An Affair with a Notorious Heiress

by Lorraine Heath

  “Did he strike you?”

  “No.” As angry as he’d appeared, she’d never feared him. Well, she’d had a brief moment of apprehension when he’d come around the desk and advanced on her like a soldier determined to rout out the enemy, but then she’d remembered how well she knew him and had known he wouldn’t hurt her. “He would never strike a woman, no matter how angry she made him or how much she disappointed him.”

  “Do you love him, Tillie?”

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. “So much, Gina. It’s frightening how much I love him.”

  “Then you should be with him.”

  She looked at her sister imploringly. “I can’t. Because I love him so much, I can’t. I can’t put the burden of my scandalous past on him.”

  “He has awfully wide shoulders. I expect he could manage any burden just fine.”

  She almost smiled at that, at the thought of his shoulders, the little hollow where she would rest her head. “But he shouldn’t have to. And neither should you. I’m going back to New York. I’m going to leave you here alone to sort out your own love life.”

  “I suppose I can’t blame you for leaving. I know it’s been difficult for you to remain with me. However, it’s high time I took responsibility for myself and my own happiness, isn’t it?”

  Suddenly Gina seemed more mature than Tillie had given her credit for. “You don’t feel as though I’m abandoning you?”

  “Absolutely not, dear sister. I’ve learned a great deal from you, and I shall put it to good use. You needn’t worry about me.”

  “I love you, Gina.”

  “I know you do, but it’s time you got on with your life. And speaking of getting on—as you won’t be here for much longer, what say we do something special together?” She took the glass of whisky from Tillie and set it aside. “The Royal Tea Palace is supposed to be the place to be seen. Let’s go for high tea, shall we?”

  “Gina—”

  “Oh, Tillie, we never go out as sisters are wont to do. We’ll ask for a secluded corner table. No one will bother us.” She squeezed Tillie’s hand. “Let’s have a bit of fun and get your mind off Rexton.”

  Tillie doubted anything would ever accomplish that goal, but she did admire Gina’s determination to make the best of things. How she was going to miss her! “Yes, all right. We’ll have a jolly good time.”

  “Have you a reservation?” the gentleman standing at a rather high desk beside the door asked.

  “No, we don’t,” Tillie said quietly. “But I can see there are empty tables.” Round tables, covered in white lacy cloth. It was the sort of place where one spoke in hushed tones.

  “Many of them are reserved. Let me see if one is available.” He dragged his finger along what looked to be a ledger of names. “Yes, it appears—”

  “I do hope you are not considering admitting them, Mr. Wadsworth,” Lady Blanford, Downie’s sister, announced in the exact opposite of a hushed tone, standing there like the prow of a ship, staring down her nose at Tillie. She’d put on considerable weight since Tillie had last seen her. No doubt because Tillie’s dowry allowed the woman to purchase all the confectionaries she could eat.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Blanford,” Tillie said politely.

  The countess sniffed. “Mr. Wadsworth, this woman is not the sort to whom you should permit admittance. I daresay if word gets around you even allowed her in the door you will find yourself tossed on the street by your employer. Her sister is just as despicable.”

  The anger shimmied through Tillie. “Say what you want of me, madam, but don’t you dare disparage my sister.”

  “Like breeds like. I have seen your sister sniffing around our gents, and I assure you I have ensured no mother will allow her son to give her so much as the time of day. She is on a fool’s quest if she expects to marry into the nobility. The rumors I can spread—”

  “Be forewarned, madam. I do carry a pistol in my reticule. I wouldn’t kill you, of course, but I might leave you with a scar designed to ruin the line of that wonderful décolletage of yours.”

  Lady Blanford inhaled sharply. “Do you see, Mr. Wadsworth? Do you see why you cannot allow this vile creature entry, that she would threaten me so?”

  “Yes, my lady.” He gave Tillie an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, madam, but—”

  “Oh, Lady Landsdowne, Miss Hammersley. There you are.”

