“But, forgive my plain speaking, but is that not exactly what you are planning to do with some other man? Marry him, that is, for his money? I am not chastising you, I am merely pointing out that it seems rather...”
“Hypocritical? Yes, but I do not love those other men, and I do not think they will be in any way in love with me. Whomever offers for me will do so because he thinks I will make a good wife, or be a good hostess, or not eat all the desserts, or any of a number of reasons, but none of them will be in love with me. Oh, it all seemed so easy when I first thought of it; I never imagined I would feel this completely miserable. If only I could find Father’s, um, that woman.”
“What woman?” Thibault queried, poking his head around the door. “Titania, I know I am not the smart Stanhope, but can I just point out that there are thousands of women here in London? I bet if you put your mind to it, you can even figure out the exact geometric equation of how many more women are here than are in Northamptonshire.”
Looking quickly at each other, Miss Tynte and Titania started babbling, then stopped as Thibault raised a hand as he advanced into the room.
“One at a time, if you please,” he said in a stern, most un-Thibault-like voice. “You first, Titania.”
“You see, there is a woman who, uh, has something that belongs to me, to us, actually, and I was hoping to get it back. I did not want to distress you...”
“Or you did not want to involve me, but continue.”
“Yes, well, Miss Tynte and I have been attempting to find her, and we cannot, and I was just saying I wish we could.”
“What is it you believe she has?”
“Oh,” Titania replied with a light wave of her hand, “just a piece of jewelry of Mama’s. You know how Father was...”
“Yes, I do. Ti, there is no use getting in a dither about finding one of Father’s many lady friends. Have you spoken to Mr. Hawthorne? It strikes me he would know as much as anybody about who Father was friends with here in town, even if it was a friend of whom we, and especially you, should not be aware.”
“No, I have not, I would not bother him with such a thing. He would be dreadfully embarrassed, don’t you think? I beg you will forget it, Thibault. As you say, it really is not important, it is just that the piece—it was a ring—would have looked absolutely lovely with this gown I have just bought.” She trotted out a fairly vacant smile for his perusal, hating the fact that she was forced to lie yet again. It was becoming a very bad habit.
“Hmm,” Thibault said, shooting his very guilty sister what appeared to be a suspicious look. “So remembering you do not have this ring is what made your eyes get all red rimmed and your face all gloomy?”
“I suppose I am just a bit tired. Although why,” she said, her voice getting less hesitant, “you should be so ungentlemanly as to point out just how awful a woman looks, even if that woman is your sister, is beyond me. You will not succeed with the gentler sex, dear brother, if you do not keep your criticisms to yourself.”
“It is hopeless,” Titania pronounced after Thibault had finally gone. “There is no use in speaking of it, so we will not. Let us not discuss it anymore. All it does is make my eyes red, and that will certainly make my suitors all run away. And, if you will excuse me, I am going to go up and cry in my room.”
With a smile she hoped was brave and not pathetic, Titania rose from her chair and staggered up the stairs.
“TITANIA!” THE ROAR came from the floor below, the dim bellow making Titania open her eyes and look around her in confusion. The call came again, louder as Thibault ascended the stairs to her room.
“Titania!” he yelled again, now almost to her door. What could be so important he could not wait the four feet until he came into her bedroom, as he certainly seemed intent on doing?
She barely had time to blink both eyes open—she had spent most of the night crying, and had gone to sleep only two hours before—when Thibault burst into the room, a look of anger on his face so fierce that Titania shrunk back unconsciously into the pillows.
“Titania, I have just had a very enlightening conversation with Mr. Hawthorne. Titania, could you not trust me enough to tell me about what Father did? I was at Mr. Hawthorne’s office this morning, thinking to help you in finding Mama’s ring—which obviously does not exist—and he told me about the new will. What were you thinking, not to tell me? I am not so irresponsible and immature not to be able to handle something affecting our future so profoundly. And when I was there,” he continued, drawing nearer to the bed and shaking a chastising finger at her, “Mr. Hawthorne asked me how your Season was going, and were there any likely candidates for your hand? I swear, I almost leaped across his desk and throttled him. He did not need to spell it out to make me figure out what you had decided to do. How dare you settle on such a fate for yourself? You had no right, Titania, no right to exclude me.”
He was shaking by now, and Titania moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. She had never seen him so upset. But Thibault was her little brother, and what’s more, had inherited more of her father’s characteristics than she had. Perhaps she had underestimated him, as she had overestimated herself.
“I am so sorry. You are right. I should have told you. At the time, it seemed so easy: continue as planned, have my Season, find someone to marry who could save us. I did not think I would end up in such a mess.”
“What kind of mess? Do you mean Lord Worthington? I am not such a clod I have not seen the way the two of you look at each other. What is the problem?”
“Oh, far too many to list. Basically, I did many foolish things, and now I am looking forward to a life of being your grumpy old spinster sister. I cannot go through with it, Thibault; I cannot, even if it means we lose everything and the servants have to be let go, and Ravensthorpe is never what it has the potential to be.”
“Damn Father!”
“And while we are at it, damn his brother, too.”
