The afternoon after the day that Mary had returned the necklace to Sebastian, she sat in the garden pretending to read. From time to time she even turned a page, just in case her father was watching her from his library window. She had not expected, but she had rather hoped, that Sebastian would return the necklace to her so she might have a chance to explain—
Only she wasn’t supposed to speak to him, so how would she—
But if he came here, etiquette required she be a polite hostess—
Only her father could send him away before she saw him—
And if he told Fitzwilliam—
She damned well wanted to pull out her hair.
The girl who had ridden over to Pembrook would not have allowed others to dictate her actions. When had that changed? Was it part of being a lady? Or a coward?
Did she so desperately desire marriage that she would not be true to herself? Or was it Fitzwilliam she so desperately desired?
And if she desired him, why was it that whenever they were together, she never once wondered what it might be like to have him press his lips against hers? Why could she not forget what it had felt like to have Sebastian’s on hers? Why the devil did she want him to kiss her again? Only softer this time, not quite so brutish—although it had certainly been exciting. Still, why did she think softer would bring back the boy he’d been?
That lad was long lost.
She doubted they would ever be friends as they’d once been. A friend did not look at one as though he was contemplating devouring her. But then he always looked as though he had no patience for anything. He wanted what he wanted and he wanted it now. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. He’d had twelve years of waiting. But his impatience would likely result in a harsh life for his wife. Always trying to anticipate his moods, his needs could very well drive her to madness.
Fitzwilliam was much easier to decipher. He was proper. His moods controlled. Even when he’d been angry with her, his words had lacked heat. He’d merely scolded, then insisted on proper behavior. Her embarrassment had come because she should have never engaged in any improper behavior that would require his correcting her. He had every right to be upset with her.
She disappointed herself.
She was not a child, free to run hither and yon, and do as she pleased. She had responsibilities now. Was required to act in a certain manner, to complement her husband and his station in life. Fitzwilliam was a viscount, one day to be a marquess. She understood why he didn’t want her speaking with men alone. That he had overlooked her previous lacks in judgment boded well for a future marriage of equanimity. He would not bully. He would not be unkind. They would not have upheavals or storms or adventures.
She sighed. She could very well be bored out of her mind.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She should not be entertaining these thoughts. They’d have never intruded if Sebastian hadn’t returned. Although she certainly couldn’t regret that he had. Because it meant he still lived. And she cared too much for her childhood friend to wish him ill.
“M’lady?”
She opened her eyes to find the butler hovering, a silver salver in his hand. She took the cards that rested on it. It seemed Ladies Hermione and Victoria were in wont of the latest gossip regarding the lords of Pembrook. How disappointed they would be to discover she could no longer serve as a source for their amusements.
“I shall entertain them here,” she said. “Have someone bring tea and cakes.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
She closed her book, set it on the table, and rose to await their arrival. Two more weeks and she would be receiving guests at Fitzwilliam’s. Well, perhaps a bit longer than that as they would be taking a month in Italy after they were married. She was quite looking forward to it as she’d never left England’s shores.
Spotting the ladies scurrying up the walk, she forced herself to smile. Hermione reached her first, and to Mary’s surprise, placed her hands on her shoulders, drew her near, and touched her cheek lightly against Mary’s. “My dear girl, how horrible for you. I do wish you’d told us everything.”
What the devil was she talking about?
Hermione pulled back, but did not release her hold, her brow furrowed so deeply that Mary feared she might forever wear the frown. “I must confess, regrettably, that Victoria and I did not keep your confidence regarding the kiss—”
“I never expected that you would. Terribly juicy bit of gossip, I’m sure.”
“—but had we known that he had forced you, that you had to fight your way free of him—”
Shock rippled through Mary. “What? No, what are you talking about?”
“That Keswick behaved as a complete blackguard and gave you no choice in the matter.”
“Who told you such nonsense?”
“It’s all over London. He and his brothers are to be refused admittance into any proper residence. And it’s not fair. It’s simply not fair.”
“I couldn’t agree more. It shan’t be tolerated.” Lies! Lies running amuck over London. How had they even started?
