Chapter Six
Meredith peered out the carriage window as it started down the street and saw her brother and Claire, arm in arm, strolling cautiously in the opposite direction, both looking decidedly uncomfortable. A wave of wariness spread through Meredith at the sight of their glum expressions, and she wondered if it had been the right thing allowing the couple to be alone, with only a maid for a chaperone.
“Well, that settles it,” the countess said as she clapped her hands together with delight. “I suspected it to be true and now I have seen the unrefutable proof. All that is needed is a strategy to gain us more time.”
The countess smiled and nodded approvingly, shifting away from the carriage window where she, too, had apparently been observing the couple. Stretching her torso, the still grinning countess lifted her arm high above her head, then pounded her knuckles insistently on the interior roof of the coach.
“What are you doing, Mother?”
“Getting John Coachman’s attention. He must turn the carriage toward Mr. Beckham’s office.”
“We are going to see the family solicitor?”
“Yes.” The countess seemed fair to bursting with excitement. “I feel a great need to know what else Mr. Beckham has discovered about the validity of Claire and Jasper’s marriage.”
“Can it not wait until later in the week? We spoke with Mr. Beckham less than twenty-four hours ago. I doubt much has changed in that short time span.”
“Oh, but it has, Meredith. And all for the better.”
The look that came into the countess’s eyes made Meredith suddenly wary. “What do you mean?”
“Claire married Jason, yet as we all know, there is something very odd about their marriage. And I am not referring to the fact that Jason signed the license with his brother’s name and title.”
The countess leaned forward, her eyes bright. “For years, my dear son has been using his infatuation with Elizabeth as a shield to avoid an emotional attachment to a female. I always believed that once he found the right woman, that barrier would shatter completely.” The countess paused. “Claire is not that woman.”
“Jason apparently thinks otherwise,” Meredith insisted. “He married her.”
“Did he?” The countess cocked her eyebrow. “Or did he wed her by proxy to Jasper, knowing he had found the perfect mate for his brother?”
“Jasper and Claire?” Meredith’s brow puckered in doubt. “Jason is not that far thinking or devious to set up such an elaborate plan, nor would he have the first clue as to what sort of woman would interest his twin. Jason was probably drunk during the wedding service and signed the wrong name accidentally. And even if he did sign Jasper’s name, the marriage cannot be legal.”
The countess bristled with indignation. “Jason is impetuous and daring and far from perfect, but he is not a drunken lout. He loves his brother dearly, despite the estrangement of their relationship these past few years.”
“I suppose you are referring to the disagreements and shouting matches they have engaged in since Jasper turned into such a prig?”
The countess huffed. “Jasper’s change of habits has had some positive influences.”
“I agree it is wonderful that he no longer excessively drinks and gambles, but it seems as with everything my brothers do, Jasper has gone to extremes with propriety. He is stuffy and stodgy and so tightly in control, I worry if there is any passion or joy left in his heart.”
“Maybe that is to be Claire’s role,” the countess said. “To bring the joy and passion back to Jasper’s life.”
“A rather tall order for an unsuspecting woman who believes herself married to Jasper’s brother,” Meredith replied, but she could tell her words had little effect in convincing her mother this theory was absurd.
“Obviously, Jason has not yet told Claire all the details of his plan,” the countess said. She spoke slowly and carefully, as if she were forming her opinion at the same time she was voicing it. “Claire’s visit to London was unexpected. She said repeatedly that she had promised Jason she would never come to Town unannounced. That could explain how things got off to such a rocky start.”
It was all so ridiculous, Meredith hardly knew how to respond. “You honestly think that Jason had some grand scheme concerning Claire and his twin, and Claire came to Town and spoiled the surprise?”
“Yes, ’tis possible it happened just that way.”
Feeling stunned, Meredith pressed a gloved hand to her forehead. The workings of her mother’s mind were truly amazing. “The legalities of Claire’s marriage are confusing enough without adding all these ridiculous, baseless suppositions. Enough, Mother. Your absurd theories are starting to make my head spin.”
