Chapter 12
It had begun. Rem knew the repercussions would be grave, but his mother didn’t pull any punches when it came to the conduct of her son. He didn’t receive too many dressing-downs from his parents nowadays, but his mother after she had read the gossip rag that morning was something to behold. Lady Rothstone had called her son into her personal upstairs drawing room, and Rem had practically seen the steam coming from her ears. She had been going for about ten minutes now and didn’t seem to be running out of choice words anytime soon. He hadn’t yet tried to interject, but her accusations were growing in severity.
“Assaulting a women’s virtue in the woods, Remington?” Lady Rothstone paced the rug in front of the chair she had insisted her son take. “A virginal girl, the daughter of one of my closest friends! Heaven knows how traumatized the poor girl is from your rutting in the outdoors, but then to not marry her? And she’s pregnant?” Her volume growing with each sentence, she finally threw her arms in the air in defeat. “How did I raise a son so completely without morals? Without a shred of decorum or sensitivity for a woman’s good name, not to mention the callousness of taking a lady’s virginity without the benefit of marriage. You cannot be my son! Not my son, the one who would never in a thousand years dream of having relations with a gentlewoman outside of holy matrimony.
“Well, maybe I’d dream it,” Rem muttered under his breath, slouching further down in his seat.
“What did you say, Remington Rothstone?” she came close and put her finger in his face. “How dare you interrupt your own mother! After all your father and I have given you in this life, don’t you think for a second I can’t take it away!”
Rem frowned bemusedly. “Are you threatening to kill me, Mother?”
“I have ways of making you wish you were never born,” she said solemnly, her eyes boring in to his.
He raised his brows. “I don’t doubt that.” He sat up fully, forcing his mother to take a step back and put her hands on her hips. “However, seeing as none of the things you are accusing me of are true, I think we can put a hold on the unmentionable torture for now.”
“And just what is not true?”
“Mother, everything I told you before is true. Our balloon was sabotaged, men were killed, and we had to stay where we were until it was light enough to find our way back. I did not assault anyone’s virtue. Laura’s Parrington’s precious virginity remains quite intact, more’s the pity. So, in case it’s not clear, she most definitely isn’t pregnant either. It was all innocent, at least on our part.” He stood up and took his mother’s hands in his own. “I’m still the son you raised to be a gentleman. And I still have some shreds of decency left. When we came back, I offered for her. She…she refused.” He dropped her hands and sat back down, forcing himself to think about the expression in Laura’s eyes as she rejected him. He ran a hand over his face, the dark circles he had earned over the past few weeks in sharp relief to his sallow skin.
His mother didn’t say anything for a long time, but sat down on the divan next to his chair. “I’m sorry, Remmy.”
“I’d rather not rehash it if it’s alright with you,” he stated, not meeting her eyes.
“I understand.” She put her delicate hand on his arm. “But sitting here feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to solve the problem,” she said gently. “What she is facing, fair or not, is much worse than what you will have to suffer for this.”
“I know. But what am I supposed to do?” Frustration colored his tone. “She said no. Just like that. I can make her marry me.”
“No, but now she might reconsider based on the current situation.”
“I’m not so sure,” he mused, staring across the small room at nothing. Rain pattered the long window on the opposite wall, murky daylight barely showing through the edges of the silver-threaded curtains. “She was…adamant when last I saw her.”
His mother frowned. “Why do you think that is? I thought you two were getting on famously,” she inquired.
“I thought so too. I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden, she had this look in her eye like I had…drowned her favorite kitten or something.”
Penny frowned. “And this was right after you’d told her how you felt?”
“Yes, I-“ Rem stopped and blinked. “Well, it was right after I proposed.”
Penny’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not the same thing, Remington.”
He blushed, something he hadn’t done in years. “I might have…er…left that part out of the proposal,” he winced.
Lady Rothstone groaned and rolled her eyes. “Men.” She stood and walked to the door of her drawing room, her sage green dress fluttering out behind her.
“Mother?” Rem watched as she left. “Mother?” he called louder, but she continued walking.
Apparently, the conversation was over.
