Lucia continued her progress down the passage with reluctant steps. What on earth was he going to confess? Why was he so insistent that they speak alone? Would he try to take advantage of her, as Eugenie feared? She did not think she would put up much resistance, which was troubling. Lives were ruined by small meetings such as this.
But once inside the narrow side parlor, her fears were instantly put to rest. Lord Rutherford sank into a chair and urged her to take a seat on the sofa opposite. Away from him. Not the posture of a gentleman bent on seducing her. More like a brother, in fact. Instead of relief, however, she felt a small sense of loss. This man, like all others, saw her as a friend or a sister. Nothing more. He did not even look at her as he began to speak.
“The night I met you at the Adrington’s, I had decided to pretend I had gone mad. I jumped about in the ballroom, doing whatever came to mind, then ran off to hide to see what would happen.” He looked up at her for a moment. “I did not expect to find you hiding in the room with me, of course.” Then he looked down again. “In any event, it was all quite deliberate, my behavior. I have been in full possession of my faculties, from then until now.”
A lightness gradually filled her as he spoke. She had not merely imagined him to be sane—he truly was. Not at all like Geoffrey. She was not falling in love with a—
Falling in love? One serious look at Lord Rutherford’s grave demeanor quelled her elation. If he had feelings for her as she did for him, he would not appear so grim.
She felt herself sink into the sofa as she nodded slowly. “That makes some sense. How you could appear so…reasonable at times, then turn completely delusional.”
He looked up. “You believe me? You can believe this all to have been an act?”
“Yes.” She peered closely into his eyes. “But why?” Her elation now gone, a growing sense of anger rose in its place and her words began to tumble out faster than her thoughts. “Why would you do such a thing deliberately? Do you know what kind of torture this inflicts on your family and friends?”
Lord Rutherford turned away from her gaze. “I am beginning to have some idea.”
“It ruins the complexion of a family. It makes the soul ache with sadness to think of a life that must now go unfulfilled. And it becomes a constant work, a constant worry. ‘What has he done now? What will he do next?’ No one may rest easy. And everyone begins to…question the state of their own minds.”
“I am sorry.” Indeed, he did look truly sorry and more than a little surprised.
But now she felt no compassion for him. “I cannot think of any inducement in the world worthy of adopting such a pretense.”
“Perhaps there is none.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Edmund sighed. “To break an engagement.”
“You cannot be serious.” He was engaged? And he concocted this elaborate ruse merely as a trick to end it?
“Yes.” He folded his hands together and considered them for a moment as if they could somehow provide words to explain his horrid behavior. “I have been engaged to marry Jeanne Newman since I was seven years old. For twenty years, the obligation hung like a black cloud over my head. This was the only means I could think of to end it.”
If she had any hopes of a good explanation, they were gone now. She could scarcely conceal her disgust. “Why do you tell me all this?”
“Because Jeanne has discovered my plan. Somehow she has managed to convince Mr. Stansbury to have her named as my committee, able to make decisions on my behalf. And now she insists I must either marry her or remain locked in this house for the remainder of my days.”
“And so? What does this matter have to do with me?”
“I want you to help me find a way to escape so I can get home.”
She sniffed. “You must think me a fool.”
And so I am. To think that I valued this man’s confidence!
“Heavens, no. I think you are quite clever.” His sudden smile caught her off guard. “And I know you to be very loyal. That is why I sought your help.”
“Help?” She gaped at him in disbelief. “You ask me to help you avoid an obligation of twenty years’ standing? Certainly not.”
“But…” His blue eyes pleaded with more eloquence than words could ever muster. “If you only knew her. I cannot marry a woman so grasping, so deceitful. And she is crazy.”
“Perhaps she was merely putting on an act.” Lucia loaded her words with sarcastic bite. She would not allow those eyes to sway her. Lord Rutherford was a coward, and nothing he could say and no amount of silent pleading could change that fact, though her heart ached at the sudden loss.
“No, no,” he continued, “she was truly acting beyond all reason. She insists that we marry even if we shall both be unhappy in the union.”
Lucia stood in preparation to quit the room. “I believe, Lord Rutherford, that once again it is you who act beyond all reason. You’ve tried to trick your betrothed into ending an engagement on which she has no doubt centered her whole life. You would disappoint family and friends who arranged the match, not through outright defiance, but through cowardly deceit. And now you ask me to help? The answer is no. Some of us believe that responsibilities are to be borne, not evaded.”
She turned and fled before he could answer. She did not want to hear his answer. Somehow, perhaps simply through the power of his mesmerizing blue eyes, he might convince her that what he had done was right. And she knew in her heart it was not.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“We are leaving, Eugenie,” Lucia announced as she strode into the drawing room.
“Perhaps you may wish to reconsider that verdict, Lucia. Do you see who has come to visit?” Eugenie inclined her head toward the fire.
Lucia’s gaze followed the gesture to the form of a tall, gaunt man bent over to warm his hands. “Sir, it is good to see you again.” She hurried over to greet her stepfather.
“A pleasure too seldom indulged in, my dear.” His hands shook as he took hers into his own. “I have been too long away from you all.” He cast his gaze to the floor. “Much, much too long. Can you forgive me?”
She squeezed his trembling fingers. “There is nothing to forgive, sir.”
“There is much to forgive, my dear.” He looked at her with eyes watery from the cold, or perhaps the effort to hold back emotion. “I only hope you will listen to my feeble reasons before you harden your heart against me.”
She smiled. “I could never harden my heart against you, Papa George.”
He returned her smile, then began to cough.
“Are you ill, sir?”
“No, no just the effects of the long ride. Too much fresh air.”
She nodded. “Indeed, much more than you prefer, I know. Perhaps you had better take some rest?”
