Twelve
“I cannot ice-skate,” Anne said again in a suffocated whisper, looking from Simon to the ice below her feet and back to Simon.
For a moment, doubt about his decision buffeted him, but he shoved it away. Anne could do this. He would help her. Simon had been immensely pleased with himself last night for thinking of taking Anne ice-skating today after the dance lesson. He had needed a reason for her to linger longer at his home, so he could have more time with her. He had felt confident he could persuade her to give skating a try, given how she strived to appear just as capable as others. The thought of being the first person to do this with her also pleased him.
After he had taught Anne the quadrille—with the help of his sisters and Perceval—he, Anne, and his sisters had come out to ice-skate, with Anne’s reluctant agreement to try. But the moment she’d actually stepped onto the ice and nearly fallen, she’d changed her mind.
“Ye will be wonderful,” Elizabeth insisted.
Anne gave Elizabeth a wary look. “I’ll fall!”
Simon held out his arm to her. “I will not let ye fall. The insert in yer skate will help to keep ye balanced, I swear it. Trust in me.”
Anne gave him an accusing look. “You ask that very often.”
“And ye have yet to do it,” he pointed out. He winked at her to soften what might have sounded harsh.
She sighed. “I will trust you in this—” she took his arm “—but as for the rest, that is a weightier matter.”
“Aye,” he agreed, slowly helping her glide across the ice and far enough from his sisters that they could talk openly. “Trusting me with yer heart is a much more important thing, but I am trusting ye with mine.”
Her surprised gasp pleased him. He had never spoken of matters of the heart to a woman before. He had never wanted to. But Anne had done something to him in the short time he had known her. She had made him believe once more in the goodness of women—who weren’t his sisters, that was. Anne made him want to take down the wall he had erected around his heart and let her in, to welcome the possibility of what she could bring to his life.
“You are trusting me with your heart?” she asked, her disbelief evident in her voice.
He paused, turned her to face him, and cupped her cheeks. The desire to kiss her was so strong it made him ache. “Aye, Anne. So don’t break it.”
Before she could respond, Caitlin, who had always been a natural on her ice skates, swooshed up to them and stopped so quickly that shavings of ice flew up around her ankles. “No more staring at each other on the ice. Let us skate!” his sister pronounced.
And that is what they did. Simon first led Anne around the lake by her waist. His fingers rested on the gentle curve of her hip, and the faint scent of lilac that always followed her around stirred desire in him so hot he didn’t feel a bit chilled by the cool winter air.
As they glided over the ice, he thought about all he had learned so far about her. He had so much he still wanted to discover. And now seemed as good a time as any. “Anne, why did ye not know yer grandfather or England until yer mother died?”
She held his arm in a near death grip as they skated slowly. “My grandfather did not approve of the man my mother wished to marry, so he cut ties with her.”
Simon gave a bark of bitter laughter. “Seems that is quite a trend with English lords.”
Anne frowned. “I supposed it does seem that way, given your own grandfather, but mine has told me often how very much he regrets his actions. Perhaps your grandfather did, as well.”
“I doubt it,” Simon said flatly. “He never tried to bridge the gap he’d created in all the years before his death.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, “he simply did not know how.” A heartfelt look of sorrow swept across her face, making his heart tug. He was glad he had her to talk to about it.
Her words struck Simon to his core. Was that it? That would explain a great deal. There had been things since he’d come to England—first to the town house in London and then to the country house—that had not painted a picture of a cruel man. Perceval, for one. If his grandfather were completely heartless, he would not have kept Perceval in his employ. Simon could not continue to refute this. Previously, he’d cast aside the possibility that his grandfather might have actually cared for him or regretted how he had acted toward Simon, based on Simon’s experience with the man, but now he wondered. He took a deep breath, thinking on the letters he had found in London between his grandfather and the Bow Street Runner. “When I went to my grandfather’s Mayfair home, I discovered letters from a Bow Street Runner.”
“What sort of letters?” Anne asked.
“Correspondence between my grandfather and the runner who had worked for him. It seems my grandfather tracked the progress of my timber company,” he said. “The runner reported on different things my grandfather asked, such as the size of my company, the worth, my employees, how I handled them and my competitors.” Simon narrowed his eyes, considering it all. He had not even told his sisters about the letters because he had assumed his grandfather had been plotting something nefarious, yet now he wondered, were those letters proof his grandfather had felt remorse? “And when my mother died,” he said, his thoughts turning, and things that had not made sense now starting to, “and we did not have enough money for a proper burial, we received an anonymous donation. Do ye know”—shock was flowing through his veins—“there was a letter in there to my grandfather, and I do believe the runner mentioned Oban. I assumed the donation was from people in Oban, but now I have to wonder if it was my grandfather. If he had the runner make a donation.” Amazement filled his chest.
