A Delicate Deception

by Cat Sebastian

  “I beg your pardon. Yes, I wrote those letters, but I didn’t know I was writing to your friend, perhaps because he and I both used false names and you did not tell me you had any connection with Pelham Hall. I realize this has all the makings of a French farce, but those letters contain no disparagement, no mockery.” She took a full step back and glared at him. “Is that what you think? I thought you knew me better. What a fool I was to think that you were any different from the rest of them.” And then, drawing herself up, “What are you doing here? Did you follow me home to dress me down in person?”

  He nearly replied that he was on the way to the village with invitations; he even went so far as to reach for the invitation, but arrested the movement, instead brushing some dust off his sleeve. Her tone was so high and mighty; she was every last inch the aristocrat. He must have been out of his mind to think he could have so much as a friendship with her; he must have been out of his mind to even want to. “I thought you were kind. I knew you were flighty and unserious but I thought at least you were kind. I see that I was very much mistaken.”

  “Flighty and unserious,” she repeated, the color rising on her cheeks. “I thought I had received every possible insult. I really did. Flighty and unserious!” She gave a bitter little laugh.

  He took a steadying breath. “You are the way you are and I daresay you can’t change it. What I’m trying to say is that I realize now that whatever passed between us is a matter of little consequence to you. And however disappointed I am—”

  And then—it happened so fast he hardly had time to realize what had transpired, just saw the tears in her eyes and felt the sting in his cheek. She had slapped him. He brought his hand to his face, stunned.

  “Leave, why don’t you?” she snapped. “Why are you still here? You’ve said what you meant to say. Surely that’s enough.” Her voice held a note of rising panic that reminded him of that first time they had spoken, in almost this precise spot.

  Now, his cheek smarting and his heart racing, he felt so far from that moment, so far from the man he had been, so far from the hopes he had later harbored. So far, too, from the man he wanted to be. He didn’t know exactly where he had gone wrong; she, after all, was the one who had revealed herself to be not at all the person he had thought her to be, but if she was looking at him like that, hurt and outraged, her cheeks flushed with anger, he knew he wasn’t blameless. Some part of him wanted to go to her and make things right, but it was too late for that. He turned and walked away, feeling all the while that he had been given a chance to hold an object of immense value, and had chosen instead to cast it on the floor.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amelia’s cheeks were hot with outrage, and that was the final straw. She had spent years perfecting her ability to wipe her face clear of any emotion and Sydney had stripped her of that. She was furious with him, she was furious with the entire world, but most of all she was furious with herself. She didn’t know how she had reached a point in her life where she assaulted a duke’s friend in broad daylight. Even her ultimate disgrace in London hadn’t quite risen to the level of public battery. Every last bit of armor she had constructed over the years was now ragged and useless, and she felt vulnerable and exposed.

  “I slapped Mr. Goddard in the lane,” she said when she returned indoors. Attempting a walk had clearly been a misguided notion. “No, don’t ask, just use your imagination and you’ll get exactly where you need to be.”

  “Are you all right?” Georgiana’s eyes were wide.

  She opened her mouth to reassure her friend that she would be fine, that she was the same as ever. But why even bother? Georgiana could see the evidence for herself, in the tears on Amelia’s face and the color in her cheeks. “No. I’m far from fine. I can’t imagine ever being fine again. I’m afraid I’m going to spend the rest of my life alone in this cottage or in an institution for women with delicate nerves.”

  “Oh, Amelia. I’m so sorry. First of all, you won’t be alone so long as I can draw breath, you absolute idiot. Second—no, be quiet, why in heaven’s name would you think working as a governess a preferable state to sharing a home with my dearest friend—second, nobody will put you in an institution, and I’ll murder them for trying. Third, tell me what transpired between you and Mr. Goddard? You were so fond of him.”

  Amelia told her friend everything, from chance meetings and dog bites to that day in the ruins. Georgiana only offered fresh handkerchiefs and sugary tea.

