Rescued from Ruin

by Georgie Lee

  ‘Mrs Thompson, you look lovely tonight,’ Lady Thornton complimented, appearing at her side with Lady Featherstone. These ladies had barely acknowledged her at the card party; now they surrounded her with wide smiles, as if they’d all taken lessons from the same dancing master as green girls. Cecelia was polite, accepting their compliments about her dress with grace, Randall’s influence in their sudden interest in her unmistakable.

  * * *

  Randall watched with amusement as women continued to approach Cecelia. He knew they’d speculate about his relationship with her, but they’d also accept her more readily than before. It would widen her circle of London acquaintances and hopefully dilute some of Madame de Badeau’s influence.

  ‘Careful, Randall, or you’ll make our little widow the talk of society.’ Madame de Badeau slid up beside him like the devil after hearing his name called.

  ‘She appears to be handling the attention admirably.’

  ‘And what of your attentions? Has she surrendered to your charm yet?’

  He laced his fingers behind his back, the woman’s presence grating. ‘Contrary to what you believe, my personal life is not fodder for your amusement.’

  ‘It is when you’re on the verge of making a fool of yourself with a woman who is clearly trying to snare you.’

  Randall twisted his signet ring. ‘Mrs Thompson is no more interested in me than she is in Strathmore.’

  ‘I don’t think so, she’s only better at luring you in than all the others, more subtle, and you won’t see her plan until she has you before the vicar. Imagine how people will talk when the Marquess of Falconbridge marries a nobody.’

  His jaw tightened at the nastiness in her remark. She was trying to coerce him with her wicked suggestion, bend him to her will and turn him against Cecelia, but he wouldn’t be manipulated, not by her or anyone else. ‘You overestimate society’s interest in me and Mrs Thompson.’

  ‘And you underestimate it and the damage it’ll do to your little widow.’ She snapped open her fan, waving it over her breasts. ‘I should hate to see her driven to Italy by vicious gossip. I hear it’s quite a haven for those who’ve been disgraced.’

  ‘Careful how you speak of Mrs Thompson,’ Randall growled, raising a warning finger between them. ‘Because if you damage her reputation in any way, I’ll make sure you’re driven from London.’

  He strode off, confident his threat would keep the Frenchwoman silent, but the malice she’d tossed at him made him wary. As a woman, there was little she could do to hurt him, but he knew she wouldn’t shrink from attacking others to get at him. He climbed the stairs to the balcony, looking out over the guests to where Cecelia stood, surrounded by a number of society ladies. They clamoured after her now, but they’d turn on her as fast as lightning if Madame de Badeau whispered against her. He would not see Cecelia hurt because of him, and a plan began to form to protect her.

  It was time to remove Cecelia from London.

  * * *

  Only years of practice kept Madame de Badeau from following Randall and shrieking at him. How dared he threaten her or act the chivalrous knight with Cecelia? He possessed no notions of chivalry.

  Madame de Badeau gathered up her train and wound her way through the room, her hand so tight on the beads, the glass grated together. She’d tell him the truth about the two-faced harlot if it didn’t mean Lord Strathmore might find out, too. Between the heads of two gentlemen, she spied Cecelia standing with her cousin and some nobody. She stopped, her lips curling in disgust as the two women surrounded the gentleman, trying to trap him with their lies like Cecelia was trying to trap Randall.

  Just like her mother.

  She heard the crack of glass and opened her hand to let the pieces of broken bead clatter to the floor.

  A short distance away, she spied Lord Strathmore watching Randall leave the room, the irritation as plain on his face as if it were painted on. She approached him, the hint of a smile raising her lips as his eyes flicked to her breasts with ill-concealed appreciation.

  She stopped beside him, dropping her train. ‘You look as though you’re not enjoying the evening.’

  ‘I’d enjoy it better if Mrs Thompson weren’t making a fool of herself with Falconbridge.’

  ‘Stand up with her now and you’ll start people speculating.’

  ‘They’ll only think I’m picking at his crumbs.’

  ‘Perhaps, but think what a fool you’ll make of him when you marry the woman everyone saw him dancing with tonight.’