The countess patted her daughter’s shoulder. “I, too, felt similar confusion until I saw Jasper and Claire at breakfast, and again just now outside Madame Renude’s shop. Then, suddenly, it became crystal clear.
“There are sparks between those two. Interest, excitement, even passion are all there, simmering just below the surface. I saw it quite clearly last night, though at the time I was uncertain what to make of it. After seeing it again today, I realize with the right encouragement and a touch of luck, the sparks between these two will most certainly flare.”
Meredith slowly spread the fingers that were pressed against her face and peered through them at her mother. “Need I remind you that Jasper has already chosen a bride?”
“Ah, yes, the impeccable Miss Rebecca Manning.” The countess repeatedly tapped the tip of her index finger against her chin. “What do you think of Jasper’s choice?”
Meredith hesitated, feeling uncomfortable criticizing someone she barely knew. She took a slow breath, and then lowered her hand to her lap. “Miss Manning seems like a respectable young lady. She has had a quiet, sheltered upbringing and behaves in a proper, though somewhat staid, manner.”
“Exactly! Such a tedious young woman.” The countess shuddered. “I do not care for her much, either. There is something not quite right about the girl, though I cannot precisely explain it. More importantly, she is absolutely the wrong woman for Jasper.”
“That is hardly kind, Mother. We barely know Miss Manning.”
“I highly doubt she will improve upon further acquaintance.” The countess lifted her chin. “Stop glaring at me with such a scolding look. If we cannot speak candidly to each other, then who will we share the truth with, Meredith?”
The marchioness continued to glare at her mother, silently appraising her. They had not been especially close when Meredith was growing up. Although it was never in doubt that the countess loved her three children, she preferred to spend her time traveling the world with her husband, who had an affinity for antiquities and a passion for visiting exotic lands and places.
The result was that Meredith had practically raised herself, and then had been forced to keep her wayward twin brothers in check. Her parents had returned to England when Meredith’s daughter, their first grandchild, was born. The absent parents who had exhibited only a passing interest in their children soon became doting grandparents and expressed little interest in leaving home.
Initially pleased to have an opportunity to forge a strong bond with the parents she had always loved, Meredith was lately starting to wonder if the time had come to suggest they take a trip abroad—a nice, long trip.
“Whatever the truth, I think we must agree that this unholy mess is best left to sort itself out,” Meredith declared.
The countess stared at Meredith for a moment, then averted her gaze, pretending interest in a very small stain on the skirt of her cloak. The telling gesture made Meredith very uneasy. “You are suddenly very quiet, Mother. I fear you are plotting something.”
“Plotting? Gracious, that has a rather sinister tone.” The countess gave her a puzzled, slightly hurt glance. “I am merely looking out for the interests of my sons, which is my solemn duty. Who can possibly fault a mother for doing what is expected?”
Meredith grimaced. She leaned back against the upholstered squabs, suspicious of the expression on her mother’s face. Anyone who tried so hard to look innocent was most assuredly up to no good.
All too soon Meredith learned the direction of her mother’s thoughts. Their carriage came to a stop in front of a stone building in the fashionable business district. Though they had no appointment, it took but a few minutes for the countess and her daughter to be shown into Mr. Beckham’s office.
As they entered, Meredith almost felt sorry for the poor fellow. He was nervous and flustered. He blushed and stammered and bowed so low, she feared he might lose his balance, tip over, and land on his bottom.
Clearly, the lawyer was unaccustomed to having two aristocratic women in his office, especially because he had just met with them last night. Meredith calculated that this was probably the most time he had spent with them since becoming the family solicitor ten years ago.
“Ladies, I am honored to welcome you to my humble office.” The solicitor pulled two chairs closer to his desk, huffing and puffing and nearly exhausting himself with the effort of moving the heavy furniture. Then with an unexpected flourish, he withdrew a large linen handkerchief from his breast coat pocket, wiped the fine layer of dust from the top of the cushions, and indicated that the women should be seated. “It was hardly necessary for you to make the journey here. If summoned, I would have hastened to your residence.”
