The deep, heavy weight Sherwin felt in his stomach worsened. He must follow her. He would find out exactly what was going on and whom she was meeting.
"Uno minuto." Signore Biondi raised his hand and shook his index finger in Muriel's direction. "We shall begin the lesson after I return. Scusi." He retreated into a hallway behind his carved desk. Muriel could see the back of his balding head and hear the swish from the hem of the long, heavy, dark maroon banyon.
Muriel settled onto her customary seat and emptied her satchel, setting her notepad, various papers, and books upon the small table next to her instructor's massive desk. She reached into the bag to locate her last item. Her fingers scuttled around the bottom for the short pencil.
The sound of someone entering the room through the open door from the narrow corridor behind her alarmed her. She straightened and spun in her chair to face the visitor.
"Muriel!"
"Sherwin?" She rose from her chair and could not have been more surprised to see him. "W-what are you doing here?"
"Where is he?" Sherwin demanded, glancing from one corner of the room to the other. His gaze finally settled on the darkened, narrow exit behind the desk. "I know he's here-the fellow who brought you."
"Brought me? The one who ..." Muriel finally understood that he meant Sir Samuel. No, he wasn't there. He'd had no reason to remain. He and Susan would continue on their proposed drive without Muriel until it was time to collect her after the Latin lesson. "I'm afraid I will not reveal his identity."
"Then it's true." The realization washed across the Earl's face. "You've been deceiving your family into believing you care about making a match, and you've been toying with your suitors to tryst with him."
Was he still referring to Sir Samuel? What gave him the idea that ...
"Well, my lord, what will you do?" Muriel would not be tricked into exposing Sir Samuel's involvement. "Expose my secret? Ruin my reputation? Disgrace my family? Create a scandal? The entire notion that I'm taking part in an illicit association is ridiculous."
"You do not deny that you are meeting with him?" Sher win inched forward as he spoke. "You will not even say who he is." He sounded more than concerned; he sounded angry.
Muriel moved behind Signore Biondi's desk to put space between them. "I do not name him because I have no wish to punish his involvement in this venture when he is all that is kind by coming to my aid."
"All of London is talking about your indiscretion." Now Sherwin sounded outright jealous.
"My mistake," she uttered calmly. "I thought we agreed they were gossiping about us and what was going on between us."
Their mutual silence stretched on for a long while. They stood there, glaring at each other. Muriel did not understand the reason for his outburst. Why blame Sir Samuel when it was Sherwin who had introduced Signore Biondi to her?
Her pulse quickened, and the excitement mixed with anger, twisting inside her, making it difficult for her to think. "If you could only hear yourself. I would expect you to be the one person who'd understand." Tears came to Muriel's eyes, and she did not know why. She never cried. "Do you not realize? Look around you. Do you honestly not know where you are?"
He blinked, then squinted before lifting his quizzing glass to take a closer look at the completely filled bookcases, the extra tomes stacked on the floor against the walls. "This is . . ." Sherwin's angry expression faded when, as she suspected, he recognized his surroundings.
Signore Biondi appeared out of the small dark opening behind his desk. "Ah, another visitor. Buon giorno!"
"Signore Biondi, it is Sherwin Lloyd." Sherwin inclined his head. A flush rose into his face at the recognition of his error.
"He is now the Earl of Amhurst," Muriel added in a sharp tone, feeling acutely cross with him.
"Si, ah-si!" Signore Biondi nearly shouted and raised his hands high in welcome. "It has been many years since we have met, no? And I think there has been much that has happened between you two, yes?"
Muriel glanced over to Sherwin, who returned her slightly guilty glimpse. Their correspondence, albeit innocent, would never have been considered correct.
"I shall leave you two to your ... discussion." Signore Biondi shrugged and readjusted his banyon around his shoulders. `Amore," he mumbled to himself. "The English, what do they know?"
"I beg your pardon?" Muriel wasn't sure she had heard correctly.
