The Unlikely Lady (32 page)

“The study is just down the way, is it not?” she asked the dogs, who merely wagged their tails in reply.

She took a deep breath.
Be bold
. Jane straightened her shoulders, closed her eyes briefly, darted out of the room, down the corridor, and slipped into the far door on the right.

The dogs ran with her, and moments later, all three were happily behind the closed study door.

“Thank you for not barking,” she said to them. “That was well done of you.”

The dogs each took a turn getting a pat on the head. Then Jane glanced around the study. Decorated in masculine hues of dark blue, it smelled vaguely like Upton. She took a deep breath to savor the scent. A large mahogany desk sat in front of a bay window, two large leather chairs in front of it. A few dark wooden bookshelves lined the walls—more books!—and a large comfortable-looking chair rested on a round rug in front of the fireplace. A cozy and useful space.

She hurried to the desk and scanned the tabletop. It was neatly arranged. A pile of what appeared to be outgoing mail, an inkwell, several quills, a large square glass paperweight. Nothing appeared to be correspondence, however. She tiptoed again, this time around to take a seat in the large chair. She closed her eyes. The lemony scent of furniture polish and a hint of ink filled her nostrils. It felt like Upton in here. Peaceful, calm, sensible. She suddenly missed him.

She took another deep breath. “I am not proud of myself for doing this,” she announced to the dogs. “I assure you, I'm not usually the type of person who sneaks about and pries into other people's belongings.”

The dogs looked at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“I'm doing this for you too. You don't want that horrible woman as your stepmother.”

This elicited more wagging of tails.

Jane turned her attention back to the desk. There were three drawers on each side and one in the middle. She'd just take a quick peek inside each. “Please let it be here,” she whispered.

She slowly slid the middle drawer out first. More quills. A tray of sand. A seal and some wax. No letters. No paper at all.

She closed the drawer and pulled open another on the bottom right. A quick perusal of the large stack of important-looking papers inside told Jane it was mostly contracts and estate-related paperwork.

She pulled out the next drawer and the next. They were neatly arranged, but did not contain a letter from Harold Langford.

She chewed on her bottom lip. What if she didn't find it? But then, what was she planning to do with it if she did find it? She took another deep breath.
Be bold.

She pulled open the bottom drawer on the left. A box sat in the center of the drawer, full of what appeared to be … letters. Trembling, she pulled the box from the drawer and placed it on the desktop. The letters stood on their sides, stacked together.

Jane pulled out the first few. Missives from Aunt Mary, one or two from Lucy, one from Lord Berkeley. She slid them back into place and took out the next set. More from Aunt Mary, half a dozen from other friends, none from Harold Langford.

Jane scanned the room. Upton might return at any moment, or a servant might venture in to clean or something. She didn't have time to rummage through all of the letters.

Something told her the one she was looking for wouldn't be like the others, wouldn't be with less important correspondence. Upton would do something special with it, because of what it meant to him. Using both hands, she lifted the entire group of letters, and set them carefully in a large stack on the desktop. Then, she peered into the bottom of the box.

A single letter was there. Underneath them all. Not stacked like the others. Hidden away. With a hand that continued to shake, she pulled out the lone letter. She unfolded it, holding her breath.

Harold Langford's name was scrolled across the top with a date from nearly ten years ago. She slid it onto the desktop and expelled her pent-up breath.

She'd done it. She'd found it. Now she needed to get out of here.

Closing her eyes and briefly saying a prayer, just in case there was a heaven, Jane gathered up the large stack of letters, placed them back in the box, and replaced it in the drawer. She shut the drawer, grabbed the letter, and jumped to her feet.

The door to the room cracked open and Isabella Langford sauntered in.

The beautiful widow narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Miss Lowndes, explain yourself. What are you doing in my future husband's study?”

 

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Garrett bounded up the stairs to his town house and flung open the door. He'd sent Isabella a note earlier, asking her to meet him here. Unfortunately, he'd been detained at his solicitor's office.

He didn't slow as he made his way toward his study, the dogs jumping at his heels. “Cartwright, is Mrs. Langford in the study?”

“She is, sir.”

“Has she been waiting long?”

“Not very, sir. And, sir?” The butler cleared his throat.

Garrett stopped and turned to face him. “Yes?”

“Miss Lowndes just left.”

Garrett blinked. “Miss Lowndes was here?”

“Yes, sir. She came to have a look at the library again.”

“Ah, I trust you made her comfortable.”

“I did, sir. Tea and cakes were served immediately upon her arrival.”

Garrett had to smile. He was sorry he'd missed Jane, but it was probably for the best. What he had to say to Isabella needed to be said in private.

“Thank you, Cartwright. That will be all for now.”

Garrett continued his brisk pace down the corridor to the study, opened the door, and marched inside. Isabella sat on the settee, a cup of tea suspended in her hand. The moment she saw Garrett, she turned to face him. “There you are. I've been waiting.”

“No teacakes?”

“I never eat those things. They're bad for my figure.”

They were quite good for Miss Lowndes's figure. A devilish grin spread across his face. “I see.”

“Why was Jane Lowndes in this house when I arrived?” Isabella demanded.

Garrett managed to keep his voice steady. “Miss Lowndes is welcome to use my library at any time.”

“That will change once we're married.”

“No it won't.”

Isabella's jaw tightened but her voice softened and she pretended to smile. “We can discuss it later, after the wedding.”

“There's not going to be any wedding, Isabella.”

Her teacup clattered to the saucer. “Not going to be—” A questioning look spread across her face, part fear, part confusion. “Are you saying you'd prefer to marry by special license? That can easily be arranged. I know someone who—”

“No, that's not what I mean.” Garrett took a deep breath. “I have made mistakes in my life. More than one. Some more grievous than others. I'll never forget the day Harold died, and I will always honor him and thank him. I can never repay him. It's not possible.”

