by Cheryl Holt
He hardly knew Freddie Nipton, but he was decent enough. Despite Lucas’s name being linked to Nan’s, Mr. Nipton was courteous and civil to Lucas—no matter what the gossips were saying. Why cuckold the poor fellow? Why torment him?
By all accounts, the elderly oaf loved Nan and was hurt by her frolics. It had to be grueling, being married to a trollop like Nan. Why should Lucas make it worse for her husband? Especially when that husband had always been kind to Lucas?
For a brief moment, he wondered if he wasn’t growing up. Had full adulthood finally arrived?
“I should probably go,” he mumbled.
“Oh, for pity’s sake. We just got here.”
“Yes, but I shouldn’t have come.”
“What is happening to you? I swear, Lucas, you’re acting like a lunatic these days.”
“I guess I am.”
“Horse’s ass,” she spat.
She climbed to the floor, went to the sideboard, and poured herself a brandy. She poured him one too, and she brought it over and handed it to him. They sipped in silence, Lucas still on the bed, Nan standing in front of him, looking mad as a hornet.
“Tell me what’s eating away at you,” she demanded. “No folderol either. Just tell me what it is.”
“I don’t know if I can explain it.”
“Try.”
“I simply...want something different in my life.”
“Like what? What is it that you don’t have?”
“You mean besides money or goals or a family I can tolerate?”
She chuckled. “Yes, besides those things.”
“I want to be happy.”
“And you’re not?”
“No.”
She stomped to her dressing room, and when she returned, she’d retrieved a shawl and had draped it over her breasts. It was a blatant indication that she’d given up on any sexual mischief occurring, a move for which he was very, very grateful.
She grabbed a chair and pulled it over so she was facing him. They drank their liquor, lost in thought, a barrier building to separate them. Could she feel it as firmly as he could? He didn’t imagine she’d ever be able to cross it again.
“What would it take for you to be happy?” she ultimately asked.
“If I had an answer to that question, I’d fix myself immediately.”
“Is it that woman? That schoolteacher? Is that what this is about?”
He scowled. “You think I’m upset over Miss Hubbard?”
“Yes, that’s her. Amelia Hubbard—your purported fiancée.”
“Only in my father’s deranged mind.”
“Is she causing all this trouble?” When he didn’t reply, she added, “I saw you dancing with her.”
“And...?”
“How long have I known you?”
“Six years? Seven?”
“You’ve never once looked at me the way you were looking at her.”
He shrugged. “I like her.”
“Admit it: You more than like her.”
He shrugged again. “Perhaps.”
She meticulously assessed him, then scoffed. “Gad, you’re pathetic.”
“Why?”
“You love her, you fool.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“It’s plain as the nose on your face.”
“I haven’t the temperament to fall in love. It’s not possible for me.”
“As of two minutes ago, I might have agreed with you, but you’re hopelessly ensnared. Don’t bother denying it. You can’t.”
“I hardly know Miss Hubbard.”
“Yes, well, you may hardly know her, but she’s successfully worked her wiles.”
“Her wiles? Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re an idiotic male, and you haven’t a clue about women.”
“True.”
“You love her,” Nan spat like an accusation. “Now get the hell out of my bedchamber and don’t slither into it ever again.”
Lucas stared at her, a montage of wild, reckless memories of their antics careening through his head. She was so like him in nearly every way, immoral, selfish, vain, and dissolute.
In light of his base nature, she was the perfect friend, the perfect paramour, the perfect collaborator for his more disgusting pursuits. He should have insisted that he’d stay, that he refused to part from her, for he was quite sure if he walked out the door, he would never return.
Yet as he struggled with his choices, the most maddening thing happened. Amelia’s image pushed out the memories of his past with Nan. He reflected on how much he cherished her company, how contented he was when she was by his side. He was contemptibly corrupt, and she was fresh and wholesome and unsullied.
He ruined everything he touched, and he’d ruined her too, but she hadn’t blamed him or regretted what they’d done. She seemed to like him very much, and her partiality was arousing and riveting. What would it be like to be with her all the time, to be constantly showered with her kind, supportive attention?
Nan had accused him of being in love. Was he?
He hadn’t believed it possible, but the last few weeks, he’d been wretchedly miserable, and it all circled back to Amelia. He pondered her day and night, was always wondering where she was, what she was doing, and if she might have landed herself in a jam that he should fix.
Occasionally, he’d been almost sick from worrying about her. Was that love? He had no idea, but he was suffering from some sort of malady. How could he alleviate it?
The answer swept over him, taunting him with how simple it was, how easy. He only had to go to Amelia and speak the words his father had been demanding he utter. If he was brave enough, if he could tuck aside his enormous ego, he might get lucky and win her.
“Goodbye, Nan,” he said.
“What? No argument? No claims that I’m completely off base about Miss Hubbard? You have no desire to prove me wrong?”
“No, I don’t need to prove that you’re wrong.” He grinned. “For once, you just might be very, very right.”
She sputtered with outrage as he spun and left.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I don’t understand this at all.”
“What’s to understand?”
