Chapter Forty
The next evening, Rosie sat with the ladies of her family in her drawing room. Mama and Aunt Helena shared the settee next to Rosie’s chaise whilst Emma, Thea, and Polly occupied curricle chairs. Violet, never one to sit still, wandered around the room munching on bonbons and fiddling with things.
“It is such a relief for the business to be over,” Mama was saying.
“Indeed. Sybil Fossey was more cunning than I’d given her credit for.” A notch formed between Emma’s brows. “Thank heavens she is safe behind bars at Newgate.”
“According to Ambrose, she might end up in Bedlam eventually,” Mama said.
“I think an insane asylum is a fitting place for Sybil. Then again, it wasn’t me she tried to murder.” Canting her head, Em said, “How do you feel about it, Rosie?”
Despite Sybil’s evil intentions, Rosie had a degree of empathy for the other, who’d suffered greatly at Daltry’s hands. It didn’t excuse Sybil’s actions, but it did make them more understandable.
“Bedlam’s no stroll in the park,” she said quietly. “And I think it’ll be easier for the rest of her family to have her in a hospital rather than in gaol… or worse. As it is, Lady Charlotte and Eloisa are beside themselves.”
“They truly had no idea that Daltry had been blackmailing Sybil all these years?” Polly’s aquamarine eyes shone with sympathy.
Rosie shook her head. “They didn’t know about her affair with the butler, her terminated pregnancy, or her forced relations with Daltry. Whenever she needed to get away, she would use the excuse of visiting her friend Miss Bunbury. When Mr. McLeod stopped in Lancashire, he discovered that Miss Bunbury had, in fact, died many years ago.”
Shuddering, Polly said, “How is Peter Theale taking the news?”
“He’s distressed, naturally,” Rosie said, “and shocked to discover that the woman he loves is capable of murder.”
“Thunder ’n turf, I’d be shocked too,” Violet exclaimed. “But what shocks me more is that Mrs. James was carrying on with her own stepson! Remember how hoity-toity she was toward us? Someone ought to tell her about glass houses.”
In his investigation in Kent, Mr. Lugo had found several shopkeepers who did indeed recognize Mrs. James; all of them had put her in the company of a younger fellow who seemed like an “intimate friend”—and who fit the description of Alastair James. When confronted, the Jameses had confessed to their affair; Mrs. James also admitted that she’d first learned the details of the shooting from her lover. She’d begged to have their affair kept under wraps in order to avoid a ruinous scandal.
Rosie, knowing the hurt that gossip could inflict, had assured the other that she would say nothing. A grateful Mrs. James promised to repay the favor by throwing her considerable social weight behind Rosie, and her support, along with the Lady Charlotte’s, would cement Rosie’s position in the upper echelons.
The irony was supreme: now that Rosie had everything she’d once wanted, she realized it meant nothing. Respectability, acceptance—none of it meant a thing without Andrew.
Her heart clenched. Why hasn’t he come to me?
“Glass houses aside, I, for one, prefer to have Mrs. James as a friend to Rosie rather than an enemy,” Mama said. “My daughter has been through enough peril for a lifetime. And I have done enough embroidery to last two lifetimes.”
Now that the threat to her life was over, Rosie found herself confronting an even larger catastrophe. Unable to stand it any longer, she burst out, “Why hasn’t Andrew called upon me? It’s been an entire day.”
Glances skated around the room.
Polly spoke first. “Perhaps because he wanted to give you time to recover? You’ve been through a lot, dearest.”
“Would Revelstoke stay away if you’d been held at gunpoint by a madwoman?” Rosie said.
Looking chagrinned, Polly shook her head.
“Maybe he doesn’t want to compromise your newly restored reputation,” Thea put in.
“But he could have come to me privately last night…” Rosie stopped short, casting a wary glance at her mama and Aunt Helena.
The two ladies looked at each other.
“Why is it,” Mama mused to her best friend, “that the younger generation believes they invented scandalous behavior?”
Aunt Helena’s brunette brows rose. “Because you and I are such paragons of propriety?”
The pair erupted into gales of laughter.
Rosie’s gaze veered heavenward. “Now that you’re done amusing yourselves, may we please focus on the situation at hand? That of my future happiness?”
Sobering, Mama said, “Of course, dearest.”
“What do you want for your future?” Emma said.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Rosie threw her hands out in exasperation. “I’m in love with Andrew. I want to marry him.”
“Perhaps it is obvious to you,” Polly said reasonably, “but up until recently your goal was to be respectable at any cost. Does Mr. Corbett know of your change of heart?”
“Yes. That is, I think so.” Rosie bit her lip. “When he rescued me, I told him that I loved him. How much clearer could I be?”
Fear welled. Although she’d confessed her true feelings and apologized for not giving him a chance to explain about Kitty, he was keeping his distance. He hadn’t even responded to Papa’s invitation to supper. The behavior was unlike Andrew unless… unless he’d changed his mind about her? Had her shameful treatment of him driven him away?
