“But…” Lucia looked down the hall where Geoffrey disappeared. She tried to think clearly, to quell the trembling, nervous sensation in her belly. “I need to make sure that Geoffrey is—”
Eugenie grabbed her arm to steer her to the front door. “Geoffrey will be fine. You need to ensure that you remain whole.”
“
Au revoir
, ladies.” Lord Rutherford bowed, losing his balance just a little. He grinned. “Or perhaps you’d better stay to help me up if I take another fall.”
“I do not think you will.” Lucia offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Her face felt a little crooked, as though she might laugh and cry at the same time.
Eugenie looked from Lord Rutherford to Lucia and back as she practically pushed Lucia out the door. “I think you very well might. Both of you. And you had better not.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
He must have overslept. An insistent pounding on the door woke him to a dark room where he lay undressed, unshaven and in no condition to accept visitors. Especially those of the fairer persuasion.
Anticipating that Miss Wright would be by to collect the message this morning, he had left instructions to be awakened early and to have warm water for shaving. Someone had neglected those instructions, so now he would have to ask Miss Wright to wait downstairs.
He pushed himself up. “I’m sorry. I am just now awake. Can you wait in the drawing room for a few minutes? They can probably get you some tea or something.”
The door opened.
Edmund reached for his trousers. “No, wait, I am not—”
“I despise tea. After all these years, I thought you might have the decency to remember that much about me.”
“Jeanne?” He sank back into the pillows, thankful that the darkness in the room would hide his expression of disgust as she made her way into the room.
“Whom else were you expecting, Edmund?” She stepped close to the bed to lean over him. “I believe you
were
expecting someone else. You are plainly not happy to see me.”
“No, not at all. It’s just that, uh…” Edmund stopped himself before he could make any polite excuse. He still wanted to drive her away after all, even though he now had to appear sane. He made no further effort to suppress a frown. “I am not dressed.”
“Then stay in the bed.” There was a hard edge to Jeanne’s voice that he had not remembered before.
“If you will wait downstairs for a—”
“I will not wait downstairs with an insipid cup of tea while you shave and select the proper waistcoat for the morning. You have wasted enough of my time, Edmund. I will not allow the practice to continue.” She marched over to the window to yank open the shutters.
Edmund stared at her, numbed with disbelief. It was as if an incompetent, harmless old hunting dog had suddenly gone mad.
She stalked back to the bed and stood over him, her hands planted on her hips. “You needn’t speak, either, because I have enough to say and any words from you will be an unnecessary interruption.” She began to count off on her fingers. “First, I know why you are here, and I know that you are sane, or at least as sane as you ever were. Second, I know that you planned your little retreat here and that you planned to stay only three months before resuming your comfortable life in town.”
Edmund felt as though she had sucked the air from his lungs, leaving him dazed and helpless. “What? How—”
“You spelled it all out on paper, so your intent is plain as day. Of course,” she leaned in toward him with a smirk, “you did not give the reason for this planned escapade, but you have no face for cards, Edmund. No face for deception.” By this time, she nearly spat the words into his face. “You created this whole elaborate ruse simply to end our engagement.”
“Well,” he shifted away from her, “it was not that elaborate. I only wanted to discourage—”
“I told you not to interrupt.” She stood erect again, walked two paces from the bed, then whirled to face him. “Now, not only did you plan to end our engagement, but you would make me be the one to break the contract. I would be the one to appear the callous, unfeeling—”
“No! I had no intention of making you look—”
“Stop interrupting!” She picked up a papier-mâché elephant figurine that Mr. Groves had procured from someplace and threw it toward the foot of the bed. With no weight, it flew only a few feet toward its target before falling harmlessly to the floor. Her lip curled into an ugly sneer. “This is unpleasant enough without having to listen to your excuses.”
“Very well.” Edmund crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Now, I have come—”
“I will not interrupt.”
“To tell you that—”
“I promise.”
“Stop that!” Jeanne looked around, presumably for another figurine to throw.
Edmund decided he had better hear her out before she found something heavy enough to cause actual damage.
“Now,” she continued sternly, “you will not…absolutely will not…will not…” She faltered as if unnerved that he was no longer interrupting her.
“Not what?” Edmund stifled a smile. This ill-tempered shrew was the woman he expected to find in her all along. And because she was so very angry with him now, there was no way she would want to—
“You will not treat me in this manner. You will marry me and give me the status that I have been promised all my life.”
It took a moment for Edmund to remember how to speak. “You still want to marry me?”
“Yes.” Jeanne’s haughty demeanor evaporated. She sat on the corner of the bed. “It was a great deal easier when I believed you wanted to marry me too. Not that you’ve ever been very enthusiastic about the idea, I must admit. But at least I thought you’d do your duty. Now I see to what lengths you will go to avoid it.”
Edmund sighed. “I wanted to save you from an unhappy marriage as much as myself.”
“That is a lie,” she scoffed. “You do not care about me and you never have. I suppose you’ve had another in mind all this time, just waiting until you could find a means to rid yourself of me.”
“No, that is most definitely not true. I simply never believed that we could be happy together.” Though he had to admit that now he was starting to think there was another.
“I have no reason to believe you anymore.” She leaned back, examining him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Even if you promise you will marry me, I have no reason to believe you. But I will tell you this—if you do not marry me, you will never leave this house of fools.”
The supreme confidence with which she uttered the words was unnerving, even though he knew they could not be true.