  “He said I was flighty and unserious and that he believed that what happened between us was of no consequence to me.” Amelia’s eyes pricked again with tears. “As if I’ve ever had the luxury of letting anything be inconsequential. As if I don’t weigh the consequences of every step I take and every word I say, even when I don’t want to. My God, if I could only stop doing that, then maybe I could leave.” She blew her nose. “And then he had the nerve to say I was unkind. He accused us of writing those letters with the design of mocking the duke.”

  “What?” Georgiana squawked. “That’s outrageous. We intended no such thing. He had written a badly researched diatribe and we had a bit of fun poking holes in his argument. He then seemed to amuse himself thoroughly in poking the holes in our badly researched arguments. His letters attacked our position as strenuously as we attacked his. Perhaps Mr. Goddard does not understand that people can amuse themselves by hurling polite insults at one another and accusing one another of sloppy research and utter illogic.”

  Amelia felt heartened. “I don’t think Mr. Goddard understands that people can amuse themselves, full stop. I have no doubt that the duke amused himself greatly in our correspondence. That’s why he invited us—you, rather—to see him. If he thought we were insulting him, he wouldn’t have wished to see us.”

  “And he seemed quite pleased to meet us. I’m afraid that this is a case of Mr. Goddard misunderstanding what amuses his friend.”

  “That’s his problem,” Amelia retorted. “If his first inclination is to blame me rather than open his mouth and ask his friend, then he’s a terrible friend to both me and the duke.”

  “Quite,” Georgiana agreed. “You’ll be well rid of him.”

  Amelia knew her friend was correct, that it was better to see Sydney’s true character sooner rather than later, but she was stunned to have been so wrong. She had thought she could let down her guard with him, even just a little. She had liked him so much—more than merely liked, if she were honest with herself. But she had also thought he knew her and liked her too—such a small and paltry thing, to believe oneself liked, but it hadn’t felt paltry coming from Sydney. She had felt valued, cherished even, which made his scorn and mistrust that much more painful.

  It turned out that if you breathed slowly through your nose and out through your mouth, you could resist the urge to throw a potted fern at the nearest duke.

  Temporarily.

  “I say, Syd,” Lex said in tones of sincere fascination. “You can’t just go around getting yourself slapped by young ladies.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Sydney growled. He had been an idiot to mention it in the first place.

  “I, however, very much want to talk about it. Enlighten me. Did you give her a slip on the shoulder? Make her an indecent proposal?” Lex asked, riveted. “I didn’t think mousy spinsters were in your line.”

  “She isn’t a mousy spinster,” Sydney protested. “She has red hair and she can’t be five-and-twenty. Nothing mousy or spinsterish about her.” Now Lex was smiling much too broadly. “She covered her hair when she visited you,” Sydney clarified. “It was all part of her deception.”

  “Bonnets do cover the hair,” Lex said slowly. “That’s what they do. That’s how hats work. Besides, you can’t go around getting assaulted by every redheaded girl you meet, for heaven’s sake. Don’t know how they do things in Manchester but it’s just not done in decent society.”

  “I’m so glad to amuse you,” Sydney said through clenched teeth.
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br />   “Quite excessive of you,” Lex went on, ignoring him. He was enjoying this far too much. “One may be assaulted by at most a third of the redheaded girls one meets. Anything more speaks of a character flaw.”

  “I did not set out to get myself assaulted by anyone of any gender or hair color.”

  “Is she pretty?” Lex asked.

  “That is not the point,” Sydney answered.

  Lex hummed with interest. “It’s going to be terribly awkward at dinner. Frankly, I can’t wait.”

  Sydney looked heavenward. “You can’t really mean for me to host that dinner now?”

  “Please tell me where else in the nation I’m likely to find a wife who is not only conversant in the finer points of English history, but finds arguing about it amusing enough to write me meticulously researched twice-monthly letters?”

  “They were making sport of you! And what on earth are you talking about? Wife?”