  Tillie turned to see the Duchess of Lovingdon coming around from behind Lady Blanford. Smiling brightly, she was the picture of calm. She placed her hands on Tillie’s shoulders, bussed a kiss across her cheek, then did the same with Gina. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Your Grace . . .” She didn’t know quite what else to say. The duchess took her hand, tucked it into the corner of her elbow as though she were creating an unbreakable chain. With a wink, she patted Tillie’s hand.

  “Mr. Wadsworth, Lady Landsdowne and Miss Hammersley are joining me for tea. You should see them written down as sitting at my table.”

  “Surely you jest,” Lady Blanford stated emphatically.

  “I do not,” the duchess replied calmly.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Mr. Wadsworth began. “I don’t see—” He looked up, caught sight of the duchess’s determined expression, glanced back down. “Ah, yes, here they are. I must have overlooked them.”

  “I thought so. I admire your tenacity in continuing to persevere until the matter was satisfactorily sorted out. I shall sing your praises to the owner.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Come along,” the duchess said to Tillie and Gina.

  Lady Blanford had the audacity to step in front of them. “Mr. Wadsworth, I must insist you prevent this rabble from entering.”

  “Come now, Countess,” the duchess said, her voice tight but controlled, “do you really think he is going to adhere to your wishes when doing so will mean that my party immediately leaves to never return? And let’s not forget Lady Landsdowne’s pistol. Scars can be a symbol of courage but I’m not certain that would hold true in your case. Now step aside and do not make a further fuss or you will find yourself being the one escorted out.”

  Glaring at Tillie, the countess did as ordered.

  “This way, ladies.” The duchess indicated they should precede her into the dining area.

  As Tillie was walking past, she heard the duchess say, “Lady Blanford, you may have heard my mother is hosting a ball tomorrow evening. You might have even received an invitation. If so, disregard it. My mother does not tolerate nasty people.”

  Then the duchess was ushering Tillie and Gina to a table near the window.

  “Duchess, I appreciate all you’ve done, but we don’t want to impose,” Tillie said quietly.

  “No imposition.” The duchess smiled softly. “We all have moments when we have to deal with her sort. Such a bother, but there you are.” She indicated the table. “Do you know everyone?”

  She did indeed. The Duchesses of Avendale and Ashebury, the Countess of Greyling, and Mrs. Drake Darling. Yes, Mr. Wadsworth would have been unhappy indeed if the duchess and her friends had left.

  Once they were all seated, Gina said, “This is such an honor, to be enjoying tea with all of you.”

  “So, Miss Hammersley, we hear you are on the husband hunt,” Mrs. Darling said. “There is nothing we like better than matchmaking. Perhaps we can assist.”

  “Lord Rexton has been trying to help me. We’ve had little luck.”

  “A man who has been avoiding marriage is probably not best suited to helping someone else acquire it,” the Duchess of Ashebury said. “Let’s discuss strategy.”

  While the ladies began peppering Gina with questions regarding her likes and dislikes, the Duchess of Lovingdon leaned toward Tillie. “I understand you declined my mother’s invitation.”

  “I thought it for the best.”

  “My brother cares for you a great deal.”

  “That is why it is for the best.” />
  “Because you think Society will not forgive your actions nor accept you.”

  Tillie nodded.

  “Yet, here you sit with three duchesses, a countess, and the wife of one of the wealthiest men in London. I think, Lady Landsdowne, that there is another reason for your reluctance. Maybe you should consider that.”

  She bit her lower lip while her heart pounded. “I misjudged before,” she whispered. “I fear I will disappoint him and he won’t be able to love me always.”

  “Always. That’s what we want, isn’t it? Love for always. Do you know my husband nearly tossed me over because there is a chance I will die before we are old and he could not stand the thought of losing me? For some always is a short time. For others it is long. What matters is that we had a chance at it at all.”