Isabella's brows had snapped together over her pale, green eyes. She watched him carefully. “Yes, you can repay him. You can repay him by marrying me.”

“Our marriage will not bring back Harold. I refuse to compound one mistake with another. We'd make each other miserable, Isabella. We cannot marry.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You cannot be serious. You're tossing me over?”

“We haven't formally announced our engagement. There will be little talk.”

“But … I've begun planning. I—”

“I'm sorry, Isabella. Don't worry. I'll ensure you and the children are looked after financially until the bill passes in Parliament.”

“The bill?”

“The one Swifdon and Claringdon are sponsoring to ensure the families of the dead and wounded are provided for.”

Her mouth turned into a white line. “A pension from the government cannot keep me in the manner to which I've grown accustomed. How can you do this? What about Harold's letter? What about the baby?”

“The baby belongs to your footman, Boris, doesn't it? He should do the honorable thing and marry you.”

Her face paled to match her lips. “You expect me to marry a footman?” She sneered. Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Harold would turn over in his grave if he knew you were abandoning us.”

Her words hurt, as Garrett had expected them to, but he no longer felt the wrenching guilt. “If you ever need anything monetarily for the children, all you need do is send me a note.”

“That's it? You plan to foist us off with a promise based on a note? You have no honor, Garrett Upton!”

Garrett winced and clenched his jaw. It was the most hurtful thing she could say to him. He'd also been prepared for that. “I shall always do right by you and by the children, for Harold's sake. You have my word.”

“Your word is as good as dirt,” she spat.

“I'm sorry you feel that way. But it does not change my mind.”

She set down her teacup and stood. Moving toward him, she held out her palms in supplication. “Please, Garrett.” Her voice had turned wheedling. “Please marry me.”

“I can't, Isabella. I do not trust you. I also happen to be in love with someone else.”

Her eyes rounded in shock. “Don't
trust
me? Why in heaven's name not?”

“Don't feign innocence. I know you had Boris tamper with Miss Lowndes's saddle the day you raced each other. I also know he hit me over the head with a bottle of wine and locked me in the wine cellar the night of the wedding.”

She looked away. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Don't you? What if I told you Jane
saw
you in my bedchamber that night?”

Her head snapped up and her eyes flared. “It's her, isn't it? She's the one you think you're in love with. What are you saying? That your precious, virginal Miss Lowndes was in your bedchamber that night? What would the
ton
have to say about that?”

He clenched his fists at his sides. “Isabella, if you tell anyone about this—”

“You'll what?”

“I'll tell them about everything you've done, including the fact that you're breeding.”

“You have no proof about anything I've done. If you refuse to marry me, I'm already ruined, but the damage to your precious Miss Lowndes's reputation will be done by then. There are already rumors swirling about her behavior at the party. One word from me, someone who was actually there, and she will be ruined completely.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“Try me.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “What do you want?”

“I want you to marry me.”

“I refuse to be manipulated, Isabella.”

“Even for your precious little bluestocking? She won't be received in any decent drawing room in London by the time I'm through telling my tale.”

“Not if I marry her first.”

 

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

If Hughes, the butler, thought it was odd that Miss Jane Lowndes kept appearing at the Duke of Claringdon's doorstep at all hours of the day without an escort, he did not acknowledge his concern, as a good duke's butler should. With Lucy as the duchess, the man was assured a lifetime of odd happenings in his household.

This time, he ushered Jane into the blue salon with barely a lift of his haughty brow. Lucy came in moments later.

“Well.” Lucy rushed over and sat next to Jane on the settee. “What happened?”

Jane couldn't hide her smile. “I just came from Garrett's town house.”

“And?” Lucy searched her face.

“And I found it!”

Lucy clapped her hands with glee. “Let me see it.”

Jane tugged open the drawstring to her reticule and pulled out the crumpled letter. “I barely made it out of there,” she said in a rush, excitement making her words tumble over themselves. “Isabella came in and found me in the study.”

Lucy scrunched her nose as if she smelled something awful. “What was Isabella doing there?”

“She said she came to speak with her future husband. I wanted to retch. I made a quick excuse as to why I was standing behind his desk when she saw me and then I left immediately.”

Lucy covered her laughing mouth with her hand. “You did not. What did you say?”

Jane leaned in. “I told her I was playing a game of hide-and-seek with the dogs.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Did she believe you?” Lucy's eyes danced with mischief.

“What do I care? I slipped the letter into my reticule and left, but not before informing her that Garrett had told me I might have the use of his library whenever I like. I couldn't resist.” She slapped her knee to punctuate her words. “That harlot.”

“That's perfect. Did she have an apoplectic fit?”

“She gave me a stare that could turn water into ice. I believe she reminds me of Medusa.”

“She reminds me a great deal of Medusa. Though admittedly her hair is more fetching than snakes.” Lucy waved a hand in the air. “Enough about her. Show me the letter. Have you read it?”

“Not yet. I haven't had a chance. I was so nervous. I'm still shaking.” Jane held out her trembling hand for her friend's inspection.

“You did an excellent job. Mission accomplished. Now, let's see the letter.”

Sitting side by side, the two unfolded the letter and both scanned the page. Lucy sucked in her breath. Jane gasped. They turned to look at each other.

“So sad,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

“It is sad, but I don't believe for one moment that Harold Langford actually wrote this.” Jane jabbed a finger at the paper.

“I don't either,” Lucy agreed. “But how would we prove such a thing?” She tapped her finger against her cheek.

“If I knew what Mrs. Langford's handwriting looked like, I could compare the two. I'm certain she disguised it.”