“We were shopping and thought it would be more efficient if we came to you,” the countess explained.
“Ah, shopping. A favorite female pastime.” The solicitor cleared his throat. “How may I be of service this afternoon?”
“We have come to hear the latest news on my son’s situation.”
If Mr. Beckham felt any surprise at the countess’s request, he hid it well. “Indeed, there is good news to report. I have been researching all the legalities and reading the case law on proxy marriages. I was hoping to call upon Lord Fairhurst in a day or two, once I have reviewed all the specific documents regarding his difficulties.”
The pleasant expression on the countess’s face turned to something greatly resembling a scowl. “And what have you discovered?”
“If this were a legal proxy marriage, Mr. Jason Barrington’s name must also appear on the marriage certificate as Lord Fairhurst’s representative.” The solicitor placed his palms flat on the desk he was seated behind and leaned forward. “From what Miss Truscott has told us, she signed a standard marriage certificate, containing her name and the groom’s name. Once I verify that, Lord Fairhurst will be in the clear and, thankfully, any thoughts of annulment proceedings can be dropped.”
“I presume you are moving swiftly to verify this situation?” the countess asked, her hand straying to the broach at the neck of her gown.
“With all haste. I have put my best clerks on the case and am supervising their work personally.”
The solicitor beamed with pride, but his expression soon turned to distress as the countess removed a lace-edged handkerchief from her reticule and pressed it to her lips.
“’Tis as I feared,” she whispered, dabbing at the edges of her eyes with the linen.
“You are displeased, my lady?”
“Oh, not with you, sir. Clearly, you are a fine attorney, skilled and ethical. My nerves are overset by the entire incident, and I was hoping that you could somehow—”
The countess broke off in mid-sentence. She swallowed convulsively, trying to fight back the emotions. Mr. Beckham sprang up from behind his desk and hurried to her side. Once there, however, he seemed even more confused, terrified to offer any physical comfort and unsure what else was proper in these highly unusual circumstances.
“You must tell me what has upset you so completely, my lady.”
The countess turned toward the lawyer, her face a mask of long-suffering martyrdom. “I need your help, Mr. Beckham. You are the only one that I can turn to, the only one who I can ask. Will you help me? Please?”
“I shall do whatever you ask,” he answered gallantly, his chest puffing with pride.
“I thank you, kind sir. You are a true gentleman.”
Meredith lifted her gloved hand to her mouth to hide her smile. Poor Mr. Beckham. He stood no chance against her mother, who was a master manipulator. He clearly had no idea he had just agreed to aid her mother without knowing what she required.
The solicitor returned to his seat behind his desk. The countess took a few more moments to compose herself. Meredith moved to the edge of her chair, anxious to hear and watch the next scene in this continuing drama. Why, it was almost as much fun as attending the theater.
“After much thought and consideration, I have decided that it would not be such a tragedy if my son were to stay married to Claire,” the countess announced.
Mr. Beckham frowned. “Unfortunately, because he did not use his legal name when he took his vows and signed the license, Mr. Barrington is not married to Miss Truscott, just as Lord Fairhurst is not married to her. However, there is nothing that would impede Mr. Barrington from marrying Miss Truscott in the future, provided he used the correct name on the license.”
The solicitor smiled at the countess, but his apparent attempt to lighten the situation with a dash of humor fell flat.
“I do not want Claire to be married to Jason,” she replied forcefully. “’Tis Jasper, Lord Fairhurst, who should be Claire’s husband.”
Mr. Beckham’s smile froze on his face. “But Lord Fairhurst has made his position in this matter most clear. He has instructed me to extricate him from this situation as soon as possible, and I shall do so within a day or two. He stated several times, and quite emphatically, that he does not wish to be married to Miss Truscott. And he is not!”