  Chapter 21

  Two nights later, Rexton was still in a foul mood. He’d considered going into Whitechapel, hoping to run across some ruffians upon whom he could vent his frustrations but he feared he might take matters a bit too far and find himself dancing in the wind at the gallows. And he certainly didn’t want to wake up on the floor at Jamie’s again. So he’d come to the Dragons, where he’d known he’d find a private game with high stakes taking place in a secluded room. So far he’d lost every hand. He had no interest in cheating, in winning. He was here merely for the company and the whisky that the appointed footman continually poured into his glass.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so selfish as to want to spend so much time alone with Tillie. If he’d brought her here, where he often played cards with family and friends, she’d have known acceptance. No one within this room would have stared at her or accosted her; she would have been welcomed, simply because she was on his arm. No, that wasn’t quite true. She’d have been welcomed because of herself, her strength, her charms, her confidence. Those within this room never judged on gossip, but rather on merit. Tillie would have proven herself worthy of their regard in short order. Perhaps then she would have recognized the potential permanence for what they shared together, instead of relegating it to a short-lived affair. Even if in the beginning that was all he’d expected of it as well.

  He downed the little bit of whisky that remained in his glass and waited impatiently for the footman to fill it. Damnation but he missed her. His residence seemed quieter, more lonely at night. He could hardly stand to be within it.

  “I ran across Lady Landsdowne the other day at the Royal Tea Palace,” Grace said, her tone reflecting the same casualness with which she tossed away two of her cards, yet still with the mention of Tillie he stiffened as though his sister had prodded him with a hot poker, torn between wanting to know every minute detail and begging Grace to say no more. “Threatening Lady Blanford with a pistol of all things.”

  A week ago he would have laughed, taken pride in her actions. Damn it, he couldn’t help but still feel a measure of satisfaction at her boldness and wished he’d been there to see it.

  “She appeared as miserable as you,” Grace went on. “As you didn’t bring her here tonight, am I to assume that whatever was between you has come to an end?”

  While everyone seemed focused on the cards they were holding, he knew the others at the table—Lovingdon, the Duke and Duchess of Avendale, Jamie, the Swindler twins, and Drake—well enough to sense they were very much aware of the conversation. “We decided we didn’t suit.”

  “Pity. I rather liked her.”

  He glared at his sister. “From a few words at the park?”

  “No, from our visit during tea. I invited her to join us at our table. You asked us to be welcoming to her, so I was.” After cards were revealed, Grace scooped the chips in the center of the table into her ever-growing pile. She was the most skilled cheater of the lot. “Although I would have done so anyway. Lady Blanford was being an absolute beast. I can’t tolerate bullies.”

  He almost smiled at the thought of Tillie and his sister together. They’d make a formidable pair. “I’m sure she’d have put Lady Blanford in her place and handled the matter satisfactorily.”

  “Without question. But still it’s always nice to know you have someone at your back.”

  Cards were dealt. Rexton studied his, sighed. Grace could no doubt turn it into a winning hand. The problem was he didn’t care if he lost a fortune tonight because he’d already lost the only thing that mattered: a life spent with Tillie.

  Having purchased her passage for the steamer, Tillie knew she would be back in New York by the end of the month. She didn’t know why she wasn’t more excited by the prospect of leaving this city and its ghastly people behind. Perhaps because she would miss Gina so much. And she would worry about her.

  Just as she was now worried because Gina was not bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of attending tonight’s ball. She sat still as a statue at her dressing table while Annie pinned her hair up into an elaborate style that somehow managed to make her look older, wiser.

  “I do wish you would reconsider attending the Greystone ball,” Gina said, capturing Tillie’s gaze in her mirror’s reflection, even though Tillie sat in the far corner of the room. She didn’t usually watch her sister’s rituals as she prepared for an evening out, but knowing their time together was dwindling seemed to make every minute more precious.

  “No good would come of it.” It would simply rekindle hope that she would have to dash with the truth: she was more scandalous than Rex’s mother and, therefore, their children might be made to suffer more than he had. She’d thought long and hard on his revelations. Children were indeed cruel, and their own might find themselves less accepted than she was.