“Love and marriage don’t always go hand in hand,” Mama said patiently, “and Corbett is a sophisticated man who understands that. While you may have told him that you feel the former for him, it seems to me that you’ve said nothing of the latter. Corbett has a sense of honor as strong as your father’s. Knowing his character, I’d wager he’s keeping his distance because he thinks it’s in your best interests. That you deserve better than what he has to offer you.”
The realization plunged like an arrow into Rosie’s heart.
“I’m the biggest ninny who ever lived,” she said in horror.
“Falling in love can do that to one.” A grin tucked into Em’s cheeks. “Don’t feel too badly. It’s happened to all of us.”
“Speak for yourself.” Vi plopped onto the chaise next to Rosie. “I retained my wits entirely during my courtship with Carlisle.”
“So says the lady who pushed her future husband into a fountain,” Em retorted.
“It was an accident.” Vi’s grin was reminiscent rather than repentant. “Besides, Carlisle didn’t mind. In fact, one time he got even by—”
“Dear heaven, spare us the intimate details,” Em muttered.
“We ought to focus on Rosie’s dilemma,” Thea agreed. “Now, Rosie dear, are you certain you wish to marry Mr. Corbett? Even if it means giving up your hard-won respectability—not to mention your title and fortune?”
“All I want is Andrew,” she said simply.
With aching remorse, she recognized that while Andrew had always put her needs first—had protected her, loved her through it all—she’d not done the same for him. She’d only recently confessed her feelings… and apparently not as clearly as she ought to have.
“Then you must talk to Mr. Corbett,” Thea said with her gentle smile.
Rosie nodded absently. A plan was already formulating in her head. Andrew deserved more than mere words: he deserved to be shown in no uncertain terms just how much he meant to her.
~~~
“We’ll finalize the details in the upcoming weeks.” Andrew pushed the contract across the desk. “For now, I’ve had my solicitor draw this up.”
Across the desk, his new partners looked at him.
“You’re certain you want to do this?” Grier said gruffly. “It’s your life’s work—”
“And you’re signing it away for a song.” Sitting next to Grier, Fanny frowned in concern. “You nicked in the nob, Corbett?”
He wasn’t. For the first time, his head was on straight, and he was thinking clearly. He saw now that, somewhere along the way, his life had turned in the wrong direction. He wasn’t the man he wanted to be. Needed to be—in order to be deserving of Primrose.
I love you… I’m so sorry I didn’t let you explain about Kitty.
The words wrought an exquisite pain, tightening his throat. One day, he hoped that he would have an adequate explanation to give Primrose. That he would be worthy of her love. But right now it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to give up her bright future—her title, place in society, and wealth—for a man who had abandoned her so unforgivably. Who didn’t even know where he was headed next.
It had taken all his willpower not to go to her. The last two days had been hell, and he didn’t know how many more he could endure, with the temptation of her so close. Maybe he ought to go travel. See the world. He had money, time, and, for the first time in his life, freedom to do what he wanted.
The problem was that the only thing he wanted was Primrose. Wherever he went, for as long as he lived, he would never forget her. He would hoard his memories of their time together, warm himself with them in the cold, lonely nights that stretched ahead.
“You’re doing me a favor,” he said quietly. “It makes it easier to walk away knowing that I’m leaving Corbett’s and the other clubs in good hands.”
He’d spelled it all out in the contract. He would give ownership of his brothels to Fanny and Grier in exchange for a cut of the profits. The pair would uphold all the benefits he extended to his employees—and offer a new one.
“This new profit-sharing idea of yours is bound to rile up Todd,” Grier said dourly.
Rewarding workers with a small percentage of the revenues was an idea that had been percolating for some time. It would be Andrew’s final legacy to the business.
The fact that his plan would irk Todd was just a bonus.
“You don’t have to worry about Todd,” he said. “I’ve spoken to Bartholomew Black. He knows what’s what. If Todd makes a move, he’ll step in.”
“And that’s it? That’s your revenge on Todd?” Fanny planted her hands on the desk, her expression indignant. “After all the trouble’s he caused?”
“Lord, woman,” Grier muttered. “Leave it be.”
“Oh no, you don’t, Horace Grier. Just because we’re to be partners doesn’t mean you can order me about,” Fanny warned.
It’s going to be a beautiful partnership, Andrew thought with a touch of satisfaction.
Aloud, he said, “Doing what I want—what I believe to be right—is the best revenge.”
And it was.
A knock sounded on the door, and Grier left to answer it.
Fanny eyed him. “You’re doing this for the chit, aren’t you?”
His chest tightened. “I’m doing it for myself.”
“You can’t fool me, Corbett.” The bawd snorted. “Why don’t you just marry her and be done with it?”
Because she deserves better. Because I want her to have the best.
Because I love her… and always will.
Grier returned, announcing, “We’ve got a problem.”