Rem knew he would see her there, but was not looking forward to it. Two days had not been enough time to plan out what to say, and it was not the most romantic place for a reconciliation. Daniel Craigerton’s funeral would be attended by all of the ton’s elite, every family who was presently in London socially obligated to pay their respects. His mother and father had arrived before him and knew he would be sitting with his contemporaries. The Alliterates had arrived at different times, but all had automatically sat down in the same row towards the front, the three men only nodding their greetings to one another. Somberly, they sat, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
All of them had known Daniel, had spent time with him both at Eton and had caroused around town with him since then at various times. Tris had been the closest to him recently, although Rem knew Con was a distant cousin of Daniel’s.
“Any word on the cause of death?” Con asked, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“Not that I’ve heard,” replied Tris, and Rem shook his head. He had inquired at Scotland Yard the day before, also checking on the status of the investigation into the Honeymoore murders, but had had no luck with either of them.
They fell silent and stayed that way throughout the ceremony performed by the clergy and speeches made by family members. It was clear that Craigerton had been a typical gentleman of the ton, pursuing amusements more than anything else, but, by all accounts, a good son and brother.
Rem couldn’t help but wonder what would be said if her were to die tomorrow. Would a life of leisure be all he was known for? Flitting through London on a cloud of privilege and idle debauchery? Did he have any more substance to his existence than Daniel Craigerton had had?
As the future Duke of Rothstone, he had many obligations that would take up his time and resources. His primary duties would be to see to the welfare of the people living on his estates and to fill his parliamentary seat. He knew he would be able to influence change in his position, just as his father was currently doing. He knew his father to be a conscientious man who took great pains to research and promote causes he deemed worthy within his political sphere.
But Rem wasn’t in that position yet and hopefully wouldn’t be for quite some time. His father was in good health, and Rem wasn’t so eager for his title that he wished him ill. He knew other men of his age who couldn’t wait for their sires to die off so they could come into their inheritance, but he was not one of them. It had been impressed upon him from an early age that he would assume a seat of power and that he needed to be ready for it. Right now, however, his existence seemed to be in a state of limbo. He managed his Viscountcy’s estates and a dukedom estate near Brighton, his favorite, and had been doing so since his father gave him the run of it all on his eighteenth birthday, but no other true obligations encumbered his time. He did have his own charitable endeavors, but compared to the working class, they couldn’t even be considered hobbies.
The ceremony was coming to a close, Daniel Craigerton’s casket now being removed from the church’s public sanctuary room while several people cried or sniffled as quietly as they could.
What had he been doing with himself the past decade?
He knew the answer, and it was a bitter tonic indeed. The same thing as Daniel Craigerton: living for himself.
Rem didn’t want to live for just himself anymore, he was realizing.
He wanted to live for her. For the woman in the green dress who carried illegal gadgets around and loved running through the woods and stating her mind, despite her inexperience. The woman who was scandalized by his flirtations, but who caught fire at his touch.
Rem ached for her with a fierceness he didn’t know was possible. The past three weeks had been filled with the worst kind of self-pity, drunken philosophical bents, and revisiting old haunts that he discovered were not as alluring as he had previously thought. He didn’t want to continue his existence like this anymore. He needed her, and that was all there was to it.
Spotting her in the throng making their way to the Craigerton family to offer condolences, his heart sputtered for a single second. From where he stood further back in line with Tris and Con, he could see her golden hair pinned up under a small black hat that dropped a half-veil over her face. The rest of her, he assumed, was swathed in black as well, like everyone else, but he would know her profile anywhere- the dainty nose, stubborn chin, and sloping upper lip with its rosy hue. She was with her parents, moving slowly along in line towards the front of the church.
Should he approach her? It didn’t feel quite right. Not here with all of these people around them. He looked around at the sizable crowd and began to notice something…off. Several people were staring, and when he met their eyes, they widened and fell away, but the whispers did not. Behind black feathered fans and polished, pale hands, those around him spoke in hurried hushes, but they weren’t particularly bothering to hide their whispered words.
“…heard it was a pagan ritual…danced naked…woods.”
“…if he doesn’t marry her, damned if he does.”