Amelia stared at Barbara. She tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it.
“I watched you together,” Barbara said.
“Yes, it seems the entire city saw us.”
“Everyone is buzzing about it. The two of you are madly in love.”
Only one of us was, Amelia glumly mused, but she wouldn’t embarrass herself by saying so aloud.
“It was just a waltz, Barbara.”
“It wasn’t,” Barbara chided. “Don’t treat me like a fool. What happened since then?”
They were in Barbara’s morning parlor, with Barbara finally home from her lengthy evening of socializing. Breakfast was laid out on the sideboard, and Barbara was eating. Amelia had merely glanced at the food, but was too distressed to swallow any of it. She would have choked.
She’d spent the night hiding and pacing in a back bedchamber, with the door locked and the servants not realizing where she was. After what she’d witnessed between Mr. Drake and Mrs. Nipton, she was certain he’d be too busy to visit Amelia, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She’d avoided her own bedchamber and any confrontation she couldn’t bear to have.
She wouldn’t ever speak to him again, wouldn’t ever be alone with him again. He had a way of tempting her that she hadn’t been able to resist, and she refused to shame herself over him. He didn’t deserve her friendship or even her acquaintance. He didn’t deserve the slightest courtesy or acknowledgement of a past association.
Two voices had been warring in her head. One urged her to blind herself to Mr. Drake’s true nature. The other warned her that he was an avowed libertine who would never act as she was hoping.
The second voice—the one that had admonished her to recall his degenerate character—had turned out to be correct.
She hadn’t listened, and now she was paying the price.
She felt dead inside, humiliated and disgraced and galled beyond measure. How was it that—in a matter of hours—she could have soared to the highest mountain of elation then plummeted to the deepest depths of despair? She was very close to falling to the rug and weeping, but she wouldn’t let Barbara see how terribly she’d been wounded.
For all of London being a large city, it was really a very small place. If she collapsed in agony, word would eventually filter back to Mr. Drake, and she would never give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she’d cared.
Her bag was packed and setting at her feet. It contained only the meager wardrobe she’d brought when she’d initially moved to Sidwell Manor, when she’d nervously assumed she was about to be a bride. She’d spent the prior month pursuing that goal, but it had been a huge waste of energy and effort.
Who would marry her? Who would want her? Not Lucas Drake, that was for sure.
She was naught but the scandalous love child of an actress and an adulterer. She had no family or lineage worth mentioning, and if she departed London, who would even notice?
“You’re dressed in your schoolteacher’s rags,” Barbara scolded, “and you’ve packed your belongings, yet you expect me to believe nothing occurred?”
Amelia sighed, wishing she never had to divulge her degradation, but Barbara had been a friend. She deserved an explanation.
“I thought Mr. Drake might propose,” Amelia said.
“So did I! So did everyone at the ball. We figured that was the whole purpose of his arrival and behavior.”
“We were wrong.”
“How can you say that? Have you spoken to him?”
“No, but I was out on the verandah, and I saw him through a window in a dark parlor—with Mrs. Nipton.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. They went off together to dally at her house.”
Barbara brightened. “Is that all it was? Amelia, dear, I’ve told you about men like Lucas Drake. They’re dogs. They’ll rut at the drop of a hat. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I think it meant something,” Amelia murmured.
“I’m certain you’re mistaken. I’ll bet he shows up today to ask for your hand. You can’t let a little flirtation with Mrs. Nipton keep you from achieving your goal.” She leaned nearer and patted Amelia’s arm. “He’ll have lovers, Amelia. Every husband does. You’ll learn to live with it.”
Amelia gazed at Barbara, and that feeling was back that she was made of glass, that she might shatter into a thousand pieces.
“It’s more than his being with her,” Amelia was disgusted to admit. “He shared some...well...comments about me that revealed his true feelings.”
Barbara was courteous enough not to demand clarification as to what those comments entailed, a favor for which Amelia would be eternally grateful. She couldn’t have repeated them if her life had depended on it.
“He spewed insults?” Barbara gasped.
“Yes. Very awful ones,” Amelia replied, “so there’s no chance for me. It was a game for him, and I stumbled into it without realizing the rules.”
“I’m so sorry, Amelia.”
“I shouldn’t have pinned my hopes on him, but I’ve never had a home of my own, and I craved it so badly.”
“I know. What will you do now?”
“I need to leave London immediately.” Barbara looked as if she might try to dissuade Amelia, and Amelia held up a hand to stop her. “I can’t stay, Barbara. I don’t have your temerity. I just really need to leave.”
The lump in Amelia’s throat was so big she could barely talk around it, but she absolutely would not weep! Mr. Drake wasn’t worth crying over, and there was definitely no reason to cry for her own stupidly and gullibility.
“Where will you go?” Barbara inquired.
“I’m returning to Miss Peabody’s school.”
“I thought it was closed.”
“My friend, Evangeline, is still there. She’ll help me.”
Actually, Amelia wasn’t going to Evangeline. As far as she was aware, Evangeline had left the school and it was shuttered, but Amelia was terrified Mr. Drake might come after her, so she’d let him think that’s where she was.
