Dreams of Desire (37 page)

He peered around at the furnishings and drapes, at the paintings and rugs. It was a fine house—as far as houses went. Odell was a man’s man, and whoever had decorated it for him understood that fact.

There were no frilly objects or fussy fabrics. There was no feminine touch. It was a comfortable abode where a fellow could relax after a hard day’s labor, but Phillip was bored to death and itching to escape.

“I have to go, Clarinda.”

“I know. I’m surprised you remained as long as you have.”

“Will you miss me?”

“No,” she churlishly retorted, which they both knew was a lie.

She’d miss him every minute, and he hated to imagine her on her own, having to carry on without him. She was smart and tough and as independent as he was, but she was a female, and she wouldn’t have him nearby if trouble brewed.

He asked, “What will you do with yourself once I’m gone?”

“I’ll tarry here through the winter, but I have some money put aside. Come the spring, I might buy myself a cottage.”

“You’ve always wanted that.”

“Yes.”

“You could grow a garden and sell herbs and tonics.”

He could practically see her, puttering over her plants, mixing her medicines and delivering them to the neighbors. She’d be satisfied with that life. She’d be content.

Would he ever be?

“If you need to come home,” she said, “I’ll be here. Waiting for you.”

“Watching my back?”

“As you have watched mine all these years.”

He smiled and nodded, then hurried to the sideboard and poured himself a whiskey, anxious to hide his expression so she wouldn’t note the tears in his eyes.

“I’M sorry, Miss Lambert, but further attempts are futile.”

“You must have a position for me, Mrs. Ford. I’ve always been a model employee. I’ve always worked hard for you.”

“That was . . . before.”

Before the Earl of Penworth’s roving eye had fallen on her. Before she’d stupidly leapt into their destructive affair. Before Violet Howard had written to Mrs. Ford at the Ford Employment Agency to inform her of Lily’s disgrace.

Violet had also corresponded with her extensive coven of acquaintances, which comprised practically every woman in the kingdom. Her revenge had been personal and pernicious.

Lily—who had so furiously guarded her reputation—had no reputation remaining to speak of. She was completely compromised so all respectable avenues of service were lost to her.

“What should I do?” she asked Mrs. Ford.

They were in Mrs. Ford’s office, facing each other across her tidy desk.

“You could try to find a post out of the country.”

“Where?”

“Perhaps India.”

“India!”

“It’s a far distance, but then, you carry the stigma of
home-wrecker.
You need to move to a location where no wife has ever heard of you.”

“I did nothing wrong,” Lily lied. “I don’t care what Lady Violet alleged.”

Mrs. Ford simply raised a brow. Lily wasn’t the first female to be seduced by a great lord, but she was definitely the first to have her good name so thoroughly besmirched.

There seemed no way to counter the swath of devastation Violet Howard had leveled. Lily had assumed—foolishly, it turned out—that no one in England would have learned about the cave-in at the grotto, about Penworth’s brush with death, about Lily’s being trapped with him.

How mistaken she’d been!

People were agog over the tale, so gossip hadn’t waned. Men, in particular, were titillated by the notion of a single woman and a hot springs pool. The entire story was too salacious, and Violet Howard’s angry missives hadn’t helped.

For two months, Lily had traipsed about London, searching for a job, but to no avail.

Mrs. Ford had tried her best, had sent Lily’s resumé for dozens of potential situations, but no interviews had been granted.

The severance Esther Middleton had promised was never paid. Esther had given Lily an envelope, supposedly containing the money, but Lily hadn’t peeked in it until she was on the public coach whisking her to London. The envelope had been empty.

Using her meager savings, she’d been staying at a boardinghouse that provided one meal a day. But the rent was due, and she didn’t have it.

Her worst nightmare had come to pass: She was alone and broke and about to be tossed out on the streets.

It she wasn’t so afraid, she’d have been livid.

Lord Penworth had wreaked such havoc. Did he ever think of her? Did he ever—for the tiniest instant—wonder what had become of her?

She scoffed.

He’d coerced her into leaving so his dearest Violet Howard wasn’t discomfited, but he’d been too much of a coward to tell Lily himself. He’d had his wicked stepmother do his dirty work. Why would he ever think of her?

He had to be glad she’d resigned without a fuss, that she had meekly acceded to his request she vacate the premises. Despite all they had shared, he’d gone on with his life as if Lily had never existed, and she’d been left to deal with the aftermath.

“Would you loan me some money?” she humiliated herself by asking. “Just until I receive wages at my next job?”

Mrs. Ford snorted. “I’m cautious with my finances, Miss Lambert. In light of your troubles, you’re rather a bad bet.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“How? There is no post on your horizon—and probably never will be—so how would you reimburse me?”

Mrs. Ford stood, indicating that the appointment was over. She went to the door and held it open.

Lily didn’t rise. She stared at the woman, wanting to say something pertinent, but not knowing what it should be.

There was such a sense of injustice about what had transpired. Lily shouldn’t have dallied with Penworth, but she hadn’t blithely ruined herself. She’d been madly in love. Why was that so egregious? And she’d certainly been penalized for her misconduct. How long would she be punished? Forever? Why was that fair?

Finally, she stood, too.

“You needn’t come back,” Mrs. Ford stated with great solemnity. “I’ve done all I can for you. Don’t waste your time. Or mine.”

She shoved Lily out, and in a matter of seconds, Lily was on the front walk. Crowds of pedestrians milled by, jostling her, but she dawdled, paralyzed by indecision.