  Lex waved a dismissive hand. “We were making sport of one another. I daresay my letters to them were even more objectionable than those they wrote me. My secretary did warn me I was only spurring her on, but that was the point of the game.”

  “You call it a game,” Sydney protested. “This is rich people nonsense. Normal people don’t act like that.” He fiercely suppressed the possibility that Lex was correct, that Amelia had meant no harm—because if she hadn’t then he had gravely insulted her for no reason.

  “Andrew did,” Lex pointed out.

  Sydney bristled at the comparison. “He was an outlier.”

  “You’re being exceptionally stupid about this. Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Not especially, thank you.”

  “I think you fell in love with this girl. And for whatever reason, she ignored you or thought you were ignoring her, and now you have it in your head that she’s some kind of harpy or jezebel.”

  “She’s neither of those things!”

  “Precisely,” said Lex, unreasonably smug. “You behaved like an ass, she slapped you, and any reasonable man would have already arrived at her house with flowers and an abject apology. The only reason you haven’t, is that you’re pretty sure she’d throw both the flowers and the apology back in your face.” His tone gentled, and that more than anything braced Sydney for what was to come. “Things do end, Syd, but that isn’t any reason not to start them in the first place.”

  “You’re talking nonsense,” Sydney said.

  “You really are a curmudgeon.” Lex’s voice returned to its usual acerbity, thank God. “Have you not smiled once since your brother died? I did worry about you. Ought to have made you visit me sooner. Poor Syd. I bet your eyebrows are doing that thing they do.”

  “They’re doing nothing at all,” he snapped. Was Lex intent on discussing all Sydney’s least favorite topics? He didn’t want to think of the past two years since Andrew’s death. He had worked, and that was satisfying in its way. He hadn’t been particularly happy, but he had chalked that up to missing his brother. And he had missed Andrew, of course he had, but he saw now that he had been missing something else—joy, maybe. Something sweet and sharp that he felt when he saw Leontine tinkering with a clock, or when Lex ribbed him, or when—every minute he spent with Amelia, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that. Whatever it was, he didn’t need it, didn’t want it. It was something for other people. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to what Lex had been saying a minute earlier. “Why are you looking for a wife?” He knew that Lex was never attracted to women, but also that marriages had been formed without a basis of attraction. Perhaps now that Lex’s brothers had all died, he thought he needed an heir.

  “Previously, I had always supposed that any woman I’d be fond enough of to endow with all my worldly goods and also endure at the breakfast table wouldn’t deserve a husband indifferent to her charms. But I’ve found a woman of good family and learning who enjoys arguing with me and may even be willing to exchange marital happiness for an obscene settlement. I intend to woo Miss Russell.”

  “Of course,” Sydney said, burying his face in his hands. “Of course you don’t want to marry someone you like, and who likes you. How stupid of me to think otherwise. But there’s a flaw in your plan.” There were a dozen flaws, but Sydney would content himself with the one. “Georgiana didn’t write those letters. Amelia did. I’ve, ah, had occasion to see the lady’s writing.”

  “You’re a master of euphemism, Sydney. I assume you mean you were exchanging billets-doux with the young lady. How roguish of you. Shocking. Besides, I daresay they did it together,” Lex said, unconcerned. “It’s precisely the sort of mischief young ladies would get up to. Sometimes I forget you don’t have sisters. I daresay, if participating in a jest about Plantagenet history is the sort of thing Miss Russell does for amusement, then we’ll get along splendidly. As for Miss Allenby, a woman of her predilections can be forgiven for enjoying a bit of a lark with regard to her area of expertise, such as it is.”

  “Miss Allenby’s predilections?” he repeated.

  “She is Amelia Allenby.” At Sydney’s uncomprehending stare, he continued. “The authoress of several exceptionally silly historical novels. Imagine Sir Walter Scott, but if every woman in English history dabbled in witchcraft or murder. You really didn’t know?”

  “I knew she wrote but I haven’t read—I don’t read novels,” he finished stiffly.