  “I disagree, Tillie.” Gina swung around on the bench and faced her, while her maid scurried behind her to finish the preparing of her hair. “During the past five days you’ve been absolutely downtrodden. Defeated, so remarkably sad that’s it very difficult to be happy around you.”

  Joy sparked for the first time since Rex had walked out of her parlor. “Are you happy?”

  “No, of course not. You’re leaving.”

  “You always knew I would.”

  “I was hoping if I married a man who embraced you that you would stay.”

  “Do you think you might marry Somerdale?”

  Gina shrugged, sighed. “I don’t know. I like him well enough but courting is rather like sampling chocolates, isn’t it? You don’t know if you ate the best one first until you’ve sampled the entire box.”

  Tillie leaped to her feet. “It’s nothing at all like eating chocolates. A lady doesn’t sample the entire box of . . . of men.”

  “Then how does one know?”

  Unsure as to how to best explain, Tillie began pacing between the wardrobe and the bed. “You know because of the way he makes you feel when he is with you and when he is not. When he is with you . . .” Stopping near the bed, she ran her hand along the intricately carved post. “Your entire body seems to be smiling. You long for his touch, his nearness. You welcome the accidental brushing of hands. And you’re desperate for him to get you alone so he can kiss you.” Her bed had never felt so large, so cold, so unwelcoming as it had once she was no longer spending her nights with Rex. Each night, she dreaded crawling beneath the covers, lying there alone, staring at the window, the canopy, the shadows, missing him until it was a physical ache in her chest.

  “And when he isn’t with you?” Gina prodded.

  “You wish like the devil he was.” She dropped onto the edge of the bed, not at all surprised when Gina joined her there.

  “You miss Rexton, don’t you?”

  So terribly much, but she didn’t want to think about that. “Will you dance with him tonight?”

  “I suspect so. As it’s his mother’s ball, he’s bound to be there.”

  Looking incredibly handsome in his evening clothes, speaking with other ladies, smiling, flirting. He was done with her. He’d move on easily enough. Perhaps someday, she would move on as well, although she couldn’t envision herself wi
th anyone else.

  Gina took her hand, squeezed, as though she knew the melancholy path her traitorous thoughts traveled. “I was only thirteen when you married Downie,” her sister said musingly. “Even in the very beginning, when I would see you with him, I would think, ‘Love isn’t such a grand thing after all.’ I thought love was supposed to transform and fill one with gladness. I began to think perhaps I didn’t want it, would be happier without it.”

  “Gina—”

  “Let me finish,” she said sharply, more tartly than she’d ever spoken to anyone. “I have a point to make. I know you think me naïve and innocent in the way of things, and perhaps a bit flighty on occasion because I refuse to take the world seriously, but I watched you, Tillie, watched as you became this sad creature who was so foreign to me. Your smiles became rare, your laughter nonexistent. I was glad when you divorced him, when he was no longer in your daily life; it was as though I could feel a great weight being lifted from you. And I thought, ‘She merely chose poorly. And I shan’t. I shall choose a love that will elevate me.’”

  “Is that Somerdale?”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Because I have now seen you in love—and more importantly, I have seen a man in love with you. I know how love makes a lady’s eyes sparkle and a man’s smolder. I know how it makes one’s footsteps light as air when she’s rushing out to a carriage at midnight for a bit of naughtiness—”

  “Oh, Gina, you were never supposed to know about that.”

  “I don’t know why you’re blushing so deeply. But don’t you see? You gave me glimpses into a world I want. I don’t want to simply be part of the aristocracy. I want to find someone who loves me as deeply as Rexton loves you—someone I can adore as much as you do him.”

  “But I am so wrong for him. He needs a wife who is welcomed into a blasted tea room.”

  “I thought you handled yourself with an amazing amount of grace.” She tilted her head to the side, skewed her mouth. “Although I do rather wish you’d removed your pistol from your reticule. I certainly would have liked to see Downie’s sister scurrying away. She wouldn’t have stood up to you.”