Simon had been looking ahead as he revealed the information to Anne, so when he glanced over at her and saw tears brimming in her eyes, his chest tightened almost mercilessly. “Are those tears for me?”
Anne nodded. “You must have felt so rejected,” she murmured.
Something in her voice made him stop skating. He turned to her, so that he blocked his sister’s view of Anne, and so that his back was to them. They were on the other side of the pond, but he did not want them viewing this private exchange. “Ye sound as if ye know a great deal about how it feels to be rejected.” He brushed a hand down the lovely slope of her cheek.
She captured his fingers in her gloved hand and pressed his palm to her face for a brief moment. She released him. “I do. My father abandoned my mother, and therefore, he also abandoned Jemma and me. And then, of course, I never had a suitor until Ian, and he rejected me, too.”
Simon was livid at all men on her behalf, and he was extremely glad he had visited his solicitor and set in motion a plan to take Ian Frazier’s company from him. Until the deed was done, though, he’d not tell Anne. “Ian Frazier is a fool, and though I’m of the opinion that most men are fools, I cannot believe ye never turned a man’s eye. Ye are beautiful inside and out.”
She made a face and shook her head. “Your vision must be atrocious.”
“No, Anne. I see perfectly.”
She cocked her head as if in thought. “I suppose it is possible that my own fear of being rejected might have made me overly guarded around men.”
He understood that completely. He had been guarded with women, as well.
“Have you considered,” she started slowly, “that your grandfather might have feared you would reject him because he had turned you away?”
“I hadn’t, no. But I might have rejected him,” Simon admitted. Yet, there was a voice in his head that had not been there before, one that Anne had awoken, and it told him that he might have forgiven his grandfather if he had admitted he’d been wrong about Simon and about his mother. He wasn’t sure if he had that much forgiveness in him, though, so he remained quiet.
They fell silent then, so Simon began to skate faster, still leading Anne, and gradually, she no longer needed him to hold her waist, of which he was both proud and regretful.
By the time the day was nearly over, Anne was skating on her own. She had even mastered a very shaky twirl. She departed his estate with pinked cheeks, laughter on her lips, and a promise to return tomorrow for her next dance lesson.
The next morning, an invitation from Fanny’s sister, Lady Jocelyn Simpell, arrived for Elizabeth and Caitlin. It seemed Lady Jocelyn wished to move their tea a day earlier, if that suited them, and they could be at her home at half past two. Simon hated to miss his chance to dance with Anne again—and to simply see her—but he might not get another opportunity to talk to Lady Fanny and persuade her to tell the truth of what had occurred with Rutledge. And because Simon could not risk Rowan intercepting a note Simon might send telling Anne that he would not be home, he left a note for her with Perceval.
It didn’t take long to arrive at Lady Jocelyn and Lady Fanny’s father’s home, where both unmarried ladies lived, and it took even less time for his sisters to manipulate Lady Jocelyn into showing them their gardens. Conveniently, Lady Jocelyn had mentioned to Elizabeth that Lady Fanny had refused to come to tea because she feared Simon and his sisters might have heard of her unfortunate incident in the library with Rutledge.
“She’d rather hide behind her pianoforte in the sitting room for the rest of her days than face the shame of the gossip.” Lady Jocelyn gave a rather uncaring shrug, then smiled at Simon.
“Your Grace, would you care to see the gardens with us?”
Simon could hear the notes of the pianoforte drifting on the air, so he knew Lady Fanny could not be too far away. He shook his head. “I’ll await my sisters’ return here.”
Lady Jocelyn pouted, turned on her heel, and waved at his sisters. Once the three women were out of sight, Simon followed the sound of the pianoforte to the open door of the sitting room, pleased to see with one sweeping glance that Lady Fanny, or at least he believed it to be her, was alone.
He stepped into the room and cleared his throat. Immediately, the music stopped and Lady Fanny looked up. Her eyes grew wide as she scrambled to her feet and dipped into a curtsy. When she came back up and her cheeks were colored a deep ruby red, Simon was shocked at not only how lovely she was but that she would be blushing so. He had assumed she would be a bold woman, but she seemed rather shy.
“Are ye Lady Fanny?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m afraid I don’t recall who you are,” she mumbled, gazing down at her slippers.
“I’m the Duke of Kilmartin,” he replied softly, fully aware he was breaking a rule of the ton by introducing himself to a young lady without another party making the proper introductions. “I’m sorry to be so forward and barge in on ye like this.”
