Willoughby 01 - Something About Her

by Jeannie Ruesch

  The sadness surprised him. He’d believed that his mother had hated him. He’d never understood why, but he’d always known it had to be true. Yet hearing the words from her touched on a pain he didn’t think existed any longer.

  “When we married, he hated me because he loved someone else. I had dreams of the grand life. I would be a duchess, his duchess. We would reign in society together. And instead, your father strove to make a laughingstock out of me. He strove to remind me that he hated me at every turn, with every woman he could find.” Her eyes filled with disgust. “Maids. Whores. Widows. Other men’s wives. He made a show of it. All the while, laughing at me.”

  “He humiliated me.” She sat primly on the couch. “So I took it further.”

  “While this has certainly been fascinating, what does this have to do with me?” His voice held the chill that had run through his body.

  She lifted her gaze, looking at him as if he were daft. “You are in love with another, yet you marry this girl.”

  He stiffened. “It is entirely different.”

  She laughed, a cackling sound. “‘Tis not different in the slightest! I saw you with the one you love! I saw you with both of them, in fact. You mark my words, in a matter of months you’ll hate your bride for her mere presence. The woman you love will become such a paragon in your eyes, nothing your bride will do would ever be good enough.”

  She stood up and took quick, measured steps until she stood in front of him. “You will hate her. One of you will turn to another for affection, if not both. Then the war shall start all over again.”

  “I would never do what you and Father did. Especially not to the child.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’ve impregnated your bride?”

  “She is pregnant,” was all he confirmed.

  “You have made your bed, then,” she said with an unladylike shrug. She looked about the room, and settled her gaze on the cape she’d left. “I will leave you to your nuptials. Try not to be too miserable.”

  She gathered her cape about her and swished out of the room in a cloud of perfumed disdain.

  Michael stared at the wall. And after all he’d seen first hand of his parents’ war, he’d never truly understood why. Like most children, he believed he had somehow been responsible for their animosity.

  And the truth dawned on him. Or rather, it punched him forcibly in the stomach.

  He was creating exactly the life he lived for Abigail’s child. As much as he was loath to admit it, his mother was right. He could already feel the resentment toward Abigail. He had set his own course, but at every turn, all he could see was Blythe.

  Five years, ten years down the road…he would still be in love with Blythe and married to Abigail. And who knows how they would feel about each other after living in that situation.

  He knew.

  They would feel, they would be exactly as his parents had.

  He dropped his head and ran his hands through his hair. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  ****

  “What did you find out?” Blythe urged Adam as soon as he walked in the front door.

  He sent her an annoyed look. “Might I at least take off my coat?”

  “Adam, he’s getting married today.” She paced the foyer again. “If what I saw is indicative of her, he deserves to know.” She stopped in front of him. “What did you find?”

  “My man followed her,” Adam said flatly. “Miss Darlington met with a man the next day, in the park. They got…involved.”

  Blythe sighed. “So it is true. I did not imagine it.” She had worried that what she’d seen that night in the Heseltines’ garden had been another woman altogether, and Blythe had simply wanted it to be Abigail Darlington.

  “That’s not all, Blythe.”

  She scrunched her nose. “It is never good news when you say that to me, Adam.”

  “That wasn’t the only man she met with.”

  Blythe felt her jaw drop. “What?”

  “She is, shall we say, offering her favor to a variety of men. Four at last count. Five if you include the one you saw her with.”

  “But she’s pregnant,” Blythe protested in shock, unable to imagine the idea of carrying one man’s child and being with another. Much less five others.

  “Are you certain of that?” Adam asked, his expression grim. “Is the Duke certain?”

  “I have to assume he is.”

  “Did he ever tell you how he knew?”

  “I…I believe she told him.”

  “Just as she told him the baby was Thomas’s?” Adam was clearly disbelieving.

  “Yes, she did.” A tiny thread of hope wound its way slowly through her heart. If Miss Darlington was not pregnant, if she was having affairs with multiple men, then Michael did not have to marry her. He would be free.

  They would be free to love each other. Anticipation sped her heart beat.

  “Blythe, I hate to give you false hope, because there is no easy solution here. Ravensdale is legally betrothed to this woman, no matter what she’s doing.”

  “He was trying to protect everyone, all of us, from the scandal of Thomas’s making. He agreed to marry her in order to do what he thought was right, Adam, because he thought that child was Thomas’s.”

  “I know all of this, but you need to stop and think for a moment. Even if she is having affairs openly, even if that baby may not be Thomas’s or may not exist at all, do you really think he will change anything?”

  She caught the concern in her brother’s eyes and the churning mix of excitement, hope and joy inside her calmed down for a moment. What if, given this new information, Michael still went forth with the wedding? What if his need to be the stoic Duke of Ravensdale overrode any feeling for her?

  She had the information he needed to choose freedom. To choose her.

  She closed her eyes. What if he didn’t take it?

  She could look at it no other way. What if Michael didn’t love her enough?

  She shook her head slowly, opened her eyes and met her brother’s troubled gaze. “I believe in him, Adam.”

  “He’s hurt you before.”