  Lord Strathmore’s face brightened and he puffed out his chest at the imagined victory.

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ He trilled his fingers against his stomach. ‘Ah, there is the end of the dance. Please excuse me.’

  He hurried off to Cecelia, and Madame de Badeau relished the uncomfortable smile tightening Cecelia’s features as the Earl asked her to dance. If all went well, it would only be the first of many uncomfortable, if not painful, moments for the little harlot.

  Randall might threaten and dismiss her now, but he’d thank her once Strathmore and Cecelia were married and the truth was revealed. Then he’d come crawling back to her, begging for her to restore his ruined reputation and she’d bind him to her with her help, never letting him free again.

  Chapter Ten

  Cecelia poked at her meagre breakfast, spreading the last of her eggs around the plate with a fork, her plain toast and sugarless tea forgotten on the table beside her. ‘I hope you enjoyed the cakes at Lady Featherstone’s dinner last night, we can’t afford such delicacies at home.’

  ‘I can’t dream of food.’ Theresa threw out her arms with a theatrical sigh. ‘Not when I have love.’

  ‘Think of the money we’ll save.’ Cecelia rolled her eyes, wishing she could greet the morning with such excitement. Despite the relief of finally widening their circle of acquaintances, it wasn’t enough to dampen the impact of the new bills delivered this morning. Not even Mr Menton’s continued attention to Theresa during the past week had been enough to take Cecelia’s mind off her worries, or Randall. She touched the pendant beneath her dress, disappointed at not having heard from or seen him since the ball. At every dinner and gathering over the past few days, she’d searched for him, disappointed by his absence and all the while convincing herself it was for the best. His influence in the arrival of so many new invitations was unmistakable and troubling. The more he helped her, the stronger his friendship became, weakening her determination to keep him at arm’s length.

  The sound of a carriage on the street outside echoed through the room and Cecelia looked up from her tepid tea. ‘Who can that be? I thought Mr Menton left for the country this morning.’

  ‘He did. It seems there is some social obligation his mother needs him to attend and he won’t be back for a week.’ She picked up the small stack of invitations beside her plate. ‘How am I going to face all these soirées without him?’

  ‘You’ll find a way to manage.’ Cecelia chuckled, trying to hide her own disappointment. The Season was slipping away fast enough without them wasting too much time on one young man who might forget Theresa the moment he left town.

  The front doorknocker thumped and Theresa went to the window to look outside. ‘Oh, my goodness, Lord Falconbridge is at the door.’

  Cecelia stopped midsip of her tea. She set the cup down, nearly tipping both it and the saucer before steadying them.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mary hurry by to answer the door. Cecelia rose and brushed the crumbs off her dress, then stepped up to the mirror over the mantel and smoothed her hair.

  ‘You seem eager to greet him,’ Theresa teased.

  Cecelia settled her shoulders and faced her cousin. ‘Of course. I must thank him for the introduction to Mr Menton.’

  ‘Of course.’ Theresa nodded with a wry grin.<
br />
  The front door creaked open, followed by a strange scratching on the wood. Then a large black dog with a greying muzzle dashed into the room and straight at Cecelia. She backed up, her shoulder catching the marble mantel as the animal rose up on its back legs, placed his paws on her stomach and revealed the band of white fur beneath his neck.

  ‘Reverend, is it you?’ The dog licked Cecelia’s face and hands as she rubbed his back, his body shaking with his wagging tail. ‘I can’t believe it. You were just a puppy the last time I saw you.’

  ‘He remembers you. I knew he would.’ Randall strode into the room.

  ‘I certainly remember him. Oh, how wonderful it is to see him.’ Almost as wonderful as seeing Randall.

  He stood in the doorway, his affection for the dog evident in the warm way he watched them. He wore a brown redingote with a matching hat, which he removed and handed along with his walking stick to Mary. Beneath his hat, his dark hair lay matted and he raked his fingers through it, tousling it and making it fall over his forehead.