“It’s indecent…both to be…same room with good…”
Rem felt his jaw clench. He glanced to where Laura had been last, but couldn’t see her any longer. He knew that if he was hearing such sentiments, she might be as well.
“Don’t these people have anything better to talk about?” Con asked in a low voice, straightening his diamond cufflinks.
“Can’t think of anything, no. Dancing naked in the woods, were you, then?” Tris raised his brow irreverently.
“Those parasites had better not subject Laura to such talk,” Rem said through clenched teeth. Rem saw Laura’s family make their way to the Craigertons and begin to pay their respects, but the process was interrupted by Lady Craigerton herself. Laura stood in front of the woman, murmuring a greeting when, of a sudden, Lady Craigerton grabbed the hem of Laura’s hat and ripped it from her head, proceeding to throw it to the floor beneath her heel.
Laura, and several others, gasped, her hands going to her smarting scalp where pins had been yanked out. “What-?” she started, her eyes wide.
Crack!
Lady Craigerton’s slap echoed through the church.
Laura’s small cry followed.
Rem saw red and began shoving his way towards her, but Con and Tris grabbed him and held on for all they were worth, preventing him from moving towards the scene as it unfolded.
“How dare you show your face here!” Lady Craigerton shrieked.
Standing frozen in shock, Laura held her cheek, and Rem could see the skin raising in a red welt all the way from where he stood straining against his friends’ holds.
“How dare you profane my only son’s funeral with your depraved presence! You should be ashamed! You with your immoral cavorting and whoring yourself out to gentlemen you barely know. Why, my Daniel had even spoken of your charms on the last night I saw him, you- you succubus! You probably caused all of this! Got him into trouble somehow. My Daniel! My poor Daniel!” she cried, her words dissolving into sobs as her husband pulled her against his chest. Lord Craigerton did not say anything, but tears formed in his eyes as he held his wife.
Lord Parrington spoke clearly, everyone in the church hearing him over the silence that had fallen. “Because you are grieving, I will let this insult pass without calling you out. But it is not my daughter who should be ashamed here today.” He bowed slightly to Lord Craigerton, who nodded as his wife still clung to his cravat. Lord Parrington led his family back towards the doors of the church, the crowd’s murmuring growing in volume once more.
Laura walked between her parents, her head down and hand covering her stricken cheek. Rem saw tears tracking down her exposed face as she passed by him, separated by about a dozen people.
The Dowager Countess of Elmsborough, a respected patroness of Almack’s, spit loudly at her as she walked by, the saliva missing her dress by inches.
Rem renewed his efforts to break free, intending to go to Laura. To do what, he didn’t know, but he needed to be near her, to shelter her from these horrible people.
“Let it go, mate,” Con muttered, refusing to let go of Rem’s shoulder. “Now’s not the time. It will only cause a bigger scene.”
“They’re castrating her!” Rem whispered violently, his heart ripping apart at the pain he knew Laura was suffering in this moment.
“Yes, and they will never be sorry for it. But you will, if you heap even more scandal on her.”
Tris, on his other side, chimed in. “He’s right, Rem. We need to go now, before the attention turns to you. This way,” he nodded towards a side door that they were close to.
Laura and her parents were already exiting the building, and he lost sight of her as she went through the arched double doors. Rem let them propel him out of the church and into the cloudy London morning, his fury such that he didn’t wait for any words of comfort, but immediately strode in the direction of his carriage without them.
His friends watched him go, neither speaking, for what was there to say? And yet, Tris found something which he felt summed up the situation nicely:
“Bollocks.”
Con looked on with dark, troubled eyes as Rem disappeared around a corner at the end of the alley in which they stood. “Indeed.”
This time, Laura did not bother to cry. After the initial shock of the incident wore off, as well as pain in her cheek, she didn’t feel anything. As her parents watched in trepidation, Laura withdrew into herself, not speaking, nor doing anything except stare off into space from her usual spot on the sofa in the downstairs drawing room. For four days, she went through the motions of rising, dressing, eating, and bathing, but it was as if the life had left her body, the spark that made her Laura gone.
