The Daring Debutantes Series Boxed Set

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  “Forgive our intrusion, my lady,” she said as her friends curtsied to her ladyship.

  “It’s no matter, my dear. But what brings you here so early?”

  “I would like to take you up on your kind offer from before,” she said. “That is, if it still stands.”

  ~*~

  Tom had not thought it possible that he could get any surlier than he was after Bianca broke his heart. As it turned out, breaking someone else’s heart—someone he cared deeply for—was even worse for the disposition.

  Being forced to attend balls only exacerbated the issue. Which was why Tom sulked in a corner of his cousin’s ballroom, nursing yet another glass of brandy. Victoria had shot him no less than thirty scathing looks, to which he had lifted his glass and applied a fake smile for her. The traitor.

  He’d come home that afternoon to discover Amelia had left. And where had she gone? To his sister’s, of course. Not just for an afternoon call, either. She had taken all her belongings and moved into Lady Leyburn’s finest guest chamber, damn it all. At least the two ninnies who had insisted on staying for propriety’s sake had left too, back to the Hastings’ residence, apparently.

  Another swig, and Tom’s thoughts shifted from Amelia to her father. They’d not heard a word about his condition. Was he even alive? Part of him prayed he was—murder was not something he wanted to have on his conscience, no matter how odious a man he was. But then again, Tom didn’t want for Amelia to have to live her life looking over her shoulder, wondering if he was going to drug and abduct her again.

  Damn, but this was a mess. Tom could solve everything by marrying her. He just didn’t want to admit it. At least not out loud where someone like his sister might hear. She’d plan the entire bloody wedding before he could even ask the bride.

  Oh, who was he kidding? He’d ruined things with Amelia, and it was all for the best. Now he didn’t have to worry about losing his heart and having it broken again, and she could move on with whatever it was she planned to do with her life. Mr. Price certainly thought very highly of her—surely he’d take her under his wing and promote her to the stage, where she so desperately wanted to be.

  Where she belonged.

  He’d been loath to admit it, but it was obvious Amelia had a flare for the dramatic. That, combined with her stunning looks, would most certainly make her a favorite among theatre patrons. He would pay to see her, that was for sure.

  But then again, the way he felt about her might have made him a bit biased.

  “Stop sulking and dance.”

  Tom didn’t need to look to know his sister stood next to him.

  “Leave me be and dance yourself.”

  “She came to me, you know? I didn’t force her to leave. You did that all on your own.”

  Tom snapped his head around to look his sister in the eye. “No, but it’s just what you wanted, isn’t it? Do you ever mind your own bloody business?” he practically yelled. “I’ve asked you to leave me be, and yet here you are, meddling again.”

  “For your own good,” his sister insisted.

  Tom moved closer and lowered his voice. “You sent me to Welwyn for my own good, and look what that got me,” he hissed. “I was doing fine—”

  “You could barely keep yourself upright most days,” Victoria said, cutting him off, and making him even angrier than before.

  “You’ll not make me feel guilty any longer, Victoria.” He stared at her, fuming, his resolve set. “And I will beg you to please stop making my life more difficult than it already is.”

  He wasn’t about to let her have the last word, so he strode off immediately, headed for the doors of the ballroom. He had to get out of there before he created a scene.

  “My hat and cane, please,” he demanded of the footman who stood by the front door, and then he paced back and forth in front of the staircase while he waited. Only someone else arrived before the footman returned.

  “Tom?” The familiar voice drew Tom’s attention to the doorway. His heart constricted and he felt as if he choked on the air he breathed. He’d not expected this. Not tonight of all nights. He couldn’t face them, but what choice did he have?

  The woman who had been the object of his affection for far longer than she ought stood there looking as ravishing as ever, her arm entwined with his. The gypsy.

  In the next moment, she pulled away from her husband and rushed to Tom’s side, throwing her arms around him in a rather stifling embrace.

  “Oh, but it is good to see you looking so well,” she said. “Well, at least better than last time I saw you.” The half smile she gave him was enchanting, as it had always been. “Are you? Well, I mean?”

  “I-I…” He didn’t know what to say. He’d not been prepared to lie or to put on a good face tonight.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, her expression falling. “You’re not well, are you? Tom, what is it? What’s the matter?”

  The footman finally appeared with his hat and cane. Tom gratefully accepted them and took the moment to compose himself.

  “I’m quite fine, actually,” he said at last, not feeling fine in the least. He needed to lie down. Or have a drink. “But I’m afraid I must be going.”

  With a tip of his hat he left Ashbury Manor and didn’t look back.

  Nineteen

  Amelia was rather giddy as she entered the backdoor of Drury Lane. A week had passed since she’d left Tom’s townhome for Victoria’s home. Though her heart ached desperately for Tom, she at least had some happiness in her life. Mr. Price had called on her at Lord and Lady Leyburn’s, asking her to return to work, and of course she’d accepted.

  As she moved through the corridor, she smiled at the acquaintances she’d made before, and scurried as quickly as she could past Sofia von Engel’s dressing room. She still felt uncertain about Mr. Price’s mission to dethrone the reigning leading lady. Would she feel good about being on the stage every night knowing that she’d had to put the actress out of work to get there?