  She wanted to run her own fingers through the thickness and push it away from his face, clasp her hands behind his neck and draw him down into a deep kiss. Instead, she scratched Reverend harder, making the dog’s eyes close in delight. ‘Good morning, Randall. It’s a pleasure to see you.’

  From behind him, Theresa mouthed ‘Randall’ with a questioning rise of her brows, her eyes sparkling like a child who’d just overheard a secret. Cecelia stood and flicked the look away with her hand before motioning Randall to the table. ‘Would you like to join us for breakfast?’

  ‘No, I already ate, but please, don’t let me disturb you.’

  With relief, Cecelia took her seat along with the others. She didn’t relish inventing lies to explain the poor bread, bland tea or the absence of sugar. Reverend sat next to her, laying his head on her lap and looking back and forth between her and the plate. She broke off a small piece of bread and offered it to him.

  ‘Miss Fields, I hear you and Mr Menton are getting along quite well,’ Randall remarked.

  ‘Very well, only he has gone to the country.’

  ‘Which brings me to the reason for my visit.’ Randall reached into his coat and removed an envelope. ‘I’ve been in the country this past week on business. When I told Aunt Ella of your return to England, she insisted I bring you back with me for a visit.’

  He held the letter out to Cecelia, his wide hand almost covering the small missive. She took one edge, trying to avoid his fingers, but she felt the subtle sweep of his thumb against her fingertips as he released the paper. It was almost imperceptible, but it sent a shock through her equal to a lightning bolt striking a mast. Her eyes met his, searching for the same reaction in their blue depths and meeting a penetrating stare she could not read.

  Taking the letter, she opened it and read the contents. True to his word, his aunt expressed great excitement at the prospect of seeing Cecelia again. She stroked Reverend’s head. A week in the country with Randall, away from the restraining influence of society, made her nervous. It smelled of a trap, but just how much did she want to step into the snare? The chance to see Lady Ellington again might be worth the risk and perhaps she could find a way to confide in the Dowager Countess the same way she had ten years ago. Maybe the kind woman could offer some solution to Cecelia’s dilemmas.

  Cecelia folded the letter, not sure if she wanted another marriage of convenience, though at this moment, any marriage besides one to Lord Strathmore was appealing.

  She laid down the letter and peered up at Randall. To her shame, she wondered what he hoped to gain from a country visit. ‘How very kind of Lady Ellington, but we can’t impose.’

  ‘It’s no imposition at all.’

  ‘Isn’t Mr Menton’s estate close to Falconbridge Manor?’ Theresa interrupted. ‘If we go to the country, then we can see him.’

  ‘Theresa, we can’t simply stroll over to his house and ring the bell,’ Cecelia chided.

  ‘Aunt Ella knows the Mentons well,’ Randall added, selecting a slice of toast from a plate in the centre of the table. ‘She could arrange for Theresa and Mr Menton to meet.’

  ‘Please,’ Theresa begged.

  Cecelia frowned as Randall spread a large slice of butter on the bread. A visit to Falconbridge Manor might further Mr Menton’s interest in Theresa, but she wasn’t sure what it would do to her relationship with Randall.

  She folded her hands over the letter. They had no relationship. They were friends and as a friend he was trying to assist her and Theresa again. It seemed wrong to refuse his help. ‘I’ll write to Lady Ellington this morning to accept her invitation.’

  ‘There isn’t time to write,’ Randall announced, taking a bite of toast. Cecelia thought she saw him wince before he swallowed. ‘If you’d please be ready by one, I’ll collect you in my carriage.’

  Cecelia sat back, aghast. ‘So soon?’

  ‘My business there cannot wait.’ Randall dropped the unfinished toast on the plate in front of him and rose. He snapped his fingers and Reverend’s eyes shifted back and forth between Cecelia and Randall, but the dog didn’t move.

  ‘But we’re expected at Lady Thornton’s tonight,’ Cecelia protested, irritated by his heavy-handed treatment. That he should come here unannounced and expect them to cancel their plans to journey with him to the country was ridiculous and flattering.

  ‘Then you must send your excuses.’ He snapped his fingers again, but Reverend remained by Cecelia’s side, this time not even bothering to look at his master.

