Chapter 13
Gloriana had never seen her maid so excited. “He agreed to look for the book?”
“Oh, yes, miss. He didn’t even hesitate.” Because he loves me, her starry eyes said. “Oh, I hope and pray he doesn’t get caught. He made it sound easy, but . . . He did say it might take time.”
Gloriana sighed. “I shall try to muster some more patience.”
“And he warned me to tell you never to let yourself be alone with his lordship again. ‘What his lordship wants, he gets,’ he said, ‘and he didn’t get Miss Warren, so stands to reason he wants her even more now.’”
“Well, he can’t have me,” Gloriana said, but nevertheless she wished she could have told him straight out that he mightn’t visit the school.
She found that she was wishing for far too many impossibles at the moment. That the Book of Hours hadn’t been stolen. That she hadn’t acted the hypocrite for the past five years—in which case, Philippe might still love her.
“You look frightfully happy, Elspeth,” she said. “Are you going to marry Mr. Turner?”
Elspeth nodded and favored her with a blinding smile.
From estrangement to wedding plans in one short evening. “How did you manage that? I thought he was avoiding you.”
“Because he was embarrassed, and because he can’t afford to marry anyway. There was no point pining over what could never be. I had to use my woman’s wiles on him.” She giggled. “I was that nervous, miss, for I’ve never done such a thing before. I feared he would take me for a loose woman, but once I had him to myself, I blurted it all out.”
“That easy, was it?” Gloriana said.
“It wasn’t easy,” Elspeth said. “It was necessary.”
Gloriana tried to imagine cornering Philippe somewhere and explaining why she’d behaved so hatefully. She shuddered at the thought. It wouldn’t make any difference, not really. He didn’t love her anymore. Most likely, what had occurred years earlier was merely an infatuation on his part. So in what possible way was it necessary?
It wasn’t.
Besides that, if she tried using her woman’s wiles on him, he would spurn her, as he did all the other females who lusted for him. He might even think she hoped to compromise him—which was absurd, as he should know by now.
Why, she wondered, was he so set against marrying?
A few days later, she attended a small, impromptu ball with Alice Stowe and found to her dismay that maybe he wasn’t.
“I wonder why he spurns the advances of so many attractive women.” Alice brought up this subject every time they saw him. They were standing together in one of the window embrasures, sipping wine. Philippe had just arrived and stood in the doorway, sweeping the room with his gaze. Several ladies preened, hoping to arrest that gaze on themselves.
“Because he refuses to be forced into marriage.”
Alice stared. “Heavens, what makes you think that?”
He told me so, but Gloriana couldn’t admit that. The first rule of friendship with a gossip is to be discreet with regard to one’s own follies. With this dictum of her mother’s, she wholeheartedly agreed. She shrugged. “Most men feel the same.”
“But half the women who pursue him are already married.”
“Perhaps he prefers not to anger their husbands,” Gloriana offered—a standard sort of explanation. She thought of another one. “Maybe he even has some moral scruples.”
Alice snickered. “He’s far too handsome for that. Perhaps he will charm poor Marianne out of her infatuation with Freddy Barnham. He seeks her out at every party and dances with her far too often.”
Needless to say, Gloriana had noticed this, but she’d also dismissed it—for Philippe had said she and Marianne were the only two ladies who didn’t seek him for immoral purposes. Most likely Philippe was just amusing himself with a pretty woman, with the added pleasure of annoying Lord Hythwick into the bargain.
A far worse explanation assailed her. Oh, God. What better revenge than to seduce Hythwick’s sister? “Oh, I hope not!” she blurted.
“Good grief, what’s wrong?” Alice asked. “Why shouldn’t Philippe flirt with her?”
So much for being discreet. “Because she loves Freddy! How horrid that true love should fall victim to such—such callous charm.” Surely Philippe wouldn’t go to such lengths!
“I thought you Warrens didn’t believe in love,” Alice said.
“I didn’t used to, but then my brother fell in love with his wife, and since then some of my cousins have married for love, so it seems we have changed.”
“How tedious, my dear. You are becoming maudlin.”
No, she was a romantic at heart and always had been. She should acknowledge this, accept it, and get on with her loveless life.