Lady Parrington had attempted to draw her into conversation a few times, but Laura had not been interested, giving polite, but short answers that ended the interactions. She did not read, she did not sew, she did not tinker with her Dag, nor with any other technology she had collected since she’d been in the city. Reginald was the only being she did interact with, but only marginally, as he was allowed to sit in her lap and be petted for stretches at a time.
Remington Rothstone had appeared on the Parrington House doorstep the morning after Daniel Craigerton’s funeral, and every morning after that, but Laura had refused to see him. He had left a gift, a slim volume wrapped in brown paper, but she didn’t open it or even touch it when Cranston presented it to her. A few other gentlemen came by to call, and Gia, Harry, and Grayson had come by as well, but Laura turned them away the same as everyone else.
The fifth day after the funeral, Laura began to speak in a limited capacity and to engage in the world around her, although not with any of her usual joy or humor. Her parents began to hope that she would return to her normal self and that, perhaps, given the number of people who had persisted in calling on her, she would be able to traverse society again in the future.
The sixth day, that hope was shattered.
Laura had, surprisingly, accepted a caller, stating that she might as well see what people were saying about her. The gentleman was one of several who had begged an audience after the scandal had broken, a Lord Charles Norris, son of the Earl of Sterling. It had started out well enough, Lord Norris taking off his hat as he entered the drawing room. His light blonde hair was controlled with pomade and artfully arranged in the current style of windswept curls, his clothes in the first stare of fashion.
Laura had been informed by her eager mother that he was quite wealthy and had not been connected with any particular miss of the ton. Lady Parrington thought it was best to give them a few minutes alone, as long as the door was open. There was no time to waste if a proposal was being considered.
He greeted Laura with a bow, taking her hand to place a lingering kiss on the back of her hand before sitting across from her. He sat on the edge of his chair and asked her how she had fared recently.
“Oh, well, you know…” Laura waved a hand dismissively. “It been rather nice having some time to myself,” she said wryly.
Lord Norris smiled, his straight white teeth beaming. “I, for one, have missed seeing your tempting features lately.”
“I appreciate that, My Lord.” Her heart beat a little faster. Perhaps there were still people who would accept her, offer for her.
“I am very fond of your charms, Miss Parrington. Laura, if I may,” he stated.
Laura blinked, wondering if it was appropriate to give him use of her Christian name. However, he didn’t give her time to do so, but merely kept speaking.
“And that is why I wanted to discuss a future with you, Laura.” He leaned further forward and grasped her hands in his. “If you would consider my proposal, I would be the happiest man alive.”
Laura sat back, her eyes wide. Apparently, she needn’t have worried so very much. “Oh! I…well, I- I would have to think about it, Lord Norris,” she sputtered, her mind a whirl of noise, most of which was neither pertinent, nor helpful.
“Of course. I understand.” He smiled and squeezed her fingers. “But please be assured that I am willing to top any other offer you are sure to receive. I am willing to agree to any terms you desire, my sweet.”
Her posture stiffened, her senses prickling with unease. She slid her hands from under his and put them firmly back in her lap. “Terms? Forgive me, but I’m not aware to what you’re referring, sir.”
“I mean, whatever you want, Laura. To me, you are worth it.” He flashed his blinding smile again.
She hesitated, her brows knit with confusion. Looking down at his perfectly shined Hessian boots, she asked. “Do you mean, for instance…an expedient wedding?” She looked up and met his earnest eyes with a tilted head.
And now it was he who looked confused. “Wedding? Did you-? Did you think I was offering you marriage?” He sat back immediately, his features twisting into an expression of horror.
“Why, yes, as a matter of fact,” Laura stated, her tone one of frustration. “What other sort of proposal is there?”
He laughed, the sound slipping out before he caught himself and cleared his throat. “You can’t be serious.” He paused, waiting for an agreement, but Laura merely raised a brow.
Her heart pounded in her chest. What was going on? What exactly was he asking of her?
Lord Norris elaborated in flabbergasted tones. “I can’t possibly marry you. You’re a social disgrace! You wouldn’t be allowed into any sort of gathering. My mother wouldn’t even let you past the front door. But,” he rose from his chair to kneel on one knee in front of her, grasping Laura’s hands again, although she was leaning as far away as possible. “-that doesn’t matter to me. I want you in my life. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you at that soiree. You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured-“ He had the grace to flush and look down. “-pictured being with you,” he finished haltingly. His voice was sincere as he looked into her eyes once more. “I would take such good care of you, Laura. You would never want for anything.”
