Lady Dearing's Masquerade (25 page)

She nodded and they seated themselves.

“What a wretched business,” Bromhurst fumed, once she’d put him in possession of the facts. “I knew no good could come of this!”

“Blaming me will do no good.” Livvy raised her chin. “We need to decide what to do about Sir Digby.”

Bromhurst frowned.

“You do not expect Lady Dearing to comply with this—this
creature’s
demands?” asked Lady Bromhurst indignantly, with a look of unexpected sympathy toward Livvy.

“Of course not.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I wish we had not come to such a pass, but you were right to come to us. You have not told Jeremy anything, have you?”

“No. All he has is the letter I mentioned.”

Bromhurst remained silent for a few more moments. “I think I know what may be done to put an end to Sir Digby’s schemes,” he said, with grim satisfaction.

“You do?” she and Lady Bromhurst asked almost in unison.

Bromhurst looked at Livvy compassionately. “Sir Digby will be stopped, but you must understand that I cannot afford to risk more such problems. You must make an end to it, Lady Dearing.”

“You cannot mean—you do not wish me to cry off?”

“Yes, that is what I mean.”

“How can you say that?” she protested. “After all Jeremy has suffered with his first wife . . . Is there no way? Does his happiness mean nothing to you?”

Lady Bromhurst made a small choking sound.

“His happiness is why I wish I’d never allowed him to go to Rosemead Park,” said Bromhurst. “I should have known he’d try to make a noble fool of himself over you! It’s hopeless, my dear. I’m sorry to say . . . but quite hopeless.”

“How can you be so sure? Jeremy is not a fool; he is well versed in the art of persuasion. If he believes we can overcome this, why can you not help us?”

“Forgive me, I don’t mean to be unkind. But if Jeremy did spend a night with you, or even made you his mistress, people would gossip but many would view it as a regrettable but understandable peccadillo.”

“Hmmph.”

Livvy turned her head and saw Lady Bromhurst glaring at her husband.

“However,” Lord Bromhurst continued, his face reddening a little. “If Jeremy took you as his wife it would be seen as a serious lapse of judgment by every sensible man who currently contributes to the support of the Hospital. It would be a disaster. I am most sorry, my dear, but you must give him up or I shall have to take measures to prevent further scandal.”

His words knifed through her, confirming the fears she’d set aside in the glow of Jeremy’s lovemaking. Yes, perhaps he was a noble, adorable fool . . . Without others to share his vision, it was hopeless. And the children would suffer. Hundreds of nameless unborn children. And the four at Rosemead who meant everything to her.

“I see,” she said, letting out a ragged breath. She would cry later, when there was no one to see it. “I shall give him up, but you must promise me that I can keep my children. You must set in motion whatever is required to make them my legal wards.”

Lord Bromhurst rubbed his nose thoughtfully. But Lady Bromhurst’s face crumpled. Unexpectedly, she rose from her seat and put a hand on Livvy’s shoulder.

“You must do at least that much for her,” she told her husband fiercely.

Livvy turned her gaze to Lord Bromhurst.

He heaved a sigh. “I do not know if it has ever been done. By royal charter all the foundlings are wards of the Foundling Hospital. We return children to parents who reclaim them, and when they are old enough, we send them to masters with written apprenticeship agreements. I do not know if it will be possible to arrange for an official transfer of guardianship.”

Despite herself, Livvy recognized his distress. He
was
a good man, doing his best in a wretched predicament.

“Then promise me you will try.”

“I promise. And while I am president the children shall not be removed from your care.”

Lady Bromhurst returned to her seat, still frowning.

“You must forgive me for having railed at you earlier,” said Lord Bromhurst more softly. “You are not at fault in this wretched situation and neither is Jeremy. The fault lies squarely with Sir Digby, and I promise you I shall bring him to justice.”

“But do you remember what I told you, that Sir Digby has a friend who is privy to all these secrets?”

“I shall discover who it is and deal with him as well. It is my hope that I can do so without involving Jeremy.”

“And I will keep my appointment with Jeremy tomorrow, just as Sir Digby expects.”

