by Julia Quinn
I hardly need explain to you the reasons for my departure. I know you all too well, my dear, and in your eyes last evening, I saw that you have somehow been persuaded to believe the wretched lies about me. It breaks my heart that you should take the word of my enemies, but I have not the time to offer you explanations now.
This afternoon, Wilchelsey informed me that the Home Secretary intends to convene an investigation into the odious rumors that have dogged me for so long. I assured the duke that though Blackthorne’s allegations seem to have taken in Sir Robert Peel, they are utterly false. Wilchelsey, alas, was unmoved by these assurances, and offered the opinion that there is sufficient evidence to warrant my arrest.
I cannot bear the thought of that! You know me well, dear daughter, and I daresay you are well aware that my greatest fault is my pride. I refuse to bow down before lies and give my enemies the satisfaction of seeing me shamed and besmirched in the House of Lords, and I know you cannot bear to see me thus, so I have chosen to save us both from that humiliation.
I doubt I will ever be able to return to England, but I take comfort in the fact that I am leaving you in the capable hands of my cousin, Lady Wolford. Do not worry about me, my dear, and know I am safe from my enemies on some distant shore.
Your affectionate father,
Daventry
Ellie read the letter twice, the first time in a state of numbness and shock, and the second time in acceptance, relief, and even forgiveness.
Her father, she saw so clearly now, was a weak and selfish man, and though his letter spoke of sparing her the humiliation of a trial, she suspected that her well-being had never entered into his consideration. He was not, she knew now, the heroic, persecuted figure she’d always thought him to be. A hero did not abandon his daughter and run away. Her illusions had been stripped from her, but she felt no inclination to wish them back. The truth, however hard, was better than self-deceit.
She stood up, thinking that perhaps she should inform Lawrence of her father’s departure, for unless he moved quickly, his quarry would slip free of him forever. But then she stopped and read the first paragraph of the letter again.
By sunset, I will be on a ship, bound for parts unknown.
She looked at the clock on the mantel, took a peek through the window, and then she sat down and thought long and hard about the ramifications of what she was about to do. Her mind made up, she folded the letter, set it back on the mantel, and went to the library for a book. It was at least two hours until sunset, and in the interim, she needed something to do.
It was twilight by the time Ellie felt it was safe to proceed. She dashed off a note, informing Lawrence of what had occurred, and sent it with a footman to Cavendish Square. Half an hour later, Lawrence strode into the drawing room, looking like thunder.
“Run away, has he? Coward,” he added when Ellie confirmed his question with a nod. “Where’s he gone?”
“I don’t know, but he left me this.” She held out the note.
Lawrence took it and began to read, but after a few moments, he stopped with a sound of derision. “Enemies?” he said and rolled his eyes. “I suppose to his way of thinking, anyone who wants justice served is his enemy.”
“I’m sure,” she agreed.
Lawrence returned his attention to the letter and read the rest. “Unbelievable,” he said at last, shaking his head. “All he talks of is himself. His humiliation, his shame—in this entire letter, there is not one speck of consideration for you, your welfare, or your future.”
“He did commend me to the care of Lady Wolford.”
“How good of him.” Lawrence glanced at the letter again, and gave a laugh. “He thinks his pride is his greatest fault? What a joke. His pride pales in the face of his greed and his cowardice.”
Ellie didn’t reply, and Lawrence looked up. Something in her face made him frown. “He is a coward, Ellie. Don’t tell me he’s not.”
“Oh, I won’t,” she replied at once. “He is a coward, and no mistake.”
Satisfied, he returned his attention to the letter. “Sunset,” he muttered. “Well, he’s long gone, then, for it’s dark out now.” He looked up sharply. “When did you get this?”
She could have lied. A lie would have been the easiest thing in the world, but unlike her father, Ellie was not a liar. “About three hours ago.”
“Three hours?” He stared at her, an angry frown furrowing his brow and etching his face into hard, implacable lines. “You’ve known about this letter for over three hours, and you’re just now showing it to me?”
“Yes.”
“Why the devil did you wait so long?” He gave her no time to explain. “You did it on purpose,” he accused, his eyes narrowing. “You wanted him to have enough time to escape.”
“Yes.” She squared her shoulders, facing her choice and his wrath head-on. “Yes, I did.”
“How could you do this? You know what he did. You already acknowledged to me that you know he’s guilty as hell. He’s shown not a shred of remorse for his crimes. But thanks to you, he’s slipped the hook.”
“Possibly.” She bit her lip, her gaze scanning his scowling face. “Are you very angry with me?”
“Angry?” He shook his head with a laugh that had no amusement in it whatsoever. “Woman, angry doesn’t begin to describe how I feel at this moment. Why, Ellie?” he demanded, his voice hard as granite, his brilliant blue eyes glittering like jewels. “Why would you do this?”
“Because,” she said simply, “he’s my father.”
Lawrence sucked in his breath, then let it out slowly. “A very poor father,” he muttered.