Laura had begun to suspect what this man had in mind, but she still didn’t quite believe it. She wanted to hear him admit it. “And what, precisely, would you be wanting in return for this…care?”
He blinked. “The-the pleasure of your company, of course.”
The sofa creaked as Laura stood abruptly, almost knocking Lord Norris backwards. She rounded the back of the sofa, needing space between them. He rose to his feet as well. She had his measure now, and found she had a perverse desire to force his dishonorable intentions out of him. “Oh! So walks in the park, playing the pianoforte for you, accompanying you on equestrian excursions, that sort of thing?” She smiled sweetly and kept her face carefully blank.
Lord Norris slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at Laura. “Those things are nice, yes,” he allowed. “I…it would be more of….” He spluttered, gesturing randomly with his hands.
Laura relished his floundering and did nothing to interrupt his attempts at explaining.
Finally, he sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides. He walked towards Laura, who backed away until she hit the wall behind the sofa. He didn’t seem menacing; she just didn’t want to be anywhere near this cretin. However, he kept coming further into her personal space, and she began to grow nervous.
Stopping mere inches from her person, he reached up and hesitantly stroked a finger down her cheek.
Laura’s breathing grew rapid. “Sir, you are impertinent,” she stated firmly.
She couldn’t help but compare this man with Rem, who had shown a great amount of impertinence where she was concerned. But Rem had made her feel…free. Wonderful. Drowning in heady, new sensations. With this man, she felt only contempt. His nearness was worrisome instead of exhilarating.
His lips turned up at the corners. “Impertinence is rather a matter of perspective. Since you’re already damaged goods, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” He said softly, his breath fanning her face.
Laura’s eyes narrowed. “I am not damaged goods,” she hissed.
“No to me, you’re not,” he insisted. “Although I would have liked to have sampled you first, I don’t mind if Rothstone got there first. Maybe he taught you a thing or two.” He smiled knowingly.
Her blood boiled, and the hand at her side shook with the urge to slap him. “No, you imbecile,” she spat. “No one has ‘gotten there first,’ as you put it.” She met his eyes defiantly. Laura didn’t particularly care if this buffoon knew the truth, but she was tired of people assuming that that horrid gossip column was true. It was the principle of it, even if she was ruined in the eyes of society.
He leaned back. “You mean- You’re not? That is, you’re still a-a virgin?” He eyes were wide.
Laura cleared her throat. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I am.” She expected him to then back away or withdraw his offer, but he did neither.
His expression grew puzzled and then calculating as he re-evaluated her. “Well, this is even better than I expected,” he mused, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. “No one will believe I’m the only one to sample your…favors.”
Laura drew herself up and stepped toward him, her nose almost touching his. “You’re quite right, sir. No one will believe it.” Her words grew in volume. “Because you will never ever have access to my favors or any other part of me, you-you snake!”
“Now, now, Laura,” he said cajolingly, running his hand up the outside of her arm. “Being my mistress wouldn’t be so bad.” He shifted his head so that his mouth was near her ear. “You’d enjoy it,” he murmured, coming back to look into her eyes in what she was sure he thought was a reassuring expression. But all she saw was good old-fashioned lechery.
She had had enough. “Get your hands off me,” she said in a deadly quiet voice. “Now.”
He didn’t move his hand from her arm. “Laura, be reasonable. You can’t-“
She was done trying to talk to this man. She had thought that perhaps she would be able to reason through the situation with him, or at least to make him feel ashamed, but that wasn’t happening. She shoved at his chest. “I can do whatever I want, and what I want is for you to get out of my house and never show your face here again.” She pointed to the door.
Apparently, her words weren’t clear enough because he didn’t move. He seemed to be trying to formulate a new strategy, his face going through several expressions at once.
Laura grew tired of waiting and tired of controlling her revulsion while he was so near. “I said, OUT!” she yelled into his face.
