White Lace and Promises

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “They leave me alone.”

  “Annie felt as pushed into marriage as I did and she was reluctant at first. I gladly gave her time.” He frowned. “She’s like a sister and I’ve never felt the least physical attraction to her. We’ve settled into a civil, polite pattern of living that does not include sharing each other’s beds—or bodies.”

  How she had tormented herself, picturing him sated and cosily tucked in his wife’s bed, while she had burnt alone in hers. He took a deep breath. “I have made such a mess of everything. I have such a talent for it. From the moment of Annie’s birth, it seemed, my mother made it clear she expected us to marry.” He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “She is a very persuasive woman. I didn’t know how to say no and, because of that, I have deserved every moment of torment you’ve given me since I wed. But you deserved none of the pain I put you through. I will seek an annulment.”

  Was she still in bed? Dreaming? Having some bizarre nightmare? “My God.”

  He frowned. “What?” he said, as if he hadn’t just knocked her whole sense of reality off its axis.

  “You’ve gone insane. You don’t realise what you are saying.”

  “On the contrary—for the first time in years, I am sure of what I am saying.”

  Her mouth dropped open. He couldn’t be sincere. “And what if it makes a scandal? You’ve been wed to her a while now. Who is going to believe you’ve never shared her bed? People will say you’ve abandoned her. What if it ruins your fine reputation? Even you couldn’t charm your way out of that. Your lucrative practice would be finished.”

  “Have you even been listening to me?” His voice rang with frustration. “I made a mistake—I want to make up for it. I don’t care what price I have to pay.”

  “What about your wife? You’re going to ruin her reputation too. Are there no limits to your selfishness?”

  “If I am branded the culprit, the selfish one whom no woman could bear living with, Annie will weather it all just fine.”

  Her breath was coming very hard, very fast, making her words gush out. “Your mother will disown you. But what will you do? Live off your inheritance until it runs out?”

  His elegant, claret-coloured brows drew together. “You shouldn’t even need to ask.”

  “Indiana.”

  He nodded. “In Indiana, they will be so happy to have a skilled doctor they won’t care about such trivial things.”

  His eyes shone brightly with idealism. He looked so boyish. Still young enough to believe in his dreams—dreams he had once converted even a city-bred girl like herself to. Remembered fondness softened her heart, but, goodness, she felt old, so old in comparison to the eighteen-year-old girl he’d seduced.

  “You are really prepared to give up your comfortable life?” she asked.

  “I am dying here. I long for my life to have meaning, but you—” His voice broke and the skin grew tight across his cheekbones. “Everyone thinks I am merely dreaming, that I cannot stand up to hardship and hard work. You were the only one who”—he coughed—“believed in me.”

  His eyes glistened in the lantern’s light. Sadness, regret and anger rose in her, an uncontrollable explosion. How dare he come here on the eve of her wedding and tell her all of this?

  Her hand shot out and struck his cheek, the sound echoing sharply in the garden. “Get control over yourself, Joshua!”

  He gripped his cheek and stared at her dumbly, as if the act had yet to sink in. “I am twenty-eight years old. If I am ever to be my own man, it’s now or never.” He took her hand. “I am going, no question about it. However, am I going alone or are you coming with me?”

  “C—coming with you?” She struggled against rising rage. How dare he insert himself into her life like this, on this night of all nights?

  “Yes—I want you to come with me as my wife.”

  It felt as if the stone bench she was sitting on had dropped several leagues all at once. He couldn’t have just said that. “Your wife?”

  “Of course. Why else would I bother with a divorce?”

  What she wouldn’t once have given to hear this melodramatic declaration. She’d dreamt for years of something exactly like this. Yes, honestly, pathetic as it was, she had. Yet now that he’d said it, coldness settled over her like a blanket of new-fallen snow.

  “I hardly know what to say, this is so sudden,” she said with heavy sarcasm.

  “Say you won’t marry this New York merchant prince. This—” His voice broke and he cleared his throat several times. “This reptile that you’ve allowed to fuck you. Say that you’ll wait for me to gain my freedom and you’ll marry me.” His eyes glittered, dark and warm. “Oh God, I have not stopped loving you—all these years have been a torment.”

