His Forbidden Debutante (17 page)

The time spent riding brought a relaxed resolve, and once he’d offered Viceroy to the stable hand at the inn’s facility, Penwick affirmed he’d made a quality decision. After reserving quarters in the private wing of the inn, he set off on foot down the uneven dirt road to view the home of his youth, a half mile from the centre of town.

He never expected the scene that met his eyes as he rounded a bend in the roadway. The large manor existed as nothing more than a burnt shell of beams and charred broken frame, his former home victim to a consuming fire. With sadness in his heart he walked towards the forsaken plot and came to a stop where the paperbark had once stood, faithful and patient, his dependable comrade. It, too, had succumbed to whatever tragedy ravaged the property, now nothing more than a blackened stump, a concrete omen he needed to extinguish his unsettled feelings. With a heavy heart he considered the loss of fond memories.

He’d helped his father manage their modest estate, ride the property, visit tenants and settle issues to things to right. Some would call it a simple way of life, but it had proved effective and satisfying.

Without a doubt he needed to relinquish the past, move forward and, most of all, discard the cursed letters which prevented his future happiness. He shook his head with gravity. Was it all an excuse, a convenient wall of protection he used as handily as his kiss with Livie? There was no way to rationalise his obsessive desire for her. She consumed his thoughts, waking and asleep.

If ever there had existed ambivalence on his part, the slightest notion or harboured hesitation with the chaos of thought which consumed him, it vanished, the choice clear. He could never marry Claire, or worse, condemn her to a life of compromise with a husband who married out of a sense of duty. She deserved better. Perhaps he did, too.

He propped one foot on the tree stump, the burnt wood polished clean by rain and weather, unsure how long he waited there until, more than a little disillusioned, but confidently resolved, he walked back to the inn in search of dinner and a glass of brandy.

Livie nabbed Esme’s hand as she manoeuvred across the noise-filled ballroom, dragging her friend through clusters of guests and attentive servants, her goal the terrace. The same terrace where she’d hoped to invite the Earl of Penwick and enjoy his heavenly kiss. But no, with the hour at half two, and her celebration nearing its finish, she no longer anticipated his appearance.

Oh, it had proved an enchanting evening in every aspect. She’d danced to each jovial number, smiled at countless handsome gentlemen and conversed with presumptuous dowagers to acknowledge their sage advice. She’d collected introductions with gratitude and met every expectation for her come-out but for one blaring malignity which made her heart ache with disappointment.

Penwick hadn’t shown.

‘Wait.’ Esme tugged hard on Livie’s hand in an attempt to free herself. ‘I’ll follow you, just don’t walk so fast. I can’t keep up.’

Livie answered by opening the French doors to the terrace, relieved no one had entertained the same idea and stolen outside for an embrace. Most guests had already taken leave, the fruit and dessert course finished long before, the musicians’ schedule of dance tunes completed. Conversation continued, as well as discreet socialising in the card room for the elder guests and gentlemen who had tired of the function, but overall, everyone knew the party approached conclusion. Livie held on to hope until midnight, relinquishing her last dance with a despairing sigh.

‘Perhaps he became ill.’ She whirled on Esme who shut the terrace doors with care. Her words, weak and wondering, did little to convince her heart.

‘It’s possible.’ Esme frowned with empathy, wishing to comfort. ‘Have you asked Dashwood? Could Penwick have sent a note and no one noticed due to the preparations? The house has been turned upside down for days in arrangement of this event. Your sister probably wouldn’t think to mention it with all the festivities and fanfare.’

‘That is a possibility.’ A hopeful smile dared lift her mouth. ‘And I know exactly where to find my brother-in-law.’ She hugged Esme, then fled the terrace down the hall to the study where she knew to find Dashwood, not one to enjoy social functions, especially overlong celebrations within his home. She barely knocked before entering and, much as she suspected, Dash sat behind his formidable desk, a ledger or some book of importance opened on the blotter.

‘Is something wrong?’ He stood, at once anxious to assist if a problem existed.

‘No. Not at all.’ She moved to a chair and caught his eye as she sat, a graceful shrug well placed to convince she told the truth. ‘My debut has been everything I’ve imagined. I cannot thank you enough for making this night more magical than I deserve. I know the event has been an inconvenient undertaking in many ways.’