“What will you tell him?” asked Lord Bromhurst, scowling again to hide his emotions.

“The truth. Part of it.” She drew in a painful breath. “I shall tell him that I do not believe we will be able to overcome the prejudices against our marriage. I shall not tell him that we spoke today.”

“Thank you.”

“I am not protecting you from his anger for your own sake,” she said coldly. “I have the children to comfort me; Jeremy will suffer the most. He will need his friends and family to console him. I hope you will do so.”

“We will do our best, my dear,” said Lady Bromhurst, her face working in the effort to restrain tears.

“Of course we will,” said her husband, with a weak attempt to sound hearty. “Jeremy will do. As will you, Lady Dearing. You are made of resilient stuff.”

“I wish you success in dealing with Sir Digby, then,” she replied, making no attempt to return his smile. “Is there anything else you require of me?”

“No. Make no further communications. Your arrangement is for Saturday at ten o’clock, at Pulteney’s hotel. Have I got it right?”

She nodded. “Perhaps you will do me the kindness of letting me know when you have resolved the matter. In the meantime, if you should need to reach me I am staying at Grillon’s tonight. I find I have conceived a distaste for Pulteney’s hotel.”

She rose to leave.

“Are you certain you are well enough to go?” asked Lady Bromhurst, rising along with her husband.

“As your husband said, I am made of resilient stuff, ma’am,” she said, turning to go. “I shall do.”

* * *

Livvy’s head throbbed, but the odd, hollow calm that always followed a night of crying sustained her as she stood alone on the field surrounding the Foundling Hospital, awaiting Jeremy.

It seemed the wait was endless. Had Sir Digby managed to cause trouble after all? Fear that more trouble was to come churned inside her.

Then she saw Jeremy striding across the lawn, his gaze focused on her.

Before he’d come within twenty feet, worry had already hardened his face.

She couldn’t bear it.

“What is it, Livvy?” he asked when he reached her side.

Her throat tightened.

“What happened?” His velvety eyes were full of concern. “Why are we meeting here, now?”

“I . . . shall not be at Russell Square this evening.” The words came out as if a stranger had uttered them.

“What?”

“What I mean to say is that I cannot marry you.”

He bent forward suddenly, as if she had punched him. “Cannot? What is this?” His voice softened. “Has someone been troubling you, Livvy? Tell me, then we’ll decide what to do about it. Together.”

His gentleness ripped her apart.

“There is nothing we can do,” she said flatly. “This is my own decision. I am sorry I allowed you to persuade me, back at the folly, but on consideration I have realized it is hopeless.”

He let out a ragged breath. “How can you say it is hopeless? I have spoken to my family and the Bromhursts; they are willing to meet you.”

“I am sorry to cause so much . . . trouble . . . and disruption. But I think it is unfair to ask everyone to support our marriage when it can end only in disappointment.”

“No!” he shouted. “It will
not
end in disappointment. Livvy, I know you have little reason to expect any sort of justice, but believe me, this time it will be different.”

She removed her ring and held it out to him, wishing her hand did not shake so much.

“You cannot give up before we’ve even begun.” His voice broke.

Dear God. Jeremy.

“I am so sorry. Please, take your ring back. It was a lovely thought, but I cannot accept it.”

He ignored her outstretched hand. “This is madness,” he snarled.

“To continue would be mad.”

“Is it wrong to want to be happy? Keep the damned ring. We can postpone the dinner party until you change your mind.”

Anger smoldered in his voice; pain contorted his face. Memories tormented her: how he’d made love to her in the folly, all his hopes and plans . . . and this was his reward for making the mistake of loving her.

She reminded herself of the stakes.

His reputation.

The Foundling Hospital, just across the field from them.

The children.

“I will not change my mind.”

“Then I’ll keep it for you until you do.”

He swept the ring from her palm and thrust it into his pocket. She lowered her gaze, thinking he would leave, but instead he grasped her hands. She sensed him struggling with the urge to pull her into his arms. Her heart beat painfully, reminding her that she was still alive, that she could still suffer.

“Let me go, Jeremy. It is over.”

“How can it be? I love you!”