"We Italians invented love!" He shook his finger at them before returning to the small corridor behind his desk. "Remember, children, amor animi arbitrio sumitur, non ponitur." Then he left.
"What does he mean?" As if their situation wasn't difficult enough, Muriel saw no need for cryptic phrases to further confuse matters.
"'We choose to love, we do not choose to cease loving,'" Sherwin translated.
"I understand what he said. But I cannot see how it has anything to do with us." Muriel had no wish to continue their "discussion." It was taking up her precious lesson time.
"So you've been secretly tutored." Sherwin must have finally understood what she had done.
"And you must know my father would not approve of my being here, nor would my aunt." Muriel began to relax and moved out from behind the desk. "I must deceive them for my education, if I am to see Signore Biondi at all."
"Yes, yes, of course ..." Sherwin seemed relieved and at the same time disappointed in himself for the lapse.
"What does any of it matter?" Muriel was well aware of his daily presence in the Park, with a different young lady every day, and his highly anticipated, much-touted attendance at every evening affair. He probably did not give her a second thought. "I am nothing to you."
Their waltz last night could not have meant anything more to him than it had to her. The purpose was to quash annoying rumors. Muriel would never admit that she had, not in the smallest amount, enjoyed their dance, enjoyed the feeling of his arms around her, of him holding her close. She had enjoyed herself so very completely.
"Nothing? You could not be more wrong." Sherwin's voice softened, and he moved very slowly toward her. "I know there have been difficulties between us, especially that first time we met here in Town."
Muriel hated to think of that night at Almack's. Never had she felt more angry in her life. It wasn't too long after that, though, that her feelings had changed. She wasn't so vexed anymore. He was, after all, the very same Sherwin she had corresponded with for many years.
"You are ... you mean, the world to me," Sherwin stated in a clear voice, without a hint of torment or mockery.
Muriel somehow knew he was telling her the truth. But she could hardly believe it. Was it possible he had forgiven her? Not only forgiven, but held her in great affection?
"I imagine we were both hurt; I know I was," he confessed. "We thought we'd been completely honest with each other-and I believe we had been, except for that which we'd omitted. It's only, we hadn't expected that our own actions, our each coming to London, would affect the other. How would we have known?"
Muriel had thought him at Eton, and it had never occurred to her he would visit London for the Season. So why tell him of her visit? How lowering to confess that she would pretend to stand in the petticoat line. Going to Town allegedly to seek a husband? How could she possibly write to him of that?
"Our years of correspondence were my happiest. Everything changed when my father and brothers died." He turned away from her to sit on the edge of the desk. "All I cared about was my studies and your letters. Now I'm the Earl. I have to manage the estates, find a wife, marry and ..." He closed his eyes. "I hate my new life. My mother brought me to Town and has me courting a countless number of young ladies, none of whom I care for in the slightest." The muscles of his jaw tightened, showing his irritation. "I could not write to you of these things. I should have confided all to you. I sincerely regret it now."
Muriel remained silent and listened to his tale. The longer he spoke, the more she empathized with him. Coming to Town had at least been her
choice; it had not been his.
"Only since I've seen you-" He opened his eyes and faced her. "I have to confess that all I can think of is you. Where you are and, even though it pains me, who it is sharing your company. It has taken me quite some time to realize how dear you are to me." Sherwin took her hand lightly in his. "I cannot bear the thought of being apart from you. If I must marry, I very much want it to be you."
"What?" Muriel could not have heard him correctly.
"We'll make the Grand Tour for our wedding trip." Excitement shone on his face, lighting up his eyes, animating him. "Perhaps we'll travel straight to Italy. I daresay we've both shared that interest for ages. We shall go to Rome and stay for as long as you like. A year, no-two!"
Of course Muriel wished to see Rome. It was her fondest desire. But-
"If after Rome you wish to continue to Greece, we shall depart immediately. All you need do is say the word."
Muriel blinked and did not know what to make of this. He wished to marry her? This was all so very sudden.