“Yes,” she agreed. “He’s a scoundrel of the first water, I daresay, and a coward. And I freely admit he would have deserved every bit of punishment the law would have thrown at him, and more besides. But . . .” She paused and sighed. “I still love him, Lawrence, in spite of it all.”
“He has far less regard for you than you do for him.”
“I know. But there it is. I fully realize the ramifications of what I’ve done, and I’m sure you must resent me right now—”
“Resent? That’s an understatement.”
She took a deep breath and persevered. “I wouldn’t blame you if you cried off and decided not to marry me—”
“I can’t cry off,” he interrupted again. “Your virtue’s been compromised. No gentleman could cry off in such circumstances.”
The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, and pain squeezed her heart. “I don’t know if you can ever forgive me for ruining your case, but I hope you can, because I love you, and I want to marry you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, and I don’t think I could bear it if the only reason you went through with it was a sense of obligation about last night.”
He didn’t reply, and in the face of his silence, she closed her eyes, fearing that her choice had made a breach between them that could never be healed. It seemed an eternity before he spoke.
“You didn’t ruin my case.”
At those muttered words, she opened her eyes. “I didn’t?”
“Not by a long chalk.” His eyes narrowed, and he glared at her. “I’ll soon determine what ship he took, and where he went, and I will employ all the investigators required to find him. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if we’ve been married two decades and have a dozen children, Ellie, I will find that scoundrel you call a father.”
At those words, joy and relief flooded her, banishing all her doubts and fears. She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off.
“And if the Crown allows it, I will have him dragged back here to face his peers in the House of Lords and account for what he’s done. So,” Lawrence added, tossing aside the letter and folding his arms with a belligerent scowl, “perhaps you are the one who wants to cry off?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t. If you do find him and bring him back, then he’ll have to take his punishment, and I shan’t weep for him.”
“Good.” He relaxed a little, his arms falling to his sides. “So we are getting married?”
“I suppose we are.” She sighed, giving him a look of mock aggravation. “Even though I have not yet received a proper proposal.”
“Don’t push your luck.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I still have your sixpence.”
“So you do,” she said, smiling as she slid her arms up around his neck. “Which means I can’t take anything for granted when it comes to matrimony, can I?”
He pulled back to retrieve the sixpence from his pocket. “You know,” he said musingly as he held it up between them, “I shouldn’t wonder if there’s something to this coin’s power, after all.”
She studied it, considering. “There have been times in the past week that I’ve wondered about it, too. But I don’t see how it’s possible, Lawrence. I mean, the sixpence was supposed to be my key to finding a spouse, but it hasn’t been in my possession for over a week, and I’m getting married anyway. Doesn’t that prove it doesn’t work?”
“On the contrary.” He flipped the coin into the air, caught it again, and gave her a wink. “You’re not the only one getting married, you know.”
“That’s true,” she agreed, laughing. “That must mean it works for whoever has it, not just for me and my friends. But, heavens, if it does work, you mustn’t lose it.”
“Don’t worry,” he said and tucked the coin back into his pocket. “Until you are safely wedded to me, I am keeping this sixpence with me every single moment. But what am I to do with it after that? Save it for our first daughter?”
“Certainly not! You have to give it to Bea.”
“Bea won’t want it. She’s always said she’ll never marry, sixpence or no.”
“If we’re right, I doubt she’ll have a choice. We might see her put the sixpence in her shoe before all’s said and done.”
“Her shoe?” Lawrence looked at her in bewilderment. “What’s a shoe to do with it?”
“It completes the rhyme, of course. ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in her shoe.’”
“Ah, I’d forgotten the last line. But I’m not sure the rhyme quite hangs together.”
“But it does, Lawrence. The coin is obviously the ‘something old.’ And Anne’s duke . . . he was definitely ‘something new’ in her life. And then there’s Cordelia—”
Lawrence’s chuckle interrupted her. “Well, that part fits, at least. Borrowing someone else’s fiancé? Who but Cordelia would think of a harebrained idea like that? I ask you.”
“It was rather madcap, wasn’t it? But that’s Cordelia all over.” She looked up at him, smiling. “And then,” she said softly, “there’s us.”
“And that’s where we veer off course. You must have thought Bluestone would be your ‘something blue,’ but you’re not marrying him. You’re marrying me.”
She shook her head, bemused. “Only a week ago, I believed marrying him was my destiny. What on earth was I thinking?”
“Well,” he began, but she cut him off.
“It was a rhetorical question,” she said sternly.
“Either way, your plan to marry Bluestone didn’t work out, thank God.” Lawrence’s arms tightened around her, and a frown of puzzlement creased his brow. “So what the devil is your ‘something blue’?”
She laughed, looking into the brilliant blue eyes of the only man she had ever loved. “You are, my darling,” she said, rose on her toes, and kissed him. “You are.”
. . . and a Sixpence in Her Shoe
Julia Quinn
Chapter 1
An upstairs bedroom in Wolford Grange
Herefordshire
Immediately following the wedding of Lawrence Blackthorne and Lady Elinor Daventry
“You’re joking.”