“I will. But I wish to see my son first. Mr. Groves went to wake him.”
Lucia glanced out the windows at the bright sky. “It is rather late for him to be sleeping.”
“I imagine the doctor has prescribed a dose to calm his nerves—my physician often does for me, you know. These medicines cause excessive sleep.”
“I see.” Lucia smiled again. Then she could think of nothing else to say. She gazed into the fire, watching as hungry licks of flame circled the bark of a fresh log, slowly eating away at the edges until gradually the whole was consumed and joined the inferno.
“Lu, they said you were down here.” Geoffrey rushed in at a frantic pace. “You’ve got to get me out of here, Lu. They said—”
Her stepfather turned away from the fire. “Good afternoon, Geoffrey, my boy.”
“Papa George! This is—this is simply wonderful, sir.” He clasped his stepfather’s hand and pumped it up and down numerous times. “I had no idea. When they said I had another visitor, I thought they meant old Eugenie, there.”
“Excuse me?” Eugenie called from the writing desk.
Lucia grinned.
“This is simply so wonderful!” Geoffrey continued to clasp his stepfather’s hand, waving it about with enthusiasm as he spoke. “To have you here with us! Mr. Groves! Have a chair brought to the fire for my papa, will you? Sit yourself down, sir. Take your ease. We can have some refreshments brought in here, of course, but we shall have to step down the hall to smoke, I am afraid.”
Lucia moved over to the desk where Eugenie sat writing a letter. “To Sophie?”
She nodded.
“You miss her, do you not?”
“I do, strange as it sounds. Perhaps it is only my jealousy—Sophie has told me of all the entertainments she and Helen have enjoyed in London while we are out here.” She grinned. “Mother would never believe that I miss my sister’s company.”
Lucia smiled, but remained serious. “I would imagine you miss your mother too.”
“Yes.”
Lucia placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Thank you for staying with me, Eugenie. Now that my stepfather is here, we should be able to take Geoffrey home soon. In fact, now that he has arrived, I have someone to stay with at the inn. You may return home anytime you wish. Helen writes me to say that she has a host of new discoveries to share.”
Eugenie set down her pen, pressed her lips together and nodded. “But you won’t be coming back with me, will you?”
“No. I must go directly home to take—”
“I know.” Eugenie finished her sentence for her. “You must take care of Geoffrey.”
Lucia smiled at her understanding, unwilling though it was. “I know where my duty lies. There is a certain comfort in that.”
Eugenie looked hard at her. “You are throwing your life away, Lucia.”
“Hardly.” Lucia propped up her smile and tried to force a joy into her voice that she did not feel. “I am putting my life to good use—the best. Caring for those who cannot care for themselves. No one understands Geoffrey and Helen as I do.” She pushed aside the worry that even she could not always control Geoffrey so well as she used to when he was younger.
Eugenie sighed and looked down. “It sounds so noble the way you describe it, and I feel a perfect fiend for wanting to urge you to come back with me to enjoy a round of parties and dinners.” She clapped her palms together in frustration. “I just cannot think but there must be another way.”
Lucia placed her hands over Eugenie’s in a gesture meant to be comforting. “This is the best way. The three of us have always relied upon each other. We always shall.” Lucia quickly removed her hands from her friend’s when she realized that they were shaking.
* * * * *
Edmund felt somewhat dishonest listening in on the conversations in the drawing room, but he found he could not help himself. And frankly, he had not the energy to get up and leave or even close the door.
Miss Wright had described him perfectly—a coward. A deceitful coward. That behavior, more than any feigned insanity, should have made Jeanne reluctant to marry him.
And yet she still chose to honor the obligation. He could do no less himself.
Though it would tie him for the rest of his life to a woman he despised, it was no more than he deserved. At least in his loveless union he could content himself with the resolve that he would not sink to the level of dishonor evinced by his neighbor—ridiculing his wife in public, openly flaunting his mistresses, frequently voicing doubt as to the paternity and worthiness of his own heir. He would even try to remain faithful to Jeanne, so long as she remained faithful to him.
The sense of resignation weighed him down so that he had no desire to even attempt to rise from his chair. But he heaved himself to his feet, nevertheless. When Jeanne returned, she would not find him unshaven, sitting like a lump in wrinkled, dirty clothes. He must make all the proper preparations of a groom approaching his wedding day.
* * * * *
Jeanne breathed a small sigh of relief when the carriage pulled up to Shady View. Long shadows stretching across the lawn indicated that the hour was well before midday, and so the wedding could take place this morning.
Only three days had had passed since her fateful interview with Edmund—she hoped that the interval had not given him sufficient time to find a way to avoid her ultimatum.
“Wake up, Vicar!” she called tersely. “We have arrived. Margaret, is my hat on straight?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Very good. Now, I do not know which of the rooms we shall use for the ceremony, but I imagine it will be one of the rooms on the first floor, probably the drawing room. So when we get—”
“Excuse me, Miss Newman.” The old vicar rubbed his eyes. “Did you say you planned to use one of the rooms in this house for the ceremony?”
“Yes. We purchased a license, so we may be married anywhere in the parish, may we not?”
He shook his head. “You must be married in a church. Any proper church or chapel, that is. Nothing dedicated for the papists or dissenters, of course.”
“I want to be married in the house.”
He scratched his head. “Well, that simply is not possible. You must be married in a church. I imagine there is a country church in the nearest village, and that’ll do. Assuming we can arrange for someone to open it for us.”
Jeanne felt a prickle of fear down her neck. If they left the house before the wedding, Edmund would try to escape. She could no more trust him than the pickpockets and confidence men roaming the streets of London. He would do anything to avoid this marriage—he had proven that plain enough.