Jonny had not been ready to marry—far from it—but he had escorted ladies to various fashionable entertainments solely for the sake of winning Lady Melisande Fincher’s approval. “It’s not as if I’m marrying the chits, Nora,” he’d told her once when she questioned the other woman’s intrusion into his social life. “Besides, I mean to be the leader of the Anarchists one day. Any bit I can do to win the approval of Sir Gerard Fincher and his lady, I’ll do.”
As for Leonora, she felt a bit of trepidation about the notion of gaining an entrance into the club with a reputation for every sort of sin, from the anarchism of its name, to womanizing. But she was willing to risk everything if it meant finding out who had killed her brother. If only for her father’s sake.
It had been a few weeks since they’d received the news, and since then she’d seen her father sink deeper and deeper into depression. Though he’d been confined to a wheeled chair since she was a child, Leonora had always thought of her father as a robust and commanding figure. Unfortunately, he was wont to suffer from dark moods from time to time. And Jonny’s death had sent him into a depression that showed no signs of abating.
She had to do something to assuage his grief.
And if Freddy was able to help her get the answers she needed, then she might consider telling him the painful secret that had kept her from going through with their marriage five years ago. She could not marry him, of course. It was too late for that. But it might ease his frustration to know her decision had nothing whatsoever to do with him. Or rather, not something he’d done.
But that was something to think about on another day. Today was for persuading her father that this pretend betrothal between them was real. A sort of situational folly that looked quite real from a distance, but upon closer inspection was hollow.
“My dear daughter,” Joseph Craven said when she stepped into his den. “What brings you here so bright and early? I thought you would be writing by now.”
Leonora usually spent mornings after breakfast in her own sitting room composing verses or writing essays for various ladies’ publications where her opinion had become quite popular among readers.
Whereas her father liked to spend his mornings in his study poring over business documents and instructing his secretary about various matters relating to the running of the many Craven business interests. Along with the farm at the Hampshire estate, there was also a textile factory in Manchester and various other investments. The snobs might turn up their noses at any gentleman who was involved in trade, but it was an open secret that most men of the best families dabbled in all sorts of activities that had been eschewed by the generation before them.
As Mr. Craven derived much satisfaction from his tangles as he referred to them, Leonora had no objections. Since her father had been supportive of her ventures into the world of poetry and literature, it would have been hypocritical of her to do so.
Stepping fully into the room and walking behind his desk to kiss him on the cheek, she said, “Must I have a reason to visit my dear papa?” she asked once Mr. Soames, the secretary, had left the room. “Why, you make it sound as if I follow a schedule with the regularity of a clock.”
“Hardly, my dear,” he said with a fond smile. “You are nothing if not unpredictable.”
Despite his hearty tone, she knew he was still in the grips of the darkness that had consumed him since Jonny’s death. Sometimes it was the pain—his constant companion since he’d broken both legs in a riding accident when Leonora was a child—that brought his moods down, but this time it was all thanks to the loss of his only son.
Still, this morning he seemed more like himself than he had in some time, for which Leonora was grateful.
“I prefer to call it spontaneity,” she said with a grin, before sinking into the chair across from his desk. “And speaking of spontaneity, I have news that might forever cement my reputation for it once all is revealed.”
“Oh, dear,” her father said, leaning back in his chair to steeple his hands together before him. “Let me guess…” He furrowed his brow in thought before saying, “You are embarking upon an expedition to Egypt.”
It was something she’d threatened more than once, but Leonora had never quite decided to take the plunge. For one thing she got seasick quite dreadfully, which she’d learned to her dismay the one time she’d tried to cross the Channel to visit Paris. Unfortunately she’d become so ill that the captain had been convinced to turn back to England on her behalf thanks to a hefty bribe from her father.
“A good guess,” she acknowledged with a laugh. “Though you know as well as I do that the journey would likely do me in.”
“That is true,” he agreed with a wry smile. “Unfortunately you inherited your mama’s queasy stomach when it comes to sea travel. Thank goodness travel was never one of her great ambitions.”
Mathilda Craven had been a great homebody, by all the accounts Leonora had heard of her. Since she’d been two when her mother died, Leonora had no memories of her. But she’d always enjoyed hearing her father tell stories of their life together, and even of the tales Mathilda had told him before she died. Unlike some households that seemed to erase all traces of the dead loved one from the home, Joseph Craven had done his utmost to ensure that his wife’s memory was kept alive in his children’s memories.
“Too true,” Leonora agreed. “And before you guess again, I think you will be hard-pressed to ever guess the news I’ve got to tell you.”
Her father’s brow furrowed. “Really? Something that unexpected? Then you must tell me, by all means.”
She took a deep breath, but before she could say anything a knock sounded on the door.
“Apologies, Mr. Craven, sir,” the butler, Greentree, intoned, “but his lordship insisted on seeing you immediately on a matter of some importance.”
And before she could turn, Leonora knew who she’d see standing behind her.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Craven,” Freddy said, stepping forward and offering a slight bow to Leonora’s father, “but I did rather insist.”
