The Major's Faux Fiancee (9 page)

He nodded, but of course it wasn’t the same at all. He hadn’t simply lost his twin brother, the mirror image of his soul. He’d failed to
save
him, which was altogether worse. He’d ruined his parents’ lives, and Sarah’s, and the unborn babe’s.

He
was the twin who should have died. But he didn’t. And here they were.

Sarah leaned around him to buss Xavier on the cheek, then sat down on the pew. She bunched up her cloak several different ways before finding the perfect width of cloth between the small of her back and the hard wood of the pew. Then she turned back to Bartholomew. “Well? Out with it.”

He blinked back at her in confusion.

Out with what? That he’d drown in guilt and sorrow the rest of his life because of his mistakes? That he could have killed Oliver for rescuing him, and then very nearly killed himself with whisky and laudanum? That it still took all his strength, every day, to find a reason to get out of bed, much less keep pushing himself to stretch and exercise a lopsided body that would never be perfect again?

Until he’d received Daphne’s entreaty, he’d
had
no such reason, other than his own stubbornness. Now, at least, he could say he’d done one good thing since returning from war. No one would know about it, but that was fine. He was no hero. He wasn’t even a whole man.

His gaze lowered to Sarah’s belly. He was going to be one hell of an uncle, though. He had to make up for everything the baby had lost.

His lips curved. “Have you picked a name?”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I don’t want to talk about
me
. I want to talk about you. When on earth did you get betrothed to little Daphne Vaughan?”

His throat went dry. The news was out? How? When? He tried to calm his racing heart. The first banns had been read in Maidstone, not London. For obvious reasons they hadn’t wanted to announce their faux engagement to the whole city, so Maidstone was the only choice. Which left what?

“How did you find out?” he demanded hoarsely.

Her brow creased. “The newspaper, of course. I’ve nothing better to do than read such things from front to back. Bit of luck, since your announcement was last.”

Announcement
. He covered his face with his hands. Of course a
pirate
would never take a man at his word. That rat! Wasn’t a marriage contract enough? Steele must have put that notice in the paper for the same reason he canceled his trip. He trusted no one. Not even a war hero and a vicar’s daughter.

Not that he was wrong.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Bartholomew managed, then turned to face Xavier. “You either. Understand?”

Xavier blinked back at him slowly. “Hmm?”

“What on earth?” Sarah laughed and shook her head. “Why shouldn’t we speak of a union that’s already been printed in the newspaper?”

He took a deep breath. Sarah was part of his family and would never betray a secret. “Because it’s a lie. Daph and I are pretending to be betrothed so her guardian doesn’t force her to marry someone else. We need him to believe it for another month. Just until Daphne reaches her majority.”

Sarah’s smile faded. “If a signed contract isn’t proof of intent, a mere announcement won’t prove anything either. What are you two doing to convince him that you’re a couple in love?”

Doing
? Absolutely nothing. Bartholomew’s mind raced. They weren’t in love. They were strangers.

“Bloody hell.” His fingers tightened their grip on his walking stick. “I have to find her.”

Find her and court her. Publicly, at least. Until her birthday. He hadn’t come this far just to let her down now.

“After the wedding,” Sarah whispered, and patted him on the leg. “Here comes the bride.”

Bartholomew grimaced. For his rescue to work, they needed to convince Captain Steele their matrimony was imminent. For that to happen,
London
would have to believe it. Whatever the gossips believed, the world believed. His stomach bottomed. Such a feat would take a lot more than just declaring it publicly.

For the next few weeks, he and Daphne would have to be the most besotted couple in England.

Daphne gazed at her sumptuous guest chamber in dismay. It looked like a museum. Knowing Katherine, its contents had likely come from one.

Every horizontal surface was glossy and dust-free… and covered with dozens of priceless antiquities from all over the world. Even the escritoire in the corner had more decorations than writing space. There would be no room for Daphne’s towers of documentation here.

Not even on the walls. The wallpaper was pristine and colorful, the wainscoting spotless and shiny. Blast. She couldn’t possibly affix clippings to such beautiful paper. She turned in a slow circle, frustrated.