"Is that a proposal?" She could hardly believe what she was hearing and could not help but tease him a bit. "It's not very romantic, is it?"
"As far as I know, you're not a very romantic sort of girl," he stated evenly.
"And you know me so well, don't you?" Muriel had to admit, she wasn't the highest stickler when it came to propriety. Actually, in most cases, she cast the whole idea aside ... why had she thought it mattered now?
"Yes, I believe I do." Sherwin smiled first, and Muriel soon followed.
Still, what made him think she would ever accept such a casual, offhanded offer?
They weren't children anymore, and no one made Muriel realize it better than the grown Sherwin, the Earl of Amhurst.
"You're right, I'm not very romantic." She spied him out of the corner of her eye. He understood her very well.
"I adore you, Moo." Sherwin's smile widened, and he pressed her hand. "My search for a bride has ended. There is no one else for me. If you think on it, you'll know we belong together."
The declaration still shocked her. He sounded certain where his heart lay. It hadn't occurred to Muriel until that moment how deeply she had buried her feelings. She had been convinced he had absolutely no interest in her. But she did care for him.
"This is not why I came to London. I had no expectations of marriage," she confessed. "I did everything to discourage any of my suitors from reaching the point of offering."
"I was never one of your suitors. I have only a passing acquaintance with your family, and I have yet to pay even a courtesy call on you." For someone who did not appear interested in courtship, he seemed to know exactly what was proper and how to go about it. "We shall remedy that at once. I realize all this is new and sudden, but you shall come to realize, just as I did, it is meant to be."
"I cannot say no," she confessed.
He placed a kiss on the back of her gloveless hand. The feeling of his lips upon her skin caused Muriel's breath to catch. The pencil stub that she held in her left hand slipped from her fingertips, hit the carpet, and rolled across the floor.
"For now our engagement is secret-sub secreto," he told her. "But it shall not remain so for long."
Muriel stepped near and slid into his arms, where he held her close. This was so very right. This was where she belonged. How could she ever have thought that there could be anyone except Sherwin for her?
Sherwin's purpose for coming to Town had suddenly become perfectly clear. It had taken some time for the chaos that had come with the death of his father and brothers to ebb, but finally he felt at peace. Every element, every aspect of Sherwin's life had fallen into place, just as if it had been preordained.
"Is there cause for celebration?" Signore Biondi had reentered his study in silence. "I see the signorina has left. She appeared most felicitous, even though she has missed her lesson."
Gazing at Muriel was like looking into a mirror, Sherwin realized. She reflected every affection and good feeling inside of him. How he would remain sane until he could see her, be near her again, Sherwin did not know.
"I am quite overwhelmed," Sherwin replied. "I do not have the words, in any language, to express myself."
"Of course it is so. You are not fluent in Italian!" Signore Biondi shrugged. "Ah! I have something for you. Attesa qui per uno momento." He drew his banyon to one side, out of the way, and settled in his chair, then pulled open one of his desk drawers and rummaged around. "I have always known, even when the two of you were both young. Si, destino!" Closing one drawer and opening another, the Signore continued his search. "Something very special, oh, yes, I knew even back then." He pulled the desk drawer open and proclaimed, "Ecco!"
Lying in the palm of Signore Biondi's hand was a small, round miniature painting set in a gold pendant. Sherwin lifted his quizzing glass to examine the image. It was a profile of Muriel-her eye, eyebrow, surrounded by wisps of her brown hair.
"Hand painted on ivory. I completed it many days ago, and just in time, I believe." Signore Biondi handed the goldframed miniature to Sherwin. "It is a gift for you, per favore."
"You painted this?" It was a perfect rendition. The auburn hue of her curls, the arch of her brow, the shape of her eye, and even the individual lashes. He'd even managed to catch her impish manner in the glint in her eye.
"I must occupy myself with something while the signorina works her lessons, so I sketch." He leaned over Sherwin's arm to regard his work. "I have some talent, do I not? It is good, yes?"
