Sighing, he decided to concede. A bit.
“You may be right that I dislike not being taken into your confidence about your political writings,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that your writings could very well have put you in danger. And I won’t apologize for being worried about your safety. I would hardly be any sort of man if I shrugged my shoulders and went about my business upon learning that my fiancée had received threats because of her political leanings.” He slid a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head so that he could see into her eyes. “I never stopped caring for you, Leonora. Not even after you sent me away. It’s always been you.”
Her lashes lowered. “I wish I could believe that,” she said, biting her lip. “I wish—”
The carriage pulled to a stop then, and he bit back a curse because the moment was lost.
She drew back and settled onto the seat beside them as she waited for the footman to open the door.
Taking advantage of the moment, he gave in to temptation and kissed her with every bit of the emotion and desire he’d been unable to give words to.
She was breathless when he pulled back and Freddy smiled wickedly. “Think of that tonight as you lie alone in your cold bed.”
“You’re a rake and a scoundrel,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “You know this, I hope.”
“And this is a surprise to you?” He pushed open the door and leaped to the ground before the footman could lower the steps.
“Of course it’s not,” she responded as he took advantage of the opportunity to lift her from the carriage. “I know you of old.”
“Yes,” he said in a low voice, holding her against him for a fraction of a second longer than was entirely proper. “And I know you. Trust me, Leonora. I promise you, I will keep you safe.”
But her sad smile told him she wasn’t quite there yet. He’d simply have to wait.
Forever if he had to.
“I shall call on you tomorrow afternoon,” Freddy said as he walked beside her up the front steps of her father’s town house.
“Tomorrow afternoon is my salon, I’m afraid,” she said with what looked like sincere disappointment. “You are welcome to attend, of course, but I know how much you disliked attending in the past.”
If it was a test, he thought, she couldn’t have devised a cleverer one. He had loathed those afternoons when they were betrothed previously. Mostly because it meant watching hopeful young swains read awful poetry in hopes of a kind word from her. But he’d learned a great deal about self-control in the past five years, and a few hours of discomfort would hardly register with him now.
“I will be delighted to attend,” he responded, bowing over her hand. “I shall see you tomorrow.”
He felt her gaze on him as he descended the steps, but when he turned to look back, she was gone.
Eight
“The Duchess of Pemberton is here to see you, Miss Craven,” said Leonora’s maid apologetically the next morning. Peggy said everything apologetically. But today her words felt especially doleful. As if a duchess coming to call were something akin to a diagnosis of scurvy.
“Show her into my sitting room,” Leonora said, placing the last pin in her hair and rising. “And have cook send up some tea and biscuits.”
She didn’t anticipate the visit being altogether pleasant, but at least she could have some biscuits to soothe her temper.
It was no secret that the Duke and Duchess of Pemberton hadn’t been especially joyful when Freddy told them about their betrothal five years ago. So there was little doubt in Leonora’s mind that this was not a pleasant social call.
The Lisle family was very close, and Freddy’s parents had high hopes for all their sons. As for Freddy, they hoped for a bride much higher in birth and breeding than a mere gentleman’s daughter. But it was Leonora’s writing that was the real impediment in their eyes.
It was one thing to write for the sheer pleasure of it, but Leonora wrote for money. She’d never seen the point of refusing the payment for her publications, especially when she worked hard to make it the best she could. That, among other things, had been a point of contention between Freddy and his parents almost from the first.
There was also the matter of Leonora’s outspokenness on political matters. Like many of their generation and class, the duke and duchess thought a lady’s place was in the home. And a true lady had no business dabbling in politics, no matter how worthy the cause.
She wished that she could assure the duchess that this latest betrothal was a pretend one—that there was nothing to worry about—but the fewer who knew the truth the better. She’d simply have to tell her pretend future mama-in-law that she intended her precious boy no harm.
When she stepped into her sitting room, however, it was to see not one duchess, but two.
“I hope you won’t mind that I accompanied the duchess, Miss Craven,” the young dowager Duchess of Ormond, Perdita, now Mrs. Archer Lisle, said, crossing the room to take Leonora’s hands in her own. “But I simply could not pass up the opportunity to visit one of my favorite authors.”
As Freddy had said, his sister-in-law was very much with child, and she was practically glowing with happiness.
Unconsciously, Leonora’s hand stole to her own flat stomach. She would never know that sort of joy, and for a moment the knowledge sucked her breath away.
The Duchess of Pemberton broke through Leonora’s heavy thoughts. “Perdita can be quite persuasive, Miss Craven. When I informed her that I was coming to call upon you, I could not persuade her to let me come alone.”
Called back to herself, Leonora focused on the duchess.
Frederick’s mother was a lovely woman, though some gray had crept into her honey-blond hair—just a few shades lighter than Freddy’s. Her blue eyes, so like his, were sharp with intelligence, and Leonora thought not for the first time that it was a shame she’d been unable to persuade the duchess to the cause of women’s rights. For it was clear that the lady possessed a keen intellect, and a woman of her grace’s poise and station would be highly influential.