  “I know, but it doesn’t matter now. I believe he loves me, and I believe he will do whatever he can for us to be together. I have to tell him.” She gasped and looked at the nearest clock. “Oh, good Lord, we don’t have much time. I have to go to Michael’s house!”

  After a quick second, Adam turned around. “Higgins, bring about my tilbury!” He glanced at Blythe. “Do you mind? It will be much faster than the coach.”

  “Of course.” She hurried toward the front door, spurred by the thought of finally being with Michael.

  ****

  A maddening thirty minutes later, thanks to the abundance of carriages on the road, Adam stopped the light-weight vehicle in front of the Ravensdale townhouse. She turned to him.

  “You can leave me here.”

  He shook his head. “I cannot do that, Blythe. Your reputation!”

  “I don’t give a fig about my reputation right now! I need privacy to speak with him. Not with you hanging about, scowling every which way.” She kept her gaze on his, pleading with her heart in her eyes for him to understand.

  He sighed. “Very well. But I shall return in a half hour.”

  “Adam, please. I shall send a note if I need you to come get me.” She smiled tremulously. “I am hoping that Michael will escort me home, or perhaps send for my things so I never have to leave at all.”

  Adam only looked more worried. “Blythe, don’t pin all your wishes on this. It may not turn out as you hope.”

  “I have to hope. I have nothing left to lose.”

  He helped her down and offered her a brief, tight hug. “I wish you luck, then.”

  As she hurried up the steps, she heard the clip clop of the horses’ hooves and the wheels of the tilbury as Adam entered the street. She stopped in front of the large door and tried not remember the last time she’d stood here, when the butler ha
d soundly shut the door in her face. She pulled the knocker and rapped hard twice.

  It felt like forever, but it was only moments until the door swooshed open and the same stoic face greeted her. “May I help you?”

  “I am here to see Michael. To see the Duke.” She took one look at the man’s thin frame and decided not to waste time. “If you’ll excuse me.” She pushed past him, as he sputtered in outrage.

  “I must ask you to stop right this instant!”

  “Michael?” Blythe called out. She hurried down the first hallway she saw, opened a room and found it empty. She turned back into the foyer and glared at the butler. “Where is he?”

  The man’s back stiffened. “I certainly will not tell you.”

  “I will search every single room in this house, and yell and scream about, unless you do.”

  The butler sniffed. “It would do you no good. He is not here.”

  No! “You lie.”

  “If you truly knew the Duke, you would know he is getting married today. He has already left for the church.”

  Her hopes dashed about her. It couldn’t be too late already. “How long ago did he leave?”

  “I have already shared more than enough. I must ask you to leave now.”

  “Hobson? What is the meaning of this?”

  Blythe looked up in astonishment as Abigail Darlington stood at the top of the staircase dressed in her wedding finery, hands on hips and fury in her face.

  “What are you doing here?” Blythe asked. She noticed Hobson quietly leaving the area.

  “I should be asking you that,” Abigail replied. “This is my house now.”

  “Since when?” Blythe blurted before she could stop herself.

  Abigail stayed at her lofty perch at the top of the stairs. “Ravensdale asked me to move in yesterday. Considering we are to be married today.”

  Blythe bit her lip and ignored the pang she felt at Abigail’s words. Michael had asked her to move in?

  Well, that mattered not. Once he knew the truth, he would remedy that. And right now, Blythe was not about to play her cards and let that woman know what she’d found out and give her time to come up with viable excuses. No, she needed to find Michael, which meant getting to the church before Abigail did.

  “I apologize for intruding. I’ll see myself out.”

  “I am glad you are here,” Abigail said.

  “You are?” Blythe raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, yes, see Elisabeth got herself locked in a closet upstairs while playing hide and seek, and I cannot open it. Do you mind? Everyone is so busy with the preparations for our celebration, I hate to interrupt them.”

  Blythe gasped and hurried toward the stairs. “You hate to interrupt them? Bethie is seven years old!”

  “Then I suppose it’s perfect you came along when you did.” Abigail shrugged an uncaring shoulder. “She has refused to greet me since I moved in, so I doubt she would let me help her if I could.”

  Smart child, Blythe thought as she hurried up the steps and followed Abigail down the hallway. “Where is she?”

  Abigail turned into a room. “In here.”

  Blythe hurried in. “Bethie? Everything will be just fine, Bethie.”

  Silence greeted her as she searched the room for a closet. Spying one of the far side, she moved toward it. “Bethie?” She grasped the handle and it turned easily in her hands.

  Hey!” she cried as she was suddenly pushed forward into the darkness. She landed in a painful heap on the floor. “Where is Bethie?”

  Abigail sneered down at her. “Do you believe me stupid? I know you came here for some reason to ruin my wedding, and I am not about to let that happen. I have worked too hard to get him to the altar. And once I am his Duchess, I will see you thoroughly ruined.”

  “I know the truth about you,” Blythe snapped. She rose to a sitting position and started to pull herself up, when Abigail reached out and shoved her back again.

  “By the time you are discovered, it will be too late,” Abigail said. “We’ll be married. Then you can say whatever you bloody well please, it won’t matter a whit.”