  Good God, he really believed she could still be his? The shock of it made her incapable of coherent thought.

  He chose that moment to lean over and bring his mouth down on hers. Her body remembered his smell, his feel, his taste—all the sensations of her love for him. But it was nothing but aching nostalgia for her own lost innocence. She remained passive.

  He backed away, his eyes hurt and confused. “This is loyalty to him?”

  She rubbed her hand furiously over her lips, incensed that she’d allowed the kiss.

  “Beth, let’s not forget the circumstances here,” he chided. “We love each other—quite passionately, in fact.” He gave her a scathing look. “Have you perhaps forgotten the things we said, the way we felt?”

  “You certainly forgot—forgot long enough to marry someone else.”

  “I. Told. You.” He ground the three words out harshly. “I let my family force me into that—” He clamped his mouth shut. Then a smile twisted his lips and he laughed softly. “I know you’re doing this just to spite me. To prove something to me.”

  “You’re wrong. I love him dearly…ardently…insanely.”

  He flinched, then blinked hard several times. “You speak so stridently, as if you must convince yourself.”

  Did she need to convince herself?

  A whole three weeks and just one terse note informing you that he shall be delayed. Can you continue loving such a man?

  Her empty stomach cramped. She swallowed hard against a rise of acid. “It’s true, Joshua. I do love him.”

  He scowled. “Maybe you think you do—but you’ll never be happy with him. He’s too cold natured for you. And you damned well know I am right.”

  * * * *

  Beth lay in bed all the rest of the night with Joshua’s last words echoing in her head. Their truth settled in her stomach like lead. Then, at dawn, when she finally fell into a fitful sleep, the clatter of a carriage on the brick street below her window awoke her. Nerves raw, she sat up and jerked the covers away. No use fighting it—she couldn’t sleep.

  Could it be Grey’s carriage? This early? Oh, surely not. She rushed to the window and held her breath as the driver came round and opened the door. A tall, thin woman in a pale grey and white striped carriage dress exited the vehicle. With military-erect bearing, the woman briskly marched up to the front door and knocked. A girl of around seventeen or eighteen followed her, carrying a valise.

  What the devil?

  Beth grabbed her wrap, pulled it on over her nightdress, ran downstairs and flung the front door open. Her eyes met a washboard-flat chest covered in vertical-striped muslin. She looked up and encountered a pair of sharp, brown eyes in a thin, plain face.

  “I am looking for Miss McConnell?” The woman spoke in a proper English accent.

  “Yes,” Beth said. “I am Miss McConnell.”

  “Good morning, Miss McConnell. My name is Miss Fairchild. Mr Sexton has engaged me to be your lady’s maid.”

  Grey had engaged a lady’s maid for her? For her? Yes, of course, she supposed he would. Her hopes soared. Surely, if he’d made such a step, he still wanted to marry her. “Gre—Mr Sexton is arrived in the city then?”

  “No, Miss, I cannot say. I did not travel with M
r Sexton. I was given my instructions and travel money over two weeks ago and I am told he left shortly thereafter.”

  “He left—” Beth frowned. “Mr Sexton left New York?”

  Well, to the devil with that! He’d left New York weeks ago and not even told her until his terse note from Baltimore. He had not made any effort to keep in touch with her and let her know what he was doing. She’d thought he’d been in New York this entire time until he began his trip back. Yet he’d been on the move since he’d left her. All her letters were likely waiting for him on a silver tray on his desk. Unopened and unneeded. Unwanted.

  “Yes. When I spoke with his valet, Mr Cooper, he mentioned a trip to Salem and on to Cambridge to fetch Mr Sexton’s son. He told me to contact the Sexton business manager if I had any troubles.”

  Beth’s stomach dropped to her cold, bare feet. “Oh.”

  In the time since he’d hired Miss Fairchild, he could still have had second thoughts, hence his lack of communication.