“I am delighted to meet you both,” Leonora said aloud to her guests, gesturing that they should take seats. “I’ve asked for refreshments to be sent up. I hope that you’ll join me, for I cannot abide a pot of tea without biscuits.”
The ladies exchanged polite conversation for a few minutes while they waited for the tea tray. But before long the tea arrived, and Leonora, ready to end her suspense, asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure? Not that I am displeased by the visit, of course. I am delighted.”
The two other women exchanged a speaking look. The Duchess of Pemberton finally said, “Miss Craven, my son informs me that you are once again betrothed, a circumstance that leaves me with much trepidation I am sorry to say.”
Perdita winced at the duchess’s declaration. “What I think her grace is attempting to say, Miss Craven, is that she has some reservations about your betrothal given the circumstances of your previous connection with Frederick. Especially given his exile when you broke things off.”
“Exile?” Leonora asked with raised brows. Leaving for France had been Freddy’s decision entirely. And Leonora was not about to admit fault in that at least. “I am quite sure that Frederick left England on his own initiative. Yes, perhaps it was as a result of my breaking things off, but that is neither here nor there. It was not my decision to send him away. It was his own. A circumstance I’m sure you cannot hold me liable for, no matter how you might wish to.”
“Piffle,” the duchess said with a shake of her head. “We all know that Frederick left because he was heartbroken when you jilted him. And I will have your promise, Miss Craven, you do not intend to do such a fool thing again.”
Leonora fought to keep her temper. “Your grace, you’ll forgive me, but you know nothing about what went on between Frederick and me. And I would hope that you are aware he would be livid if he knew you were here speaking on his behalf.”
Closing her eyes, Leonora took a deep breath. She hadn’t known the situation behind Frederick’s withdrawal to France. She’d been too enmeshed in her own misery at the time to notice much beyond the routine of daily life. But she was sorry to hear of it.
She’d broken things off with him to protect him. From further attachment to her. For his future. But it would seem she’d almost done more harm than good.
Aloud, she said, “I regret that Frederick suffered like that, your grace. I sincerely do. It was not my intention to destroy him. Far from it. But I must tell you that what happened between us before is between us. And no one else. I can, however, assure you that I will do my utmost to ensure that our betrothal now will bring him no harm.”
Though she was less than convinced that was within her power, she would, for both their sakes, try.
Leonora could see that the duchess was struggling with her own emotions. It was clear that she wanted to ask Leonora why she’d done what she’d done. But there was no way she would tell the older woman. Especially not when she’d not even told Freddy.
After a moment of silence, the duchess said, “I will have to be content with that, then, I see. Though I will ask that you give me your word that you will go through with the marriage this time, and will work through any problems that you encounter before your wedding. I rather think that young people are far too apt to dissolve their matches without doing the work that must be done to save the relationship.”
It was a promise she could not make.
In part because the betrothal now was a mere fiction, but also because she had no idea how Frederick would respond if he learned the truth about what had forced her to release him five years earlier. It would be so easy to marry him despite her inability to give him children, but that would be unfair to him without telling him the truth. And once he learned that truth it was doubtful he’d go through with the marriage anyway.
What a coil.
For now, she would simply have to prevaricate to the duchess. Bringing Sir Gerard to justice was too important a matter to jeopardize by telling Freddy’s mother the true circumstances of their current betrothal.
“I have no wish to part with Lord Frederick,” Leonora said truthfully. “And I will do my utmost never to hurt him again.” She did not promise to go through with a marriage. And she hoped her words would be enough to satisfy the older woman.
Fortunately, Perdita, who seemed intent upon mending things between the duchess and Leonora, spoke before her mother-in-law could.
“Thank goodness that’s settled,” she said with obvious relief. “I must admit that I was concerned when the duchess told me she wished to extract a promise from you, Miss Craven, but I might have known you’d handle things so wonderfully. A lady of your obvious sensibilities could not possibly deny a mother’s request.”
It was far more complicated than either of Leonora’s guests could fathom, but she was happy to have the matter settled.
“Now, let us speak of your poetry,” Perdita continued, and began asking about various poems that Leonora had published over the years.
Talking to readers had always come easily to Leonora, because she was a reader herself and understood the desire to know more about her favorite pieces. Still, she was not prepared for Perdita’s questions about one poem in particular.
“Please, can you tell me,” the young matron asked, “what was the inspiration for ‘Angel Child’? I was so touched by your obvious understanding of the emotions of the speaker. I don’t believe I’ve ever read a more thoughtful explanation of what it means to lose a child.”
If Leonora could have conjured the subject she’d most wish to avoid across the tea table it was that of her poem written soon after her miscarriage. She’d decided to publish it against her better judgment early in her career because she’d sent it along with another set of verse to her editor, who’d convinced her of its quality.
