Authors: Georgie Lee
‘May I offer some advice?’ he ventured. ‘Guard yourself around Madame de Badeau. She isn’t the friendly woman she appears.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she answered with a deep sigh. ‘Theresa and Miss Domville are of the same opinion, but I assure you, I’ve been careful around her.’
‘You shouldn’t trouble with her at all.’
She frowned. ‘I thought she was your friend?’
He flexed his fingers over his knees. ‘More of an old acquaintance.’
‘You mean lover.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘With such a bold tongue you worry about
my
reputation?’
‘No, only mine.’ She folded her hands in her lap and his amusement faded. ‘I would distance myself from her, but I need her help to secure invitations.’
‘I can provide all the connections you need.’
She didn’t look impressed. ‘Imagine how people would whisper if you suddenly took such an interest in me.’
‘Yes, they’re so simple minded that way,’ he sneered.
She cocked her head to study him. ‘You have so much disdain for society, yet you do everything you can to cultivate its opinion. I wonder how much you truly despise it.’
‘More than you realise. As for cultivating its opinion, I prefer it to think little of me. It keeps the sycophants and marriage-minded matrons at bay.’
‘If that’s your goal, then why not retire to the county like your uncle and be done with it?’
He tapped his knee. ‘Because, even as you’ve discovered this Season, society is the devil we know.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Her agreement whispered the same longing to be free of society he sometimes experienced before his pride reared up to remind him why he stayed.
The carriage turned a corner, leaving the busy street for Cecelia’s small neighbourhood before drawing up to her door.
The groom handed Cecelia down and Randall followed her out, stepping on to the pavement and taking in the square. He’d been so focused on the gift yesterday, he’d failed to notice the dark soot staining the stone and how the park in the centre was more natural than even the current fashion allowed. In a few weeks, it would border on unkempt. This was not a part of London he frequented and it seemed a touch too shabby for a widow of Cecelia’s worth.
He joined Cecelia at the bottom of the steps leading to her door, studying the small house wedged in between the others. It was neat, but the dull paint on the railing and the small triangles of dirt in the corners of the windows were too obvious to overlook.
‘Thank you, Randall, for your kindness.’ She turned, hands in front of her, ready to dismiss him, but he wasn’t ready to go.
‘Tell me, why did you sell your books? Are you in need of money?’
‘No.’ She clutched the reticule ribbons as if they were a horse team on the verge of bolting. ‘I mean, well, my funds from Virginia have been delayed and it’s been so long since I’ve managed my own affairs. In my excitement to enjoy London, I overspent.’ The words came out in a rush.
‘I didn’t think you were enjoying London quite so well.’
‘I am—I mean we are, what with all the new gowns and diversions of the city.’ She moved one step higher, as if trying to slide away from him. ‘I can’t believe I was so foolish with my money, but in a very short while, I’ll receive my income from Virginia and have nothing to worry about.’
‘I see.’ Nothing about her plain yellow cloak or the house and neighbourhood spoke of lavish spending. However, he could easily believe her income from abroad being delayed. His payments from the Maryland Trading Company were often late. ‘When your income arrives from Virginia, you should consider more fashionable lodgings.’
‘I will. We were so eager to be settled after arriving in London, I’m afraid I chose the first place available.’ She clasped the key to her chest before lowering her arms. ‘Thank you very much for accompanying me home and for your concern.’
Her explanations didn’t completely ease his concern. Everything she told him made sense, but not the frightened way she watched him or the strained, nervous way she spoke. It all hinted at something more serious.
He stepped closer and she took one step up, bringing her face level with his. ‘Cecelia, please believe me when I say I want us to be real friends again. If there is anything I can do for you, you only have to ask.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Her voice trembled.
‘I mean, if you’re ever in need of assistance, you have only to come to me for help.’
She pressed her lips together as though stopping herself from saying something. He drew closer and the heady scent of her flower perfume surrounded him as he waited, willing her to believe him, to tell him her real troubles and ease both of their worries. She tilted her face to his and he raised his hand, aching to trace the sweep of pink along her check, to twine his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of her neck, pull her to him and comfort her with a kiss when the flick of a curtain over her shoulder made him freeze. Miss Fields watched them from the window, not bothering to conceal her interest.