  “Lucky you, I’ve sent Carter out to get me her books. You can begin reading them to me tonight. It’s a pity I can’t marry Amelia Allenby herself. But, alas, the lady’s affections would appear to be engaged elsewhere,” he said pointedly. “Besides, I’m not here to litigate my marital intentions. I want to contract a marriage on as fair a basis as a man in my circumstances can. I want children.”

  “You realize not all marriages result in children, don’t you?” Sydney managed when he had recovered his senses.

  “Are you saying my lady wife will not effortlessly pluck a baby from the cabbage patch?” He flung a biscuit in the general direction of Sydney’s head. “Give me some credit, Sydney. I want to give myself a fighting chance to have a family. Surely you can understand that.”

  Lex could not have come up with a word more suited to play upon Sydney’s sympathies. Family was precisely what had been lost in the fire—Andrew and Penny, their expected child. Both Lex and Sydney had lost their families that day. Maybe this was a way to make it right. Maybe he would remember this summer as the time he had met Leontine and helped Lex find happiness, rather than the time he had finally understood that he was not to have that sort of happiness for himself.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the next day, Amelia had progressed from confusion and sorrow to incandescent rage. When she heard a knock on the cottage door she was prepared to answer it for the mere satisfaction of slamming it shut again. When she flung open the door, her cheeks were already hot with anger, and only got hotter when she saw Mr. Goddard standing before her. He was composed of fifty percent shoulders and fifty percent stern disapproval and she didn’t want any of it.

  “No,” Amelia said, already moving to shut the door. “There’s nothing left for you to say. Take yourself off. Certainly not.”

  “I came to apologize for misjudging your motives in writing to my friend,” Mr. Goddard said. “I can do that by shouting at you through a closed door or at a normal volume like a civilized person. The choice is yours.”

  “I don’t want your apology, whether it be shouted, whispered, or delivered in semaphore. You can take your apology and”—no, she was not going to be vulgar, this man did not deserve the satisfaction—“put it in your pipe and smoke it.”

  “I see,” Mr. Goddard said through clenched teeth, then let out a breath.

  “No you don’t. What I’m saying is that your apology does me no good. It doesn’t undo what you said. If you think yesterday was the first time anyone has thought the worst of me, you’re as innocent as a baby. You’re probably only here to make yo
urself feel better, and I don’t care in the least how you feel. I can’t think of anything I care about less.” As she delivered this speech, she watched a flush rise in Mr. Goddard’s cheeks. He passed his hand over his beard in a gesture of frustration so familiar she was outraged: how dare he resemble that man she had cared about. This unfeeling, unthinking, insensitive brute was a stranger.

  “I have an invitation from the duke,” he said, very much in the tone of a man striving for patience. “It’s for dinner Thursday night.” From his coat pocket, he produced a folded rectangle of ivory paper and held it out to her.

  “I don’t want that either,” she said, shaking her head in wonder that this was the man she had thought she might be falling in love with. “Give the duke our regrets, if you please.”

  He opened his mouth to speak and snapped it shut again, as if thinking better of what he planned to say. As she watched, his chest rose and fell for the count of four breaths. It was a pity that she knew how his shoulders and chest felt against her palms, how up close he was somehow even broader and larger than he seemed halfway across a room. He passed one of his absurdly large hands across the scruff of his beard.

  “Did you tell the duke that you suspected us of making sport of him?” she asked. She still had a hand on the door, ready to shut it in his face.

  “Of course I did,” he said, plainly affronted. “I’m not in the habit of keeping secrets from friends.”

  Well, that certainly put her in her place. She supposed she had never been his friend, then. Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he winced. “I didn’t deliberately—”

  “I’m not interested,” she said crisply. “I am surprised that you invite us despite your poor estimate of our characters.”

  “The duke invited you because he enjoys discussing history. He doesn’t get much of an opportunity for it. I advised him not to invite you, considering what passed between us, but he disagreed, and I’m doing him the favor of delivering his invitations.”