“Laura? What on earth-?” Astoria Parrington rushed into the room at her shout, proving she had been waiting not far outside the room the entire time.
Lord Norris’ eyes widened, and he hurriedly grabbed his hat from the nearby tea table, scrambling from the room without bothering to greet Lady Parrington on the way out. The front door was heard slamming a moment later.
Astoria turned to Laura and raised her hands in a gesture of confusion. “What was that about?” Her tone indicated both exasperation and displeasure.
Laura’s adrenaline had subsided somewhat. She took a few gulps of air into her lungs, her shoulders high, but after a moment, she crumpled.
“Oh, Mama, this is a disaster!” she cried, putting her face in her hands.
Astoria came around the back of the sofa where Laura stood leaning against it. She took her daughter in her arms, who was now almost the same height. “Shhh,” she murmured, patting her hair. “What happened, Dear?”
“He…He-“ she tried to get out between sobs. “He asked me to be his mistress,” she blurted.
Her mother gasped and let go of Laura. “He wouldn’t dare! Not my daughter! Roland!” she raged. And without another word, she stomped out of the room, presumably to find Lord Parrington.
Laura slumped her shoulders and sniffed, alone again. She sighed. Where was there to go from here?
As it turned out, however, her conversation with Lord Norris wasn’t even the most troubling event to occur that day. About half an hour after Norris had departed, an envelope with Laura’s name on it was delivered via messenger. Cranston brought it into the drawing room, where Laura was sulking on the sofa, asking if she was accepting correspondence presently, considering the fact that she hadn’t bothered to even look at anything for the past week.
She sighed, taking the envelope. “I might as well. Thank you, Cranston,” she said glumly. Opening the message, which wasn’t sealed with any crest or wax, contained a single sheet of foolscap that read:
I know what you did the night of the Rothstone ball. Destroy it, or there will be consequences.
Laura, not expecting anything particularly interesting, didn’t immediately register the words. She read it several times, blinking.
“What in the world-?” she blurted, turning it over to see if she had missed anything. But no, it was a single half-sheet of foolscap with the one line, written in a hand she didn’t recognize. To what was this person referring? The night of the Rothstone ball. Had someone witnessed the kiss she had shared with Rem? She thought about it, but that didn’t quite make sense. She couldn’t “destroy it.” She supposed she could destroy the relationship, but that had already been done quite thoroughly for her. She thought back to that night. What else…?
Her camera.
It had to be. She had been taking a photograph with her Dag that night. Someone besides Rem must have seen it. But why would they care so greatly? What harm was there in her equipment to someone else? Yes, the device was, technically, illegal. Perhaps the original owner of the camera wanted it back? She had purchased it from a gypsy, and they were notorious for stealing their merchandise. In all honesty, she had figured as much from the start. But they didn’t want it back, did they? They wanted her to destroy it. What point was there in that?
“…Or there will be consequences.”
Why was her camera so important to someone that it was worth threatening her life?
A shiver went down her spine. Laura pulled her trusted cashmere shawl tighter around her shoulders, wondering what to do. She had never received a threat before, but she assumed the prickling on the back of her neck and the increase in her heartbeat was warranted. Her mind flashed back to the last time when she had felt something similar, and then things began to take shape. She thought back to the events of the past several weeks, her eyes darting back and forth, not taking in the blue and cream striped wallpaper or the small portrait of her father as a child sitting with his dogs.
The balloon crash. The Honeymoore murders. And before that, the bullet that had grazed her arm in Hyde Park.
Could it all have been for her?
Laura frowned and shook her head to clear it. No. It couldn’t be. Could it?
She, personally, didn’t have anything truly valuable except her camera. All her other wealth was tied to the Earldom. But there wasn’t any logic in having it destroyed. What problem would that solve for whomever had sent the note?
Greed. Simple competition. That had to be it. The Daguerreotype camera was patented so that only one man could be licensed to use it in England. Laura had read that, in other countries, people had opened portrait studios in cities such as Paris, Rome, New York City, and Bohemia. The patents were not observed in such places, and Laura’s photographs wouldn’t be considered suspicious or valuable anywhere else. Indeed, you could even purchase photographic prints of The Pyramids of Giza and St. Peter’s Basilica in shops on Bond street here in London, so they weren’t exactly rare. However, the ability to take photographs of anything one chose here in London was still, unfortunately, illegal. If anyone were to see the photographs she had taken of herself, there would be trouble. If Laura’s Dag was such a threat, there must be someone planning to open a studio here in England.