  On the other hand, Ms. von Engel had made her own bed, hadn’t she? She would end up lying in it whether it was Amelia who replaced her, or someone else.

  She arrived at Mr. Price’s door and knocked.

  “Come in,” someone invited, only it certainly wasn’t Mr. Price’s voice. It was a woman, likely the one woman Amelia wished most to avoid.

  Still, she pushed the door open and found Ms. von Engel on the other side. The woman sat in Mr. Price’s chair behind the desk. Her fiery red hair, which had been pulled together at her nape, draped over one shoulder and cascaded past her rather ample bosom. This bosom, of course, was accentuated by an extremely tight corset, which was covered by a flimsy robe. Hardly appropriate attire for traipsing about the theatre. She should never have left her dressing room.

  “Sofia,” Amelia said, by way of acknowledgement.

  “Welcome back, Miss…Harding, is it?”

  “St. George,” Amelia corrected, a pit forming deep in her belly. How had Sofia learned her real name?

  “Oh?” She gave her a syrupy sweet smile. “Then I suppose it wouldn’t be of any interest to you that a Mr. Harding from Ayelsbury was murdered in his home last week.”

  Amelia felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room. Murdered? Was it possible? Putting on a mask of impassivity, she shrugged. “Very sad news, indeed, but no. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about this Mr. Harding.”

  “Isn’t it odd that Tommy went missing that same week?” the vile woman persisted, her eyes narrowed in a malicious expression.

  “Tommy?” Amelia repeated. She couldn’t possibly be speaking of Tom, could she?

  Sofia laughed a little too heartily. “But of course you know him as Lord Grantham, don’t you?”

  Dear God. The pieces were starting to fit together now. Tom had a connection to the theatre he refused to use. It made perfect sense that he meant Sofia, clearly a woman scorned and looking for revenge. But had Tom truly killed her father? No. He couldn’t have.
But then why had he acted so strangely ever since they’d returned? Was he guilty of murder?

  Sofia stood slowly from the chair and began her leisurely walk past Amelia to the door. “Never mind then,” she said with a sigh. “And please send Mr. Price to my dressing room when he arrives.”

  Sofia’s lip curled into a snide grin, full of malevolence. The spiteful doxy. She simply meant to use this information to fluster Amelia and then pretend she was innocent. Amelia was flustered all right, but not because her father was dead. That part gave her great relief, if she was being completely honest. It was the part about the murder itself. What if the authorities found out Tom had been there. Even if he hadn’t done it, would they believe him?

  A sick feeling washed over her. She couldn’t let him go to prison. Not for her.

  “Ah! There she is!” Mr. Price exclaimed from the doorway. “Welcome back, Miss St. George.”

  Amelia couldn’t find her voice to say hello to the man who had been so kind to her and practically offered her the moon. She could only stand there, struck dumb.

  “Miss St. George?” he prodded. “Are you all right?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she said, her voice shaking. “Forgive me, Mr. Price. I think I’m not quite ready to return to work.”

  The manager’s brow furrowed in concern. “Miss St. George, that is quite all right. I will call you a hack. We will give it more time.”

  Amelia was grateful, as always, for his kindness, and when the hack arrived, she directed it to Tom’s residence.

  ~*~

  “My lord, you have a visitor.”

  Tom looked up from his desk. Carlisle shifted nervously from one foot to another. That didn’t bode well. “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Er…a woman, sir.”

  “Well, that narrows it down,” Tom returned, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his tone. “Can I have a name, please?”

  Tom wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t for Carlisle to say, “It’s Mrs. Carroll.”

  Tom dropped his writing implement and stood immediately. “Bianca?” he clarified, though he knew it probably wasn’t the older Mrs. Carroll who had come to see him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll receive her.”

  He followed his manservant out the door of his study and to the drawing room. He hadn’t quite believed it when Carlisle had said she was here, but now that he saw her, sitting on his settee, he had no choice but to believe it. She turned and then stood when she saw him.

  “Tom,” she said, her tone sweet and comforting.

  “Bianca,” he returned, holding back from entering the room any further. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Please.” She gestured to the chair opposite her. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the other night.”

  Tom’s heart raced a little faster. Was she really here to tell him that she missed him? That she’d made a mistake? He’d spent nearly a year dreaming of this moment, but ever since Amelia had come into his life, well…he’d not dreamt it at all. So what would he say to her now?

  “Bianca,” he began, “I’ll not cuckold Emil. I’m sorry.”

  Bianca’s eyes widened and she stared at him for a moment before throwing herself back against the cushions and laughing like a hyena. Tom couldn’t help but be bewildered by her actions. “Is it something I said?”

  “Oh, dear.” Bianca sat up, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Tom, but I come here as a friend. Nothing more.”

  “A friend,” Tom repeated, walking tentatively to the chair across from her. “But you said you couldn’t stop thinking about me.”