“How can he know what he wants,” the countess declared airily. “He barely knows the girl.”
“My lady, I cannot withhold information from my client.” The solicitor crumpled the edge of a paper that was resting on his desk. Both his manner and tone suggested he was severely rattled. “I have already given Lord Fairhurst my word that I will handle the matter. To his satisfaction.”
Meredith watched in amazement as a confusing flicker of emotions played across her mother’s face. She was surprised, displeased, and finally determined. The transformation occurred in a flash, but because she was watching so closely, Meredith caught it. She imagined Mr. Beckham was too distraught to be aware of anything except his own sense of panic.
“You misunderstand, Mr. Beckham. I would never ask you to compromise your ethics.” The countess tilted her head to one side. “However, it is a mother’s prerogative to want the best for her children. What I need is time. Your efforts to resolve this marital dilemma must continue. At a remarkably slow pace. An amazingly slow pace. A snail’s pace, if you will. I want Lord Fairhurst to think long and hard about his future and his future wife.”
Mr. Beckham stared mutely at the countess. He was clearly uncomfortable with her request, but he had already given his word. There would be no recanting unless he was prepared to diffuse a nearly hysterical female fit.
“I suppose I could give everything a second and even third check before proceeding,” he said, though he seemed stricken by the very notion.
“Excellent.” A sly smile crept across the countess’s lips. “Or perhaps you could take a holiday? A few weeks away from the office will no doubt do you a world of good.”
Mr. Beckham’s face turned red. “I never leave Town at this time of year.”
“No?” The countess cast a regretful look at the solicitor. “Well, if you think it is best for you to stay in London, I shall trust your judgment. I have full confidence in your abilities to handle this in the way we have agreed.”
The solicitor stood. It was hardly a subtle hint, and under ordinary circumstances, this lapse of manners would have offended the countess, but she barely looked surprised as she too got to her feet. Meredith decided her mother must be feeling generous in her victory.
“You have my gratitude, Mr. Beckham, as well as my deepest respect.” The countess patted his sleeve in a maternal way. “Thank you, my good man, for bringing a touch of comfort to a bruised mother’s heart.”
With her exit line dramatically delivered, the countess sailed majestically from the office. Meredith followed on her mother’s heels, catching a final glimpse of the hapless Mr. Beckham. He looked utterly bamboozled.
Meredith managed to hold her tongue until they were alone in the carriage.
“After witnessing that little performance, I have decided that my oldest daughter Stephanie comes by her flair for dramatics quite naturally,” Meredith said. “Apparently, she inherited the inclination from you, Mother. I dare say you missed your true calling in life. Had you decided to pursue it, you would have been a great success on the stage.”
“Rubbish.” The countess let out a superior smirk. “I would never do anything so vulgar as to trod the boards. What I did this afternoon in Mr. Beckham’s office was for my son. Clearly, Jasper is in desperate need of romantic assistance, though he will never admit it. Therefore, it is up to me to decide what is best for him. As a mother yourself, Meredith, I would expect that you of all people would understand.”
“Understand is not the same as condone,” Meredith stated flatly.
The countess’s face grew tight with concern. “Are you going to say anything to Jasper?”
“No. I will keep the events of this meeting to myself.” After a slight pause, Meredith added, “For now.”
Though she agreed in principle with her mother’s opinion, she felt a bit uneasy with her tactics. Still, she reasoned it would do no harm to keep silent. Jasper was a grown man with a strong will and an even stronger sense of determination. He would not be forced into a relationship that was repugnant to him, no matter how hard their mother pushed.
Content with her decision, Meredith relaxed and watched the traffic on the busy street, feeling blessed that her mother cared enough about her children to take their happiness so seriously and doubly blessed that her parents had been out of the country when Meredith’s own marriage had taken place.
