait until morning . . . Lenora took a deep breath. Another idea stepped out of the shadows of her thoughts
“Unless . . .” Aunt Gwen said, drawing Lenora’s attention back to her. “Do you still have those trousers?”
It was nearly midnight when Aiden arrived at the river. Lenora was already there. He hated that she’d come without an escort. Anything could have happened to her.
He paused halfway down the stairs. Even from a distance, he could see her breath clouding in front of her face. It was cold tonight—would likely snow before morning—and yet he hadn’t hesitated. He’d made sure Catherine was settled for the night, of course, and told Paulette to watch her door to make sure she didn’t follow.
Miss Keighly had left Bath on Wednesday, after sending him a note officially breaking their engagement due to an inability to settle on mutually agreeable terms. She asked for a settlement of one thousand pounds as compensation for the last ten months. He agreed and sent a letter saying as much to both her solicitor and his. He hoped that one day they might be friends again, since both their families were in Cheshire, but he was content to wait a year or two before he attempted any reconciliation.
The relief he felt at no longer being tied to Miss Keighly was tempered by the fact that he was unsure how things might progress from here. With Miss Keighly gone, would Lenora be open to him? Could he disregard how much she’d put him off these last weeks? He still felt wounded by her rejection and still questioned if she cared for him as much as he cared for her. However, his hopes were high upon receipt of her request to meet him at the river. This is where they’d met. This is where they’d shared their first—and to date, only—kiss. A fitting place for them to start anew.
Lenora did not seem to hear him until he reached the bottom of the steps, then she spun toward him and stood very still. She wore that cap pulled down to her forehead and those man’s clothes that hid her figure, but her eyes were bright and her lips were soft and . . .
She did not look happy to see him. Was she angry that he’d called off the engagement? She’d told him not to, and yet he’d hoped . . .
“Good evening, Miss Wilton,” he said carefully.
“Are you sending Catherine to Wales?”
He studied her while considering his answer. Gone were his hopes that this was a different sort of reunion. There would be no repeat of their riverside kiss, no rekindling of the feelings between them. She was as set against him as she had ever been, and he shored up his defenses, since hers were so well in place. “No.”
She looked confused and let silence hang between them for a few moments. “You are not sending her to a school for troubled girls?”
He lifted his chin, irritated at himself for expecting something different than this. “No, I am not.”
“There is gossip that Miss Keighly found a school for troubled girls that would accept Catherine in December. I had to know if you were in fact planning on such a thing.”
Just how much gossip had she heard? He decided to proceed cautiously. “Catherine is my niece, and I will make decisions regarding her education and future interests. I am content with the situation you have helped me develop for her here in Bath. I have no plans to send her elsewhere, and if for some reason I were considering such a thing, the first people I would speak to about it would be yourself and Mrs. Simmons, who have made so many sacrifices on our account.” His words were cold and crisp. He did not allow any of his feelings for this woman to show since she seemed to have no feelings toward him but negative ones.
“Oh.” Lenora looked at the ground, nervousness seeming to replace her anger in an instant. “Well, I am glad to hear it. I should return to my aunt, then.”
She made to walk past him, but he reached out and took her arm, not so tightly that she couldn’t easily shake off his grip, though she didn’t. She looked at his hand on the sleeve of her coat, and then at his face. A very similar action had happened at the stables almost two weeks ago. But he’d felt soft
er then. Tonight, he was tired and heavy and hopeless. She’d only called on him to berate him. She had nothing else to give him. Did she know of the broken engagement and had not changed her opinion of him? Or did she not know? Should he tell her? He chose not to—he wanted her to choose him. In spite of Miss Keighly. How else could he know Lenora’s actual feelings? Unless this was how she felt—him being engaged to Miss Keighly or not.
“I am not a man of such low character as you have determined me to be, Miss Wilton. I hope one day you can truly believe it.”
He held her eyes until she looked away. He released her arm and watched her go but did not follow until she reached the top of the stairs. When he came through the space between the shops and turned toward Gay Street instead of his own, she stopped and turned.