At that, commonsense reasserted itself. Philippe wouldn’t seduce an innocent girl, and she should be ashamed of herself for thinking it even for a few seconds.
No—he meant to marry Lady Marianne, a far better solution to his problem with the Home Office. She was well-bred, attractive, wealthy, and as respectably English as she could be—and what better revenge than to walk off with Hythwick’s sister? The earl would have to give up his hopes of having Philippe arrested as a spy, for it would reflect so badly on his own family. It was the perfect solution.
And Philippe would be able to recover the Book of Hours more easily too.
But he didn’t love Marianne. He was using her. He wouldn’t make her happy. Much as Gloriana needed her Book of Hours back, she wanted no part of such a plot.
“Since she can’t marry Freddy, what does it matter?” Alice asked.
“She should insist on Freddy,” Gloriana said. “Or remain patient until she is of age and Hythwick can’t force her to marry some aged peer.” But he could make her life miserable, no doubt about that. “She could even elope with Freddy.”
“To Gretna Green, I suppose,” Alice scoffed. “Impossible. She’s not the scandalous sort.”
“What a pity.” She spied another arrival. “Oh, God, it’s Lord Hythwick. I’ll have to dance with him, and he leers at me.”
“It’s your own fault,” Alice said. “I told you it was unwise to dispense with your chaperone. It was particularly stupid of you to do so right after he decided not to marry you.”
“That was months ago!”
“Tsk. Everyone assumes that, at heart, you are as badly behaved as the rest of your family. Therefore, you must have done something so improper that your poor old cousin refused to stay with you any longer.”
“Not at all! I was tired of her, and she was always ill and just as tired of me, so it made sense to let her go.” But her lack of a female companion played into Hythwick’s hands, Gloriana realized unhappily. He felt justified in both rejecting her as a future wife and pursuing her as a mistress.
“You’d better snub him,” Alice said.
“If I don’t dance with him, I shall be obliged to refuse to dance with anyone else,” Gloriana said.
“I said snub him,” Alice said, “not destroy your own enjoyment. What harm can he do that you haven’t already done to yourself?”
She didn’t know, but nor did she wish to risk Hythwick’s malice, at least until she had the Book of Hours back. When eventually he made his way over, she compromised with a blunt, “Thank you, my lord, but no, for people are talking. I don’t know why the fact that I am temporarily without a chaperone should cause such a fuss, but so it is. For the sake of my family, I mustn’t court further gossip.”
“Understood, my dear Miss Warren,” he said with a smirk and a leer. He bowed and soon approached another lady.
That was easy enough. Gloriana wavered between wariness and relief. She danced with Mr. Bridge and then Freddy Barnham, who did his manful best to be polite, but his eyes kept straying to Marianne.
“Why not elope with her?” Gloriana asked bluntly.
“Eh?” He reddened. “Sorry. Kind of you not to take offence at my wandering attention.”
“You love Marianne. Don’t let another man steal her away from you!”
He glanced at Philippe, whose dark head was bent over Marianne’s fair one. “Not much I can do about it, if she prefers him.”
“I cannot believe Marianne would be so fickle,” she said. Or that Philippe would be so conniving. The thought made her ill.
“Better to find out now than later,” Freddy said.
“Philippe de Bellechasse is not a good match for her. He wouldn’t be unkind, but he doesn’t love her. Not only that, I’m certain her brother won’t permit it. What if they elope?”
Wry amusement flickered in his gaze. “Don’t let it worry you, Miss Warren.”
Regardless of Freddy’s feelings, she must at least make a push to ensure that Marianne didn’t do something she would regret. She would make a point of speaking to her tonight.
She waited until Mrs. Apsley was settled in the card room and headed for Marianne, but Philippe got there first. Drat! They joined the next set, so when another gentleman asked her to dance, she gladly agreed. Meanwhile, Freddy propped up the wall and scowled.
This made no sense! Either he didn’t care, in which case why the scowl? Or if he did care, why the amusement—and the assurance that all would be well? Maybe . . . maybe she’d misunderstood Philippe’s intentions.
A wary, tentative feeling of relief crept over her. A bit of hope did as well, which she resolutely ignored.
After the set was over, she retreated to sit next to her hostess, a gossipy dowager who could be counted on to talk without pause, leaving Gloriana plenty of time to think. And watch the movements of the three people who were participating in this little performance.