  ‘We have other engagements beside Lady Thornton’s.’

  ‘Then you’ll have many letters to write before we leave.’

  ‘I’ll start on them at once.’ Theresa jumped up from her seat. ‘Thank you, Lord Falconbridge.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘You’ve made her one of the happiest young ladies in London,’ Cecelia observed drily as Theresa’s quick footsteps faded up the stairs.

  ‘And what of your happiness?’ Randall asked with a seriousness she found unsettling.

  She wished she could share her cousin’s excitement.

  ‘I’ll be very happy to see Lady Ellington again.’ If the Countess could be as influential with Mr Menton and Theresa as she had been with Cecelia and Daniel, it might solve all of their problems.

  ‘And you’ll see her soon enough, which is good because I’m not sure how else to get my dog back. I think he’s quite taken with your company.’ He took his hat and walking stick from Mary. ‘I’ll collect him when I collect you.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about leaving him here?’

  ‘Not at all. I know he’s in capable hands. I’ll see you both at one.’ He slipped out the door.

  Reverend yawned, smacking his mouth as he trotted to the hearth rug and stretched out under a strong shaft of sunlight. Cecelia watched the dog, irked at Randall, but touched to know he trusted her enough to leave his beloved dog with her. She drew the pendant out from beneath her dress and rubbed the smooth gold, unsure what the next few days might bring. With any luck, Lady Ellington would help Theresa make progress with Mr Menton. As for her and Randall, she was afraid to think about it, but with Theresa there, she could easily find ways to avoid him and the warm feelings building inside her.

  * * *

  ‘All the money you had to throw about and you’ve discovered nothing about why Mrs Thompson was visiting a moneylender?’ Randall leaned over his desk, his fingertips pressed into the smooth surface.

  Mr Joshua stepped forward and placed the coins in a neat stack on the desk. ‘Never seen such a loyal group of men around a moneylender. Not one of them and none of the maids would say a word about his business. Seems Mr Rathbone pays them too well to risk takin’ a bribe.’

  ‘And Mrs Thompson’s maid? Certainly she isn’t
paid so well?’

  ‘Skitterish girl, that one, came over with Mrs Thompson and Miss Fields. Don’t think she’s ever been in a big town before. I tried speakin’ to her, but she was suspicious of me, as if I planned to eat her for lunch.’

  ‘No doubt her employer has cautioned her about London ways.’

  ‘Should have cautioned herself about dealin’ with the likes of Mr Rathbone.’

  ‘Unless she has no choice.’ Randall resumed his seat behind the desk and reached down to pet Reverend, his hand meeting only air. Out of habit he looked to the hearthrug before remembering the way the dog had clung to Cecelia that morning. He tapped his knee, the dual discomfort of Reverend’s absence and the knowledge Cecelia might be in real distress making him restless.

  The lack of food on Cecelia’s table this morning hadn’t escaped his notice, nor the poor quality of the butter and bread she ate. Even the furniture seemed out of sorts. Though he couldn’t point to anything specific, no fraying rugs or worn cushions, something about the suite of furniture looked tired.

  Randall rose and went to the window, reaching for the ceramic jar before catching himself again. Whatever the truth of Cecelia’s situation, it was definitely worse than she wanted him or anyone else to believe.

  Randall returned to the desk and scooped up the coins. He counted out a generous amount and handed them to Mr Joshua. ‘These are for you.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  He handed him another small pile. ‘These are for the maid. When we leave for Falconbridge Manor, I want you to stay behind for a few days. With her mistress away, the maid might be more willing to speak. In the meantime, send the carriage to Mrs Thompson’s with my regrets for not joining them for the journey. It’s time I paid a call on Mr Rathbone and got to the heart of this matter.’

  * * *

  Cecelia watched out the carriage window as Falconbridge Manor came into view. It stood on a small hill framed by large trees on one side and a wide expanse of rolling land on the other. The last of the late evening sun threw long shadows over the light stone, making the rows of windows sparkle. With its large front columns and classical lines, the house was stately and strangely understated for a family of Marquesses who enjoyed living in a grand style.