Dash returned her smile and took his seat. ‘You deserve every flower and sweet, Livie. Whimsy and I are thrilled to celebrate with you. The two of you have experienced so much hardship these past few years, a celebration was long overdue. Your sister worked tirelessly to make this evening memorable.’

‘As did you,’ she insisted with a firm nod.

‘I can’t accept credit. Your sister and aunt did all the work.’ Dash chuckled with the admission.

‘But you invited the Earl of Penwick, didn’t you?’ Her eyes locked to his, although she already knew the explanation would not please and she watched his jaw harden as if he deliberated his words carefully.

‘I did not.’ His words were spoken matter-of-factly, though the three syllables slammed into her like individual blows.

‘What do you mean?’ She rose from the chair, her voice climbing an octave in kind.

‘Sit down and I will explain. It is unpleasant, but you should understand, since I suspect you’ve pinned some Arcadian hope to the Earl’s appearance.’ All kind emotion left his face.

‘Of course I have. It was my one request.’ Emotion, the traitorous instigator, caused her voice to tremble.

‘Sit down, and when you do I will explain why I decided against the invitation.’ Gone was her brother-in-law who enjoyed a teasing word or clever jest at her expense.

She acquiesced and held her breath in wait.

‘I’m uncertain what type of relationship you’ve formed with the Earl. When I questioned Whimsy she assured me you’d not been introduced and possessed no idea of any interest beyond your mention at breakfast the other morning.’

Livie inhaled sharply, set to interrupt, but thinking better of proposing an objection. It mattered little if he’d conferred with Whimsy. She wanted to hear why the invitation was left unsent when she’d assigned blithe anticipation to Penwick’s arrival. Minute by minute she’d counted the hours and watched the door for his entry. Her heart pined, stealing enjoyment from her debut as anticipation mounted to a critical climax, only to be left empty and broken in the end. She laced her fingers together on her lap and remained silent.

‘I assume you met under unlikely circumstance, but what you may not know is that Penwick is engaged to be married.’

She leaned forward as if she could stop any more words from coming from his mouth, then bolted from the chair as if she was burnt by a stray ember. ‘That can’t be correct.’

‘Livie.’ Dash extended his hand in her direction, beseeching her to pause and listen. ‘Let’s discuss this.’

‘You must be mistaken. He would have mentioned his impending commitment. He wouldn’t have…’ Her voice trailed off as she worried the end of the satin sash at her waist. Her mind spun with every word of their brief conversations, every intentional glance, and the exquisite touch of his mouth upon hers only one night past. With certainty, he was as affected as she.

‘I’m sorry to distress you on this special night. I haven’t shared what I’ve learned with your sister and, up to this point, hoped it all wouldn’t matter in the end, but then you came in and questioned me.’ His voice gentled as he stood, meaning to soothe. ‘Won’t you sit down so we can talk about it?’

‘Tell me the all of it.’ Her direct demand made his brows rise, though he remained silent several moments longer.

At last he spoke and she could tell he took no joy in the telling. ‘Penwick is committed to Claire Allington, the daughter of Bertram Allington, the owner of the jeweller’s shop where we purchased your gift.’

She splayed her palm flat over the butterfly brooch at her shoulder.

Dash cleared his throat, seemingly troubled by what he intended to say. ‘It was coincidence that we happened to be in the store when Penwick entered, although now that you’ve come to me expressing concern, I’ll need you to tell me where you conversed with the Earl and what type of friendship you share. If Penwick has done anything untoward…’

She watched Dashwood’s face harden, his hand clenched into a fist at his side and she took another step backward at the same time he rounded the desk.

‘Livie, wait. You look pale. Let me call your sister.’ His voice gentled though his eyes gleamed with intent.

‘I’m fine, thank you. It’s been an exhausting day and the hour is late. I’m tired, that’s all. Please extend my apologies to any guests who remain in the ballroom.’ The words sounded wooden but she didn’t wait for further discussion, rushing from the study and up the backstairs to her bedchamber. She’d almost accomplished the flight before tears overflowed. What a fool she was to mistake a kiss for a promise. A silly goosecap of a girl who yearned to be considered an adult and yet misread a gentleman’s intent, caught up in imagination and regret. She never felt more foolish, more hopeless and helpless.