Since her departure from Penworth Castle, she’d been plagued with doubts as to how she should proceed. She’d convinced herself that future employment through Mrs. Ford’s agency was the answer, but she’d failed in her efforts, and that was without her having confessed the worst aspect of her predicament: Lily suspected she was pregnant.

With each passing day, she was more sure of it. She knew the symptoms and couldn’t ignore them, especially the fact that—after she’d returned from Scotland—there had been no sign of her monthly courses. She prayed it wasn’t so, that her flux would begin soon, but if it didn’t, she would likely commit murder.

Somehow, she would find the means to buy a gun, then she’d go to Penworth’s house and shoot him dead. She wouldn’t suffer an ounce of remorse over her crime, either. She would march to the gallows with a smile on her face!

How could he behave so despicably? How could he abandon her to such a terrible fate? Who would treat a dog as he’d treated her? She’d once believed he was fond of her. Had it all been a sham? Had he possessed no genuine sentiment?

Off in the distance, a clap of thunder sounded, and it rolled across the sky. The clouds were very low, and they seemed to press down on her.

A raindrop fell, then another and another, a deluge commencing. She didn’t have a penny to hire a hackney, so she’d have to walk to her room in the torrent. When she arrived, she’d be soaked to the bone. She might contract an ague and perish. If she did, who would care?

She started to cry. Not that anyone would notice. She was invisible, a ghost that couldn’t be seen.

“Miss Lambert?”

She was so lost in her morbid rumination, that at first, she didn’t realize her name had been spoken.

“Miss Lambert, is it you?”

Glancing up, she was stunned to discover Edward Middleton bearing down on her.

“Mr. Middleton? Hello.”

“Why are you standing in the rain, you silly girl?”

“I just . . . just . . .”

She was too dejected to form a coherent thought.

He reached out and took her hand, which was very cold. “You’re frozen,” he kindly said. “And what’s this? Tears?”

She swiped at her cheeks, hating to have him witness her despair.

“I’ve been looking for work,” she admitted, “but I haven’t had any luck. I apologize. I’m a tad overwhelmed.”

“I can see that you are. I was wondering what had become of you. You fled Scotland in such a hurry.”

“Yes, well . . .” She peered at her feet, mortified to have him mention the scandal.

“Have you talked to my brother?” he inquired. “Have you sought his help?”

“No.” The notion had never occurred to her.

Approach Penworth? Beg his assistance? Remind him of his obligation to her? Tell him that he might have sired a child?

The pompous fiend was engaged to marry Violet Howard, a union he intended to pursue at all costs. Lily would slit her own throat before she asked him for a single farthing.

“May I be frank, Miss Lambert?”

“I suppose.”

“I felt John treated you very badly.
Very
badly,” he added for emphasis.

Lily did, too, but she didn’t respond, and he continued.

“If you’ve suffered a fiscal hardship because of him, it’s only fair that he rectify your situation. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Perhaps,” she equivocated.

“I have an idea,” Edward said. “You must come with me.”

“To where?”

“I want you to discuss your dilemma with my mother.”

“With . . . your mother?” Lily couldn’t imagine anyone less likely to aid her.

“Yes. You need a powerful advocate to plead your case to John, and she’s had her own troubles with him recently. She’d be more than happy to put his nose out of joint on your behalf.”

“I don’t know,” she muttered, disconcerted by his offer.

“I insist, Miss Lambert. I really can’t take no for an answer.”

 

JOHN entered his quiet, empty foyer, but his arrival went unnoticed. He removed his coat and hat, threw them on a chair, then proceeded to his library.

To ward off the chill, he poured himself a whiskey, then ambled over to gaze out the window at the small garden in the back. It was a cold, dreary afternoon, and the gray colors matched his mood.

“Hello,” he shouted, merely to see if he could generate a reply, if a servant would appear to attend him, but no one did.

Having pushed everybody out of his life, he was all alone. He cut a pathetic figure, but the solitude was his own fault.

He’d rebuffed his mother, had let Lily go without lifting a finger to learn what had happened to her. He’d broken off his betrothal to Violet. Esther and Edward had been tossed out. In light of events, no other ending had been possible, but still, he was saddened by the loss.

Only the twins remained, which he deemed a sorry statement on his condition.

They were confined to their bedchamber, and he’d ordered them not to come downstairs until Miranda’s wedding on Saturday.

He refused to see or speak with them, and he would be vastly relieved when they were gone. Melanie wanted to live with Edward and Miranda, and she’d suggested that she might pick her own husband. John was happy to let her.

There was no reason to pretend he’d been any sort of guardian to them. He’d failed them miserably and would repair the damage by forcing Edward to marry Miranda. Melanie would soon be wed, too, then John’s duty to them would conclude.

He would be left to putter around his sprawling mansion with just the servants for company.

Out in the garden, rain pelted the earth, and he watched it fall, his palm on the cool glass of the window. He wondered where Lily was, and he hoped she was warm and dry and safe.

Go find her!
a voice in his head urged.
Bring her home!

He wished he could, but pitifully, he had no idea where to start looking. In all the time he’d spent with her, he’d never inquired as to her background or friends. She was an orphan, but he’d gleaned no other information.

Who might know where she was? Who might assist him in any search?

He hadn’t a clue.

Their sole common acquaintance was Mrs. Ford at the employment agency. John had bumped into her one morning, and he’d asked about Lily—where she was working, how she was faring—but Mrs. Ford claimed to have had no contact with Lily after she’d traveled to Scotland as part of his entourage.

Apparently, she hadn’t returned to London, or if she had, she hadn’t sought a job with Mrs. Ford.