by Jane Lark
“But even so.”
Peter lost his temper, impatience scorching through him as jealousy had last night. “Even so, nothing! I wish to see her!” He pushed the man and Perkins stumbled back. Peter walked past him and Perkins must have been mildly assured of his innocence because he did not try to start a fight and stop Peter again.
The handle turned in Peter’s hand and he opened the door. She was sitting before her dressing table applying her make-up. She looked up. The bruise on her cheek ran into her lip, and her lip was cut and swollen.
He shut the door. “I’m sorry.”
There were flowers in her room, but none of them were his, and he had sent three posies this morning as always, with words begging for forgiveness on the cards. But then of course she could not read; perhaps she had just thrown away the cards with the flowers and not even asked anyone to read the words to her.
Perhaps she really did not wish to see him.
“What are you doing here?” she said as she stood.
“I have come to apologise—”
“Peter, I am on stage in half an hour.”
“I know. I simply… I had to see you.”
“Should you not be with your fiancée?”
Damn, she knew. How did she know?
“Did you think me too unintelligent to discover it simply because I cannot read a paper?”
“Lillian…” He moved forward and tried to take her hand. She pulled it away.
“I know it is naught to do with me. Your life outside this theatre is yours and I have no part in it, and yet…” She looked as though she shivered. “I do not want to play another woman falsely. I have some choices in my life, and I will not become an adulteress on your whim.” Her chin lifted in a gesture of defiance. “When are you to be married? Soon?”
“The summer.” His hand, which had reached out to her and been rejected, fell. “I’m sorry,” he said again, because he did not know what else to say.
“It is only what you all do. Men. I have known it, I simply forgot it with you.”
A sigh escaped his lips as her teal eyes glowed, not with feeling, or pleasure, but with tears.
“Lillian.” His hand lifted to cup her cheek, but she pushed it away.
“No. We are finished. I have learned a new lesson with you. I cannot feel nothing for you but I will not share you with a woman who has a legal right to you. I will not be cruel to her, as you are.”
He stared at her, still unsure how to respond. There was an offer in his breast pocket that would turn her life on its head. He had intended to give her enough money so she might live like a rich woman as his mistress. But he knew from her eyes if he offered that to her now she would tear it up and throw it in his face. Lillian had never bedded him for money. God, had he not known it, it was why things had felt so different with her.
He swallowed against his dry throat; he did not know what else he might say to keep her. But then perhaps this was God casting judgement on him, keeping him on a path back to heaven and away from hell. This was how it ought to be. Lillian should be left to lead her life and he should lead his.
“I did not mean to hurt you.” Damn. In the corridor he had just declared he did not hurt women and yet he had hurt Lillian, and he would hurt Emily too if she knew of this.
“Do you know what hurts most? You took me to a hotel the night you had proposed to her, and you shared a bed with me, and acted as you always do, as though I was the world to you. It was all a lie, and this…” She gripped the locket that hung about her neck. “You gave me this the morning you went to her with your offer.” She pulled it hard and sharp and broke the chain, no matter that it must have hurt her neck.
She held it out. “I do not want it. I do not need a lock of your hair. She should have it.”
God. He was burning inside, dying, breaking. He did not take the necklace; he could not bring himself to take it back. He thought of that bloody trick and the ring that went on her finger and slid off three times.
She threw the necklace at him. “Please, go, Lord Brooke, and sell your box in the theatre. I do not wish to see you again.”
“I’m sorry,” he said for about the fourth time, and then he turned away. He was sorry for himself as much as her. He had been ready to give up his pride. He had wanted to keep her in his life. But it seemed a whore had higher morals than him.
He walked through the hall with long, decisive strides. At least this was it. At least this was at an end. Now he could, and should, give all his energy and thoughts to Emily.
~
He did not even wait until the morning but went to his solicitor’s home and took the man from his evening meal. Then Peter threw the agreement he’d had written on the man’s table. “I no longer need this. I require a disengagement agreement; I will pay her three hundred, if she promises her silence. Would you draw that up tomorrow and send it to the Pantheon Theatre in Oxford Street? I need not be involved.”
There it is done with.
He left his solicitor’s home and went to find Mark and Harry in the clubs as he’d always done, as they had always done, and tomorrow, he would call on Emily and they would plan their summer wedding.
But on the next evening when he came home from Emily’s to change for dinner, and then return there to dine with her family, he received another kick. His solicitor had written to advise that Lillian had returned his contract torn up into small pieces but not only that, his solicitor had sent a package to him containing all the other items returned with his torn up offer of a parting payment. Everything he had ever given her was within it. Including the locket which he had left on the floor at his feet and the earbobs which he’d bought her first, plus half a dozen other gifts: more earbobs, combs, and pins, and a silver box to keep the gifts in. But not only that, there was cash too. She had probably returned every penny he’d given to her excluding the money Victor had taken as his cut for the squalid lodgings he kept all the girls in the theatre in.