For that was precisely what it seemed to be—a play, with everyone acting his or her part.
“Poor Freddy Barnham,” the dowager said. “Cut out by that handsome, charming Frenchman.”
“Indeed.” But why? How could a flirtation between Philippe and Marianne help Freddy? Hythwick would refuse to let her marry either of them.
“We all know you dislike him, but you must admit he is handsome.”
“Very,” Gloriana said dryly, watching him saunter away from Marianne, who had joined a bevy of young ladies.
“And charming,” the dowager said.
“When he chooses to be,” Gloriana said.
The dowager tittered. “Aha! Did he trifle with you, my dear, and then move on? I hope he doesn’t break poor Marianne’s heart.”
“I doubt it,” Gloriana said. “She’s not showing any sign of constancy. To give up so easily on Freddy, and immediately succumb to the marquis . . .” Which, the more she watched them, the less she believed.
“Perhaps she is too young to know her own mind,” the dowager said.
Gloriana didn’t believe that either.
Lord Hythwick stomped up to them to take his leave. “I’m rather weary but don’t wish to deprive my sister of her enjoyment, nor Mrs. Apsley of her card game, so I’ll send my coachman back for them.”
What? Why wasn’t Hythwick dragging her away from both her swains? As for Mrs. Apsley, when did he give a hoot for anyone else’s comfort?
But he couldn’t possibly be part of the charade. Suddenly, she noticed that Freddy’s eyes were no longer on Marianne—but on a point past her and to the right.
The earl bowed at his hostess, leered at Gloriana, and left. She glanced behind, to see Philippe strolling through a set of double doors onto the terrace, where torches offered light and warmth against the chilly night.
Gloriana continued to take part in the conversation, whilst keeping an eye on the remaining players. Soon she caught a nod from Freddy . . . in the direction of Marianne, who suddenly headed in the direction of the ladies’ retiring room, but at the last moment detoured to the terrace as well.
A minute later, Freddy followed.
Gloriana let out a sigh. Most likely Philippe didn’t intend to marry Marianne after all. Instead, what if he were helping Freddy and Marianne? Arranging for them to tryst on the terrace, now that Hythwick was gone . . . She settled back in her chair, relieved.
“How strange,” her hostess said. “Didn’t Lord Hythwick just bid us farewell?”
Gloriana raised her head. Lord Hythwick stood in the doorway, raking the ballroom with his quizzing glass. Oh, no! Had he come back to catch Marianne speaking with Freddy? He had expressly forbidden her to do so.
She stood. “Do excuse me. I must visit the necessary.” She hastened toward the ladies’ retiring room, trying not to look rushed, and detoured to the terrace at the last moment, just as Marianne had done. At first, she thought it was deserted due to the chill of the night, but then she spied Marianne, Freddy, and Philippe in the far corner.
She hastened toward them. “Lord Hythwick has returned—or maybe he didn’t leave at all. He’s looking for you, Marianne.” She put out a hand. “Come, you mustn’t be caught out here with Freddy.”
Marianne dithered. “But—”
Freddy scowled. “My dear Miss Warren—”
Philippe interrupted them both. “You are a damned nuisance, Gloriana.” He took her by the hand and pulled her, resisting, toward the ballroom. “I’ve had enough of your meddling. From now on, mind your own business!”
“Let me go!” Gloriana tried to slap him away, but he didn’t release his harsh grip.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from me?” he demanded. “Didn’t I tell you I would take care of everything?”
Through the windows, she spied Lord Hythwick approaching, and meanwhile, Philippe was blathering on about leaving him be. Which she would gladly do, but she couldn’t desert Marianne in her time of need. She had to keep Hythwick off the terrace—at least long enough for Freddy and Marianne to get out of the way.
As Philippe pushed open the doors, she raised her free hand and slapped him hard across the face. “How dare you?” she cried.
He let go, gaping at her. For the first time in her life, she’d nonplussed Philippe de Bellechasse.
She’d also startled Lord Hythwick and half the inhabitants of the ballroom. She would never, ever live this down.
She didn’t care. “How dare you order me about! You’re as unworthy of your title as those lowborn fools you care so much about. I will do as I please!”