Seeing Leonora, he feigned surprise. “Miss Craven,” he said with a gasp. “I see you have beaten me to it. I did not think you could possibly be as impatient as I am to see this thing between us formalized but I see I was wrong.” Turning to Mr. Craven, he laughed. “I’ll wager you were quite shocked when Leonora told you our news, weren’t you, sir? I must admit I was rather shocked myself when I discovered that our old feelings were unchanged. But I suppose I’ve never really stopped—”
He was cut short by Joseph Craven. “What are you prattling on about, Lord Frederick?” the older man barked. He’d never approved of nicknames, least of all Freddy’s, Leonora reflected. “Are you telling me that my daughter has been foolish enough to enter into yet another betrothal to you? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Seeing that her father was growing rather incensed, Leonora stood up and slipped an arm through Freddy’s. She’d thought he might be a bit upset at the news, but she hadn’t supposed he’d become so angry. “Papa, you must see that I’ve never stopped loving Freddy,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back at the fib. And you will recall that just the other day you were lamenting the fact that I have chosen not to marry.”
“Yes, but that was marriage to someone who hadn’t already broken your heart,” Craven said bluntly. “When I think of how distraught you became the last time, all because this fellow … this … this scoundrel was unfaithful! His very presence in my home is enough to make my blood boil. He’s lucky I don’t hold with dueling or he’d be six feet underground by now.”
At her father’s words, Leonora felt Freddy stiffen beside her. “I was…” He turned to her, his eyes bright with anger. “What did you tell him about the reasons for your breaking things off?”
Leonora felt her cheeks redden. “I … that is to say … I had to have a good reason to break things off, you see. And there was that evening I saw you at Vauxhall…”
> “She. Was. My. Cousin,” Freddy said through clenched teeth. “And we were only talking. Good God, Leonora, no wonder your brother refused to speak to me for a full year afterward. I thought it was because he thought I should have married you anyway.”
“Oh no, he would have never spoken to you again if I hadn’t broken down and told him the truth. That I was simply not ready for marriage, that I needed time to devote to my writing.” She looked intently into his eyes, communicating that she needed him to go along with her explanation.
Daring him to disagree.
Four
For a brief moment, Freddy wavered. His desire to know what had made her break their engagement warring with the need to persuade Mr. Craven that this new betrothal was the real thing.
It was a small portrait of Jonathan Craven, hanging on the wall behind his father, that decided the thing for Freddy. Whatever hurt he felt over Leonora’s rejection five years ago, he was here now because they’d agreed to find out the truth of why Jonny had been murdered and who had done it. And pressing Leonora for an answer now would jeopardize their plan.
And, when it came down to it, he wasn’t sure her true reasons mattered at this point. It might do so if he were foolish enough to fall in love with her again. But despite the inescapable pull between them, he was determined that all he would allow himself to feel this time around was affection.
There was some danger that pretending to a betrothal would lead to an actual marriage, but even if that happened, he would never allow her to have the kind of sway over him that she’d once had.
He would remain detached. Despite the way desire and affection coursed through him whenever he was in her company.
“So this is why you wouldn’t let me tell anyone?” Craven asked, looking from one of them to the other. “And Lord Frederick did not break your heart?”
“Well, there was that night at Vaux—” Leonora began, but stopped when Freddy growled. “All right, no, Father, he did not break my heart. In fact, I rather think that I broke his.”
“I’d hardly say that is the case,” Freddy protested. “I’ve managed rather well on my own after all, and there were those years on the Continent—”
But this time it was Mr. Craven who growled.
“That is to say,” Freddy amended, “I daresay my heart was broken. Never been rejected by a lady before. Certainly not one I’d asked to marry me. Indeed, I’d not have asked her again if it weren’t for—”
At a cough from Leonora he broke off.
“That is to say,” he continued, “I am quite pleased she’s agreed to have me.”
“You are both quite mad,” Joseph Craven said, looking from his daughter to Freddy then back again. “Do you mean to tell me that you are embarking upon another betrothal? After all of this mayhem?”
“Papa!” Leonora beamed. “How on earth did you guess?”
Ignoring her, Freddy said, “Sir, I realize that this display doesn’t give you the best impression of my ability to take care of your daughter, but I can assure you that I am ten times the fellow I was all those years ago. Indeed, I have managed to amass a bit of wealth and—”
“I cannot forbid the match because Leonora is of age,” Craven said, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow with it. “But I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Freddy.”
At her father’s use of Freddy’s nickname, Leonora knew just how shocked her father had been by their revelation.
“Oh, I have some idea, sir,” Freddy replied, gripping Leonora’s arm against his side. She tried to extricate herself but he held fast. “Indeed, I should like to have a word with her right now, so that we can make plans for the wedding.”
“A short engagement?” Mr. Craven asked with what looked suspiciously like wicked humor to his daughter.
“Oh, quite,” Freddy replied, dragging Leonora through the doorway. “The shorter the better.”