Lord Fairhurst could not remember a time when he was more uncomfortable. It felt awkward and unnatural to stroll down the street with Claire on his arm. She was taller than most women of his acquaintance, which should have made it easier to carry on a conversation without straining his neck, but Jasper had nothing of significance or interest to say.
Her posture was stiff to the point of rigidity, as she unsuccessfully attempted to keep her skirts from brushing against his boots. The touch of her hand against his arm was so light it was barely perceptible. Her fingers scarcely skimmed the fabric of his greatcoat. Given how desperately she tried to distance herself, Jasper was amazed she was even able to keep in step with him.
The sun had managed to break free of the early morning clouds, and beams of sunshine played over the street. Though he had grown weary of the wet, gray days that had dominated this week and last, Jasper almost wished it were raining. Then the suggestion of a stroll could have been easily dismissed, and he would not be in this position.
Desperate to alleviate the awkward silence, Jasper began to point out the various landmarks they passed. Claire made appropriate murmurs of acknowledgment, but he had no idea if she found this bit of sightseeing completely fascinating or a total bore. She scarcely looked in his direction, and when she did, it was with a guarded expression on her face.
“I notice that you have changed your outfit. Is that one of your new ensembles?” Jasper finally asked, feeling the need to introduce a neutral topic of conversation.
“Yes.” He saw her lips twitch before she glanced down at herself. “Madame Renude protested my wearing it home from the shop, claiming the garment was not properly fitted, but your mother and sister insisted. They both assured me it looked fine.”
Jasper grudgingly admitted that the walking dress did, indeed, flatter Claire. It was a bold patterned fabric, but the deep colors gave a richness and elegance to the dress, and the colors complemented Claire’s skin tone. It fit astonishingly well for an outfit not custom made. She was shapely in the right places, and the garment emphasized that fact most charmingly.
“Your mother and sister are turning me into a woman of fashion.” Claire smiled, as though it was the most outlandish thing she had ever heard. “Well, at least they are trying.”
“Do not allow them to change you too much. The adage that women must suffer for beauty was no doubt concocted by a female with no looks to speak of.”
“That would explain a lot of the more peculiar fashions,” Claire replied with a slight smile. “Some of the dress plates we examined offered garments that seemed uncomfortable, as well as outlandish. I cannot imagine anyone wearing them without looking ridiculous.”
Jasper smiled inwardly, remembering some of the outfits he had seen. “The most undistinguished, insipid society event is made far more palatable by these so-called height of fashion costumes,” he explained. “And ’tis not only the women who provide such amusement. I’ve seen dandies dressed in the most appalling combinations of bright colors and in clothes that are so tight, they appear to have been sewed into their breeches and jackets. Not to mention shirt points so high and stiff, the fellow cannot even turn his neck.”
“Normally I would accuse you of pulling my leg, but after my morning in the dress shop, I know you are being truthful. I am willing to go to some lengths for fashion, but will exercise restraint and avoid the more extreme changes that were suggested by your mother, such as cutting my hair.” She caught his eye. “And while I appreciate and value your mother’s and sister’s advice, I am more than capable of making my own decisions. Thankfully, I am not feebleminded.”
“Will and wits might not be sufficient when dealing with my mother.” Jasper paused for a heartbeat, then leaned closer. “She can be a bully at times.”
Claire’s eyes, locked on his, widened. “A family trait?”
“One of our better, and stronger, ones,” he shot back.
“That does not surprise me in the least.”
They both laughed, until Jasper, remembering he was in a public street, pulled back. He drew in a sharp breath and glanced around, relieved to note they were not being observed by any of their fellow pedestrians. Then, unable to stop himself, Jasper’s gaze returned to her face.
Claire’s cheeks flushed with color, and he noticed her eyes were sparkling with humor. She looked very pretty and remarkably young.
Quite unexpectedly, he felt a frisson of physical awareness. It affected his equilibrium in a most peculiar way, mostly because he did not understand it. His body seemed to spring to life, to pulse with anticipation. A normal male reaction to an attractive woman, yet somehow this feeling was different. It was unique and possessed a depth that was as unfamiliar as it was unsettling.
