His Forbidden Debutante (18 page)

She was close enough to touch, though some shred of sensibility warned it would be a poor choice, so he studied her instead. By damn, she looked glorious in her indignation. A silky lock had worked loose from her coif and now rested on her forehead. How he yearned to press his lips to it. Blue eyes flashed like sparks behind her spectacles, which during her rampage had slipped to the end of her delicate nose and now remained slanted at an endearing angle.

Blast.

Without further consideration he touched the brass rim with his pointer finger and righted the spectacles, easing them to their proper position. ‘Allow me.’ He offered a brief smile at her sharp intake of breath. ‘That’s better,’ he pacified. ‘I wouldn’t want them to befall a tragic mishap, crushed under my heel, or worse, drowned within a ratafia bowl.’

He meant to charm or at the least relieve the tension marring her expression, but as he completed the comment, her eyes widened, her face thunderstruck with a mixture of astonishment and recognition.

‘What?’ She gasped as if she desperately needed air. ‘What did you say?’ Her urgent whisper enunciated each word carefully, as if by handling them too roughly they might shatter.

He smiled in earnest now. ‘I knew someone once who sneezed so hard her spectacles landed in the ratafia bowl. The idea has always amused me. I thought to offer our situation the same levity.’ He paused, assessing the maelstrom of emotion flickering across her face. ‘And it seemed a clever thing to say in hope you wouldn’t launch something else in my direction.’

She dragged in a long breath before her lips curled in a tentative smile, eyes bright with delight and revelation. ‘Randolph?’

She laughed with the question, though her husky whisper skittered through him with abject recognition.

‘You… you are Randolph Caulfield?’

It was his turn to express astonishment. ‘Lavinia?’ He drew a sharp inhale. ‘Livie is not Olivia? Livie is Lavinia?’

‘My childhood nickname, the moniker only used by my friends.’ Joy laced the words.

‘But your letters… you signed the latter,’ he insisted, his brain working feverishly to unravel the tangle.

‘We were strangers at first, then afterward, when we weren’t, I wished to appear mature, not tagged with a girlish pet name.’ Her voice dropped low and muted, emotion taking hold.

‘And you didn’t desire the same when we spoke near the edge of the Serpentine and you introduced yourself?’
How could this be?

‘I wasn’t capable of thinking of anything clearly then. You stood so close, your attention solely focused on me. I’m surprised my legs didn’t give way.’ A soft bloom of colour pinkened her cheeks with the admission and her eyes searched his face, her brows drawn to a pinch at the centre. ‘But you are Penwick? How did my letters reach you here in Essex when you possess a title and location in London?’

‘I inherited the title unexpectedly and with great urgency.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘I explained it all in my last letter, but the message was returned. When I travelled to the Shropshire address, no one would talk to me. They protected you with vehemence.’

‘You went to my home?’ Her brows climbed high.

‘I tried to find you.’ He fought the lump in his throat, though the words came out riddled with emotion. He placed his hand on her arm with gentle entreaty. ‘I needed to find you.’

‘I often wondered…’ A tear slipped down her cheek.

‘Lavinia.’ Saying the word aloud was exhilarating and he dared to smooth the tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. ‘We cannot discuss this in the hallway of the inn. Where is your maid? We have so much to say to each other. Please.’ For the length of a heartbeat he worried she might refuse.

‘I travelled alone.’ She trembled under his touch. ‘I meant to find you here in Essex or say goodbye to your memory forever.’

‘The very devil, I experienced the same thinking, though I knew it would prove futile.’ He stepped backwards, though he had yet to remove his hand from her arm. She glanced over her shoulder where her bag remained on the floor.

‘Come inside. We’ll sort this out. I’m still recovering from the shock of discovering you near my childhood home when I would have searched the boundaries of the earth to find you.’ He’d reached the door of his rented rooms and waited for her response.

‘I could never. I’m unchaperoned and…’ She stepped back and moved to reclaim her bag, but he proved quicker and once he’d secured the valise returned to his prior position.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. After all we’ve shared, you act as if you don’t understand my intentions. With none the wiser, there’s no scandal to be had.’ He twisted the knob and placed her valise inside the doorframe. ‘You can’t believe I’d behave a wolf upon a lamb.’