“It’s quite all right,” she said, still staring at her feet.
He did not have time to broach the subject of her disgrace delicately. Their sisters could return at any moment, or her mother or father could walk in on them. “I’m a close friend of Lord Rutledge’s.”
Her gaze whipped to his, as he had hoped it might.
“Ye are wronging him,” Simon said without preamble. Immediately, her lip began to tremble. He felt bad for her, but he pressed on. “Rutledge told me what truly occurred in the library, and ye have spread malicious lies that are already hurting his sisters.” That last part was a bit of an untruth. So far, the damage had been contained to Rutledge, but Simon knew it was only a matter of time before Rutledge’s supposedly questionable character harmed his sisters.
“I—” Lady Fanny began. Then, quite unexpectedly, she burst into tears.
Simon went to her and offered her a handkerchief. Once she had managed to get herself under control, he said, “Why don’t ye tell me why ye lied? Perhaps I can help ye find a way to set the truth straight.”
“I don’t see how!” she wailed. “I only ever hoped Lord Rutledge would take notice of me. I thought perhaps he would develop a tendre for me if I kissed him.” She paused and tried to take a deep breath. “I have had a fondness for him for as long as I can remember, and my silliness ruined everything!” Fresh tears burst forth once more, followed by loud, racking sobs that he was sure would bring her father or mother into the room.
“Are yer parents in residence today?”
She shook her head as she sniffed back her tears. “No. They are out, and my lady’s maid is my chaperone now, but she is out at the pond with my younger brother.”
That explained why no one had come to see what was the matter. The servants were likely too busy with their chores to take note of the noise.
“Ye did not set out to trap Rutledge into marriage that night at the ball, did ye?” Simon was making a calculated guess but one he felt certain was correct.
She shook her head as she dabbed at her blotchy face. “No, of course not. I just wanted to kiss him once with the hope that he might finally consider me. I know how foolish it was, and I regret it immensely. I never thought, though I should have, that someone would walk in on us! I panicked. I did not know what to do. And immediately after we were discovered, I confessed what I had done to my friend Lady Mary—” Fanny’s words stuttered to a halt, probably a direct result of Simon. He imagined the disgust he felt for Lady Mary showed on his face.
“And what did this Lady Mary—”
“I know you two are acquainted,” Lady Fanny interrupted, turning a shade of red that looked dangerous to the lady’s health.
“What exactly did Lady Mary tell ye?” he demanded.
“That you seduced her many years ago. But I don’t believe her…”
He frowned. “Ye don’t?”
She shook her head. “I did, but I don’t anymore. Now I know her and the lies she is capable of.”
“Such as?” he asked.
“She persuaded me to claim Lord Rutledge had ruined me. She said he would do the honorable thing and ask me to marry him, and then we would end up happy because I loved him with all my heart.”
Lady Fanny began to wail again, and Simon inhaled a long breath, praying for patience and a bit more time. When Lady Fanny quieted once more, he said, “But that did not happen.”
“No, it did not,” she said on a sniff. “And I do not blame him. He knew I was lying and being dishonorable. I would not want to marry me, either! I wanted to tell the truth, but Mary threatened to tell everyone I had planned to trap him into marriage, which would have been even worse than people thinking he simply ruined me. It’s all gotten so out of control,” she sobbed. This time, she continued to talk between sobs. “Anne and the other women in the Sisterhood for the Ruination of Rogues are my only friends. They will never speak to me again when they learn the truth! My parents will be mortified at what I have brought on myself.”
“I’ll keep yer secret,” he heard himself saying.
Lady Fanny became completely still and quiet. “You will? But what of Lord Rutledge?”
Simon had a notion to go directly to speak with Rutledge. Perhaps if the man knew that Lady Fanny had a true tendre for him, he could be persuaded to court and possibly marry her. The lady seemed to have a good heart, and she was in desperate need of Rutledge as a husband, though admittedly due to her own folly.
“I’ll talk to Rutledge and explain things to him,” Simon said. “I feel certain he will not be angry with ye. I can only think he will be flattered that a lady as lovely as yerself held him in such high regard as to wish to risk everything to obtain his notice.” He would not raise her hopes by promising more from Rutledge, but he would do his best to put the two of them together.
Lady Fanny threw her arms around Simon and hugged him. But Simon heard footsteps in the hall and quickly set her back. He smiled. “I will repay your kindness somehow, Your Grace,” she said.
He could do no more than nod as his sisters and Lady Jocelyn entered the room.