Allison Lane (27 page)

Fighting back tears, she stumbled from the room.  Plans swirled through her mind, but she couldn’t grab hold of one long enough to consider it.

Where should she go?  And how?

Books.  Symington had offered her money for her books…

But he was a liar.  He wouldn’t help, for his only goal was to force her into marriage.  She would have to find a dealer in London and sell the books herself. 

Would Fosdale prevent her from removing them?  He would ignore Grandfather’s will if it would benefit him, so letting him know that she wanted her inheritance might tell him that the books had value.

Where could she go?

Sadie would be back. 

But that wouldn’t work.  Symington would follow her.  He was as determined as Fosdale, and even more devious.  She had to escape where he could not find her.

Clothes.  How much could she carry?  Fosdale would never allow her to take Aster – and he was still suffering a strain.

How would she get the books away?  Could she slip back later to fetch them?

Questions without answers.  A future in doubt.  Tears streaked her cheeks as she stumbled upstairs and ran into someone.

* * * *

Randolph had stayed out of sight after his second talk with Elizabeth, especially after learning that she had spoken to Sedge.  He could not afford any more lies, not even the half-lies when he sidestepped her questions.

Besides, she needed time to consider his offer without pressure.  And if he saw her, he would have to pressure her.  What would he do if she turned him down again?  He could not imagine life without her.

Needing a distraction, he headed for the drawing room.  Lady Fosdale usually spent the afternoons there.

Elizabeth raced up the stairs and ran into him.

“What happened?” he asked.  Tears flowed down her face.  Fury engulfed him when he spotted the handprint on her cheek.  “Who hit you?”

She recoiled from his touch.  “Go away!”

“Who hit you, Elizabeth?”

“Move out of my way,” she demanded harshly.  “Take yourself out of this house and out of my life!”

“What happened?”  He gentled his tone, for something was seriously amiss.  He hoped to God his suspicions were wrong.

“Odious, deceitful liar.”  She slammed a fist into his chest, adding a few curses for good measure.  “Pack up your fairy tales and your disgusting friend and leave!”

“Elizabeth—”

“No more lies, my lord.”

He closed his eyes.  “You know.”

“When were you planning to tell me?”

“I can explain.”

“Do you think I would believe a word you said?” she demanded.  “You have done nothing but lie since the moment we met.”

“That’s not true.”

“Another lie.  How could you agree to a betrothal without my consent?  You are even more arrogant than Lord Sedgewick.  You never had any doubts that you could wheedle me around, did you?”

“Elizabeth—”

“Don’t bother.  I know this masquerade was your idea.  But this time you lose, my lord.  I will never wed a schemer.  And I’ll never speak to you again.”

She sidestepped him and left.

Randolph stared after her, his heart in his toes.  She was reacting even worse than he had feared.  What had happened? 

Another scream reverberated through the house.  Cecilia.

He had to find Sedge.

* * * *

Elizabeth flung herself across the bed and sobbed, then cursed herself for believing him.  And he wasn’t done with her.  She had seen it in his eyes.  A duke’s heir did not accept defeat.  No matter how hard she fought, he would keep pressing.

Damn him!

And he might yet win.  Only after the dream had crashed in pieces around her feet had she admitted how very much she cared for him.  Her feelings ran far beyond a mere attachment, placing her in more danger than ever before.  He could charm the birds from the trees, seeming to offer everything she had secretly desired.  If he caught her at a moment of weakness, she might forget her vow to become a slave to no man.  But that could only lead to disaster, for the strength of her feelings would only make the pain worse if he turned on her.

She could not remain here another minute.  She would have to take her chances about retrieving her belongings later on.  In the meantime, she would visit Aunt Constance.  No one would suspect her whereabouts when they found Aster still in the stable.  They would waste days checking every cottage and shepherd’s hut in the valley. 

Grabbing a cloak, she fled.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cecilia was shaking with fury when she fled the drawing room.  The nerve of that man, claiming he was Whitfield’s heir when he was nothing but a prankster who enjoyed hurting people!  Her ears still stung from the horrible words he had flung at her.  How dare he speak to a lady like that!