‘I never said that.’ She stepped closer, her words unsure. ‘But I couldn’t enter your rooms. It’s unseemly and improper. We should go down to the breakfast room.’

The shuffling footfall of guests ascending the stairs grabbed their attention and they glanced towards the approaching conversation, male and female voices mixed in jovial conversation. Sparse lighting provided a fair degree of anonymity but it wouldn’t protect them were the guests to proceed much further. A door closed and a burst of conversation echoed in the corridor to add another precipitant reminder of the circumstance.

‘Surely you must have questions. I have an innumerable list of enquiries, most of a personal nature and not to be shared in a public dining room.’ He leaned against the doorframe and eyed her in wait. Myriad thoughts and sentiments bombarded his brain. He could only focus on one central intention, to sit in a quiet place and discover all there was to know about Lavinia Montgomery because he would never have predicted he’d find himself in this happenstance. The prospects appeared lovely. ‘Standing in the corridor at the door to my room, without shoes, while I carry your travelling bag does not speak kindly to your reputation.’

A handsome couple in travelling clothes rounded the far hall and moved in their direction. The burden of too many luggage pieces slowed their progression, yet a decision had to be made. He canted his head towards the door and offered a slow smile.

‘Just for a few minutes, Randolph.’

He suspected he saw the glint of a smile as he unlocked the knob and ushered Livie inside.

Surely her heart would burst from its hammering beat. But no, she would not be denied the opportunity to experience the unbelievable circumstance of meeting Randolph Caulfield, apparently the Earl of Penwick, inside his rooms. Her legs must be healed for they continued to offer support across the threshold and into the small sitting room, though her knees grew weaker with each step. Her eyes flitted to each of the inn’s sparse walls, the furniture economical, a plain table with wash basin, matching chair and neatly made bed.

All at once, emotion reigned. What was she doing? She’d left a note, travelled to Essex and now found herself conflicted, confused and overwhelmed. Every message, sentiment and memory flooded through her with more force than she could manage, warring with the knowledge she held quiet. Oh, the conversations they’d shared, the musings and wishes they’d confessed. Now he was here, embodied in the same man she’d dreamed about since their unlikely meeting in the dance hall. But he would never be hers, would he? She turned as he came from closing the door and searched his face for insight to his feelings.

‘Please. Sit down.’

He indicated a ladder-back chair near a side table and she welcomed the opportunity to collect herself, though he barely allowed her a breath to relax.

‘What happened? Why did you stop writing? I… I nearly went mad wondering what I had done to cause you to no longer speak to me.’ He implored an answer, the urgency in his question prompting her to rush to his side.

‘No. You did nothing.’ In a bold gesture, she placed her hand upon his and he breathed deep at her touch. ‘I suffered a terrible accident. My parents perished and I was injured, so much so I lost the ability to walk.’ He clenched her hand in comfort but did not interrupt. ‘I couldn’t write to you at first. I was…’ She faltered, embarrassed and ashamed to admit she had been unable to care for herself, but the truth needed to be told else he’d believe her feelings had wavered. ‘I was at a loss to achieve even the smallest tasks independently. We’d talked of dancing and running through wildflower fields or riding into the ocean spray at Brighton, and all of a sudden I could no longer walk across the room without the support of my nurse. Once my legs began to heal, I begged my heart to do the same, but it proved stubborn and obstinate, refusing to lock out the memories we’d created within letters. I kept them all, rereading each one, and at the same time vowing to forget you. From there, it’s been a long road of hard work to stand upon my two feet and reclaim independence.’

‘Livie. I’m so sorry. Your parents.’ He enveloped her hand, keeping it safely tucked within his. ‘And what you experienced − it never occurred to me there could be a grave reason for your silence. I believed too readily I’d done something undesirable and with little success attempted to recall every word of my previous letter, wondering what I might have said to offend you. I’d grown accustomed to our clever conversations and attached importance to your kind words. Somehow I wove it all into a relationship, one which I regarded with great fondness.