Thibault gave her a puzzled look. Quickly, before she could cry again, she explained just what their uncle had threatened. Thibault’s face grew drawn and grim.
“I will go speak with Mr. Hawthorne again, Titania, I believe I left his office rather abruptly. I probably owe him an apology, as well. I will post a query in the Town Talk for Father’s woman—it seems as good a place as any to start.”
“Place a query? ‘Wanted: former mistress of ne’er-do-well baron’? And what will we do when we find her, or she finds us? We cannot simply ask for the money back. We have to think of something else.” Thibault’s face settled into a pugnacious frown.
“I am going to place the ad, and maybe we will have the satisfaction of knowing who the woman is, and she will know just what her lover did to his family.” He dashed out her bedroom door, his last words trailing over his shoulder as he bounded down the stairs.
“Thibault, no!” Titania struggled up out of bed, scrabbling in the bedclothes for her wrap so she could follow him. This impulsive reaction was exactly why she had not told him in the first place, although if she had presented it to him calmly, he might not now be tearing off on a fool’s errand.
Titania heard the door slam and collapsed back into the pillows. She hoped he would word the advertisement properly, and then chuckled at her own propriety. There was Thibault, going off to place an ad in the very paper where she was documenting her mercenary search for a husband.
Maybe it would be just as well if everyone in the ton recognized their family situation; at least then she would not have to act a charade, nor be frightened by threats such as those waved around by Lord Gratwick.
At least now she had someone with whom to share this onerous burden. No matter how impetuous his actions, Thibault would enter into this problem with as much enthusiasm as he had applied to his poor schoolmaster’s hair pomade. Titania just hoped the result would not be quite as sticky.
“MORE, DAMN YOU!” EDWIN had had just about enough, but not of alcohol. He could not seem to get enough of
that, and he was tired of people trying to tell him he had had enough. He decided to punch the next person who tried to do so. Edwin had deliberately wandered into a less than savory neighborhood in search of oblivion, and had found himself in a bar whose clientele ranged from seedy to seediest.
Oblivion would not come. Complete drunkenness seemed near impossible, since it appeared he had found the only responsible barkeep in all of London. The man refused to sell him anymore, even though Edwin was waving all sorts of coinage in his face.
“My lord,” the barkeep said with a prim look, “it seems you are already quite inebriated, and I do not encourage drunkenness in my establishment.”
“But this is a tavern!” Edwin said with an exasperated yelp. “Where else would one find drunkenness? You are as nonsensical as a...as a woman,” he finished with a snarl, drinking the coffee the man had placed in front of him instead.
Hours later, Alistair found him still hunkered down at the bar, many cups of coffee down his throat.
“Edwin, I have been looking for you. There has been a terrible accident. You are needed right away.”
Whatever slight haze still remained in Edwin’s brain was whisked away by Alistair’s words and his solemn face.
“What happened?”
“Your father. You must come at once, the doctor is there.”
Edwin deposited a stack of coins on the counter, then swept up his cloak and followed Alistair quickly out the door.
TITANIA WAS JUST MULLING over ideas for her next column, waiting for Thibault to return, when there was a knock at the door, and enthusiastic voices carried their way upstairs to her bedroom. She quickly dropped her pen and ran to the top of the staircase. Who could possibly be employing a joyful tone when her world had completely collapsed? Mocking her own solipsism, she descended the stairs and saw Julian and his mother, both of whom looked ecstatic.
“How lovely to see you both,” Titania declared, quickly drawing them into the study before they burst. Clearly they had some important news.
“Miss Stanhope!” Julian exclaimed, his normally perfect hair as rumpled as if he had slept on it, then rolled around on it in the morning just for good measure.
“Let me handle this, Julian,” his mother interrupted. She had two bright spots of color on her cheeks, and she appeared to have trouble getting enough breath.
“Miss Stanhope, I understand from my son that your father, Lord Ravensthorpe, left you in somewhat straitened circumstances?”
Titania glowered at Julian, who looked embarrassed.
Mrs. White flapped her hand in front of Titania’s face. “Never mind being angry with my son, he has never been able to keep himself from telling me all sorts of things...I remember the time he developed an unseemly crush on the woman who painted my miniature, and he kept running in with all kinds of inane...but never mind that, just let me say you will be glad that he is as much of a gossip as he is. Miss Stanhope, I am the woman!”
“What woman?” Titania asked, confused. No wonder Julian’s poetry was so awful, if this was the grounding in sense and logic he had received.
“The woman your father left his money to. I did not realize he had been so foolish as to leave his family nothing, and shortly after your father’s death I myself got married to Mr. White, a lovely man with loads and loads of lovely money, which he left to me when he died—somewhat unexpectedly, you see—on our honeymoon. Such a dear,” she said with a soft sigh, dabbing at her eyes.
“Mother,” Julian interjected with an impatient glance, “I am sure Titania would mourn your late husband’s loss as much as you if she had even met him, but you have not even gotten to the crux of the story. Get to the part where you did not get a chance to meet with the bankers and the money just kept growing and growing—”
“Yes, well, Mr. White was such a dreadfully wealthy man I never knew quite how much he had left me, and he had so many different financial interests that it was difficult to keep them all straight, so I just trusted my man of business to handle it—such a nice man, always clearing his throat and explaining things to me as if I were a ninny—and so I did not know your father’s money had been added to that sum. It seems I was out of the country when the will was read.”