“Thank the Lord that you see the truth of the matter. So you will speak out in favor of Lord Tristan so that at least he can be welcomed into homes?”
“Lord Tristan?” Mary felt as though she were trapped in a whirlwind of words that were slamming together in no logical manner.
“Yes. He should not be made to suffer—I should not be made to suffer—because his brother is a savage.”
“But Keswick is not a savage. He did not force me. Where did these awful rumors start?”
Hermione finally released Mary’s shoulders, stepped back, and gave a light tug on her gloves. “Where all rumors start. With the truth.”
“The truth is that we shared a kiss in the garden. A kiss that we both—or at least I—welcomed.”
Lady Hermione arched a fair, delicate brow. “You invited him to take liberties?”
“I did not invite him, and no liberties—” Her words would be misinterpreted, twisted about. “He kissed me. It was no more than that. Lips exploring—” Again she stopped. Anything she could think to say in way of explanation would only worsen matters.
“They say he ripped your bodice in his eagerness. The seamstress admitted to repairing your gown.”
Mary could only stare in stunned disbelief. This madness resembled a parlor game she’d once played where one person whispered to another and around the circle it went until when the whispered words finally made their way to the originator, they barely resembled the original phrase. It had been a fun game at the time. Everyone laughed. She certainly wasn’t laughing now. “Who is they who are spouting these ridiculous claims?”
“Well, everyone, of course.”
“I returned to the ballroom after the kiss.”
“I didn’t see you, but I heard you left rather quickly.”
“Your hair was askew,” Lady Victoria added. “I saw Lord Tristan straighten it. On the terrace.”
She had spent so many years with no one paying any attention to her at all, no one noticing that she had come of age for a Season but failed to appear in London, and suddenly it was as though everyone had their spyglass pointed her way. “This whole matter is ludicrous.”
What must Sebastian be thinking? Had he heard these rumors? Had Fitzwilliam? What a colossal mess!
“Your tea, m’lady.”
She glanced over at the female servant holding a tray that contained the china and small cakes. So civilized, so proper. She could not possibly sit down and sip tea as though nothing were amiss. “Return it to the kitchen.”
The girl curtsied and hurried away as though she recognized a storm brewing within her mistress. Hermione apparently was not so intuitive.
“But I would like to have a bit of tea while we talk further. If you would provide us with the details of that night perhaps we can set matters to right so Lord Tristan may again be welcomed into homes.”
Lord Tristan again? How could Lady Hermione not understand that Lord Tristan was the very least of Mary’s worries at the moment? “He was never welcomed. Not even into yours. Your parents didn’t want him there. How can you be so dense, so focused on only your own wants?”
Lady Hermione drew herself up. “No need to get nasty here.”
“If you will please excuse me, I must pay a call on Lord Fitzwilliam. He will be terribly upset by these rumors.” What if he challenged Sebastian to a duel? Sebastian with his military training would make short work of him. No, with his hindered vision it was very likely that he could no longer properly sight a target. Fitzwilliam could come to incredible harm.
“Fitzwilliam didn’t seem terribly upset when he spoke to Father about them,” Lady Victoria said.
“Why would he discuss them with your father?”
“He said the gentlemen needed to ensure that Keswick was not allowed near any of the women. He said his cowardly behavior on the battlefield apparently extended to his treatment of ladies. They want him out of London.”
It made no sense. No sense at all. Why would Fitzwilliam speak ill of Sebastian? With questions tumbling through her mind, she began marching toward the house.
“What are you going to do?” Lady Hermione called out.
But she didn’t answer them. She just left them to stare after her.
She thought of speaking with her father but he would only advise her to leave the matter be. That was not an option. So she changed into her calling dress and had a carriage readied. As it rumbled through the streets, rain began to fall. It matched her mood. Whatever was wrong with people? Why had they not celebrated the lords’ return? Why did they view them as questionable? Why did they believe rumors that Sebastian was a coward on the battlefield? Why did they believe that he would force himself on her?
Did they think she would be cowed by such behavior that she wouldn’t report it? She’d have scratched, kicked, and fought. She’d have never succumbed willingly to something she didn’t want.