With ordinary female attraction, Jasper would simply wait and will the feelings to fade from his body and mind. Eventually, they would. He viewed this as a triumph, knowing that after years of indulging his every passion, he had finally succeeded in training himself to exercise this tight, strict control.
Yet, curiously with Claire, the feelings and images were stronger and far more compelling. He was still able to control them, but in a jolt of insight, Jasper realized the true danger of this predicament. The discovery made his heart slow to an erratic thump. It was highly possible that the attraction would not fade, but instead grow.
But why? What was it about this woman that set him on edge?
He knew far prettier women, far more sophisticated women, and even more fascinating women. Yet it seemed that somehow Claire possessed the power to cause him to lose his much valued control.
As if trying to run from the feelings, Jasper stepped along more briskly. Claire was forced to tighten her hold on his arm to keep pace. They crossed the thoroughfare and strode down the street.
“My carriage is on the next street,” Lord Fairhurst announced. “I can instruct the driver to take you back any number of different routes. There is far more of interest for you to see in London than the shops on Bond Street. Are there any particular sights you wished to view?”
“I want to see everything.”
Her voice was a breathless whisper. Jasper knew that was due to the near sprint they had just completed to the carriage, but the husky intimacy made him think of other, more delightful ways to cause such a reaction.
He thought of kisses, soft as butterfly wings, but powerful enough to send a strong stirring of heat and wanting throughout their bodies. The eagerness, the enthusiasm that fueled a lingering fascination, a quickening desire that stoked the sensual fires that he knew would spring between them.
Jasper was suddenly conscious of a definite ache. He took a deep breath and stepped back, wondering if physical distance would help ease the tightness. It did not.
“I will instruct my driver to take you by Westminster Abbey,” Jasper decided. “You can appreciate the architecture and get a sense of the great history of the place even viewing it from the carriage window.”
Her eyes widened. “Aren’t you coming?”
Lord Fairhurst shook his head forcefully, not liking the pleasure he received from the sound of disappointment in her voice.
He placed his hand on her elbow and was about to assist her into the carriage when the sound of a familiar female voice calling his name shot a prickle of awareness up his spine. Fearing to verify the identity of the speaker, Jasper nevertheless turned his head and found himself gazing into the eyes of the last person he expected or wanted to see. Of all the rotten luck!
“Miss Manning. Miss Rebecca.” He snatched his hand off Claire and made a bow to the newcomers, cowardly wishing it were possible for the ground beneath him to open up and swallow him whole. Unfortunately, that was not an option.
Neither Rebecca nor Anne curtsied in response to his greeting. Instead, the women stared at him in speechless shock. He saw Rebecca’s eyes flick to Claire, then widen when she somehow correctly guessed Claire’s identity. A faint blush tinged Rebecca’s skin. She opened her mouth briefly but closed it again, without speaking.
Jasper wondered how he could possibly avoid a scene that would scandalize the ton and be the talk at every society event of the evening, yet he found it difficult to think with Rebecca and her sister staring at him like a pair of tragic characters from a Greek chorus.
“Rebecca—” Jasper said, but she had turned sharply away. She stumbled down the street with ungainly haste, hurrying toward her father’s coach. Her sister Anne scrambled to keep pace.
Jasper swallowed a curse and started after her, but was drawn back when he felt a tug on his coat sleeve.
“I assume you are acquainted with the ladies?”
Jasper stopped, then turned, struggling to mask his anger. “I was, though I wonder now if they will acknowledge me at any event, or instead give me the cut direct. ’Tis no more than I deserve, given the disgraceful way I treated them.”
“But you were perfectly polite. It seemed that their manners were the ones lacking.” Claire stared up at him for a long moment, clearly not connecting with his meaning. Jasper was forced to explain.