  Of course, he’d refrained from writing. Too honest to pen a false letter, he would wait to tell her in person. A gentleman would do no less.

  Miss Fairchild turned to the girl at her side. “This is Mary, my assistant.”

  Beth forced a smile for Mary, but the girl’s lashes lowered over her large, brown eyes and her lips curved upwards slightly.

  Miss Fairchild’s gaze travelled over Beth. “Madam, have you eaten?”

  Beth shook her head.

  “Well, we must rectify that immediately.” She turned back to the girl. “Mary, find the kitchen and get some tea and breakfast for our lady. Quickly now, quickly.”

  The girl dropped her valise and ran into the house before Beth could give directions. Beth started to follow her, but a hand on her arm stopped her. She looked up over her shoulder at Miss Fairchild.

  “Come now, Madam, you are due at the church at noon and we have much to do,” Miss Fairchild said in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

  * * * *

  The next few hours were spent in a flurry of bathing, powdering, dressing. Beth found herself coughing in a gardenia-scented cloud, her hair bound tightly in curl papers.

  Finally, Miss Fairchild excused herself. “I shall be back very shortly, Madam.”

  Mary followed her out and closed the door. Beth breathed a sigh of relief, but a knocking at the door sent new tension tightening her neck muscles.

  “Yes, enter,” she said.

  It was Polly, thank heaven, one of Mrs Hazelwood’s servants. She wore a frown on her pretty brown face. “Miss Elizabeth, this came for you.”

  She handed Beth an envelope.

  “Thank you, Polly.”

  The young woman hurried away and Beth closed the door, then tore into the wax seal. Instantly, she recognised the barely legible scratches—Joshua’s characteristic horrid script. Her eyes raced over his florid declarations of love hereafter.

  You’ll never be happy with him. You’re too different; he’s a New York man, for God’s sake. He’s too cold for you. He’ll always put business before you.

  Acid lurched up her throat. She tried to force it down.

  She took another glance at the letter then tossed it into the unlit hearth.

  Grey must care for her. He’d gifted her with a near fortune and he’d done it before the wedding, at time when she could still cry off herself. And yet…what did money really mean to one of the richest gentlemen in America? Who was to say he wasn’t regretful about the money too.

  Yet a bequest like that must be a statement.

  All right, so Grey hadn’t written to her. What did it signify?

  Oh, nothing—except she’d thought of naught but him and she hadn’t crossed his mind once, at least not strongly enough to move him to write to her. In a month, not even one single line.

  Suppose he didn’t show up at the church?

  Suppose he did show up, but only to inform her of his change of heart?

  Suddenly, everything she’d eaten that morning came roiling up in her throat. She dropped the note and went rushing for the chamber pot.

  Afterwards, her heart was beating so hard she feared she would faint. She glanced at the clock. Three hours until she had to be at the church. She couldn’t possibly wait three hours. If he no longer wanted her, she wanted to know now. Not at the church.

  But what if he wasn’t even in town? What if—

  Well, then she’d have an answer one way or the other, wouldn’t she?

  She went to the washstand and washed her mouth out—and paused mid-slosh.

  I am not coming to the wedding. I couldn’t bear it. However, if you can’t bear it either, I’ll be waiting in my office. We can leave town immediately. You don’t have to face anyone or explain anything.

  I love you with every fibre of my being. You hold the whole of my future happiness in your hands.

  The closing lines echoed traitorously in her mind. Lines she’d never expected to read.

  Joshua wanted her.

  He loved her.

  He had loved her all this time.

  He would be waiting for her. She spat the water out and rinsed her mouth again until the foul taste of sickness was gone.

  What nonsense. Joshua had abandoned her once before. He had broken her heart.

  But he wanted her now. He was waiting for her…

  She glanced up in the mirror and caught a glance of that foolish girl who had loved Joshua so completely. Her mouth went dry and acrid as copper pennies.

  She ran to her desk and fumbled through her letterbox for some paper. Finding nothing but an old letter, she flipped it over, then yanked the inkwell open. She hurriedly dipped her quill several times over, then wrote in furious, fast letters slanting sideways on the page.