Titania felt her mouth gape open in surprise. Her father had left his money to his mistress, and his mistress was—Julian’s mother? Did that make Julian her—?
“No, dear,” Mrs. White said, intuiting her thought processes. “Julian is not your brother; he is indeed Mr. Fell’s. I met your father sometime after Mr. Fell died, while Mr. White was courting me. I will not embarrass you with the details of my relationship with your father, but at some point, I do believe I was finding it difficult to manage Julian’s school fees, and he must have changed his will right around that time. If your father had only listened a little more closely, however, he would have realized I was having problems with the fees because of the conversion rates. You see, Julian was in school in Greece, and there was a terrible muddle with the exchange.”
“Wait,” Titania said, shaking her head in disbelief, “not to put too fine a point on it, but my father changed his will because you were confused about converting pounds into whatever kind of currency they use in Greece?”
Mrs. White wrinkled her brow in concern. “Mmm, yes. I am so very sorry to be the cause of such a predicament. When Julian told me about it, I remembered all about what my man, that is, Mr. Tetchley, had told me about your father leaving me some monies, but I had no idea it was everything, and that everything was so much. As soon as Julian told me, I sent for Mr. Tetchley immediately. And of course it need not be said—or perhaps it does—I will be returning all of that money to you as soon as Tetchley can dislodge it from the funds. I am more than wealthy from Mr. White’s estate; there is absolutely no need for me to keep possession of your money as well, and from what Julian tells me, you and your brother are in dire need of it. I do so like that earl, he is such a fine measure of a man, even if he is far too serious. Now, dear, are you in need of any funds immediately, just to help until Mr. Tetchley can sort it out?” she asked, pulling a fat wad of bills from her reticule.
Titania watched, dumbfounded, as Mrs. White counted out a couple hundred pounds and placed them into her unresisting hand.
“Thank you.” She stared down in her hand, trying to gather herself to say something—anything—that would make sense. Mrs. White patted the hand holding the money, then spoke again.
“I believe Miss Stanhope might need to be alone for a bit, Julian. Miss Stanhope, will we see you at the Pomeroys’ ball tonight? It is scandalous that such fusty bores would invite someone like me, but I met Lady Pomeroy at the dressmaker’s, and we had a lovely conversation. I do believe Lady Pomeroy is hoping my presence will liven things up a bit—now where could she have gotten an idea like that?” she said with a sly laugh. Mrs. White stood, gesturing toward Julian.
“Come along, dear, let us leave Miss Stanhope in peace. We have done enough to unsettle her for today.” She led an unprotesting Julian to the door, stopping when Titania started with a jerk.
“Wait! Oh, Mrs. White, I have not thanked you enough for coming here today. It is a difficult thing you have done, not so much the money, but telling me who you are. I am glad my father had a...friend like you. And Julian,” she said, pointing at him with her free hand, “I will forgive you for spilling my secrets.”
She slid toward him, kissing him gently on the cheek before he could react. Then she turned to his mother and embraced her warmly.
“And just like that,” Titania said as she closed the door, “your problems are solved. At least the financial ones.”
The estates would remain intact and flourish, and Thibault could begin to learn how to manage his land and monies without having to pension off the staff and marry for money himself. She could tell her uncle just where he and his threats could go. And she could tell Lord Gratwick the same thing.
Too much too late, she thought with a sad smile. Even
with her own substantial dowry, how could she convince Edwin that she loved him for himself? She stood still for a moment, her eyebrows knitted together in a look of fierce concentration, then the shadows lifted and she giggled to herself.
She scooted out of the room and tripped upstairs, determined to see her plan through before her resolution had dimmed.
Despatch from the battle front, May 1813
It is with great delight, dear readers, that I reveal that I am a liar. I lied when I wrote I would only choose a mate who could bring me financial prosperity; I am in need of much more than that, and there is not enough money in the Bank of England to balance the needs of my heart.
I have tried to approach the field of matrimony, battle plan in hand, but I did not account for the most important weapon: love. I have been slain by its arrow. My love is bestowed, not sold, and I am happy beyond measure to report that the object of my affections has no need to dip into his pockets to satisfy me.
A Singular Lady
Chapter 17
There. That should do it. She folded her papers, tucked them into her reticule, and rang for Sarah. She would deliver it to Mr. Harris this very afternoon, even though her column was not due for another couple of days.
“Sarah, we are going out,” she announced, drawing on a pair of gloves.
“Not with that hair you are not,” Sarah replied in a belligerent tone. “Miss, I do not know what you do to yourself between the time I dress your hair in the morning and when I next see you, but whatever it is, I suggest you stop it. It looks as if you have been trying to pull it up straight off your head. Have you been thinking again?” she asked with an accusing glare. “Thinking causes nothing but trouble. You stick your hands in your hair and cause all kinds of rumpus. Just sit down, do not think, and let me fix this rackety mess.”
A Singular Lady Page 20