A new thought turned her stomach over, leaving her weak and clammy.  What if the special license had arrived before his deceit was exposed?  Whatever this false Symington believed, Papa would have forced a wedding.  She might have been stuck with him!

She ducked into a room, one hand over her mouth as she fought down nausea.  Several minutes passed before the urge to vomit waned.

What could she do now?  Symington was lost, and she could not tolerate so unprepossessing a fellow anyway.  She could never explain why someone of her beauty had accepted him.  Even a duchy would not compensate, for he hated Town.  His denials had been too vehement to believe it had all been a lie.

She rounded a corner and saw Sir Lewis approaching.

“What is wrong, Cecilia?” he asked quietly.

Suddenly it was all too much.  Shrieking, she threw herself against his shoulder and burst into tears.  Once she started, she couldn’t stop.  Hopelessness for the future overwhelmed her.  She would be stuck in this wretched valley forever, bored and miserable as she watched her beauty fade to nothing.  Her life would be worse than her mother’s, for at least her mother was wed.  But even Lewis wouldn’t want her now.  He hadn’t exhibited the slightest twinge of regret at finding her betrothed to another, proving that her father had forced his offer.  Maybe Elizabeth was right that girls without dowries were unmarriageable.  Just as she’d been right about London gentlemen and a husband’s rights.

Every dream she’d ever had crashed in pieces at her feet.  How was she to survive?  What had she done to deserve such pain?

By the time she regained a semblance of control, she was sitting on Lewis’s lap in the music room.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

“I’m ruined!”  She hiccupped.

“Why?”

“Th-that man lied.  He isn’t Symington.”

“True, but he remains the same gentleman as before.  The name he uses does not affect his character.  He is still intelligent, well-read, and has a charming sense of humor.”

“He vowed to destroy my reputation.”

“You must admit that he has cause,” he reminded her.  “You tried to ruin him.”

“How?  I deserve a good marriage.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do!  I would make a perfect wife!”

“To the right man.  But surely a perfect wife would consider her husband’s interests at least as often as her own and would ask what he deserved.”

She almost swore, but the hand stroking her back distracted her.

“Cecilia, you are very intelligent when you are not in the throes of a fantasy.  So set aside your own desires for the moment and think.  Using people as game pieces doesn’t work.  They have dreams and wills of their own.  Do you honestly believe that trapping a man into marriage will bring you happiness?”

“You know about that?”  She felt a blush creep up her face.

“I know you very well, Cecilia.  And while I cannot condone your behavior, I
can
forgive it, provided you have learned your lesson.”

“H-he called me a dishonorable, conniving little witch.”

“Can you dispute his opinion?”

She twisted to glare at him.

“He had never laid eyes on you before you arranged that scene with your father.”

“H-how do you know what happened?”

He sighed.  “I must admit to a tiny deceit of my own, Cecilia.  I have known Symington and Lord Sedgewick for years, for we attended school together.  Symington told me what happened and asked if I would stay out of it for a time.  He had hoped that his prodding would convince you to withdraw from the arrangement on your own – Elizabeth had told him that you were sensible and intelligent as a rule, and he accepted her word.  But he knew that Fosdale would never release so lucrative a connection.”

“You make us sound horrible.”

“Weren’t you?”

She had to admit that he was right.  To a stranger, her actions were base and her father’s were worse.  “So he made London society sound terrible.  I suppose those were all lies.”

“Gospel, every word.”

“How would you know?”

“Every gentleman visits London at least once.  I have been there.”

“And you never told me?”

“You never asked, and I’ve not been there recently.  Neither has Symington, for he has never enjoyed Town.”

“Then things have undoubtedly changed.”

“Cecilia!”  She looked up at his sharp tone.  “Lord Sedgewick lives in London.  He is one of Society’s darlings, a man half the young bucks scramble to imitate, for he has replaced Brummell as an arbiter of fashion.  He has the power to destroy you with a single flick of his quizzing glass.”

“Another lie.”  She shuddered.

