A sense of dread snaked up Michael’s spine. “Ashton.”
She nodded sadly. “Mr. Thomas Ashton, your cousin.” She wrung her hands in her lap. “I offer you my most sincere apologies, Your Grace. I tried to tell my father he had the wrong of it, but he refused to listen once I’d said your given name. He went on and on about being connected to a duke, and how he’d marry me off in the match of the century.”
Anger coiled inside Michael, but he shoved it down. This innocent was yet another of Thomas’ victims. The bloody bastard had accumulated women like balls on a billiards table.
“How did you meet my cousin?”
Her eyes—blue eyes—shone with memory. “He was on my dance card at Almack’s. He came to fetch me for the dance, and he was so handsome. He told me he was smitten with me.” She sighed, caught in her memories. “We met a number of times, in the park, at balls. It was always most proper, always chaperoned. Then he told me he was going away, that he loved me and wanted to marry me. He said he would ask my father’s permission once he returned from his trip.” The light in her eyes faded. “I gave myself to him. We were betrothed! Then he died.” Grief etched across her face.
Her hands fluttered down to land on her belly. “I…I tried to tell my father.” Her voice choked up. “Please forgive…me.” Tears filled her eyes.
Michael could feel his cravat growing tightly around his neck, rather like a noose. Another of Thomas’ messes. Another scandal his family would never live down. Thomas had married two women, promised marriage to a third, and impregnated two of them. Thank God Thomas had never had time to consummate his marriage to Blythe, or Michael imagined he’d have three children on his hands.
He’d taken steps to ensure that Anne and her child were taken care of. But Anne wasn’t the daughter of a peer. She wasn’t already embroiled in a scandal in which London believed Michael himself to be the seducer.
Miss Darlington was.
Michael stared at her as she sniffed delicately and raised a hand to her eye. He reached inside his pocket and pulled a handkerchief to hand her.
“Oh, thank you, Your Grace.” She dabbed her eyes. “I understand that you cannot accept responsibility for Thomas’s action. I have never expected it of you, and I feel perfectly awful about my part in this.”
Michael barely saw or heard her. All he could see was the scandal that would once again hit society, with his family smack in the middle of it. All the efforts he’d made over his lifetime, the painstaking choices he’d made, would all be for naught. Thomas had perpetuated the cycle of his parents’ ways. And at least they had only married each other.
Thomas’s transgressions were far worse. Michael’s family name would be permanently ruined if it ever got out. Elisabeth’s future would be destroyed, while society watched and waited for her life to become as much a joke as the rest of her family. He might have the money to buy her a husband, but her chances of a happy life would be gone.
“I will simply tell the truth about Thomas,” Abigail was saying, “and the scandal will die eventually. Everyone will know that he fathered my child and not you.”
Her words finally penetrated Michael’s thoughts. “No.”
She blinked. “No?”
He stood and paced behind the chair. “I must think on this.”
A small smile crept across her face and then disappeared, hidden by a charmingly bewildered expression. “I do not believe I understand. Thomas is the father of my child. There is nothing more to be said.”
She stood and handed the handkerchief back to him. “We have taken enough of your time. I do apologize for this. I will make certain my father tells the truth of it all.”
She turned to walk toward her father.
“Miss Darlington.” Michael’s cravat threatened to choke him. Images of his future flashed before his eyes.
A future he was about to ensure never contained Blythe.
But she had made that choice already. Blythe had made it more than clear that she wanted nothing from him, least of all his love.
And there was so much more at stake here. Not just his family’s reputation, but Blythe’s. Her family. Anne and her child. Too many lives would be ruined by the truth of Thomas’ deeds coming to light.
The truth about Abigail’s child would lead to the truth about Thomas’ marriage to Blythe and his marriage to Anne. Blythe’s pain would become public fodder. If Michael had found the truth, he had no doubt that some enterprising busybody might do the same. Society took deflowered innocents, and the chance to gossip fully about them, quite seriously.
Michael truly had little choice.
Abigail’s father stood in front of him, shifting his weight excitedly from foot to foot.
“I’ll accept responsibility for Abigail and the child.”
Triumph crossed Darlington’s face, and as Michael looked over at Abigail, for the first time, he noticed a resemblance between parent and child, if only in expression. He shook his head slightly. She was a victim of Michael’s family. It was only relief she wouldn’t be left to ruination that he saw in her face.
He would do as he’d always had to do and put responsibility to his family first.
He would marry Abigail.
Chapter Twenty-One
“When are we leaving, Adam? You said we would be in London a week ago!” Cordelia’s voice was tight with frustration.
Blythe slowed in the hallway before she was visible to her siblings.
“I have no intention of leaving without Blythe now, and she is not yet ready to leave.”
Blythe caught her breath at Adam’s words. London? She had no intention of going to London. That had been settled.
“I am going to miss my entire season and it’s all her fault!” Cordelia cried.
“Oh for God’s sake, your sister was shot. Do you comprehend that?” Adam asked.
