Willoughby 01 - Something About Her

by Jeannie Ruesch

  Yearning tightened in her chest. He looked so very handsome.

  He had a smile on his face, aimed at whomever he was speaking with, a person hidden behind a display of blue fabrics.

  And that person—she took a step into Blythe’s view. Petite, brunette and elegantly dressed in a simple gown of blue muslin, the woman matched Michael’s beauty to perfection.

  They made a striking couple.

  Blythe’s heart sank at the adoration in the woman’s gaze aimed at Michael. She knew she only tortured herself, but she could not look away. Michael gazed down at the young beauty, offered her a few words, to which the woman giggled. He leaned closer and said something more, something likely intimate.

  “Isn’t there always a moment when you realize you love someone? Why couldn’t this be my moment?”

  Blythe’s heart ached as his words ran through her head as if he stood next to her, whispering in her ear.

  And yet she couldn’t take her eyes off this moment with another woman. What was he saying to her?

  The woman beamed up at him and placed her hand on his arm, then turned back behind the fabric display.

  He followed the woman without turning.

  “I am so sorry, Blythe,” Cordelia said, empathy in her tone.

  Blythe couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.

  “I wonder who she is?” Cordelia asked.

  “Oh, dearie, it is the biggest news of all right now!” The shop owner’s wife, Mrs. Wadley, stood just a few steps away, a look of glee covered her rounded cheeks as she peered past to catch the last bit of Michael and the mystery woman as they disappeared.

  Blythe frowned. “Who is she?”

  “Miss Abigail Darlington,” Mrs. Wadley confided. “It is a right fairy tale. She was almost ruined by scandal, just a breath away from losing everything and now she’s betrothed to a Duke.” Mrs. Wadley cackled. “And such a handsome one at that.”

  “Did you say betrothed to a Duke?” Dread filled Blythe’s stomach like lead.

  “Oh yes, just betrothed to the Duke of Ravensdale. And she’s in the family way and all,” she said in a loud whisper. “Not that a person is supposed to speak of such things, now that she’s a proper betrothed wife. Just two weeks ago, I would have shooed her from my shop to protect the delicate sensibilities of my clients. And this week, I bring her tea and scones. Matrimony makes all sorts of misdeeds better, doesn’t it?” She laughed at her own joke, seemingly oblivious of Blythe’s pain.

  Tears formed at the back of Blythe’s eyes. The woman had to be the debutante Michael had spoken of.

  He had denied it all. And yet, here they were. Betrothed. Together. Confusion added to the well of emotion inside of her, and she pushed at the hand that Cordelia had placed on her arm. “I…I need some air. I will be back in a moment.”

  She rushed toward the exit, feeling as if the walls were closing in on her. Finally, she got to the door and flew outside, just as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She wiped furiously at them.

  She did not want to cry. It was unseemly in public.

  “Here.” Below her lowered head, a masculine hand held out a handkerchief.

  She closed her eyes in mortification. Truly, she wished people would stop paying attention at her worst moments.

  Taking in a deep breath, she gathered her courage and looked up. She blinked. “Oh.”

  Captain Keenan stood before her. He held the handkerchief out further. “You look as if you could use this.”

  She opened her mouth and found she had no words for the sheer humiliation she felt, so she just nodded and took it. She dabbed at the moisture in her eyes and took the moment to try to pull together and find a shred of dignity. As if crying in public was not awful enough, she had to choose to do it in front of Michael’s friend.

  How she wished the ground would simply open up and swallow her whole. She held the handkerchief back out. “Thank you, Captain Keenan.”

  He shook his head. “Keep it. One never knows when one will get dust in the eye, does one?” His clear gaze told her that he understood her tears, despite his words. He bowed his head slightly. “I shall take your leave, now that all is better.”

  She nodded and looked down at the handkerchief in her hands. A well embroidered monogram sat in one corner, W.B.K.

  As she looked back up, she saw Keenan had moved quickly down the walkway, already three buildings over. He stopped and a woman walked out of the store. Miss Darlington. She smiled, he gave a short nod and then there was Michael behind her.

  Blythe sucked in her breath as he turned her direction. And the exact moment he saw her, she felt his gaze as if it went clear through to her soul. She stared back, not caring if every emotion was written on her face. She simply could not hide them.

  He stared back, his expression inscrutable, and took a step in her direction. And then Miss Darlington’s hand landed on his arm and he slowly looked away. With a quick glance back at Blythe, he turned and continued the other direction, Miss Darlington on one side and Captain Keenan on the other.

  Blythe lifted the handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed at the tears.

  “Simply dust in the eye,” she murmured, then took a slow deep breath and re-entered the shop.

  ****

  She was here.

  Michael had to see her; he had to understand what she was thinking. The look on her face had been full of regret, pain. Was it possible Blythe loved him still? Had she forgiven him?

  Nails dug into his arm in an unladylike gesture, and Michael looked sharply at Abigail. She looked as sweet and serene as usual, however, as she glanced up at him.

  “Did you forget something, Duke?” she asked as she looked back to see what he stared at.

  He couldn’t take his gaze from the empty walkway.