The current holder of the patent. That had to be who sent the note.
Laura wished she knew how to get in contact with them, to reassure them that she had no intention of stealing any of their future business. How could she, even if she wanted? She couldn’t just run an illegal portrait studio out of her drawing room. And her family was already quite wealthy. She didn’t need to make money at such an endeavor. Surely, whoever was so concerned would realize that.
Laura didn’t want to tell her parents. Although her father was indulgent where her hobbies were concerned, she knew that if they knew of this note, both of her parents would immediately toss her Dag out onto the nearest street corner in hopes that whoever was threatening her would relent.
What she needed was to think clearly, to figure out what to do. She had always done her best thinking out of doors, in the forests and fields of Parrington Estate. Here, she was constantly surrounded by noises, people, busy-ness. There was no room to think, to exist in her own space. Even the townhouse she now occupied wasn’t a place of solace- not like the countryside. She looked around the elegant drawing room, remembering the events that had taken place here. Callers, eager to impress, showering her with compliments. Rem, waltzing in and pretending to have not met her.
Rem. He would know what to do. He would keep her safe, figure out a way for Laura to keep her camera without further danger.
But no. She couldn’t drag Rem into this, for so many reasons. Pride, she admitted, was near the top of the list. The fact that she was currently rumored to be with child- his child- was another. She couldn’t have any contact with him while people thought that. It would only further cement her status as a ruined woman.
Not that she could sink much farther, she thought wryly. Being asked to be someone’s mistress was about a low as someone of her status could go.
Laura moaned in frustration, twisting the fringe of her shawl. How had everything become such a mess?
“Mrrrow,” Reginald answered, asking for permission to jump into her lap. Laura wasn’t surprised she hadn’t heard him approach, as he frequently snuck up on members of the family. She patted her legs, and the tubby ball of fire leapt into the cocoon of her thighs, purring as he kneaded. She supposed she should stop him from pushing his claws into her seafoam silk day-dress, but didn’t quite care enough to dislodge him. Clothes had never been high on her priority list, but lately, she didn’t give a fig whether she walked around in decent attire or not. She might as well walk around in her shift, since everyone thought her to be a tart.
Laura sighed. If only she’d done something to actually earn that reputation. However, she felt falling out of the sky and casting her accounts over dead bodies wasn’t the sort of fun that one should have to pay for. Apparently, the rest of the world disagreed.
The next morning, Gia, Harry, and Grayson Fennimore showed up, determined to bring Laura out of her doldrums. Although she wasn’t in the mood to entertain, she wasn’t in the mood to brood anymore either, so she welcomed them into the house, suggesting they go into the back garden for some sun since it happened to be a rare sunny day.
For the first little while, Harry fascinated them all with his expertise regarding butterflies. He pointed out several species to them and even taught them how to set up a butterfly feeder with leftover fruits their chef had put in the refuse bag. They put their makeshift feeder near a bench that lined one of the walkways, the gentlemen seating the ladies to wait for the results of their efforts. After fifteen minutes or so, however, it became apparent that they would have to be in this for the long game, as only 2 butterflies had discovered the fruit so far.
Laura’s mood had improved as her pores soaked up the sun’s warm rays. It was almost impossible to be gloomy when the sun was shining and butterflies danced nearby. Her companions’ chatter about everything except her situation helped as well, although she knew it was a concentrated effort on their part. Still, her enjoyment of their company was genuine, and she soon became animated in the conversation while relishing the warmth of the sun on her lower arms and face. She had purposefully worn her lilac lace dress with the short form-fitting sleeves and low rounded neckline so that more of her skin could feel the sun’s radiance, even though she knew it wasn’t fashionable to develop freckles. What could it hurt at this point?
“Miss Parrington,” Grayson turned to where she sat on the bench with Gia. “Would you care to take a turn about the garden?” he asked, smiling his calm smile.