But it was clear from their faces that Anne, Cordelia, and Ellie were not joking. Bea could only stare, first at them, and then at the coin that had been laid in the palm of her hand.
Then back at them, because, really, they were the ones with the ability to form thoughts and take action and change the future. Not the coin.
Never the coin.
“You made a vow,” Cordelia said.
“Oh, come now—”
“A vow, Bea.”
“We were children!” Bea looked over at Ellie, hoping to find some spark of sanity in her eyes.
But Ellie was nodding right along with Cordelia. “It worked for us, Bea. You should give it a try.”
“I cannot believe the three of you think that this sixpence”—Bea thrust her hand forward, as if they didn’t already know precisely what she was holding—“that this . . . this coin has supernatural powers.”
“I’m not saying it does,” said Anne, whose recent marriage to the Duke of Dorset made her one of the highest-ranking ladies in the land. “I’m just saying I’m not convinced that it doesn’t.”
“I had wretched bad luck when Lawrence had it in his possession,” Ellie admitted.
“I still can’t believe you gave it to him,” Cordelia scolded.
“He picked my pocket!”
“I can’t believe you married a pickpocket,” Anne said, shaking her head. Her expression was admirably grim, but she managed to keep it that way for only a second before a snort of laughter burst through her lips.
“Well, he’s my pickpocket,” Ellie said, “and that’s all that matters.” She turned to Bea. “You—”
“Don’t say that I could have my own pickpocket,” Bea warned her. Good heavens, her friends had lost their minds. Was this what love did to a person?
“You have to take the sixpence,” Ellie said.
Bea’s gaze dropped to the silver disk in her hand. “I believe I’ve already taken it.”
“You have to use it,” Ellie clarified.
Bea rolled her eyes. “Most people would agree that the normal use for a sixpence is to spend it.”
“Bea!”
It was a collective shout, from all three of her friends. She looked at them, still dressed in their elegant gowns. Ellie was in her wedding dress, for heaven’s sake. Lawrence was probably pacing a trail through the rug in the sitting room on the ground floor, waiting for her to come down so they could leave for their honeymoon.
Instead they were holed up in a bedchamber, arguing over this nonsense.
Cordelia reached out and folded Bea’s fingers over the sixpence. “Put it in your shoe.”
“Now?”
“It’s the only way we’ll believe you’ve done it.”
“You do realize I could simply remove it as soon as I’ve gone?”
“But you wouldn’t,” Ellie said, “because you don’t break promises.”
Bea opened her mouth to argue, then groaned. They had her there. This was the problem with friends. They knew you too well.
“The thing is,” Bea said, “I don’t even want to get married.”
Anne looked up briefly from the gloves she was sliding onto her hands. “So you say.”
“So I mean!”
“You should reconsider,” Anne said with a frank shrug. “The marital state has a great deal to recommend it.”
“I might agree,” Ellie said pertly, “if I ever managed to leave this room to join my new husband.”
“I’m not stopping you,” Bea pointed out.
But Ellie was undeterred. “I’m not going anywhere until you put that bloody coin in your shoe.”
Bea sighed. There was no winning this one. Not with all three of her friends staring her down like a tribe of lost gorgons. She turned the coin over in her hand a few times. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I suppose it counts as something old.”
Anne grinned and tapped herself on the chest. “And I’m something new.”
“What?”
“I’m a new duchess,” she explained.
“You’re stretching this old wives’ tale for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”
Bea remarked.
Anne shrugged unrepentantly.
“Well, I borrowed my fiancé,” Cordelia said.
Ellie waggled her hand in Bea’s face, her sapphire betrothal ring glinting in the fading daylight. “And I’ve got something blue.”
“It all fits,” Anne said. “It’s brilliant.” She pointed to the coin, then to herself, Cordelia, and then Ellie as she said:
“Something old,
Something new,
Something borrowed,
Something blue . . .”
No one needed prompting to finish with: “And a sixpence in her shoe.”
Well, except Bea. She kept her mouth shut the whole time. But in the end, she could only shake her head. “I can’t win, can I?”
“Shoe,” Anne ordered. “Now.”
“You’ve become quite the duchess,” Bea grumbled, plopping down on a nearby chair so she could remove her slipper.
“She was always this bossy,” Ellie said. She flashed a smile at Anne, which was instantly returned. Bea couldn’t help but smile a little herself, even as she sighed in defeat. This, she thought, was the very definition of friendship. The shared laughter, the smiles that didn’t have to be hidden behind a hand. The knowledge that if she ever needed anything, ever found herself alone or adrift . . .
She would never be alone or adrift. That was the point.
Bea didn’t believe for one moment that a sixpence could help a lady find a husband, but she did believe in friendship.
She put the coin in her shoe.
One week later
High Street, Wallingford
Oxfordshire
Bea frowned and shook her foot at the ankle, hoping no one would notice the strange hopping gait she’d adopted for the last ten or so paces. One would think that a coin—especially one so flat and worn down—would be nearly impossible to feel underfoot, but no, it felt like there was a bloody pebble in there, wedged between her stocking and shoe.