She put her nose in the air and stalked away, halting by the smirking Lord Hythwick. “My lord, the next time you ask me to dance, I shall certainly agree. Society may think what it pleases.”
He leered down at her. “A new set is forming. Why not now?”
She mastered her revulsion and placed her hand in his. “With pleasure, my lord.”
~ ~ ~
Gloriana gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain at the ball, enduring mocking glances, rude whispers, and the occasional lecherous stare, until Alice Stowe was ready to leave. Philippe, thank heavens, had left immediately after their contretemps. Mr. Bridge asked her to dance again, which was so kindhearted of him that she almost wept. Instead, she quizzed him on dancing with her scandalous self.
“Nonsense, dear Miss Warren. We’re all entitled to a tantrum from time to time, although preferably not in such a public situation.”
“I hope you now realize the unwisdom of offering for me,” she said.
He laughed. “Not at all. Unlike Monsieur de Bellechasse, I am not the sort of man to drive a woman to a scandalous outburst.”
“I was insufferably rude to him—not that he didn’t deserve it.”
He smiled sympathetically. “It will blow over soon enough. However, as it chances, it is for the best that you refused my repeated offer. I am not making an announcement about it, but you may wish me happy.”
“Oh, I do!” How wonderful to have a reason to be joyful. “Who is she?”
“That is the difficulty. She is the daughter of a merchant—a wealthy one, but our sort will not accept her. My mother is reconciling herself to the idea, but only because she longs for grandchildren. In any event, you’ll see me less often in Society, as I shall have to spend a great deal of time with my new relations. Which I expect I shall enjoy—trade being so very useful, you know.”
“Oh, no, please do not desert us.” She couldn’t afford to lose friends, which was a selfish reason to object. “I for one shall be happy to befriend your wife, and to stand sponsor to your children.” She paused. “That is, if I am not considered too scandalous to do so.”
“Not by me,” he said. “That’s most kind of you, Miss Warren.”
“Not really,” she admitted. “I shall miss you otherwise. As well, social distinctions are backward and absurd, and I relish an opportunity to flout them.”
“Bravo. If I may ever return the favor, let me know.”
She was obliged to put up with a scold from Alice during the ride home. “Are you trying to ruin yourself? If so, you’re making a good job of it. People are beginning to wonder if you are considering becoming Lord Hythwick’s mistress.”
“What? Never!”
“What else are they to conclude? He has no intention of marrying you, so why else would you flirt with him so pointedly? Unless it is to make Philippe de Bellechasse jealous.”
Gloriana felt Alice eyeing her slyly in the dark coach, probably dreaming up some new and annoying gossip. “No, it was because Philippe infuriated me.” She heaved a sigh. “He always brings out the worst in me.”
Alice chuckled. “So you had best avoid both him and Lord Hythwick. It will be extremely annoying if Mr. Stowe hears too much gossip to your discredit and refuses to let me associate with you any longer.”
“That would be a pity,” Gloriana said automatically. When she at last arrived home in the small hours, she found Elspeth waiting. The last thing she needed was a sympathetic maid, for she would likely burst into tears, which she had valiantly refrained from doing for what seemed like hours.
Oh, to hell with Alice, Society, and the entire world, including Philippe de Bellechasse.
She mastered a trembling lip at this last thought and said grumpily, “I told you not to wait up for me.”
“Yes, Miss Glow, but I have good news. Mr. Turner has discovered where his lordship keeps the book.”
“Oh. That’s good.” Gloriana wished she could sound more enthusiastic, but nothing seemed to matter at the moment. It would be frightfully poor-spirited to flee to Lancashire to avoid the gossip, but London would be no fun now. Prim and proper hostesses would hesitate to invite her to their parties, whilst others would watch avidly in the hope of witnessing another outburst.
Not only that, now that she’d shown Lord Hythwick some encouragement, she would have to continue staying away from the school—for now he had every reason to expect a private tour.
Which left her with nothing to do but sit at home and twiddle her thumbs.
“But it’s in his strongbox, to which only his lordship has the key,” Elspeth said. “Mr. Turner could pry it open, to be sure, but he says Lord Hythwick opens the strongbox almost every day, so he will notice immediately if it has been broken into. We would not wish suspicion to fall on any of the servants, you see.”