“It is over.”

“Are you such a coward that you prefer to hide safely at Rosemead rather than reach for the greater happiness that is offered to you? To both of us?”

Fury crackled through his voice, but he gripped her hands desperately.

She choked back tears. “It is best we part. Let me go. Please.”

“Damn it, Livvy, don’t do this.”

She shook her head.

“Go then!” he said, dropping her hands. “Go back into hiding and tell yourself it’s for the best, damn you. Damn you!”

She turned and ran then, tears blinding her all the way to her carriage.

Chapter 19

“Whatever is the matter, Jeremy?”

He paused on the stairway, staring up at Aunt Louisa.

“Livvy is not coming this evening,” he said dully.

“Not coming?” she echoed, staring at him as he ascended to the landing. “Has there been some sort of mistake about the date?”

“No. She met me at the Foundling Hospital to break off our engagement.”

His aunt gazed up at him for a moment, and he could almost hear the words in his mind.
It is for the best, dearest.
At least she didn’t say them.

All she did was come forward, arms outstretched. “Oh, my dear boy . . .”

He forced himself to tolerate the embrace. Her surprise at least proved one thing: that she’d had nothing to do with Livvy’s change of heart.

“I was so afraid she would hurt you, dearest,” she said, stepping back and peering up at him nervously. “Do you wish to tell me what happened?”

“No. I’m returning to Fairhill.”

“Won’t you at least spend the evening with us?”

“No.”

“I will send word to the Bromhursts. Don’t worry about anything, dearest, but return to us as soon as you may.”

She brushed away a tear.

He gave her a reassuring hug before going on to his room, though for the first time in his life he could not accept her sympathy. He only longed for Samson, the solitary open road and the numbing effects of long, wearying exercise.

* * *

“Well done,” said Livvy heartily, as Ben completed a passage from Mother Hubbard.

He closed the book, beaming at her praise. His vulnerable smile warmed her bruised heart.

“Let us work on your sums now. Fetch your slate, please.”

As Ben crossed the schoolroom to get his slate and chalk, Livvy looked toward Robbie, happily engaged in drawing what must be his hundredth rendition of Pirate. Although he sometimes exaggerated the number of the pony’s legs, his drawings radiated his exuberant energy. It made her smile just to look at them.

But her pain was too raw; it had been only two days since she’d betrayed Jeremy to save herself and the children. Today, tears still followed close upon smiles.

She brushed one away, trying to clear her vision. Philippa and Jane had their heads together over a mathematical tome that she’d brought back from London, exploring the glories of ellipses and parabolas together. She noted Jane’s intent frown and Philippa’s look of delighted absorption and brushed away another tear. Ben was coming back to her with his slate.

After she’d prepared several sums for him to work on, she sat back, ready to help if he needed it. The sound of scales being practiced on the pianoforte drifted up from the drawing room below. Already, Mary’s deft fingers were acquiring a new skill. And yesterday evening, she’d even joined them in singing a silly ballad.

Livvy blinked back another tear. The children were thriving, and she knew she had made the right choice for them. None were ready for a return to the Foundling Hospital. Their place was with her, and hers with them. She doubted she would ever visit London again; her world was contracting once more to the limits of Rosemead’s wall, and perhaps it was for the best. She would
do
, as she’d told the Bromhursts.

But guilt and longing filled her nights. They would be easier to bear, she thought, if she were not so deadly certain that she’d broken Jeremy’s heart along with her own.

* * *

“Are you quite finished, sir?”

Jeremy nodded. Grayson picked up the tray containing his half-eaten dinner.

“Is everything quite all right, sir?”

“Of course,” he replied absently.

Grayson’s head shook as he moved stiffly out of the room.

No doubt the servants thought him mad. For the past few days, he’d closeted himself in the library, taking all his meals there and spending the rest of his time handling the new list of potential benefactors Bromhurst had handed him on Wednesday, only seeking his bedchamber when thoroughly exhausted. Even then he awoke early from restless dreams, aching with desire for Livvy, unable to comprehend or even accept her rejection. For a woman who’d already shown such courage to falter . . . he had not expected it.