"It's an astonishing resemblance." He retrieved the empty fob from his waistcoat and fastened the portrait for safekeeping.
"You can keep her near even when you are apart" Signore Biondi nodded in a knowing manner. "Italians truly understand such things-and I think now that you do also, yes?"
"Thank you, Signore." Sherwin slipped the miniature into his pocket, wishing the portrait lay even closer to his heart. "I shall treasure it always."
Muriel stepped down from the carriage, continued up the walk, passed through the front door of Worth House the moment it swung open, and came to a stop just short of running into the large round table in the marbled foyer.
She hadn't even paused once. It was just like magic.
"What is wrong with you, Moo?" Susan finally caught up and removed her hat, then untied Muriel's because she had not moved to do so. "You haven't said a word the entire drive home."
Muriel shrugged. How could she explain to Susan about the lighthearted, flighty sensations like butterflies filling her stomach, tickling her insides? Never before had Muriel felt so happy.
"And you have the most peculiar expression. Whatever are you about?"
Muriel wasn't thinking of anything in particular. Complete happiness and images of Sherwin filled her soul. Gazing at the bonnet Susan had lent her, Muriel mused that it wasn't as silly as she'd first thought, the color not so garish, the roped trim not as overdone but rather tastefully adorned, and the gently arching ostrich feather was rather artfully graceful.
All in all she found it rather quite splendid.
"Gracious, Moo!" Susan took her friend by the arm. "What ails you? Your eyes may be open, but I believe you are sleeping on your feet. If I tell your aunt as much, she would insist you proceed directly to bed and make sure you stayed there until morning."
"Oh, no-I must attend tonight!" If she missed the ball, she would not see Sherwin, and Muriel did so wish to meet with him and, she hoped, dance with him. How she longed for him to hold her in his arms again.
"Moo, are you quite sure you're feeling all right?" Susan pulled the hat from Muriel's hand.
Muriel twirled away; maybe she spun twice. Oh, she did feel silly. Is this what it felt like to be in love? Life was wonderful, perfect.
"I'm fine, Sukey." Muriel relished her lovely secret and smiled. She was engaged to be married to the most wonderful man in all of Britain. "Actually, I've never been better."
Sherwin found preparation for the Burnett
es' ball that evening bearable. He knew he would see his beloved, dance with her, and, most important, take the first step in securing her position as the new Countess of Amhurst.
He had tried to speak to his mother upon returning to Lloyd Place, but she had been unavailable. Sherwin would not allow much more time to pass. He would speak to her on their way to the ball tonight or at the ball, if need be.
While standing with his chin slightly elevated as Lewis did his magic, turning a strip of linen into a fashionable cravat, Sherwin thought back to the events of that morning: his meeting with Muriel, their heated discussion, which turned into a warm conversation, and finally to their secret engagement.
Sherwin truly hadn't been sure exactly how she would react to his declaration. What he had known was that he had to confess his affection for her. It seemed that once he'd started, he could not stop talking. He'd had to tell her how much he esteemed her, held her in regard, and completely treasured her.
He must have worn her down. She had said yes. Muriel had agreed to marry him.
He'd been walking on air when he finally left Signore Biondi's residence to return to Lloyd Place. As if by fate, Freddie had dropped in and was just about to leave. Sherwin was ever so glad to regale his proposal and its outcome.
"My word . . ." the Earl of Brent drawled in obvious surprise. He suggested Sherwin send a small but meaningful token of affection, an engagement gift, as it were.
It was a splendid idea, and Sherwin told him what he had in mind, and, by golly, if Freddie didn't know where the exact thing could be found.
The crafting of the neck cloth was a success on the first try. Lewis held up the waistcoat, slipped it over Sherwin's arms, settled it on his shoulders, and made the proper adjustments before fetching the jacket.
Sherwin's admiration had not been misplaced. He'd looked up to Freddie at Eton and continued to do so in London. It would be a great pleasure to call him brother after marrying Muriel.
A Grand Deception Page 10