“I do not need an escort,” she said from across the distance.
“I shall escort you all the same.”
“I do not want an escort,” she said in clipped words.
“But I am a gentleman and shall escort you all the same.”
She shook her head and moved forward, apparently convinced he would not give in—which he wouldn’t. As he walked ten paces behind her, he allowed his disappointment to settle upon his weary shoulders.
She believed that he would go against all he’d said regarding his devotion to Catherine and change his niece’s situation without discussing it with her or Mrs. Simmons. It seemed that she was determined to see the worst of him in every situation. That, above all other thoughts and difficulties, fueled his growing hopelessness. She’d made her decision about him and could only see his flaws.
When he turned the corner of Gay Street, she was waiting for him. He came to a quick stop, only a few feet separating them. She had her hands deep in the pockets of a thin coat that could not be keeping her warm.
She looked at his shoes as she spoke. “I am sorry that I jumped to conclusions. I was just . . . incensed at the idea and—”
“You fight for what is important to you.” He said it as a statement, not a question.
She looked up and drew her eyebrows together as though she didn’t understand.
“I am gratified to see that Catherine is worthy of your defense,” he said in that same even voice. “We should all be so lucky.”
He watched as understanding widened her eyes slightly before she turned and hurried toward the terrace house. He did not follow as he could see Mrs. Simmons’s house from where he stood. She did not look back as she went through the front door. The lights were still on in the drawing room, which likely meant her aunt had waited up for her. He watched the lighted window for a few minutes, then turned and walked slowly home. Did she know? Did she not? Either way, she wasn’t willing to fight for him. And he wasn’t going to beg.
“Well, I am relieved to hear it,” Aunt Gwen said.
Lenora was pacing again—her cap off but her hair still pinned up—trying to sort out her thoughts after recounting the exchange to Aunt Gwen. She should not be feeling unsettled, but she was. Mr. Asher had told her exactly what she’d wanted to hear—that Catherine was not being sent to Wales—and yet she was as anxious now as she’d been angry before. Finally, she stopped and turned to her aunt.
“He said . . . he said that he was pleased I was willing to fight for what was important to me.”
“Catherine?” Aunt Gwen supplied.
Lenora nodded and stared at a spot on the rug while trying to remember his exact words. “He meant something more,” she said aloud.
“What do you think he meant?”
Lenora shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Aunt Gwen stood and crossed the room. She took Lenora’s face in her hands and looked at her deeply, unblinking. “Don’t you?”
They stood that way for a few moments, then Aunt Gwen guided Lenora’s head down so she could kiss her forehead. “Good night, my dear.”
Lenora did not sleep well, but by morning, she believed she had sorted out Mr. Asher’s words. She should fight for him. When she first deciphered the meaning, she’d been angry all over again—fight for an engaged, blackmailing cad! He was a man without honor . . . except that he had devoted himself to his niece’s care whatever the cost. Except that he had honored his engagement to Miss Keighly even though he did not love her. Except that he had apparently defied Miss Keighly, who wanted to send Catherine away.
He’d said last night at the river that he would make the decisions for Catherine’s care. Had he told Miss Keighly the same thing? Putting Catherine above the opinions of his fiancée—was that right? Shouldn’t the woman he marry have an opinion? But if her opinion was to ship Catherine off to Wales, should her opinion be honored? And hadn’t he blackmailed Lenora because, in his heart, he was simply desperate for Catherine to succeed? Did his motives make his actions right?
Her head felt near to exploding as she went back and forth between what was right and what was wrong and whether or not sometimes the wrong thing was actually right and the right thing was actually wrong. Sneaking out at night was wrong because it broke social protocol and put her at risk, to say nothing of the risk that could damage the reputation of the school and her aunt in the process. But it was right in that the night walks settled her mind and made her feel capable and confident and part of this city.