Centered in the furthest wall of the chamber, there was even a little balcony overlooking the park.

But there was nowhere for Daphne’s
things
.

Her fingers clenched. She wouldn’t have come to London at all, if her guardian hadn’t forced her. But now that she was here, how was she supposed to work? She’d brought the smallest trunk of correspondence she could, and still there was nowhere to put it, other than a dark little corner of the dressing room.

Untenable.

“What splendid living quarters,” her lady’s maid breathed in awe. Until today, the finest rooms Esther had seen were in the vicarage. Katherine’s town house looked like a palace. Esther clapped her hands in delight. “I feel like I’m in a dream.”

Daphne wrinkled her upper lip. “Quite.”

“Thank you!” Katherine beamed at them both. “It took years to collect just the right pieces to create the effect I wanted. The other guest chamber is rather rococo, but I much prefer this look, don’t you? Early baroque was so much richer.”

“Indeed.” Daphne tried for a smile. Katherine had received her at a moment’s notice, had been inviting her for years, and the last thing she deserved was a churlish friend with her nose put out because the accommodations were
grand
. “Thank you for everything.”

“’Tis my pleasure.” Katherine glanced down the corridor. “Why, look. Here comes Aunt Havens. How do you do, Aunt?”

This time, Daphne’s smile was genuine. Katherine’s great-aunt was marvelous. Daphne stood a little straighter and motioned for Esther to do the same.

A sprightly older lady with bright blue eyes and powdered hair poked her head about the corner. “Guests! I adore guests! Who’s come to visit, Kate?”

Katherine led her great-aunt forward gently. “Come and meet my dear friend Daphne Vaughan. She lives in Maidstone. Do you remember Maidstone?”

“All Saints Church! I was there just the other day. Darling people.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “That’s where I met my husband, you know.”

Daphne did know. That was how they had met. Katherine’s great-aunt had been the wife of the previous vicar. Daphne’s father had taken over when he got too old, and had later presided over his funeral. Sadness filled her chest. They had both lost the most important man in their lives.

The year after her husband passed, Mrs. Havens had gone to London to chaperone Katherine during her come-out. Katherine lost her parents shortly after, and she and her great-aunt decided to stay on as each other’s companions. Katherine was too young to respectably live alone, and her great-aunt’s memory problems were becoming too frequent to ignore.

Not that Mrs. Havens noticed a lapse. Senility was both a blessing and a curse.

Daphne dipped a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Next time you’re in Maidstone, you must stop for tea.”

“I would love that, child.” Mrs. Havens frowned and glanced over both of her shoulders. “Where did the dog go?”

Katherine’s eyes widened. “I don’t know, Aunt. Shall I look for him?”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Havens chided her. “You
must
chat with your friend. The dog is no doubt hiding under my bed again. I’ll coax him out.”

“As you please, Aunt.” Katherine shook her head as her great-aunt hurried away. She lowered her voice. “If she finds him, I’m hiding ’neath the closest bed. This house hasn’t had a dog in ten years.”

Daphne grinned back at her. “If a phantom canine appears, I’ll join you under the bed.”

Katherine laughed. “Thank you so much for letting her introduce herself again. She remembers the past better than I remember what I ate for breakfast, but the day-to-day is far more slippery.”

“I adore your aunt,” Daphne assured her. She would give anything to have an aunt half as sweet-natured. To have any family at all.

Mrs. Havens was one of the kindest women Daphne had ever met. ’Twas no hardship at all to repay that kindness however she could.

The Havens family had been legendary in Maidstone for their warmth and dedication to the community. Daphne’s father had often said his greatest challenge was living up to the previous vicar’s example, and that he hoped Daphne would do the same. She had spent her life trying to fulfill that promise. To earn his love. To be important to someone.

Katherine touched her fingers to Daphne’s arm. “Are you certain you shouldn’t like something to eat? If you’re too weary for the dining room, ’tis of no trouble to have a tray brought here to your chambers.”