She twisted the knob and entered her room, pausing only to lock the door before settling on the stool at her dressing table to examine her face in the light of the bedside lantern. She
was
pale, her eyes haunted, her expression stricken. No wonder Dash had become alarmed. Her desolate appearance furthered her despair and she let the tears come, great wracking sobs, not just mourning her stupidity and misplaced hope, but the piercing disappointment and wasted time, until she wrapped her arms around her middle, overcome by emotion, and emptied her stomach all over her new party slippers.

But no matter her exhaustion, sleep wouldn’t come and, after hours of unrest, she rose before dawn with an idea that begged attention. Lighting the bedside lantern, she padded to her dresser and opened the rosewood box where she kept Randolph’s letters. With no intention to read the contents, she stuffed the first letter on the pile into her reticule and changed from her night rail into a day gown before gathering the required needs for an overnight stay. She retrieved the small travelling valise kept under her bed, emptied it of shoes, and organised her clothing with care, refilling the interior with two days’ worth of necessities. She penned a brief explanation for Wilhelmina and set it in the front receiving room window niche upon her sister’s treasured commonplace book, a certain discovery location. Then, with noiseless steps, she left through the front door and hurried to the hackney stand to begin her journey to Essex.

Two hours later she approached her destination, determination and surety in place. Last evening, when she’d conversed with Dash, she’d overreacted, engaged in emotion, forbidden excitement and peaked anticipation. Perhaps the promise of it all had proved too much. Now, poised to put everything behind her, she planned to confront Randolph and discover what had happened to cause his letters to cease. If only she’d had the courage to explore this option months ago. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have offered her heart to a despicable man like Penwick.

The hackney pulled to an abrupt stop, halting her self-flagellation. Through the streaked window she viewed a modest inn across the roadway, as good a decision as any. With hope there would be a room available for one night. She paid the driver, gathered her bag, and set about resolving her past.

Chapter Fourteen

Last night I dreamed I danced with you. I almost didn’t allow myself to tell you, and hope you don’t think me fanciful. I’ve never had lessons as my parents are not much for the city and all its social gatherings, but I do watch the steps and memorise their order whenever the opportunity presents itself. My father teases I have two left feet, but he doesn’t know how much I practise in front of the pier glass. Someday I will make him proud as I waltz across a ballroom. I love my parents dearly.

Your father sounds a convivial sort. My father has been suffering for a time. The doctors share little explanation for his trouble, though their expressions when they visit his bedside reveal much more. Still, he’s a strong man and I’ve learned much working at his side. It’s difficult to see him ailing and I ably assist where I’m needed. I wouldn’t want him to tax himself. The country air can only be of good for whatever sickness plagues him.

Penwick tested the knob to secure it was locked and stepped into the hall. A hearty breakfast with strong black coffee was just the thing before he returned to London. Perhaps this overnight stay existed as yet another distraction, but seeing the tangible destruction of his past, nothing more than a skeleton of ash and charred wood, convinced he should at last get on with future plans.

He pivoted, confidence sharp, and froze with a jolt of shock as he locked eyes with the only other person in the corridor.

‘You.’ The vehement accusation resounded within the empty second-floor hall. ‘You despicable man.’ Her bag dropped to the floorboards with an emphatic thud. ‘How is this possible? My life is cruel.’

He watched as Livie raised her hands in fluster, as if choosing from an assortment of reactions, before she leaned down and removed her slipper, propelling it in his direction with considerable force.

‘Livie? What the devil?’

The shoe fell short of its goal, bouncing at an awkward angle to settle against the wall, the heel broken free, but only the foolish would not pay heed. She rushed a step, realised her difficulty and removed the right shoe, this time the slipper better aimed. The heel struck his shoulder before it skittered to an end on the carpet.

‘Stop this foolishness.’ Retrieving her slippers as she advanced in a flurry of skirts, he matched eyes and stifled a chuckle at her adorable hostile greeting. ‘What has instigated this ambush by way of silk slipper?’