  “Michael?”

  “I thought I had,” he replied finally to Abigail as he turned around. “But it matters not.” But he could not disregard the feeling that he was missing something very important.

  ****

  “I do not want a ball, Mama,” Blythe argued. “I do not want a dinner and I definitely do not want an At Home event.” The idea of sitting in one place while people wound through their house to look her over seemed rather awful.

  Her mother glared at her. “You are simply being difficult. We need to have something to introduce you.”

  “Why?” She looked out the window at the carriages stalled on the street. Their home on Acorn Street was only blocks from Green Park and offered a thoroughfare between Piccadilly Street and Brick Street, so it was often used as a way around stacks of carriages headed toward the Royal Entrance to the park. Today, however was the first day it hadn’t rained in at least a week so carriages were out in force, full of people determined to enjoy the first day of sunshine.

  Her well-meaning mother put a hand on her arm. “Dearest, if you continue to hide from society, they will begin to talk. The truth about your marriage to Thomas will arise, and then they will wonder what is wrong with you.” She rubbed Blythe’s arm lightly. “It won’t take long for the gossips to make up something interesting enough to pass on, and heaven only knows what that would be.

  “Well,” her mother charged on. “We shall just have to find a way to bring about the news of your marriage.”

  “In a way that does not make me look like a ninny? I wish you luck,” Blythe muttered.

  “I know what you have been through, Blythe.” She moved in for a quick hug. “And I know how much you hoped for a different outcome when you came to London. But that does not mean you should hide in this house as you hid yourself in Rosemead.”

  “I’m not-” Blythe stopped. She was doing exactly that. In the five days since she’d seen Michael with his betrothed, she had stayed inside.

  “And frankly, dearest, you are bound to run into the Duke, and as much as I hate to say so, we need him.”

  Blythe frowned. “We do not.”

  Hypatia nodded. “Yes, we do. You were marri
ed to his cousin. Whatever we tell people, we need him to be in agreement with that.”

  “What do you mean, whatever we tell people? I was married, Mama. We cannot pretend I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, we can.”

  Blythe opened her mouth to argue, but her mother held a finger to her lips for a brief second.

  “No one knew of your marriage. And with that lack of knowledge is a definite lack of unseemly questions.” Her mother’s eyes implored her. “Dearest, you could have a fresh start.”

  Oh, how that appealed, pretending as if nothing had happened. If no one was the wiser.

  But she would know. And Michael would know.

  “I am not untouched,” Blythe reminded her softly. “We cannot lie and say I was unmarried and virtuous when I’m not.”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Only a husband would truly know if you are.”

  “Yes, that is rather the point.”

  “But you said you did not care for a husband.” An “I-told-you-so” twinkled in her eyes.

  Blythe stared back. She had no idea what to say to that.

  “And if you even have a remote thought that someday you might find a man to your liking, we need to arrive at some sort of agreeable story.”

  “Maybe,” Blythe hedged.

  “And we need to have a ball.”

  “No.”

  “A dinner?”

  “Mama, do not press me.”

  ****

  Michael glanced into the entry room of White’s. After a cursory view, he headed straight for a table. He wanted to have a drink, play a game or two and, God willing, be left alone.

  As a servant came and took his drink request, Michael settled in his chair. “Deal me in.”

  “Then you can deal me out.”

  Michael looked up and tensed. Blythe’s brother sat across the table and tossed his cards down.

  “Merewood, I did not know you were a member,” Michael commented.

  The Earl slid from his seat and stood. “I have maintained membership here, though I rarely come. I can see that won’t change. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall find more desirous company.”

  Michael shoved back from the table. “A word?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he strode down the hallway until they had a relative amount of privacy. He turned to find Blythe’s brother on his heels, hands fisted at his side.

  “You have no idea how badly I want to call you out, you bastard,” Merewood said.

  “If you will recall, it was your sister who told me to leave.”

  “The first smart decision she made since your arrival.”

  “I will not fight you here anymore than I would at Rosemead. What happened between Blythe and me is our affair.”

  He saw Adam’s hand come up a second too late. The blow snapped his head back and pain stabbed his jaw.

  Michael tensed his arms to fight the instinct to hit back. He would not hurt Blythe’s brother. He’d done enough to her.

  “I will not fight you,” he repeated.

  “Fine. But you will agree to what I’m about to say.”

  “Which is?”

  “We need to be in agreement about how Blythe is introduced to society. We cannot pretend the marriage did not happen, because you ruined her.”

  Michael clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Adam was right. “Very well. What did you have in mind?”

  “We are introducing her as a widow.”

  “Which she is.”

  “But not Thomas’s widow.”

  Michael snapped his gaze to Adam’s. “Pardon?”

  “I’ve seen to it that no papers remain to prove her marriage to Thomas ever happened, other than anything you might possess.” He waited.

  “I have a copy of a marriage certificate, but as it was hand copied, it would be useless in proving anything.”

  “Very well. We are going to say she married a family friend she had been betrothed to her entire life. His death was very sad for her and she wishes not to discuss it.”