She grinned in return, thanking God there was still someone who wanted her company. “I’d enjoy that. Do you mind?” she asked Gia, who sat with her head back, eyes closed beside her.
“Not at all,” she said airily, waving her hand, but Laura could see a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
She took Grayson’s proffered arm while he held an overripe peach in the other hand, letting him lead her through the small maze of walkways that comprised her family’s flower garden. Despite her affinity for solitary country life, Laura had missed some of the attention she had garnered while in London. It was certainly nice to know that there were gentlemen who still admired her in a respectable manner, who hadn’t ceased in their affection since the malicious gossip had become public.
“How have you been faring?” he asked, and Laura immediately knew to what he was referring.
“Well, I suppose there are worse things in life than being offered the position of someone’s mistress,” she said baldly. She didn’t see any point in mincing words.
He winced, his step pausing for the briefest of moments and looked down at her through dark lashes, his grey eyes silver in the sunlight. “I am truly sorry you have had to endure such indecent proposals.” His tone became rougher, vehement, a departure from his usual calm. “You don’t deserve such treatment.”
Laura tilted her head up to look at him, watching his jaw harden. He really did seem to care, and it made her insides warm unexpectedly.
Taking out a small, jeweled gentlemen’s knife, he sliced a sliver of peach from the fragrant fruit and set it on the arm of their bench as a curious yellow butterfly fluttered closer. They both tracked its whimsical flight pattern, watching as it settled on the bright chunk of fruit and meeting the other’s eyes fleetingly in satisfaction. “Laura,” he paused, turning to face her. His eyes caressed her face, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her hair comb. “I had hoped…that is-“ He was as flustered as Laura had ever seen him. He took her hands and began again slowly. “I know your season here has not been all you’d hoped it would be. I know you have been ill-used by both Rothstone and society- but your value- the person you are- has not diminished in my eyes in the slightest.”
Laura blushed.
“You must be reeling from the events of the last few weeks, but I would like to provide…an option for you, one that might perhaps be desirable.”
Her heart began to thump.
He cleared his throat. “I would like to make you my wife, Laura. I have desired this for some time now, and would be honored to have you as my bride.” He spoke more quickly now that he had got going. “I don’t have a title like Rothstone, or a Dukedom, but I do have an extensive country estate that I believe you could be quite happy at, if you would consent to marry me. My only wish is to make you happy. To take you away from all of this and be in your company. To-to have a family someday,” he finished, his cheeks flushing.
Laura gulped. She had not been prepared to give an answer to this sort of question from him. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected it- she rather had, or she had before the scandal broke. But she had never come to any sort of conclusion about what she would say if he asked.
Yet now he had- and she had to answer.
She couldn’t help it. She had to look away as she was sure that guilt was written all over her face. Guilt because, even as one man asked for her hand, she wished it was another. Remington’s face- his deep brown eyes and laugh lines and boyish smile flashed across her mind unbidden. She slid her hands from Grayson’s and hugged herself. Suddenly, the day was cold and the sunlight seemed to pale ever so slightly.
She should be enjoying this. She should be ecstatic that this man- this honorable, kind man- wanted her as his wife, in spite of all the rumors that surrounded her.
“Do you believe them?” she blurted. Suddenly, the answer to this question mattered above all else.
“Believe what?” he asked, puzzled.
“The rumors. The rumors about me…and Rothstone.” She studied his face for a reaction, and, for a hairsbreadth of a second, she saw a look of anger pass over his features, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“I…don’t want to,” he said carefully.
Laura nodded, both disappointed and satisfied. She knew he wouldn’t ask her if they were true. He was too much of a gentleman, and she didn’t quite want to divulge what had actually happened that night to him or to anyone really. Somehow, even though nothing intimate had occurred, it was between her and Rem.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate some time to provide an answer to your proposal, Mr. Fennimore,” she said, measuring out each word. It was as honest as she could be at the moment.
He nodded and smiled gamely, but Laura could tell he was nursing a wound. “Of course. These things take time.”
She smiled in return, thinking of how it hadn’t taken but a single moment to fall in love with Remington Rothstone…