“That’s utter nonsense.” He sat up straighter. “I will be leaving, and quite soon, as a matter of fact. I can prove my sanity. I had proof sent to my solicitor so that he can inform the physicians—”
Jeanne smiled. “I have your precious proof, dear boy. I now possess the note you intended to go to the solicitor.”
A weight settled on his chest. “Do you mean that he never…”
“Yes.” Her smile widened. “Franklin was so concerned about your health that he never approached a solicitor. Later he was uncertain what to do, whether you were in your right mind when you wrote the note, whether it might direct a solicitor to take rash action. So he showed it to me.”
Edmund nodded. It made sense. Horrible, rational sense. “So that is how you knew of my intent.”
“Of course.” She laughed. “And I am the
only
one who knows.”
“Jeanne, don’t be melodramatic. Mr. Groves can still contact Stansbury, who I understand will be made my committee in Chancery—”
“He
was
to be your committee. But that role has been assigned to someone else.” Her grin left little doubt as to whom that power was now entrusted.
“Oh dear God.” The weight on his chest grew heavier, his breath more shallow.
“Blame Him, if you like.” Jeanne stood and smoothed her skirt. “But the fault lies only with you.”
“You cannot keep me here.” He leaned toward her. “I will tell the truth. I intended to anyway, so that I could get home—”
“Tell the truth. Ha! No one will believe it. I will say that it is just the madness inside you, making you say crazy, unbelievable things.”
She was right. He cursed himself for his lack of planning. “No one knew,” he admitted softly.
“What’s that?” She came closer to more fully enjoy her opportunity to gloat. “You never told anyone you did not want to marry me, did you? You did not have the nerve to disappoint your mother, did you?”
“No.” He sighed. “I never did tell. But that was not for my mother’s benefit but for yours. I did not want to hurt—”
“I don’t believe you,” she turned away from him and walked over to the door. Then she turned and methodically began to adjust the fit of her gloves, one finger at a time. “I do not believe a word you say to me anymore. So it is of no use trying to explain. I will not listen. Now,” she smoothed the front of her gown, “I will come back with a minister. You can marry me then. Or you can stay here and rot.” She opened the door and walked out calmly, as if she had just bid him a good morning rather than threatened him with an ultimatum of truly nasty proportions.
He had to force himself to breathe for the next minute or so. It was certainly a good thing no one had asked him to lead an army against Napoleon, for if he executed all plans as poorly as this one, they’d have raised the tricolor over Westminster within a week of his appointment.
Had he so mismanaged all things in his life? He’d actually had very few opportunities to manage anything. This did not bode well. It was not an auspicious beginning.
He could not know when Jeanne would return, but if she went back to London, presumably she would not return to Shady View before the next morning.
What could he do to stop her?
And why did he have the nagging sensation that there was someone else he needed to stop?
He rolled out of bed, landed on his bad leg and crumpled to the floor in an undignified heap. Where the devil were his trousers? Now he remembered—he had to stop Miss Wright from undertaking the journey to London.
But she would have to come up to him to get the note before she could leave. So he had no reason to hurry.
He scooted across the floor to where his stockings and shoes lay in the corner.
There was no need for him to hurry to see Miss Wright. But he wanted to hurry. He wanted to explain the whole sorry mess and he wanted to engage her help in extricating himself from the attachment to Jeanne. And perhaps he wanted to attach himself to her instead.
* * * * *
Lucia was surprised to see Lord Rutherford waiting when she stepped through the front door.
He scowled with impatience. “Thank God you’re finally here.”
“Good day to you, too, Lord Rutherford,” Eugenie said as she stepped in behind Lucia.
What right had he to be annoyed with them? They were, after all, here to do him a favor. “I am sorry if our arrival is not early enough for you,” Lucia added frostily.
He waved away their words. “Forgive my haste. Miss Wright, I need to speak with you alone. Would you come with me to the side parlor?”
“No she will not,” Eugenie objected. “That would not be at all appropriate.” She glared at him. “And I don’t think I can trust you to keep your communication purely verbal.”
“Yes.” Edmund fixed a withering gaze on her. “You can.” He turned to Lucia. “Now hurry. This is important.”
Lucia planted her feet firmly in place. Though she had to admit she had come to value Lord Rutherford’s attentions a great deal, she still would not allow him to keep her from her duty. “I will need to see Geoffrey before I start off to London to conduct your business.”
“There isn’t time for that.” Edmund took her elbow to steer her down the hall.
“What?” She pulled away. “How dare you—”
“You will not be traveling to London, in any case.” He took her elbow again.
“But I still…” She looked toward the stairs.
“Geoffrey is fine.” He turned her back toward the passage.
“What does that—”
“He is sleeping.” They took a step down the hall.
“How do—”
“I checked.” They took another step.
“Why would—”
“Come on!” He pulled her several more steps away.
“I cannot just leave Eugenie in the entry!”
“She is a grown woman. She can make her way to the drawing room by herself.”
“Why can she not listen to whatever it is you must tell me?”
He stopped. “This is difficult enough to admit to one person, and I have chosen you. Now, if you do not want to help me, I shall find someone else.”
He wanted her help. He wanted to confide in her. He perhaps had no one else to turn to. Or perhaps he had many in whom he could confide, and of those he had chosen her. How could she refuse?
“I do want to help you,” she said softly. “But Eugenie might be of help, as well.”
“Possibly,” Lord Rutherford admitted. “But I am not prepared to confess my sins before an ensemble.”