Blythe heard a not-so-delicate sniff. “I know, but she’s fine. You and Mama have told us that a hundred times already. I do not see why she cannot simply join us later.”
Adam’s voice hardened. “I am not leaving her alone.”
Blythe understood what that translated to, but this time she didn’t disagree. Look what wonderful choices she’d made on her own accord.
“Then you stay here with her,” Cordelia said. “Mama can escort me to London. The season is upon us, and I will miss it all.”
“You will be there in time for your presentation,” Adam told her, his tone equal parts irritated and patient.
Blythe turned the corner and stopped in front of them. “You might as well go, Adam. I am not leaving Rosemead.”
Triumph crossed Cordelia’s youthful face. “There you have it. We can leave with her blessing.”
Adam kept his gaze on Blythe. “We’ll discuss this later, Cordelia.”
“Adam!” she cried.
He broke Blythe’s gaze to glare at their younger sister. “I need to speak with our sister.”
Cordelia heaved a dramatic sigh and turned toward the stairs.
Blythe strode past her brother and into the parlor. “Adam, you cannot expect her to stay here. It is not fair.”
He followed her into the room. “I expect her to wait until the entire family is ready.”
She turned around to face him. “I am not going to London, so there is no need to wait for me. I thought we’d settled this.”
“That was before you were almost killed.”
She absently rubbed her shoulder. “It’s a daily reminder of exactly why I won’t be going to London.”
“Thomas shot you, not Michael.”
“You are not going to defend him to me.”
“No, I would not defend either of them for their actions.” He moved toward the sideboard to pour a drink.
“Good.” She sank onto the nearest couch and inhaled a deep breath. “I just want to forget.”
Drink in hand, Adam turned and leaned back against the sideboard. “You will never forget.” He moved toward her. “And f
urthermore, you are not trying to forget. You are clinging to it with every breath you take.”
She gasped. “I am not.”
“You are, too!” he shot back. “And I know, because I cannot get the image of you that day out of my head either.”
Adam’s role in the tragedy of the day sharpened in Blythe’s mind. “Oh Adam, you saved my life. If you hadn’t come when you did—”
“Do not—”he interrupted, putting his hand out, palm facing Blythe, “say it. I cannot even allow myself to think of that.”
Blythe frowned. “But why? You did not do anything.”
“That is my point! That madman held a gun to you while I was in this house.”
His voice had risen to a roar and Blythe blinked in surprise. Her level-headed, even-tempered brother was truly and deeply enraged.
“Michael is at fault here. He knew his cousin lived, and he said nothing!” She stood up, went to her brother and placed a hand on his arm. “You saved my life. Thomas and Michael are the evil ones here.”
“Oh Blythe, you do not actually believe that, do you?” her mother said as she walked into the room. “Forgive me for interrupting, but your voices carried through the entire house so I, of course, had to come investigate.”
“What don’t I believe, Mama?” Blythe asked. “Thomas and Michael both deceived me. They lied to me. And because of their lies, I almost died. Because of their lies, Adam was forced to shoot a man.”
Hypatia stopped in front of Blythe and placed a hand on her cheek. “That is all true, yes. But Thomas and Michael are not alike. They are not the same.”
“They are to me.” She didn’t want them to be the same. She wanted Michael’s love to be real. She wanted him to be the man she’d fallen in love with.
“And you, my son,” her mother said to Adam. “You protected your sister. You could not have known….”
Blythe tuned them out and headed toward the wooden box in the corner and gazed down at the kitten slumbering inside. She reached out and lightly touched her soft head. Sadness crept in as she remembered Bethie’s exuberance at the idea of having a kitten of her very own. Blythe still intended this one to be a gift for her. No matter how she felt about the father, she would never stop loving the child.
“Blythe, are you listening?”
She turned her head. “Sorry, Mama.”
“Perhaps it feels worse now,” her mother broached softly, “because the feelings between you and the Duke were so much more real.”
Blythe shook her head. “He didn’t love me.”
“Do you really believe everything he said, every emotion he showed, was false?”
“You do not lie to someone you love.”
“Although I cannot believe I am going to do this, I must interject.” Adam moved toward them and sank into a chair before meeting Blythe’s gaze. “The man loved you, Blythe.”
She threw him an affronted look. “You are supposed to be on my side.”
“I am! If you were not so dense, you could see that.”
“I am not dense!”
“Will you both stop behaving like children?” her mother said, clearly exasperated.
Blythe stole a look at her brother, who met her gaze with a roll of his eyes. Warmth sparked inside of her as she fought back a smile. It had been years since they’d received a dressing down.
“Things have been difficult since your father passed away. For all of us.” Their mother looked at Blythe. “You met Thomas barely two years later. You were still grieving and you wanted to believe everything he offered. And Michael made mistakes, but he is not Thomas.” Hypatia leaned forward to capture her hand. “It is not always so easy to see the right path when you are in the middle of the choice. Especially when you have so much to lose.”
Blythe opened her mouth to speak, but her mother drew her hand up to Blythe’s lips.