“No, he was speaking as Symington, who does avoid Town.”  He shrugged.  “I suspect that they emphasized the less savory aspects, though.”

“Soot?”

He nodded.

“Dirty streets?”

He nodded.

“Smell?”

“Indoors and out.  Half of Society does not bathe, though to be honest, one doesn’t notice after the first day or two.”

“Rules?”

“Inflexible.”

“Then why do people revere it so?”

“Exclusivity, for one thing.  And Society does offer a glittering array of entertainments, though there is a sameness after a few weeks that dissipates the excitement.  By the end of the Season, exhaustion casts a pall over everything.  It is admittedly special, but your imagination has never been even close to the truth.”

“You could have told me that sooner!”

“I tried, my dear, more than once.  As did Elizabeth.  But admit it.  You refused to listen to anything you did not want to hear.”  He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, catching her by surprise.

“I—  You are right,” she conceded, distracted by the hand that had moved around her hip to caress one thigh.

“Are you ready to leave childish dreams behind and embrace the more rewarding dreams of adulthood?” he asked.

“And what might those be?”  Warmth was radiating from that hand.

“I love you, Cecilia.  The real you that can fret over Mrs. Harris’s agues and the loss of a few sheep, then bring sunshine to the gloomiest day with a simple smile.  You would make me the happiest of men if you would consent to be my wife.”

“Can you really forgive me for this muddle?”

“Yes.  I let you play it out because I wanted you to be happy.  That is still my fondest wish.  I cannot offer you a duchy or a great fortune.  But I can promise love and a more comfortable life than your father provides.  I can promise that you will someday visit London, though home will always be Little House.”  When she hesitated, he continued.  “I would remind you that Fosdale will consider Lord Sedgewick a good catch, for he is quite wealthy and is second in line for a marquessate.”

“The poor man has suffered enough because of me.  I owe him a very great apology, which I will deliver before dinner.”  She drew in a deep breath and met his gaze.  “I love you, Lewis.  If I had not been so arrogantly insistent on silly dreams, I would have seen it sooner.  I gladly accept your offer.”

“Thank God.”  His head dipped to hers.

* * * *

Randolph strode into the drawing room and glared at its occupants.  “What in the name of Hades is going on?”

“Anyone seeing you now would think you already a duke,” said Sedge with a grin.

“My fault, I fear,” put in Crossbridge.

“Where did you come from?” he snarled at the man he had long counted among his friends.

“If I’d had any idea you were here, I would have bitten my tongue off before betraying you, Randolph.  I had business in Whitehaven and thought to break the journey by stopping at Little House.  I haven’t seen Lewis since his father died two years ago.  But one of the wheelers came up lame when we skidded into that mud hole near the Ravenswood gates.”

“Naturally, he recognized me,” added Sedge.  “What a brangle.”

“Elizabeth wants nothing to do with me,” said Randolph grimly.  “And I cannot blame her.  She now believes that every word I spoke was false.  Who told her I had accepted Fosdale’s demands?”

Sedge grimaced.  “I fear I let that particular cat out of the bag when I was delivering a bruising set-down to Cecilia – she threw me over so she could go after you.  I forgot Elizabeth was listening.”

“My apologies,” said Crossbridge.  “I should have asked Sedge why he was posing as you instead of announcing the imposture to everyone in the room.  I hope this has cured me of arrogant assumptions.”

“It is done.  And perhaps it is for the best.  Maybe she will give me a second chance.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” murmured Sedge.

Randolph had to agree.  The truth was bad enough, but learning it like this would have resurrected every fear and vulnerability she had ever possessed.  Should he let her temper cool and approach her after dinner, or should he confront her right now? 

A moment’s thought convinced him that she would not be appearing at dinner.  She knew him too well.  He would never accept this latest rejection.  So he might as well seek her out and get it over with.

Damn!  He had been so close!

Not surprisingly, a rap on her door elicited no response.  He shrugged and opened it anyway, but she was not there.  She had been, though.  He could see the imprint where she had sprawled across the bed.  Running his hand over the coverlet confirmed that she had been crying.