“No, thank you.” Daphne had dined at a posting house during her journey, and wanted nothing more than to get back to her projects. Somehow. “May I use that escritoire?”

“Absolutely. Please, make yourself at home. Adjust the room to your needs. I have some correspondence to attend to, so I shan’t be bothering you. A benefactress’s work is never done.” Katherine rolled her eyes, as if she found correspondence a chore. “Don’t hesitate to ring for service if you need anything at all.”

Adjust the room to her needs? Daphne smiled. “I will.”

The moment Katherine disappeared down the hallway, Daphne shut the door behind her. Esther was already unpacking Daphne’s clothes from the first trunk and arranging them in the wardrobe.

Daphne’s eyes narrowed as she considered her options. “Esther, stop.”

Her lady’s maid froze in place. “I oughtn’t to hang your gowns?”

“The large items, yes.” Daphne glanced about the room. “The smaller things—stockings and underskirts—let’s use them to wrap up these artifacts.”

“I’m to put Miss Ross’s antiquities in… your underthings?” Esther repeated doubtfully.

“That’s the only way they won’t break when we store them all in my trunks.”

Esther’s eyes widened. “The other trunk isn’t empty. It’s got all your papers.”

“Precisely.” Daphne gave a brisk nod. “Documents out, antiquities in. I won’t be able to cover the walls, but at least I’ll have my most important items at hand.”

Who needed excess underskirts anyway? Other than taking occasional meals with Katherine, Daphne intended to spend every other waking moment making good use of that escritoire. She’d already given her most important contacts her new direction, and wouldn’t be surprise if post started arriving for her nom de plumes first thing in the morning.

Until then, there was plenty to do. She’d already lost nearly a full day to travel. She couldn’t afford to waste another moment.

People needed her. The weavers’ situation was deteriorating rapidly and the revolutionary Davy lamp was causing miners more harm than good. A Luddite disturbance had taken away the livelihoods of dozens of families. The collapse of a cave in South Tyneside had left desperate wives without their husbands.

She picked up her reading spectacles. Correspondence was not a chore. These were
families
. Fathers, mothers, children. People who had no one else. People who were grateful for the aid and sympathy of a little-known country miss named Daphne.

Er, perhaps better known as Mr. Caldwell. Or Mr. Baker. And Mr. Smith.

An hour later, when a knock sounded upon the door, she jerked her gaze up from the pile of letters on her lap with a frown. She’d assumed Katherine would be unlikely to intrude once she’d shown Daphne the guest chambers, but perhaps something had come up with Mrs. Havens and Katherine needed Daphne’s help. If so, Katherine was about to find out how literally Daphne had taken her suggestion to make herself at home.

With a sheepish glance at the twine-bound stacks of papers where the antiquities used to rest, Daphne swallowed her guilt and opened the door.

A footman stood in the corridor.

Daphne raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Yes?”

“Forgive me for bothering you, ma’am. There is a gentleman here to see you. Miss Ross is talking to him in the parlor.”

She blinked. A gentleman? Yes, she’d forwarded her temporary direction to several key parties, but they all knew her under one of her false names. The only person besides Katherine with any inkling Daphne might be in town was… Bartholomew?

She accepted the card from the footman.
Major Bartholomew Blackpool
was embossed in gold script. She pressed the card to her rapidly beating heart.
He was here
. How? Why?

Warmth infused her. She hadn’t expected to see him again. He’d done his part. Above and beyond. It hadn’t occurred to her to send him Katherine’s direction or to beg him to come visit. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might
wish
to.

She stared at the card again. Despite the interruption, she couldn’t hold back a rush of pleasure. For the first time, part of her wished she hadn’t committed herself to aiding so many families, so that this sort of unexpected visit wouldn’t have to
feel
like an interruption.

Was he just stopping by to see if she was settled? To make certain the accommodations were comfortable and her hostess far more considerate than her guardian? Daphne’s heart warmed at the idea of Bartholomew checking after her the same way Daphne checked after her destitute families. She did so because she
cared
.