  “And this paragon of a man has a name?” Although Michael knew his reaction was childish and idiotic over a fabricated man, he hated that Blythe would be seen as having loved this man so much she grieved for him still.

  “Yes. Lord Peter DeBruin, brother to William DeBruin, the deceased Earl of Lankingsly.”

  “Why do I know that name?”

  “Lankingsly died the end of last year. He was the last of his family, and the title reverted back to the crown. He and I were acquainted.”

  “Did he actually have a brother?”

  “Yes, he did. Peter was of an age with Blythe, and they knew each other as children. Peter died at the age of thirteen in a horse accident. He was a country man. He’d never set foot in London. For fact, William himself rarely went. The timing suits; the story is irrefutable. Peter and William would have helped Blythe anyhow. No one remains to speak otherwise.” Adam leveled a hostile gaze at him. “Except for you.”

  “I would not hurt Blythe.”

  “You’ve done nothing but hurt her since she met you. You are hurting her still.” Adam raised his fist slightly.

  Michael tamped his temper down. “I would advise against that course of action. I will disregard your earlier display due to the situation that occurred with your sister. But do not press me.”

  “She came here for you, you buffoon. You crushed her.”

  “What in hell are you talking about?”

  Adam shoved his face within inches of Michael’s. “She came to London to forgive you. And she arrives to discover you’ve betrothed yourself to another who is pregnant with your child.” Disgust filled his sneer. “Duke or not, you are not fit to wipe her boots.”

  Michael reeled from the comments as Adam turned on his heel to leave. The memory of Blythe’s face, the anguish he’d seen in her expression that day on St. James Street rushed back to him. And now, he understood it.

  “Duke.” The word was spat out in disgust.

  Michael looked at Adam, who had stopped a few feet away.

  “You will adhere to our story?”

  She had come for him. Blythe had forgiven him.

  “Ravensdale,” Adam stated his warning in his tone.

  Michael gave a quick nod. He could not change his own course, but he could ease hers.

  “Good.” With a last disdainful glance, Adam turned away.

  Blythe loved him. She’d come to find him.

  He had to tell her the truth of the betrothal. She had faced enough betrayal. She had to know that he loved her.

  He needed her to know that.

  He walked back into the main room and frowned. For what purpose would he tell her? It would not change the course of action already under way. He would marry Abigail; he was bound. And even more so to help protect Blythe’s past. With the secret of her marriage to Thomas buried, Michael could not even admit to knowing her. He could not admit to having spent weeks in her presence.

  He had to pretend he’d never loved her.

  And they would go on, he with Abigail. Blythe would marry someone else some day, bear him children.

  The idea made him want to throttle any man she might ever meet.

  How could he act as if she wasn’t his whole heart?

  “Ravensdale, are you in?” Viscount Velope called from his table.

  Michael stared at the table of men awaiting his return. Could he just go on with life, without her?

  He sat in his chair. What choice did he have?

  “Deal me in,” he said to the man dealing.

  He would do his duty. As he always did.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blythe stood at the half hidden upper galley that looked down upon the ballroom in the home of the Earl and Countess of Pennybrooke. Gowns in jewel tones and pastels mingled with the men’s very proper black tails and trousers as couples danced about the left side cordoned off for dancing.

  Her gaze returned for the twentieth time to th
e one place she knew she should not look. Michael and his betrothed circled the outer rim of the dancers.

  She had believed they might be there. Oh who was she fooling? She had known they would be there, simply because it would make her evening that much more difficult.

  “Blythe.”

  “Adam.” She sighed. She’d known he would find her. She’d come upstairs to “freshen up” before entering the ball and that had been about a quarter of an hour ago.

  “You never were good at hide and seek.” He smiled. “We do need to go in. It wouldn’t do to arrive for a party and remain above stairs all night.”

  She turned to him. “I rather like this spot.”

  He took a few steps closer and peered over the edge of the balustrade at the milling guests below. “So you can spy?”

  “No.” She tried to look affronted, then took a quick, deep breath. “Yes. Shamelessly.”

  The music below changed songs and she looked down. Michael escorted Miss Darlington off the dance floor.

  “How do I pretend not to know him?” she asked softly, watching Michael. He and his fiancé stopped in front of an older woman. “I am a horrible liar.”

  “You did well enough when we were children to get me in trouble.”

  Her lips twitched. “That was different. I got you in trouble so I would not be.”

  “The best revenge is showing him you are fine without him.”

  “And if I’m not?” For she certainly didn’t feel fine.

  “Then you will be. And for now, you pretend.” He held out his arm. “Come with me, Blythe. It’s time.”

  She drew in a long breath and stiffened her back. “I cannot avoid it forever.”

  They moved down the hallway to the staircase. Blythe took a corner of her gown and held it slightly aloft to help her descent. Once they gained the first floor, Adam steered her toward the doors.

  “Mama is already inside, making up for lost time with old acquaintances.”

  Blythe summoned a smile to hide her own nerves. “She is no doubt looking for a like-minded mother with a son for Cordelia.”

  Adam chuckled. “I imagine she will have potential suitors lined up for Lily and Georgie by the end of this season, too.”

  They stood in the open doorway and Adam turned to her. “Are you ready?”