The carriage came to a halt. The door opened and the footman, holding an umbrella, handed her down. But even his long legs had a time of it keeping up with hers as she hurried to the massive doors at Fitzwilliam’s residence. She didn’t care that rain droplets rolled down her face when she stepped into the foyer.
“Where’s your master?” she demanded as the butler appeared.
“I shall announce your arrival.”
“Just tell me where he is. Do it or relieving you of your duties will be my first act after becoming mistress of this household.”
“The library, m’lady.”
She marched down the hallway with her hands fisted and her shoes beating out a steady cadence that resembled that of militia drummer. She was ready to do battle if need be, but she hoped, dear God, but she did hope that she would discover she was wrong in her suspicions.
With a bow, a footman opened the door at her approach. She charged into the room and staggered to a stop. Fitzwilliam was lounging in a chair by the fire, snifter in hand, swirling the amber liquid within it, apparently lost in thought. He seemed so vulnerable for a moment there, and she imagined they would have many nights of sitting together before a fire. They would read together, and talk quietly, and hopefully laugh about some silly nonsense.
Glancing over, he furrowed his brow and slowly came to his feet as though she’d awoken him or perhaps he simply couldn’t believe the sight of the hoyden standing before him, dripping on his parquet floor. “Lady Mary, whatever’s wrong? What are you doing here?”
Bravely, she took several steps forward along with a deep breath. “Did you start the rumors that Keswick had forced his person on me in the garden?”
Irritation chased away the furrows, but he steadfastly held her gaze. “No.”
One word delivered like the shot from a pistol. She’d offended him, and as much as she’d regretted it, she’d had to ask. That knowledge bothered her, sent a fissure of unease through her, but she wasn’t certain why. She’d have to examine it later.
“It must have been his uncle then, striving to discredit him, to make his entry back into Society that much more difficult. I’m certain he spawned this ludicrous story of Keswick’s cowardice on the battlefield.”
“Why is this a concern to you?”
“Because he’s my friend.”
He set aside his snifter and approached. “So anxious were you to question me that you couldn’t even arrive with an umbrella?”
She watched a raindrop fall from her hat to the floor. “I was upset, not thinking.”
“You do not believe him capable of moral shortcomings and yet you question mine?”
Not only offended, but hurt him as well. “I’m sorry. I know you’re a good man.”
“Apparently you don’t.”
“I do. I’d have not accepted your offer of marriage if I doubted the sort of man you are. I thought perhaps you’d done it in a misguided well-meaning attempt to protect my honor.”
“I assure you that I’m not in the habit of being misguided in any of my actions.”
“Of course you’re not. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive my impertinence.”
“I wish I could say that I would forgive you anything, but I must confess to growing wearisome of constantly finding Keswick in our lives. He will not be there once we are married, I should hope. I’ll have your word on that.”
What was he saying? That she would never see him again?
“I don’t suppose you would do what you could to help quash these rumors that he took unfair advantage of me,” she said quietly.
He turned away. “If I did that, it would be to imply that you kissed him willingly. Do you understand how that would make me appear? Cuckolded before we’re even wed. I believe silence is the better part of valor here. The rumors will die out of their own accord if tinder is not constantly thrown on them.”
He was correct, of course. If the rumors garnered no reaction, people would soon lose interest in them. But what damage to Sebastian’s reputation might be done in the meantime?
Fitzwilliam faced her. “I can’t help but admire your loyalty to the man. I simply wished it extended to me.”
She suddenly felt as though she didn’t deserve this man. “It does. I’ll be such a devoted wife you’ll never have cause to doubt me.”
“I’m counting on that. So shall we put this behind us?”
Not quite yet. “Lady Hermione told me that she overheard you encouraging her father to convince others not to allow Keswick into proper homes.”
“He asked for my opinion and I gave it to him. They’ve caused nothing but trouble since they arrived. I told him they will not be welcomed in mine. What he chooses to do is his business.”
“It’s so unfair.”