Of course, it was foolish to assume—or even hope—that Bartholomew could come to truly care about her, after all this time. Yet she was possessed of a very foolish heart indeed, for she could not help but hope that might be the case. To hope he had
missed
her, as she had missed him.

Breathless, Daphne handed the calling card to her maid and followed the footman down the stairs.

Bartholomew was speaking to Katherine in the parlor, his body angled away from the open door. Daphne’s heart fluttered at the sight. He’d been sharply dressed when he’d called upon her in Maidstone, but in black breeches, a frothy white cravat, and a crisp black greatcoat, he was positively resplendent.

He was also holding her fur-lined winter spencer.

As soon as he caught sight of her, his smile widened and he held her coat open for her. “Put this on. We’re going to be late. My carriage is out front.”

She slipped her arms into the sleeves without thinking, then paused. “Wait. Where are we going?”

He shivered with mock horror. “To a musicale. My heartfelt apologies.”

“A what?” She blinked up at him in confusion. “Why?”

He handed her an invitation. It failed to clear up the mystery.

She stared at the crinkled parchment. “This says, ‘Grenville Musicale: Captain Xavier Grey.’ Your name isn’t even on it.”

“I burnt mine.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Where is your chaperone?”

“I don’t have a chaperone.” She bit her lip, conflicted. She’d dreamed of seeing him again. But her first duty was to the desperate women and children counting on Daphne’s support. They
needed
her. “I don’t ned a duenna, I’m afraid. I cannot go anywhere.”

Katherine chose that moment to interrupt. “Of course you can. You shall borrow my chaperone. Aunt Havens adores musicales.”

Bartholomew inclined his head. “Wonderful. Thank you. Please ensure Mrs. Havens is properly bundled against the weather.” He turned back to Daphne and frowned. “Where is your bonnet? Have you no muff for your fingers?”

Her head spun at the idea of being swept away. By
Bartholomew
. His demeanor implied that musicales were the seventh level of hell, but Daphne had never been to one and wouldn’t know.

She’d always assumed society musicales were just another venue for the idle rich to applaud themselves for having nothing better to do than spend thousands of pounds to show off their children playing a Stradivarius. She’d never imagined being invited to one.

Much less escorted thither on the arm of a man who could melt her insides with little more than the press of his wide, firm lips against her gloved fingers. Of course she wished to join him.

If only she could.

Life was about choices. She’d already lost so much time. She would not compound that folly with choosing to attend a musicale over choosing to save lives. She was simply not a woman who could pursue pleasure for pleasure’s sake. No matter how tempting the offer.

Daphne swallowed her disappointment. “I apologize. I cannot go. I’ve too much work to do, and—”

“You can and you will, if you’ve any care for your freedom.” Bartholomew pressed her hands, his tone urgent. “Your guardian thinks he’s being quizzed. He put a wedding announcement in the newspapers.”

Daphne’s stomach dropped. “He put a
what?
”

Bartholomew’s low voice was full of portent. “He’s trying to ensure we dance to his strings. We have to make him think his plan is working. How much longer until your birthday?”

“Three weeks,” she stammered, her mind dizzy. What if they didn’t make it? What if her guardian forced her into marriage after all? Or locked her in a sanitarium?

Bartholomew’s mouth tightened. “We can put him off until then. Provided we give every impression of a happy couple fully intending to comply with his wishes.”

She nodded jerkily. He was right. They couldn’t risk her guardian making good on his threats. If she thought Mayfair was ill-suited for charity work, Bedlam would be far less pleasant. They had to ease Captain Steele’s mind before he took matters into his own hands.

She looped her hand about Bartholomew’s arm and forced a smile. “A musicale sounds brilliant. I cannot wait for the wedding.”

Katherine’s mouth fell open. “You two are getting
married?
”

“Yes,” Bartholomew said firmly. “Unless we should unexpectedly suffer a shocking breakup just prior to the as-yet-unplanned ceremony. Which would be extremely unlikely because we are completely in love. Isn’t that so, Daphne… poppet… dear?”