He straightened and stepped back. In the middle of the street in front of prying eyes was no place to gain Cecelia’s trust.
She noticed her cousin in the window, the hesitant yearning he felt in her replaced by the stoic widow he’d come to know so well. ‘I assure you, I’m in no trouble at all, but thank you for your concern. Good day.’
He didn’t stop her as she hurried up the steps and pushed open the door, pausing a moment to look back at him before she slipped inside.
When it closed, the tarnished knocker clanked against its equally tarnished strike plate. Whatever Cecelia’s situation, it wasn’t as rosy as she’d tried to make him believe.
Randall strode to the carriage where Mr Joshua stood beside the groom next to the open carriage door.
Randall was about to climb inside, but the sight of the hunting book lying on the squabs made him pause. He trilled his fingers against the wooden side, the condition of Cecelia’s lodgings and her reaction to the sale of the books nagging at him.
‘Mr Joshua, Mrs Thompson mentioned another matter she’s attending to today. I want you to follow her and see where she goes. Be very discreet.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Guilt followed Randall into the carriage. He should trust her and not interfere in her private affairs, but the pain on her face in the bookseller’s haunted him too much to ignore.
* * *
Cecelia leaned against the front door, the cloak tight around her neck, its weight oppressive. Through the wood, she heard the equipage of Randall’s carriage and the steady clop of the horses as it drove off down the street.
She slapped her palm against the wood, the sting not nearly as sharp as her frustration.
Of all the booksellers in London, she’d chosen the one Randall frequented. She could have stood anyone else seeing her; their words would be vicious but not as searing as the pity in Randall’s eyes.
‘I thought you went to the bookseller’s, not out with Lord Falconbridge,’ Theresa remarked from the morning-room door, more amused than curious.
Cecelia marched to the hall mirror and tugged at the cloak ribbons, eager to be free of the heavy garment. ‘I did, but Lord Falconbridge saw me.’
Theresa’s amusement disappeared as she rushed to Cecelia’s side. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘I said I wasn’t used to managing my money and my payments from Virginia were late.’ She tugged at the stubborn strings, ready to snap them in order to free herself.
Theresa gently moved Cecelia’s hands aside and began to work the knot loose. ‘Do you think he believed you?’
Not at all.
‘I’m not sure, but I think he did.’
‘Maybe if you tell him the truth then he can help us,’ Theresa hazarded.
‘I’m not about to tell Randall anything so personal or damaging.’
Theresa’s eyebrows rose with surprise. ‘Randall?’
‘Lord Falconbridge.’ She pushed the girl’s hands away and pulled off the cloak, tossing it over the banister and storming into the morning room. She paced across the rug, anger, worry and fear swirling in her until she thought she might be sick.
‘He’s not as bad as you think,’ Theresa offered from the doorway.
‘You’re so sure? You know him so well?’ Cecelia snapped, but Theresa didn’t flinch.
‘No, but I see the way he looks at you.’
‘Please, spare me any more of your romantic notions.’ Cecelia marched to the desk and pulled the reticule from her wrist. ‘Randall is charming and polite and I can see how you’ve been fooled into thinking he cares, but believe me, Randall is not a man guided by emotion, especially not love.’
‘If so, then why did he drive you home today? Why did he give you the pendant?’
‘Because he only wants another wealthy widow to dally with.’ She slammed the reticule down on the blotter. ‘You’ve heard the rumours and the way people talk about him. You know what he did to Lord Westbrook. Do you truly believe he’d risk such a carefully cultivated reputation for us?’
‘I think you’re being unfair.’
‘Because you don’t know Randall the way I do.’
Theresa stuck out her chin like a stubborn child. ‘Maybe I don’t, but I know a gentleman doesn’t buy a woman jewellery unless he’s truly interested in her.’
Cecelia crossed her arms, matching Theresa’s determination. ‘What about all of General LaFette’s trinkets?’
‘His gifts were never as valuable or as pretty as Lord Falconbridge’s and he never looked at you the way Lord Falconbridge did just now.’