Of course she could not reject Peter’s written offer with a written statement, so she had rejected him with a gesture that made her opinion clear. He wondered if she had even looked at the sum of money on the paper before she’d torn it up.
Probably not. He’d always known Lillian had not been grasping; this only proved what he knew.
Damn. He sat and stared at the items spread across the table. She had never once used the word love. Nor had he. Love was not a word spoken by a woman who acted the whore, even if that was not the label by which she lived her life. But she had spoken the word with her eyes, from the very moment they’d met.
Love. That was what he felt for Lillian, and if he was honest with himself, it was not what he felt for Emily. What he felt for Emily was fondness. Yet now he had cut his path, and the path he had to walk was with Emily. He would make her happy.
Part Seven
Emily clasped Mary’s arm as they left the room to walk up to the retiring room. “I am worried,” she whispered when they were in the hall. “I have been worried for days. Peter is so sullen, and it is unlike him. Do you not think him quiet tonight? It is not my imagination, is it? Should he not be happier now we are engaged?”
“I have noticed he’s been less exuberant, but Andrew said it is nothing. His mind is simply on other things.”
“But should it be on other things. He has seemed unhappy ever since he proposed, but why would he propose if it makes him so unhappy?”
“I do not think him unhappy.”
“But I do, Mary, and I am worried. I am worried he does not really wish to be married. He has never once said he loves me.” Emily fell silent as they entered the retiring room, which was wise because his sister was there, ensuring the maids had put out plenty of powder and perfumes to help ladies refresh.
Her house was beautiful; her husband owned a large, three-story, town mansion. It was larger than Peter’s. Hence why they had agreed to hold the celebration here. Yet Peter’s home was just as lovely if a little smaller. He’d a
sked her to dine there with her parents two nights ago, and shown her through the downstairs rooms, and he’d spoken of his country property, which he said he’d rarely visited as a single man, but intended to visit often once they were married. He had shown her a painting of it.
Everything he had done was perfectly as it ought to be. Everything he’d said was perfectly correct and kind, and he’d been immensely attentive, taking her out each afternoon, escorting her each evening.
Yet it was as though he was not really there. His lips never separated when he smiled, and the light had gone from the dark heart of his eyes. Peter was with her, and yet his spirit was not. Promising himself to her had taken the humour and the charm from him, the part of him that had attracted her in the beginning.
Mary took hold of Emily’s arm as they left the room and entered the empty hall. “You must not worry. Men like Peter and Andrew are complex; words like I love you do not rattle off their tongues.”
“But, Mary.” Emily stopped on the landing and turned to her. “I do not think it would rattle off mine either. Is that an awful thing to think when we are to be married? It is just, I care for him, I do, and yet. It has always been his humour and his enjoyment of life which captured me. If he is unhappy what is the point? We cannot really suit if marrying me would make him miserable.”
“You have been happy to marry without love?” Mary’s brow creased into a frown of disapproval. Mary had loved her husband so much she’d risked everything for him.
“It is normal, Mary. Most marriages are not for love, and Peter is handsome and titled and wealthy, why would I not wish to be married to him?”
Mary sighed.
But there was one reason that would make her wish she had not married him, if he spent their marriage walking about with a face that looked as though he was living his life serving a prison sentence. She had her pride. She might be willing to live without love, she was not willing to live with a husband who disliked living with her.
Perhaps it was because they were so different. Since they’d spent more time together she had become painfully aware of that. He was a Corinthian, he knew everything and everyone in London, he was wise and cultured, and she was gauche and naïve in his company. Is that how she wished to spend her life, feeling like a lesser mortal? But then she was a lesser mortal compared to him—he was a lord.
“Come and speak to Andrew with me and leave Peter to his sulking.” Mary said as they walked the last few steps down the stairs.
But she did not reach Drew because Harry intercepted them. “Miss Smithfield, may I have the next dance?” Peter had had his allotted two allowed by polite society and so she was free to accept whomever she wished for the rest of the evening.
“I would love to, Harry.”
She glanced at Mary and smiled, but before Harry could lead her away, Mary pulled her closer and whispered, “I will ask Andrew to find out what is wrong with Peter.”
“Thank you.”
When they walked onto the floor Harry’s hand lay over her hers as she gripped his arm. “Peter is out of sorts, isn’t he? I’m sorry, it must feel insulting on the night you are celebrating your betrothal. I have told him off.”
Emily smiled at Harry. It was nice of him to care. “Mary said his mind is on something, but he has not spoken of it to me.”
“No, he would not,” Harry answered with a bitter note of judgement in his voice.
She did not wish Peter to isolate himself from his friends any more than she wished him unhappy. “Please do not interfere, Harry.”
“I cannot help myself, when I see him making you unhappy. It is not right, especially when you are to be married to him. “
“You are becoming very serious. It is unlike you and as unsettling as it is to see Peter glum.”
He laughed. “Then I shall not be serious. So tell me all about how well my friend is treating you, because if he is not buying you flowers hourly, and crawling on his knees before you when he calls, then he is not as in love with you as I am. You should throw Peter off and marry me.”