  I must see you. Right away. Else I don’t know what I shall do.

  She underscored the ‘right away’ several times, then folded the paper, ran over and gave the bell pull several jerks. She waited by the door, tapping her foot in manic time.

  A soft knock sounded and she flung the door open. Polly stood there, her large brown eyes wider than ever.

  Beth shoved the note at her. “Please get this to Mr Sexton as quickly as possible.” She gave the address of the little house on Cherry Street. “If he’s not there, then send it to his offices on Water Street.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Are you certain about this?”

  Grey left off tying his cravat and cut his gaze away from his dressing room mirror to where Thomas Watson sprawled in a wingchair.

  “As certain as a man can be about such matters,” Grey replied tersely.

  Will hovered about, fussing with a brush at the already immaculate dark blue jacket hanging on the wooden valet. It was irritating the very devil out of him.

  “Will, go see if Mrs Reilly has any breakfast prepared yet.”

  Will nodded. “Very good, sir.”

  When the door had closed behind the servant, Grey breathed a sigh of relief. He’d got scant little sleep over the past weeks. With the embargo lifted, he felt pressure to personally oversee the launching of each and every available Sexton ship. The coast wasn’t yet blockaded but who knew how long until it would be? And Madison might set another embargo in place at any time.

  He had intended to write to Beth, truthfully he had. But each day his mind had been so consumed with business he’d feared he would be too brisk. What did he know of penning letters to a fiancée? Especially after what had passed between them on the evening of his departure. Day after day, he’d put the matter off. Or worse, he’d been so preoccupied he’d forgotten the matter completely. Damn it, he wasn’t used to having someone else’s feelings to consider.

  Then, suddenly, it had been time to return to Philadelphia. Realising it, he’d suddenly been overcome with a desperate desire to return as quickly as possible. The desire had been so great it had disturbed him. For the sake of his personal discipline, he’d purposely forced himself to bypass Philadelphia and stop in Balt
imore to settle some pending business.

  Thomas cleared his throat. The sound dragged Grey from his thoughts.

  “What?” Grey snapped.

  “When I arrived in town yesterday and heard you had delayed your return, I hoped you’d come to your senses.”

  Grey gave his cravat a couple more tweaks. “I was held over in Baltimore. There were just so many pressing details. People refuse to plan ahead and then, when they do, they refuse to communicate in clear terms. There’s always some crisis.”

  “That’s why other men delegate such matters—especially on the eve of their own wedding,” Thomas said dryly.

  “Other men have lost their businesses with all the war and embargoes. These are difficult times.”

  “Other men aren’t worth what you are worth.”

  “The bigger one’s business is, the further and harder it shall fall when it fails, and the more people will be hurt.”

  Thomas sighed. “Well, you’ve always been stubborn and knotty-headed, there’s no denying it. Take this sudden seriousness over Miss McConnell. Grey, you cannot know her. Not fully, else you wouldn’t dare dream of making her your wife.”

  Well then, here it was. The little drama he’d hoped his friend would have the tact not to enact. Grey turned and slowly, deliberately, folded his arms over his chest as he met Thomas’s gaze. “I know her.”

  “No. You. Don’t.”

  “Thomas, believe me. I know all about her.”

  Thomas cocked a brow. “Oh yes? Tell me honestly, how did you meet her?”

  “Mrs Hazelwood introduced us. She has great affection and esteem for Elizabeth.” He slowed his tongue to better smooth the lie. Mrs Hazelwood had agreed to back this fiction, for Beth’s sake. Of course, he’d told Mrs Hazelwood he’d met Beth at Mrs Bickle’s Inn. He didn’t know if she believed him or only chose to believe him.

  Thomas scoffed loudly. “Of all the ridiculous blather—save that story for others. I know her too—knew her first, I presume. And I certainly didn’t meet her in some polite parlour with an introduction by a society hostess. I first saw her at Mrs Bickle’s Inn. She was playing the piano. Of course she caught my eye—she’s startlingly beautiful. But she seemed a decent girl.”