Allowing herself to be blackmailed into giving Catherine special consideration was wrong because her motivation was completely self-centered, but it was right because her attention actually helped to uncover Catherine’s difficulties and eventually led to a situation where the girl could succeed. Lenora had grown to care deeply for the girl she had originally hated. She’d found healing just as Aunt Gwen had hoped.
Kissing Mr. Asher at the river that night had seemed so right, and yet it had also been wrong because he was engaged. And for him to jilt Miss Keighly would be wrong. But Miss Keighly wanted to send Catherine away, which was also wrong.
Lenora finally sat up in bed, put a pillow in front of her face, and screamed in frustration. I know what is right. I know what is right, she thought, remembering all the moral lessons she’d been taught as a child. Right was right and wrong was wrong, yet it had somehow turned into a mash of confusing circumstances.
Mr. Asher’s words came back in an instant, as clear now as they had been the night before—“You fight for what is important to you.” And yet, Lenora could think of few things she had ever fought for.
After being jilted by Mr. Glenside, she had fought to go to Bath as Aunt Gwen’s summer companion because she’d had to get away from Leagrave and the gossip and pity and stares. When she’d returned to Leagrave a few weeks later and realized how sincere Cassie and Evan’s feelings were for one another, she’d fought for her father to reconsider his decision forbidding Cassie and Evan from finding happiness together. And last night, she’d gone to the river prepared to fight for Catherine.
“You fight for what is important to you.”
Do I? She hadn’t fought to stay at Mrs. Henry’s school. She hadn’t fought to be more than “the musical Wilton girl.” She hadn’t fought to make a match or learn to waltz or to even leave Bath after learning Mr. Asher was engaged.
She fell back on the bed with her pillow still on her face, sick to her stomach and her head throbbing. Mr. Asher had been important to her, and yet she had turned him away. She could argue that she had done the right thing because of his commitment to Miss Keighly, but was that truly her motivation? Or had she been afraid? Afraid of how he’d hurt her by not telling her of the engagement, afraid of ever feeling such pain should he disappoint her again.
He had told her that he would marry his second choice because Lenora would not have him and that he would always do what was best for Catherine. Did that not put his character in a different light than she had chosen to see? Did that not make him the honorable man she had already judged him not to be?
Avoiding pa
in was not the same thing as healing. Being safe was not the same as being right.
Lenora missed church and did not come downstairs on Sunday until nearly noon, settling for toast and tea rather than anything resembling an actual meal. When she finished, she went into the parlor and sat down at the pianoforte. The Schubert piece Mr. Asher had left for her was still on the music rack. She’d not yet accepted that it belonged to her. She spread out the sheets and began to play, slow but perfect. That was how Mr. Thompson had taught her: take her time, but execute each note perfectly. It was what she’d tried to do all her life, and yet the most important victories she’d ever made had come when she had been bold and strong.
She wasn’t sure when Aunt Gwen came into the room, but at some point, she looked up, and her aunt was sitting on the settee, listening with her eyes closed. Lenora finished the piece, then let her hands still on the keys, and Aunt Gwen opened her eyes.
“You play like an absolute angel, Lenora. That is a lovely piece.”
“Mr. Asher gave it to me,” Lenora said, looking at her name printed in his hand upon the page.
“What a thoughtful gift.”
Lenora stared at the sheet music until tears blurred her vision. She felt her aunt’s hands on her shoulders a moment before Aunt Gwen kissed the top of her head. Lenora reached up and took hold of her aunt’s hands. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t know what is right anymore.”
“The very hardest thing a person can do is be brave. Brave enough to trust someone, brave enough to forgive the wrongs done, and brave enough to trust what their heart tells them. I do not believe Mr. Asher’s intention was ever to hurt you, Lenora, not for an instant.”
“But he did,” Lenora said. “And I do not think I could bear it if he hurt me again.”
“If,” Gwen repeated. “Will you base your entire future happiness on one word? Will you let fear rule your future?”
Miss Wilton's Waltz Page 25