She smacked his shoulder before resting her hand upon it as they formed the hold for a waltz. Marry me was Harry’s favourite jest, he said it every time he saw her. The rogue. She laughed as she always did when he said it, and let him spin her into the dance.
~
Drew grasped Peter’s shoulder. Peter jolted with surprise and turned.
“I wish to speak with you.”
A sound which was half amusement and half bitter ill feeling left Peter’s throat. He was not in the mood to be spoken to. “Why? About what?”
“About the fact that you look bloody miserable on the night you are celebrating your engagement and your future bride has noticed and is now afraid.”
Drew gripped Peter’s arm, then Peter let Drew pull him away from the crowd who watched the dancers. Peter had been looking at Emily and Harry. She’d laughed half a dozen times with his friend, probably more than she had smiled and laughed with him all week.
Drew pulled Peter across the hall by the arm and shoved him into a dark dining room, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the windows, forming wide panels of light. None of the servants had come in to close the shutters.
“What is wrong with you?” Drew stated as he let go and faced Peter with a hard glare. “Your fiancée has been speaking to my wife. She is worried on a night she should be happy.”
“I…” Peter swallowed and moved to walk past his friend. “It does not matter.”
“Are you still seeing that actress?” The accusation dropped out of Drew’s pitch; it was a question only.
Peter turned back. “No. If you have dragged me in here to yell at me over that, you have wasted your time. I am not playing Emily false. That has all come to an end.”
“When?”
“A week ago. It will not recommence, it is done with, and I have no appetite for other woman. I shall be entirely faithful to Emily, you need have no fear, I shall not test our friendship. ”
Illuminated by a strip of moonlight reaching through the window, Drew frowned. “Yet perhaps I would prefer that you did.” He sighed.
Peter stared at him.
“Do you have any affection for Emily?”
“Of course, she is charming. Who would not like Emily?”
“But like is a very shallow emotion on which to choose a wife.”
“Dozens of people choose wives on less than like.”
“Yet a week ago you called it love and she does not seem to even be making you happy.”
“I thought it was love, but I know now I was wrong. Yet I do feel affection…”
“So what exactly is your purpose? Why are you marrying her? You do not need her money. She is beneath you in status. Why choose her?”
“Because Emily is a good woman, who would make a good mother—”
“You have picked her as you would a broodmare then.”
Peter swallowed. “That is harsh.”
“But if it is true it would be unkind to her and you.”
“It is not true. I like Emily.”
“Like. There’s that dull, impartial word again. How many women have you liked since I have known you?”
Hundreds. How many woman had he felt as much as he felt for Lillian? None. And he’d lost her.
“What of your actress?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I said. What of your actress? What do you feel for her? Is it because of her you now deem your feelings for Emily lower, because you feel more for this actress?”
“It does not matter.”
“Yet, what if it does?”
“You are talking nonsense, Drew. I should get back to Emily, the waltz will be over.”
“And she will be dancing with someone else or Harry will have kept her to himself. Have you even noticed the way he looks at her?”
“How does he look at her?” Peter had noticed nothing odd.
Drew laughed. “As though she is the finest r
acehorse he has ever seen, and no one else has spotted her, and he sees a fortune to be won.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He has feelings for her. Harry looks at Emily as I used to look at Mary.”
“He…” Damn. “That is ridiculous.”
“It is not. It is true.”
Emily had been laughing with Harry… “No.”
“Yes.”
“Are you saying he’s been making advances? Harry…”
“No. I am saying he would if you stepped back. He deferred to you, because you have vocally expressed your interest from the first, but he has also said to me he is losing his patience with your ill-temper tonight. Either you wish to be with Emily or you do not. If you do not, you should let her go. Harry would make her happier than you have tonight, and all week, from what Mary has said.”
“When I came to see you, you told me to drop Lillian, or you would tell Emily.”
Drew moved a chair out of the way and leaned his buttocks back onto the empty dining table with a sigh as he also folded his arms over his chest. “I know. But perhaps I gave you the wrong advice. You were always better at advice than I.”
Peter shook his head.
“See, the Peter that I know would have laughed at that and agreed and mocked me. This Peter… Who are you? You remind me of who I was when Mary left me.”
Yes. Drew had been sullen and unsmiling and bloody miserable. That was how Peter felt. Heartbroken, empty inside, and half fucking dead. I miss Lillian.
“Perhaps I did not listen hard enough when you came to visit me. Were you seeking someone to give you permission to find a way out of your engagement? If I had said it is fine for you to keep the actress, what would you have done?”
“I do not know.” Peter walked across to the table, moved another chair then leaned his buttocks against the table too. He lifted one foot onto the chair and gripped its back. “I did not listen to you anyway. I was going to set her up, buy her a house, lead a double life, and keep it secret from you all. But someone showed Lillian the announcement. I did not even make the offer; she threw me out of her dressing room, and the next day she sent everything I have ever given to her back.” He glanced sideways at Drew. “So you were wrong, she had sold nothing. She even sent me all the cash I had given her.”