“Perhaps in time when they’ve learned to behave with a bit more decorum, when they realize the value of conformity, people will be more at ease with them.”
They would never conform. Of that she was certain. Perhaps she’d been hasty in trying to lure them into Society. Fitzwilliam was correct: they needed to make their own way in their own time.
Reaching out, he touched her damp hair. “You were very naughty to come here without a chaperone.”
She wondered if he might take advantage, might in fact use the opportunity to kiss her. She couldn’t imagine that Sebastian would let such a moment pass if he found himself alone in the presence of a woman he intended to marry. She didn’t like thinking of him as being barbaric. He was simply blatantly sensual, even if he didn’t see himself as such.
Fitzwilliam skimmed his knuckles along her cheek, gave her a look of fondness. “We have a dinner tonight at Lord and Lady Moreland’s. Allow me to escort you to your carriage so that you may return home and begin preparing for it. I shall bring my carriage around at half past seven.”
The moment shouldn’t have ended with her being disappointed that he’d not sought to take advantage. Her reputation was on perilous enough ground as it was. She had no need to have him further doubt her ability to act as a lady.
He extended his arm and she slipped hers through the crook of his elbow. She walked so close that her skirt brushed against his trousers but the nearness didn’t seem at all scandalous. Shouldn’t she want to lean into him, press her entire side against his?
Why was she questioning so much of late? He was good for her. They were well suited.
A footman with an umbrella followed them out to the carriage and Fitzwilliam handed her up. “I shall see you soon. Remember your promise to me. No Keswick. Men’s reputations are hardly as important as ladies’. It’s the reason so many of us excel at being rakes: no one really cares what we do. This nasty business about the kiss will die soon, especially after we are wed.”
She nodded. “Again, I’m sorry that I thought you sought to do him harm.”
He tucked her beneath her chin as though she were a child. “I would not be marrying you if you were any different.”
Slamming the door closed, he instructed the driver to return her home. The carriage bolted up the drive. Glancing back out the window, she saw Fitzwilliam still standing there, watching her. He worried over her.
But who worried over Sebastian? If he heard the rumors, if he thought she were responsible for spreading them—
She could barely tolerate the possibility.
As soon as the carriage turned onto the street and she was certain she was no longer visible to Fitzwilliam, she leaned her head out of the window and ignored the rain pelting her. “Chambers, take me to Easton House.”
“Yes, m’lady!”
Settling back against the bench, she removed a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her face. She knew that Fitzwilliam wouldn’t approve. She simply had to ensure that he never found out.
She could do that easily enough with discretion. She stuck her head back out the window. “Chambers, use the mews not the front entrance.”
If he answered, she didn’t hear it because thunder rumbled. She slipped back inside and hoped it had not been a sign of disapproval from on high. No one would look for her at the servants’ entrance. She would meet quickly with Sebastian, explain that she was not responsible for the ugly rumors and if they all just ignored them they would fade away. She needed no more than five minutes. Then she would return home.
Simple enough. While she was there she would explain in person about the return of the necklace and how they must avoid each other. Surely he understood her betrothed’s jealousy for he would no doubt feel the same toward the woman he intended to marry. He’d not tolerate her seeking solitary moments with another man. Nor should he.
Then an awful thought occurred to her. What if he wouldn’t see her? What if her letter and the awful rumors circulating had torn asunder the last threads of their fragile friendship? By the time the carriage drew to a halt, she’d worked herself up into a worrisome lather. If he weren’t angry with her, if he understood, he’d have at least sent her a missive indicating such.
Instead, she’d had only silence from him since having her own message delivered. The footman opened the door and handed her down. Just as he had at Fitzwilliam’s so he had a devil of a time keeping pace with her as she raced up the path. It suddenly seemed imperative that she see Sebastian, that she make things right between them. Yes, her loyalty was to Fitzwilliam but she couldn’t ignore Sebastian.
The rain slashed at her sideways, each frigid drop as painful as she suspected Sebastian’s icy words to her might be. The puddles splashed, soaking her hems. She reached the back door and pounded on it. A footman opened it, and she burst through as though she’d been invited.