‘When no more letters were forthcoming, I believed I’d alienated you. Soon after, my life took a decided turn and I inherited the title. It happened quickly and I’m distraught to admit I welcomed the responsibility and burden for no other reason than to keep my emotions at bay and mind occupied. But late at night I could not find sleep for wondering what had happened to you…’ He swallowed and she watched his throat, finding her way to his mouth, waiting for his words as she’d waited for his letters. ‘They were very long nights indeed.’

Tears coursed down her cheeks. Sorrow for the bare emotions they shared, the accident, her parents, the impairment that had held her captive for so long, and all the while, Randolph suffered, never knowing how much she yearned for him in return. She must work to ease his mind. ‘I left Shropshire soon after the accident and, with my sister, Wilhelmina, came to live in London at my Aunt Kate’s home.’

He blinked twice with the information, a confounded expression squaring his jaw. ‘I too came to London to bear the responsibilities of the earldom, though I confess I remained lost and used your letters as a crutch instead of putting them behind me, as was the plan. I’d convinced myself our conversation would become a real relationship, and with my uncertainty in the new role, I wished by the minute for you to accompany me each step of the way. You’d always reassured me and instilled confidence through your thoughtful encouragement and personable address. And all the while you were in London, closer than I dared imagined.’

She remained in her stockings, their difference in height more noticeable now that she’d inched closer, the confession of their unexpected upheavals to life’s normalcy a newly formed bond to combine with the plethora forged through correspondence.

‘It’s more than a little fantastical, our introduction by chance and the change of circumstance hence, most especially our meeting today.’ She knew what she had to say but the words stuck to her tongue like a cold lump of porridge. ‘And now you’re poised to change your situation again with marriage to Claire Allington.’

His eyes flared, her words unexpected, before a shadow of sincere sadness clouded his face, so much so she immediately regretted the words despite they needed to be confronted.

‘I wasn’t aware you knew.’ He shook his head upon hearing his statement and squeezed her hand tighter. ‘Of course not. That doesn’t make sense. How did you come by the information?’

‘The how of it matters little.’ She parried, fighting a piercing surge of emotion.

‘It’s not what you believe it to be.’ His voice dropped low as if he confessed a secret or perhaps revealed a shade of the truth he never thought to disclose.

‘It’s the why of it that breaks my heart. Why?’ She no longer tried to control her upset. ‘Why were we brought together by the most unlikely predicament and then pulled apart by mishap, only to be reunited when you are no longer able to…’ How to finish that sentence? Fulfil her girlish hopes? Hold her heart? He’d accomplished that already. She could never speak his mind when she barely knew her own.

‘I proposed to Claire out of purpose, an attempt to reorganise my life and beget a much-needed heir… and stop lamenting the vision of what I might have discovered with you, Lavinia.’

They stood close, almost touching, but she wouldn’t dare, her emotions as fragile as spun sugar. Tears filled her eyes and overflowed. She needed to leave. She’d gained too many answers yet she hadn’t journeyed farther than the inn. Mayhaps Fate intruded once again, proving imprudent dreaming was disguised as wishful thinking.

‘Don’t cry.’

He cupped her face with gentle caution and she didn’t move except to close her eyes against resurrected hope. But no, she must say her piece. Blinking into clarity, she began. ‘I always wondered what you looked like. I stared at your words, noting the strong slant of the letters, the elegant curve, intrigued by the man who produced such engaging conversation, commanded language and clever quips to perform, no matter they were committed to ink and parchment. Your words held voice and emotion and how I burned to know your face, and now…’ She touched his cheek, smoothing her fingertips across his jaw, pausing when her thumb reached the peak at his upper lip. ‘I could never have imagined you better.’

He smiled and she felt the curvature of his grin wrap around her heart.

‘This can’t be ironic happenstance. We will be together. I won’t have it any other way.’

His words were a misplaced vow, but how easy to believe. She fought a wave of resurging expectation and clenched her eyes tight, confused by the complex rush of emotion. The heat of his palms against her skin and scent of his cologne worked to weaken her resistance and instigate the image of their glorious kiss at the opera. Her lips parted on the tiniest sigh and then she wasn’t remembering his kiss, but tasting it, feeling, revelling in the wondrous magic of his mouth upon hers.