  “What do you mean, by the—” Blythe’s sentence cut off when a door in front of her was slammed shut and she was incased in darkness. She looked about, barely noticing the dim outlines of clothing. She heard something scraping against the door and leapt toward it. “No!”

  She grasped the handle again and rattled it, pushing against the wood, but it didn’t budge. “Let me out of here!” she cried.

  “Not for all the money and power in the world,” Abigail’s voice, heartless and cold, came through the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding to attend.”

  “No!!” Blythe cried. She banged and battered at the door with her fists. “You can’t leave me in here! You can’t do this!”

  Not a single sound echoed and panic filled her throat. She was good and truly trapped.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Is she here?” Michael paced the confines of the small room off one hallway of the chapel.

  Keenan shook his head. “Not as of the last few minutes.” He frowned. “Don’t worry, they’ll find her.”

  “I cannot believe Bethie would hide like this.” He turned and paced another circle.

  “You truly cannot believe it? Hide-and-seek should be her middle name, and you know she is not happy about this marriage.”

  “How can I get married without my daughter here?”

  “Perhaps that is what she is hoping?” Keenan asked. “That you’ll come back for her. That you won’t go through with it at all.”

  “Well she’s right. I can’t get married without my daughter. She has to be found.” He turned and paced again. “Has Miss Darlington arrived?”

  Keenan shook his head. “Do you think she’d actually not show?”

  “I could only hope.” Michael had never wanted to be left at the altar so badly in his life. He would deal with the scandal, if it only meant he could forget he’d ever started this ridiculous farce of a marriage and move on with life. With Blythe.

  Keenan put a hand on his arm to stop him. “You can still stop this.”

  Michael looked up at him and for once, didn’t hide the despair and utter confusion he felt.

  “Let’s just leave,” Keenan urged. “I’ll say whatever needs to be said to the guests and then get you out of here. You do not have to do this.”

  “If I don’t, what happens here today?” Michael spoke slowly as his heart galloped. He already knew what would happen, but perhaps Keenan could find a different angle, a perspective he hadn’t thought of already.

  “We’ll offer regrets to the guests, tell them a wedding is not going to happen. Everyone goes home.”

  Michael snorted. “It isn’t that simple and you know it.”

  “Perhaps not. Those guests will gossip about the cause of it all, it will appear in the gossip rags in the morning. It will be on the tips of every tongue for miles about. I imagine the servants will have spread rumors as far as Cornwall by next week.” Keenan offered a wry smile. “But who cares?”

  Michael had. His name was all he’d had to be proud of. It was the one thing he could actually control. He’d spent his entire life walking in his parents’ wake, cleaning up the messes they left behind. And here he was, about to throw away the possibility of love, of a life with Blythe, to once again walk behind the shoes of another family member to clean up his mess.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. An endless future stretched out before him. More of the same he’d had his entire life. He would do the same things he’d always done. See the same people day in and day out. Everything would be the same.

  But he was not.

  He hadn’t been since he’d tread upon Blythe’s toes. From the moment she’d looked up at him, she’d changed him.

  Therein lay his problem.

  ****

  “Help me!” Blythe cried out for the hundredth time as she slammed her fist into the h
ard wood in a steady beat. Her throat was raw, and her voice had turned scratchy and threadbare. The chances that anyone could hear her were slim. Her hand, likely bruised, was tender and sore.

  She leaned back against the door and slid to the floor. It was too late. Abigail was surely at the church by now, and the wedding would start any moment.

  Michael would be marrying a woman for all the wrong reasons, a woman who didn’t deserve him.

  Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, but Blythe didn’t have the energy to wipe them away. She had hoped, oh, how she had hoped.

  She banged her head lightly against the door, but didn’t bother to continue her screams. Everyone was on the lower level, working furiously to prepare the wedding feast. And at some point in the evening, Abigail Darlington—no, Abigail Ravensdale—would come back here and let Blythe out of the closet.

  Blythe rather thought a black eye would go nicely with the witch’s wedding attire.

  She closed her eyes. When she was found, Blythe would keep her discoveries to herself. If Michael was married, it would only torture him further to know it had all been for naught.

  “Hullo?” A voice!

  Blythe scrambled up and beat on the door again. “In here! I’m in here!”

  She heard the sound of something scrapping the floor and then the door flung open. She gasped. “Bethie!”

  “Mama!” Bethie flung herself into her arms. “Why are you in the closet?”

  “It’s a long story.” Blythe grabbed her arms and pulled her back so she could look at her. “You aren’t hurt? You weren’t locked in somewhere?”

  Bethie shook her head with a frown. “Mama, you were locked in the closet, not me.”

  “That woman said—Oh, it doesn’t matter.”What are you doing here?”

  Bethie grinned. “Hiding.”

  “Why aren’t you at the church?” Blythe yanked her into a hug. “I’m so glad you aren’t! That means your father hasn’t gotten married yet!”

  Bethie nodded emphatically. “That’s why I hid, Mama. He cannot marry the Darling without me there, right?” A hint of worry entered her eyes. “He wouldn’t, would he?”