The servants’ eyes widened but no one stopped her progress until the butler caught up to her in the foyer. She was a soggy mess and her hair was falling, but she didn’t care. “Please let His Grace know that Lady Mary Wynne-Jones has come to call.”
“I’m sorry, m’lady, but he is not receiving.”
She thrust up her chin and spoke with the full weight of her father’s rank. “He will receive me.”
He gave a slight bow of acquiescence. “I shall let him know you’re here.”
She expected him to go down a hallway. Instead, he started up the stairs. She wondered if Sebastian were readying himself for the Moreland dinner. It seemed rather early and she’d not considered that he would attend. It would be quite awkward unless he understood everything. Her coming here had been a wise decision on her part, essential in fact, to ensuring that she did not anger Fitzwilliam unduly tonight.
She glanced around, caught sight of a mirror, and moved toward it. As soon as her reflection greeted her, she gasped. She was a fright. Her hat was wilted, her hair drooping from the weight of the wet strands. She looked like a cat that someone had attempted to drown.
Sebastian would no doubt laugh just as he had when they were children and she’d tumbled into the river. He’d rescued her then. How fortunate she’d been that he was near, because she hadn’t a clue how to swim. But he’d taught her. While she’d worn nothing except her undergarments. It hadn’t seemed wrong at all. She’d forgotten about that. Now of course it was unconscionable.
At the sound of heavy footsteps, she gazed upward, surprised to discover that it wasn’t Sebastian making his way down. “Lord Tristan.”
He smiled slightly. “Lady Mary.”
“Forgive the formality. It seems pretentious after everything we shared. I was simply caught unawares by your presence. I’m here to speak with Sebastian.”
“Yes, so Thomas informed me. Unfortunately Sebastian is not up to receiving callers.”
“Callers? Or me?” Without waiting for his reply, she started up the stairs.
He caught up with her easily enough, grabbed her arm, and halted her progress. “Mary, wait.”
“I know he’s upset about the gossip, but I must explain.” Wrenching free, she carried on. This time he didn’t try to stop her, but she was aware of the echo of his footsteps following in the wake of hers.
At the top of the stairs, she took the familiar path that had added to her downfall once before, but this time there were no witnesses other than Tristan, who would certainly hold his tongue. She would have her say and leave. No one would be the wiser. The door was open so she simply swept into the room and stumbled to an ungainly stop.
Sebastian was in the bed, breathing heavily, bathed in dampness as though he had been the one running through the rain instead of her. He was wearing a nightshirt, but it was unbuttoned and soaked, plastered to his skin. She took tentative steps forward until she was near enough to press a hand to his brow. Fevered. Worse than fevered. She’d never felt skin so hot. “He’s burning up.”
“His wound is festering. I’ve sent for the physician.”
She caught scent of the rancid odor now. Then she noticed something clasped in his hand, the gold filigree chain dangling onto the bed. Her necklace. Cautiously she touched his fist.
“I’ve not been able to get him to release it,” Tristan said.
It was silly to think that her returning it had caused the decline. “How could this have happened? He visited with us.”
“I think he got out of bed too soon, exerted himself too much.”
Because of her. Because of suspicions. Because of his uncle.
“You can’t stay, Mary.”
She nodded absently. She knew that.
“I’ll send word once the physician has seen him. Let you know how he fares.”
Once again she nodded, just before sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching into the bowl of water and lifting out the cloth nestled in it. She wrung it out.
“Mary, you can’t stay,” he repeated.
“Yes, I know.” She pressed the cloth to Sebastian’s brow. She had a dinner party to attend. Fitzwilliam was going to arrive at her residence at half past seven. She needed to be ready. She patted the cloth along Sebastian’s neck over the scars. She’d promised Fitzwilliam that she wouldn’t approach Sebastian, that she would never again be alone with him.
Only she wasn’t alone. Tristan was here.
“Mary—”
“If I remain wet, I’ll catch my death. Will you please see if a servant has a dress I might borrow and find one willing to assist me as I change?”
“You don’t always have to save us, Mary.”
But this time, she wondered if she might be saving herself as well.