“Miss Anne Manning is the elder of the two sisters. She was dressed in the gray pelisse. The other young lady was Miss Rebecca. She is the woman I planned to marry.” He shifted his head so he was gazing directly into her eyes. “That is, before you became my wife.”
The moment the carriage door closed behind her, Rebecca’s temper erupted.
“How dare he?” She threw her reticule forcefully on the carriage floor, then stomped on it in anger. “Out in public with that creature after promising me that she would be quickly gone from his life. And did you see the way they were acting with each other? Cozy and intimate, speaking in discreet, exclusive tones. I had to call his name twice before he even turned to acknowledge me. It nearly caused me to lose my breakfast.”
“Truly, Rebecca, it was not that bad,” Anne said. She bent over and rescued the squashed reticule, lifting it off the floor and placing it in her lap. “Lord Fairhurst seemed equally distressed at the unexpected meeting.”
“Of course he did, you fool!” Rebecca hauled in a tight breath. “He hates to have attention drawn to him, especially if it involves anything that smacks of impropriety. Now I wish there were more people present to witness the encounter.”
“That’s illogical,” Anne contended. “Lord Fairhurst would never—”
“Shut up!” Rebecca gave an exasperated hiss and turned with an upraised hand, posed to strike. “If you utter another word in his defense, I swear I shall slap you silly.”
The threat effectively stopped any further comments from Anne. Her lips quivered with uncertainty, and for a moment, Rebecca felt the urge to slap her sister anyway, knowing she would receive a sense of pleasure from the act.
Rebecca’s stomach coiled with nausea. She had not expected to have such a violent, jealous reaction. In truth, she cared little for Lord Fairhurst, agreeing to the match mostly to please her father and, more importantly, to remove herself from his influence.
Fairhurst had many qualities she desired in a husband. He was wealthy, possessed a title and was heir to an even higher position, was handsome and relatively young, but most important, Rebecca knew Lord Fairhurst never intended to love her, and she knew with certainty she would never love him.
Yet, that apparently did not preclude her from feeling possessive about him. Seeing him with that woman had unleashed all sorts of raging emotions. Fortunately, she had held them in check while on the street. Though tantrums were her speciality, Rebecca never indulged in them unless she was far away from prying eyes.
Though the carriage felt airless, Rebecca pulled down the window shade. A fleeting madness gripped her, and she released the emotion, spewing out her distress. “Is this to be my life? Forced to endure anguish and humiliation day after day while Fairhurst parades about Town with this woman?”
“He was merely assisting her into a carriage,” Anne said timidly. She reached across the carriage interior and squeezed her sister’s hand. “Perhaps it was a chance encounter.”
“My God, you are an idiot,” Rebecca said, shaking off Anne’s feeble attempt at comfort. “It was his carriage. Did you not see the emblem emblazoned on the door? ’Tis no wonder you have never married, or even had a single offer. You have a feeble mind, sister, that matches perfectly with your mousy looks.”
Anne flinched at her sister’s words and bit her lower lip. Rebecca ignored her sister’s bowed head and trembling hands. Her mind was occupied with far more pressing problems—namely, her own survival. She had been naive and foolish last night to take Fairhurst at his word. There apparently was far more to this situation than he had previously told her. And when taking into account today’s incident, it seemed doubtful that Fairhurst was going to do everything possible to honor their betrothal.
After all, it had never been officially announced. The negotiations had been completed and the financial arrangements had been decided, but no papers were signed. Handled correctly, Rebecca knew she could escape the worst of the scandal and place it all squarely at Lord Fairhurst’s feet. Exactly where it belonged.
Slowly, Rebecca lifted the shade and peered through the carriage window. The storm of her emotions had finally begun to settle, but the need for revenge still lingered. She held tight to the power of it, knowing it would drive and sustain her in the coming weeks.
A sudden chill moved over her and Rebecca smiled. Everything was going to work out for the best. The stabbing dread she had initially felt at the idea of losing Fairhurst was gone, replaced by a strong, intense need to be cruel.
And that, she understood completely.