After what she’d observed the previous night, it was absurd to imagine he’d follow her. It was simply that he was very vain, and when he discovered that she’d fled, he might track her down merely to prove he could. But she couldn’t risk his locating her. He had too much power to sway her, to influence her to dreadful conduct.
At his behest, she’d ruined herself so completely that she’d never fully atone for the sins she’d committed. The rest of her life, she intended to do good deeds, be charitable and useful and decent. With any luck, a few decades of moral behavior would bring redemption, and she’d be able to forgive herself for her many ethical lapses and transgressions.
“You’ve been so kind to me,” Amelia said.
“It was easy to be kind. You’re a very sweet girl.”
“Thank you.”
“I enjoyed every minute of our adventure.”
“I did too,” Amelia claimed, but she really hadn’t.
She wasn’t loose or dissolute. She had no business being in London, acting as the rich, idle members of the ton acted. She needed to run far and fast, needed to find a quiet, solitary place where she could regroup and begin to remember who she’d been before she’d leapt into an inferno of shame and catastrophe.
“I must prevail on you one last time,” Amelia said.
“Anything, darling, you know that. What is it you require?”
“Could I have a bit of money for the mail coach?”
“I won’t allow you to travel on a public coach,” Barbara scoffed. “I’ll send a messenger over to my son’s. We’ll borrow one of his carriages and we’ll—”
Amelia cut her off. “No, Barbara. I won’t borrow a fancy vehicle. I have to start this journey in a way that will take me back to where I belong. It’s not here.”
“Are you sure? It just seems so wrong for you to leave like this.”
“It’s for the best.”
“I wish I was your mother or your guardian so I had some authority to stop you.”
“You couldn’t stop me. I’ve made up my mind.”
Barbara studied her, searching for a chink in Amelia’s armor of resolve, but there wasn’t one. Amelia was determined to go, and Barbara couldn’t discourage her.
Finally, Barbara shrugged. “Of course I’ll give you some money, but I can’t fathom why you must depart at once.”
“I tracked down my brother,” Amelia lied. “I’m meeting him, and he’ll escort me. But he’s busy next week, so he needs to do it today.”
“Well, that’s good news at least. You won’t be traipsing off across the countryside alone.”
“No, I won’t be alone,” she lied again.
She hadn’t seen Chase and had no idea where he was or how to contact him. She’d sent him a letter, in care of Mr. Blair, apprising him of what had occurred. In the meantime, if she claimed Chase was assisting her, Barbara wouldn’t nag or attempt to prevent her from doing what she must.
There wasn’t much more to say after that. Barbara extracted a dozen assurances from Amelia—that she’d write often, that they’d always stay in touch—and Amelia provided the appropriate promises. Yet she wasn’t certain she’d keep any of them.
She would probably write after she was settled, but she didn’t expect she’d ever see Barbara Middleton again. Amelia would never return to London, would never again put herself in a social situation where she might bump into Mr. Drake.
They went to Barbara’s desk, and Barbara pulled out her moneybox and bestowed an amount much larger than necessary. Amelia tried to refuse it, but it was pointless to argue with Barbara over any issue.
“You’re giving up too easily,” Barbara insisted. “Mr. Drake might still stop by.”
“He won’
t.”
“He might.”
“You’re a dreamer, Barbara. A great friend—but a dreamer.”
“You should pen a letter of explanation just in case.”
“No.”
“Humor me,” Barbara coaxed. “If he shows his face at my door, I’d at least have the satisfaction of furnishing him with some harsh words of farewell from you.”
It was easier to agree than to quarrel. Amelia sat at the desk and jotted a quick note. She sealed it with Barbara’s wax, wondering how long it would be before Barbara pried it open and read it. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that she was leaving and never coming back.
They walked out together. Amelia had asked the butler to summon a cab, and it was waiting for her, the driver impatiently tapping the side of the box, eager to be away.
“Thank you—again—for everything,” Amelia told Barbara.
“You’re very welcome.”
Amelia hugged Barbara forever as Barbara fussed and clucked like a mother hen. When Amelia drew away, Barbara was crying.
“You silly girl,” Barbara said. “How can you desert me like this?”
“You’re such a dear person,” was Amelia’s reply.
“I can’t believe Lucas escaped our clutches. With my brains and your beauty, I can’t believe he got away.”
“It was worth a try.” Amelia was usually so honest. How did the lies keep rolling off her tongue?
“If you decide to give marriage a go later on, contact me first. We’ll chase after some other handsome devil. Next time, we’ll catch him for sure.”
“I don’t want any other devils in my life. I crossed paths with one and that was enough for me.”
The driver coughed and shifted on the seat, and Amelia hurried over to the carriage. She tossed in her bag and climbed up without any assistance. Barbara shut the door and was standing there as the driver clicked the reins and the horse lurched away.
“Write to me,” Barbara called.
Amelia peered out the window. “I will.”
“Let me know what’s happening with you.”
“I will,” she said again.
“I hate to worry, so don’t make me.”
“I won’t. I’ll be fine.”