“What sort of problem?” Andrew said.
The Scot shook his head. “It’s best you see for yourself.”
That didn’t bode well.
Getting to his feet, he shrugged into his jacket. “Lead the way.”
He and Grier hadn’t even made it to the front salon when he heard the brouhaha, the excited swell of chatter. He frowned. What the bloody hell is going on? The salon was packed with bodies. Men were craning their necks to see over one another, their attention centered on something… by the pianoforte? He couldn’t see through the throng, couldn’t guess what would captivate this raucous bunch. Surely not a musical performance—unless one of the wenches was doing it naked.
While that did happen occasionally, it never created a stir like this one.
Andrew pushed through to the front of the crowd—and stopped short.
His disbelieving eyes took in Primrose standing by the pianoforte. No longer dressed in widow’s weeds, she wore a vibrant yellow gown the color of her namesake. The diamond necklace he’d given her sparkled like dew around her throat. She was so beautiful that he ached just looking at her. Her eyes met his, and the expression in those jade orbs jammed his breath.
She said to Sally, who was seated at the piano (fully dressed—thank God), “I’m ready.”
Sally played the opening bars of a ballad.
Primrose began to sing, and the room fell silent as her voice floated into the air.
What's this dull town to me
When you’re not near….
Where all the joy and mirth
Made this town heaven on earth
Oh, they're all fled with thee
My own true love…
His throat clogged as she sang the words to him, her gaze never leaving his. He couldn’t believe that she was doing this. Couldn’t believe what she was sacrificing in doing so. All she’d ever wanted was respectability and now—
A part of him knew he should put a stop to this, salvage whatever part of her reputation he could… but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight his love for her any more. This glorious woman whose song reached his soul, chasing away the darkness and filling it with her own bright, unique light.
His Primrose. His love. His.
What when the play was o'er
What made my heart so sore
Oh, it was parting with
My own true love…
She devastated his self-control, and for once he didn’t care if the world knew what he was feeling. He saw the answering love on her face, and the rest of the room disappeared. It was just the two of them, the way it had always been and was meant to be.
But now thou'rt cold to me
My own true love
Yet he I loved so well
Still in my heart shall dwell
Oh, I can ne'er forget my own true love
The last note lingered in the air. An instant later, thunderous applause broke out. Amidst the shouts, whistles, and foot stomping, he went to Primrose. Her arms looped around his neck as he carried her away from the mayhem—and past Grier and Fanny, who stood side by side, grinning.
In the privacy of the hidden corridor, he said hoarsely, “I wasn’t being cold to you. I wanted you to have a better man than me.”
“Oh, Andrew, don’t you know?” Her eyes glimmered. “There is no better man than you.”
“Even though… I didn’t tell you about Kitty?” He swallowed over the razors in his throat. “I wanted to, but I was ashamed. It was never good, never right. I tried to end it—”
“I understand.” The tenderness in her expression told him that somehow, miraculously, she did. “You were just a boy when you got tangled in her web. And, trust me, I know a thing or two about repeating mistakes. I won’t judge your past any more than you judge mine.”
“What about the fact that I left you with her?” he said with roiling self-recrimination. “I wanted to take you, but I didn’t have the money. Or the courage.”
“Andrew, you were scarcely more than a boy yourself. How could you be expected to take care of another child?” The compassion in her eyes made his own heat. “It was wrong of me to blame you, and I’m so, so sorry that I did. But don’t you dare question your own courage. You’ve survived more than I can even imagine, and I admire you more than I can say. I love you so much.”
“I love you,” he said fiercely. “It’s been hell without you.”
Her dimples peeped out. “Does that mean you’re going to marry me?”
“I’ll challenge any man who dares to stop me.” He paused. “Er, unless that man happens to be your father. Or another of your kin.”
“My family adores you,” she said.
He was certain she was lying, and he didn’t even care. He would win her family over. With her by his side, he knew he could do anything… but did she feel the same way about him? Was it fair of him to ask her to give up everything to be his wife?
He forced himself to remind her of the consequences.
“If you marry me, you won’t be marrying a gentleman. You’ll lose your position, title, and fortune,” he said. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”
“You are a gentleman, Andrew Corbett.” Her hands clenched his lapels in emphasis. “And none of the rest matters. I don’t want anything but you.”
He strode into his suite, didn’t stop until he had her in his bed. He followed her down, her soft curves swamping him with pleasure. With love and lust and joy beyond imagining. Looking into her precious face, he knew there was one last thing he needed to say.
“Thank you for the song, sunshine,” he murmured. “It is a gift I’ll treasure forever.”
“You know my fondness for the dramatic.” She touched his jaw, her eyes smiling at him. “I hope you don’t mind a lifetime of this.”
“A lifetime with you won’t nearly be enough,” he said, “but I’ll take what I can get.”
He sealed his vow with a kiss. Then again—with his body, heart, and soul.