Before Lenora could object, he shut the door behind them.
* * *
As soon as they were in the hall, away from her father’s all too watchful eye, Leonora wanted nothing more than to flee the angry man at her side for the comfort of her sitting room, where she was mistress of her domain.
“A dalliance?” Freddy demanded once they were well past the door to her father’s study. Turning, he pointed to a small parlor, indicating that they should go there at once.
Fighting her childish desire to refuse him, Leonora walked, head held high, into the cozy room. Despite the unseasonably warm spring, a fire had been lit in the room, for which she was grateful since she’d turned suddenly cold.
“I had to tell them something,” she said once he’d closed the door. “The true reason was mine and I relished telling my family the truth almost as much as telling you. Which was not at all.”
She could tell by his clenched jaw that her words frustrated him. And though she understood why, keeping the secret of her inability to bear children was something she could never reveal to him. Not if she didn’t wish to tell him the reason she was so broken. And it was that circumstance that had started this whole mad deception, that was so shameful that she was willing to go to her grave with its secret.
Not to mention the fact that none of it was relevant now that their betrothal was a false one. If she thought there were any danger that their ruse would lead to a true engagement, or worse, marriage, she would put an end to this whole farce without a backward glance.
In the quiet of the tiny sitting room, however, she revealed none of this. Only waited for him to say something—anything—to break the silence between them.
Finally, he sighed, and thrust a hand through his light brown curls, which were already showing signs of the unruliness that so plagued him.
“I don’t understand why you cannot simply tell me why you refused,” he said tightly, clearly more overset about that matter than she’d hoped. “It isn’t as if anything is at stake now. After all, we’ve both agreed that this betrothal is to be dissolved as soon as we bring my cousin to justice.”
For a moment, she considered revealing all. What a relief it would be to unburden herself of the shame she’d kept hidden within her for nearly ten years now. Perhaps Freddy’s response would be easier to endure than she’d imagined. Perhaps he would feel compassion for the wild fifteen-year-old she’d once been. Who risked everything and lost it all.
He’d not been a saint—when she met him, and over these past years he’d spent gadding about the Continent. But there was something within her that kept her from speaking the words that would reveal her shame to him. It was too much to risk, she realized. Especially now that they had agreed to prove Sir Gerard Fincher had some role in Jonathan’s death.
She’d kept the secret in the past for her own sake. And for Freddy’s. But now, she kept it for Jonny’s.
Perhaps once this was all finished, after Jonny had been avenged, and once their second betrothal had been set aside as they agreed, then she would reveal her sad tale to him.
But not before. Not with so much at stake.
“I know it is irksome for you,” she said with a coolness she did not feel, “but there is truly nothing I can do about that. Our focus now should be on revealing your cousin’s perfidy. Not trading secrets like schoolgirls.”
If her insult hit home, he didn’t show it. Just glared at her for a moment. As if by looking hard enough he could discern what it was she was so reluctant to reveal to him.
Finally, he shrugged, and shook his head slightly, as if clearing it.
“I will make you tell me before this is all over,” he said intently. And for a moment Leonora felt that jolt between them. The connection that could be severed neither by time nor space.
“Perhaps.” She nodded. “But until then, I request that you do not press me on this. It distracts both of us from our true goal here. Do not forget that this is all for Jonathan’s sake.”
“Of course it is,” he agreed blandly. “I give you my word that I
will not ask again. Not unless you bring it up.”
Seeing that he was sincere, she allowed her body to relax the slightest bit.
“Good,” she said firmly, lowering herself onto the settee that was set at an angle to the corner. “Now, what is our next move? I assume you’ve sent the notice to the papers?”
Pacing a little to lean his shoulders against the mantel, Freddy crossed his arms over his chest. “I did,” he said. “First thing this morning. And I believe it’s time for us to move on to phase two.”
She paused in the act of smoothing her hair—a nervous habit she’d not been able to eradicate no matter how many times her past governesses had chided. “What is phase two?” she asked, hoping the answer was not something she would find objectionable. She’d already created too much tension between them, but if this was something she felt strongly about she’d need to tell him.
“My cousin is having a dinner party cum Lords of Anarchy meeting tomorrow evening at his home in Half Moon Street. And I intend to wrangle an invitation for both of us to attend. To announce our betrothal there.”
A party? Leonora felt an objection rise in her throat. “I cannot attend a party. My brother was killed only a few weeks ago. I have mourning clothes, but I cannot be seen making merry. Even if it means turning down an invitation into the lion’s den.”
“No need to worry,” Freddy said soothingly, and her response to his tone told her just how rattled she’d been at the proposition of dishonoring Jonny’s memory. “It is not a dancing party. And aside from that it is a private party. Even the high sticklers will not be able to find fault with your attending a dinner held in your brother’s honor.”
“It’s in Jonathan’s honor?” she asked, diverted by the notion. “I am torn between gratitude and revulsion. What kind of monster honors the very man he killed?”
A Good Rake is Hard to Find Page 4