“Before you argue, consider that Michael did not know you when he arrived. By the time his feelings for you had grown into love, he was already living the lie.”
“And that makes it acceptable?” Blythe crossed her arms.
“No, it does not. But when would have seemed the right time to confess? And once he’d realized his feelings—-” She stopped and just stared back at Blythe. “You are not going to listen now, I can see that.” She stood up and just as she turned to leave, she glanced back at Blythe. “At least allow for the possibility that he truly loved you. And if you can believe that, then perhaps you can find a way to forgive his mistakes.”
She left the room, and Blythe sat, holding her arms tightly against her.
Adam coughed.
She glared at him. “Not you, too.”
“I would not dare.” He brought his left foot to rest on his right knee. “However, I think you should come to London.”
“No.”
Adam studied her, staring until she squirmed uncomfortably.
“What are you looking at?” she finally said, unable to handle the silence.
“I am simply trying to decide if I could forgive the one I loved if I were in your shoes.”
“I don’t know how to get past the anger, Adam.” But even as she said the words, Blythe realized that a small hole—very, very small—-had been ripped in the armor of her anger.
He smiled, looking off into a distance. “Father used to say something that always stuck with me. He said that forgiveness is not an emotion, it’s a choice.”
Blythe frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Forgiveness is not about not being angry or hurt anymore. It’s about making a choice to move past it. You choose to forgive. It doesn’t just happen.”
Uncomfortable with the idea, she stood up. “I am going for a walk.”
She hurried out of the room. She was angry. She was hurt. And she didn’t see how she could choose to forgive when she still felt that way.
****
Two days later, Blythe stood at the window in the parlor, watching servants scurry about by the carriages outside, preparing her family to leave.
It was the right choice. It was her only choice.
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Adam asked behind her.
“No, I won’t.”
“I hate leaving you alone.”
“You needn’t worry. I will not be making a fool of myself again.”
“That’s not why—”
“I know.”
“You still love him.”
She turned around. “I do. I can admit that.”
Adam offered her an incredulous look and she laughed.
“All right, I admit that now. And that is why I cannot go to London.” Although, for the first time, Rosemead wasn’t the safe haven it used to be. But the idea of being in London, when he would be just around a few blocks, or worse, on the other side of a dance floor, scared her more. She might actually forgive him and set herself up for more heartache.
Adam stared at her, as if searching for the right words to say. She leaned over, stood on her tiptoes and offered a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”
He glanced past her to the window. “Are you expecting company?”
She looked back and saw a carriage making its way down the dirt road leading to Rosemead. “No.”
She stood and watched as the carriage drew to a stop just in front of the door. It was nondescript, simple black with no embellishments. After a brief minute, the driver hopped down from his perch and opened the door. Thrusting a hand inside, he brought out a woman, warmly dressed and…
Blythe gasped.
“Who is she?” Adam asked as he peered over her shoulder. “Do you know her?”
Blythe took a breath to calm her racing heart. “Yes, I do. Her name is Anne Cathaway…Ashton.”
“Thomas’s other wife?”
Blythe nodded.
“What is she doing here?”
That was what Blythe wanted to know…and yet, didn’t want to know. And still, Blythe continued to watch out the window as Anne
moved slowly toward the door with the help of the coachman.
She heard the faint sound of the door knocker. Had Michael gone to visit her? He had never left in the days following the shooting and Thomas’s death.
Blythe groaned. “Oh Lord in Heaven, does she know?” Winters appeared in the doorway. “There is a Mrs. Anne Ashton here to see you.”
Blythe stared back at him, unable to speak. What if Anne did not know any of what had happened? What on earth could she say to this woman?
“Blythe?” Adam asked softly.
She blinked, glanced at Adam and then back to Winters. “Show her in, please.”
Winters nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
Blythe brought her hand up to her throat.
“Sit,” Adam told her. “I’ll be right here.”
Winters came back in, leading Anne into the room. Blythe’s gaze immediately went to her belly. It would be hard not to, as it protruded in front of her by a large margin. She forced her gaze back upward and met Anne’s gaze. Her eyes were filled with uncertainty and sadness.
She knew something.
“Your Grace, I hope you will forgive my rudeness in arriving without prior notice,” Anne said softly.
“Your Grace?” Adam echoed with a frown.
Blythe frowned at the address, and then recalled why. Michael had told her they were married. So Anne obviously still believed Blythe to be Michael’s wife, which would make her a duchess. She ignored the shot of pain that knifed her heart.
Blythe gave a quick shake of her head. “Please, call me Blythe. No need to stand on formality.” Especially when it was so very false.
“Please, have a seat.” Adam moved forward to help Anne lower into the chaise across from Blythe. “I am the Earl of Merewood, Lady…Blythe’s brother.” He shot a questioning look at Blythe.
Anne smiled with gratitude. “Thank you ever so much. The trip proved much more difficult than I expected.”
“You shouldn’t be traveling,” Blythe said. Fear jumped into her throat as images of Mabel popped into her mind.
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