“Of course not,” Gloriana said dully. “I’ll think about it in the morning.”
“We might have to hire a burglar, as you did before.”
“I’m too tired to think clearly just now.” She unclasped her diamond necklace and tossed it on the dressing table.
Elspeth peered at her. “What’s wrong, Miss Glow? You’re more than just tired.”
“I caused a scene at the ball,” Gloriana said. “It was dreadful.”
“Lost your temper, did you? With your Philippe, I suppose.”
“No, I did not lose my temper. I knew precisely what I was doing and why.” She shuddered. “Very well, maybe I did lose my temper a little, but I couldn’t think of any other way to handle the situation . . .” She sat at the dressing table, and while Elspeth brushed out her hair, she explained what had happened at the ball. “I was only trying to help Lady Marianne, and I could see no other way but to distract Lord Hythwick with a touch of woman’s wiles.”
“Tsk.” Elspeth tugged gently on a tangle. “That was foolish.”
“Yes, it was stupid and dangerous,” Gloriana admitted. “People now are whispering that I will become Lord Hythwick’s mistress, and I’m afraid he thinks so too. He frightens me, but I can’t crawl back to my brother’s estate to avoid both him and the gossips. That would be so craven of me.” She slumped in the chair. “I do believe this was the worst evening of my entire life.”
“Sit up, miss. I’m almost done with your hair.” Elspeth eyed her in the mirror. “Worse than when you paraded naked for your Philippe at the lake?”
Irritated, Gloriana hunched a shoulder. “Very well, the second worst. Then, I believed he loved me, so I was utterly shattered. Now I know he doesn’t, so it hardly matters what he thinks. Let’s not discuss it anymore, Elspeth. I’m exhausted. All I want to do is sleep and sleep.”
The maid helped her into her nightdress and tucked her up in bed. She drew the curtains around the bed, blew out the candle, and closed the door softly as she left.
~ ~ ~
From his hiding place behind the window curtain of Gloriana’s bedchamber, Philippe pondered what he’d heard. She’d loved him? He had thought so at the time, but when she’d tried to force him into marriage, he’d concluded otherwise.
Maybe he’d misunderstood her—both at the lake and afterwards.
How could he help but do so? She’d tried to lure him into marriage, and later, she had behaved in a manner calculated to prove that she was a hypocrite, through and through. Had she done so as a response to his behavior?
Again—maybe.
Fine, but if she loved him still, her way of showing it left much to be desired. She was so volatile, so easily enraged, that they couldn’t have a rational conversation. She’d flung one of her old, familiar insults at him this evening. How was he supposed to know when she meant what she said and when she didn’t?
He didn’t trust her. He couldn’t.
He also adored her. He always had, and he always would. Her passionate nature had ensnared him right from the start, and even though she had turned it against him for years, he couldn’t resist. He was a fool.
Maybe Sophie was right. Maybe he owed Gloriana an explanation of his flight so many years ago. What harm could it do except to his pride? Perhaps if he got it over with, he could forget the past, forget Gloriana, and be on his way.
Or perhaps not—but he had to do it regardless.
He was about to come out from behind the curtain when she began to weep—softly at first, then great, racking sobs of misery that twisted and tore at his heart.
He tried to steel himself against her. Anyone, trustworthy or not, might give in to exhaustion and despair.
But what if she, when not in the grasp of hurt or anger, was as trustworthy as he? What if she too suffered from a bruised and battered heart?
He stood silently, longing to take her into his arms, to hold and comfort her—but she would see his presence as an intolerable intrusion, and she would be right.
What if she was crying her heart out . . . over him?
He clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and waited, agonized, as the sobs gradually subsided. At last she blew her nose and hiccupped a few times. Soft footsteps and the trickle of water told him she was bathing her face. “Well,” she said, “so much for that.” The ropes creaked as she climbed back into bed. After a minute, she began to murmur softly, and he realized that she was praying—in Latin, so doubtless it was a passage from the Book of Hours. How strange that he, who had more or less dispensed with religion, had fallen in love with such a devout woman—and found himself greatly moved.
She finished her prayer and all was silent. Still he waited, until her even breathing told him she slept. He let himself out the window and walked away into the cold, drizzly night. What the devil was he to do now?