Readers had asked about it before, but never one so great with child. That Perdita was also Freddy’s sister-in-law only made the subject more painful.
Determined to hide any hint of discomfort about the subject, she said easily, “Thank you so much, Mrs. Lisle. I am pleased you were so moved by that particular verse. I had a neighbor in the country who suffered such a loss, and I found the idea of losing a child so touching, so poignant, that I couldn’t help but imagine the meeting between bereaved mother and angel child.”
Suddenly Perdita’s eyes filled with tears. “I lost a babe, you see. When I was with my first husband. And I felt the loss of that child so keenly. I took great comfort in your poem, in the notion that my dear one was with me, giving me strength to survive his loss.”
She reached out and Leonora found it impossible to refuse the other woman’s hand.
“Thank you,” Perdita said, squeezing Leonora’s hand tightly. “You made my grief so much easier to bear. And I feel sure I speak for any number of other women who have miscarried.”
Blinking, Leonora felt the sting of tears in her own eyes. That poem had been the encapsulation of her own grief and heartache at the loss of the child she’d loved despite the perfidy of its absent father. And sitting here, now, with these two ladies not knowing the true circumstances of her own situation, and how it had affected Freddy, she felt as exposed as if she’d run naked down Rotten Row.
“I just recalled that I did not tell cook that we will have an addition to dinner this evening, Perdita,” the duchess said, clearing her throat delicately. “I hope you won’t mind leaving now. We have trespassed on Miss Craven for far too long this morning.”
Perdita pulled her hand away, dabbed at her tears with her handkerchief. “Of course, your grace. I vow, Miss Craven, I apologize for my unruly emotions. I’m afraid this child is turning me into a watering pot. I am usually much more stoic than this.”
Despite her own discomfort, Leonora had found her conversation with the young woman cathartic. And knowing that her verse had perhaps given women like herself some comfort in their grief made her own pain more bearable.
“Think nothing of it, Mrs. Lisle,” she said with a smile. “A poetess never finds emotion evoked by her words a burden. Indeed, it is the response we crave.” Turning serious, she continued, “And I am sorry for your loss. I hope this child gives you great comfort.”
“Indeed it does,” Perdita said with a smile, laying her hand possessively over her belly. “And I hope to speak of more than that single poem with you this evening.”
Puzzled, Leonora frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. Where is it we’re to see one another?”
“The additional guest at dinner I spoke of will be you, my dear,” the duchess said with a smile that removed twenty years from her face. Leonora suddenly realized how much she’d longed for the approval of Freddy’s mother, so great was her relief at the duchess’s shift from disapproving to welcoming. “If you are to marry my son, then you must come to dinner at our home tonight. I realize it is short notice, but I do hope you’ll consider it. If not for my sake, then for Frederick’s.”
There was no way she could decline given how sincere the duchess’s invitation seemed. And besides, she felt a curious desire to see Freddy among his family, to see how they got along together. Their first betrothal had been so brief she’d not even met his family.
“I thank you, your grace. I should be honored to attend this evening.”
“Excellent,” the duchess said, pulling on her gloves. “We dine at seven. I will have Frederick come fetch you.”
To Leonora’s surprise, she leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “I look forward to getting to know you better, my dear.”
Perdita winked at her as she followed the Duchess of Pemberton from the room.
Utterly flustered by the whole affair, Leonora collapsed onto the settee.
What a debacle, she thought numbly. The more time she spent with Freddy’s family, the more painful it would be when their pretend betrothal ran its course. And the last thing she wanted was to cause him or his family more pain.
If only she could contemplate marrying him without the burden of her inability to conceive. In every other way, they were well suited.
Taking a sip of her now cold tea, she looked forlornly at the door her visitors had just exited.
I’m sorry, Freddy.
* * *
“You’re a bastard,” the Earl of Mainwaring said, thrusting his arms into the banyan Frederick had just tossed to him. “You know this, yes?”
“I have it on excellent authority that my parents were married when I was born,” Freddy said, unrepentant, crossing his arms over his chest. “What with all the brothers who came before me and all.”
He’d arrived at an admittedly early hour in his friend’s rooms thanks to his own inability to sleep past daylight. The night before had left him with too many racing thoughts to settle properly into sleep. And besides that, there were things he needed to do this morning. Things that would require the help of Mainwaring.
The earl grunted as he accepted a glass of the foul concoction his valet conjured up for those mornings when his master suffered from overindulging the night before. To Freddy’s disgust, Mainwaring swallowed it down in one gulp, shaking his head as he did so.
“I don’t know how you stand the stuff,” Freddy said with barely restrained revulsion. “Do you even know what’s in it?”
“I neither know, nor care,” Mainwaring responded, setting the empty glass on a side table, then tying his robe. “All I care about is that it takes away this accursed headache. And of course, learning your reason for waking me at the arse-crack of dawn so that I may murder you for it. A man likes to know the reason why he’s killing his friend.”
A Good Rake is Hard to Find Page 10