Cecelia touched the pendant, tracing the sturdy square hidden beneath her dress. Theresa was right. The General’s gifts were never so personal or bestowed with the sincerity she saw in Randall’s face yesterday, and again today. On the stairs, with his hand so close to her cheek, he’d asked her to trust him and for one fleeting moment she’d almost believed the caring in his eyes. Cecelia pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing she knew what to think of him and whether or not she could trust him. It had taken so long to get over the last hurt he had caused and she feared suffering the pain all over again.
‘You don’t have to tell him the truth,’ Theresa said. ‘But I think you should give him the chance to be kind to you. Maybe he’s sorry for what he did and this is his way of making it up to you.’
Cecelia looked down at the reticule on the desk, thick with the money from the sale of the books. He’d already helped her today without asking for anything in return except her faith in him. It seemed ludicrous to believe Theresa might be right, but the weight of the pendant around her neck made the idea too tempting to dismiss.
‘I don’t know, but I can’t think about it now.’ She dug the money out of the bag and slid it into the desk drawer, unable to ponder Randall’s motives, Theresa’s suggestion or anything except the more pressing problems facing her. ‘I must keep my appointment with Mr Rathbone.’
‘But if you sold the books, we don’t need him.’
‘The money from the books won’t last for ever, and I’d rather see Mr Rathbone now and bargain for good terms than turn to him when we’re desperate and accept poor ones. Besides, if all goes well, we may not need Mr Rathbone’s money.’
‘You mean if Lord Strathmore proposes,’ Theresa stated flatly.
‘Him, or another gentleman.’ She wasn’t quite ready to believe Randall was that sincere in his pursuit. ‘Now, I must go.’
Cecelia headed for the door, but Theresa stepped between her and it as though stopping an errant husband from visiting the public house. ‘Promise me, no matter how desperate things become, you won’t marry Lord Strathmore.’
The concern in Theresa’s voice sent a stab of guilt through Cecelia. She couldn’t blame her for not understanding, or for hoping. ‘You know I won’t make such a promise. Now, don’t worry so much. The Season is young and we still have options open to us.’
Cecelia stepped out into the fine weather, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. What she wouldn’t give for a thick fog, something to match her mood and hide her from anyone else who might be out today. Hopefully, no one from society would be at Mr Rathbone’s.
A brisk breeze played at the hem of her skirt as she moved from the quiet of their neighbourhood to the busy main street, her pace slowing as she drew closer to the Fleet. The imposing front of the gaol came into view and Cecelia paused to watch a soldier in a tattered red uniform, one sleeve pinned up at his side, step through the iron gate. Catching a glimpse of two women washing inside, their lives confined by the gaol and their debts, Cecelia knew she couldn’t place her faith in Randall the way Theresa did. If Theresa was wrong, if Randall proved to be no better now than he’d been ten years ago, Cecelia and Theresa might spend the rest of their days languishing here, if not somewhere far worse. He’d asked for her friendship and she’d give it, but it would not be a deep one. She couldn’t afford it.
* * *
‘She went where?’ Randall snapped the hunting book closed and rose from his chair, stepping over Reverend, who slept on the rug in front of him.
‘Mr Rathbone’s, my lord,’ Mr Joshua repeated.
‘Surely she can’t have overspent that much?’ Randall shoved the book in between the others on a shelf, but it stuck out, breaking the clean line of spines along the library wall.
‘Might get herself in real trouble if she isn’t careful,’ Mr Joshua warned, echoing Randall’s thoughts.
‘Or if her money doesn’t arrive in time to pay the debt before the interest increases it.’ Randall dropped the book into an opening on a lower shelf, but it was too small for the space and he took it up again.
‘Mr Rathbone’s better than most, my lord, but he doesn’t shrink from sending people to the Fleet if they don’t pay.’
Randall tapped the book against his palm, pacing before the shelves. Cecelia was intelligent and he didn’t doubt she’d be cautious in her dealings with the moneylender, but he’d seen more than one young lord fall prey to such men and all their games. It wouldn’t take long for Mr Rathbone to trap her and turn the small debt into a crushing one. ‘If she knows her payments are coming from Virginia, then why did she turn to a moneylender? Why not a friend?’
‘Being from the colonies, maybe she doesn’t know better. And I don’t expect the likes of Madame de Badeau to help her. Dalton asked her for money once, flew at him like a cat, despite all his years of servin’ her.’