  “Exactly. You seemed so troubled. And as someone who cares very deeply for you as a friend, I wanted to come and find out what was bothering you. See if I could help, perhaps.” She shook her head, a half smile on her lips. “I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

  Tom gave a little chuckle as he sat down, finally seeing the humor in the situation himself. What a nincompoop he was. Of course she wasn’t there to suggest something scandalous. He’d seen the way she regarded her gypsy husband—with more love and adoration than she’d ever seen on any wife’s face. “No, it is my fault for jumping to conclusions.”

  They fell silent for a moment before Bianca prodded, “So?”

  “Ah,” Tom said. “You want to know what’s troubling me.” He heaved a sigh and slumped further back into his seat. “A woman, of course, and I’m very glad to say it’s not you. Thought it was you for far too long.”

  “I know.” Bianca’s voice sounded a little sad. “And I’m sorry for that. You know I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Some things can’t be helped.”

  “But perhaps the situation with this other woman can be. Won’t you tell me about her?”

  Tom launched into the story of how he’d met Amelia and what had come to pass in the couple of weeks since then, omitting the part about throwing her father down the stairs, of course.

  When he was finished, Bianca said, “You must care very deeply for her to have gone to so much trouble. What is the problem?”

  “You,” Tom replied honestly.

  She shook her head and gave him a sad smile. “Have I ruined you forever?”

  “Quite possibly,” he said, and then, “It was perhaps the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. I wanted to leave so desperately and return to Jamaica, but I stuck around for Victoria. Staying in Town made things worse somehow—knowing you were nearby, that I could run into you at a ball or a house party, which I did.”

  Bianca nodded. “I remember.”

  “I thought if I drank enough, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

  “Did it work?”

  Tom shook his head. “Of course not. The only thing that cured me was Amelia, but now I’ve made a mess of that too. Even if I wanted to ask for her hand in marriage, I’m not certain she’d have me now.”

  Bianca sat quietly for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Finally, she spoke. “I don’t pretend to be an expert on matters of the heart. It is a tricky business, and clearly I didn’t take as much care as I ought to have. But I do know this: you are a wonderful man, Thomas Barclay. You are worthy of love, and if it is this Amelia who you love, then you should fight for her, no matter the consequence. You’ll be miserable either way, but there is a chance—if you take the chance—for true happiness.”

  She was right, of course, though Tom needed more time to think on it. Could he give himself over to love again? Did he dare risk the repercussions?

  Unfortunately, his home was bombarded in the very next moment by Fin and Victoria, who burst through the door of the drawing room. Carlisle stood behind them, attempting to announce their arrival, but Tom dismissed him with a wave of his hand as he leapt to his feet. Their faces were serious, determined, as if they had something of great import to say, but they both stopped in their tracks when they realized Bianca was in the room.

  Victoria smiled at his old paramour and said, “Mrs. Carroll, so nice to see you again. Please pardon our intrusion, but there is something of grave importance that we must discuss with Tom.”

  Grave importance? Tom didn’t like the sound of that.

  “I was just on my way out, my lady,” Bianca replied. Then she turned to Tom and took his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “Best of luck, my friend.”

  She made her exit, and Fin closed the door behind her before joining Tom and Victoria in the sitting area.

  “What is it?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear.

  “They’re coming.” Victoria wasn’t one to mince words.

  Tom raised his brows. “Can you clarify who they refers to, please?”

  “The magistrate,” Fin clarified.

  Tom’s stomach clenched and moisture broke out on his brow. “Why?”

  “You are suspected in the murder of Amelia’s father,” Fin said, his voice calm despite his wife’s squeak of fear.


  Of course he’d known this was coming. They’d find out sooner or later. He’d just hoped for later. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought of this moment, though, or planned for it.

  “I have a bag packed. I’ve made preparations.”

  “You intend to run?” Victoria asked, coming to the edge of her seat.

  “What choice do I have?”

  Fin shook his head. “None. But if you leave, you might never be able to come back.”

  That was the worst part. Because he’d be leaving Amelia behind without ever being able to tell her how he truly felt—that in another world, under different circumstances, he would take her as his wife and never, ever let her go.

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “There’s not much time,” Victoria said. “Retrieve your things. You can take our carriage to the dockyard.”

  Tom turned to his sister. “How did you know I’d be leaving by boat?”

  Victoria shrugged as tears shimmered in her eyes. “I’ve been holding you back all this time, Tom. I know where you want to be—I know where your heart is. And I know that doesn’t mean you love me any less, but I shall miss you terribly, my dear brother.”

  She was crying in earnest now, and Tom fought the lump that rose to his own throat as she rounded the table to embrace him. He hugged her back, squeezing tightly, wondering if he’d ever see his sister again.

  “It’s time,” Fin said as he stood solemnly nearby.

  Tom and Victoria pulled apart and then he darted up the stairs to retrieve the bag he’d packed for his journey. With one last brief goodbye for Fin, Victoria, and his faithful servants, he climbed aboard their carriage and headed for the docks.

  It seemed ironic. He’d wanted for so long to return to the islands. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to do it, though. Not with this pit in his stomach. In a perfect world, he would have had time to get used to the idea—to let his loved ones get used to it, as well. And he certainly wouldn’t be going alone. In a perfect world Amelia would be by his side.