It was Monday morning by the time Winnifred and her parents arrived in London. Aching from the two-day journey, all she wanted to do was curl up on her bed and sleep for a year. But she’d been home for less than a quarter hour when she heard raised voices and arguing below.
An agonizingly familiar drawl rose up the stairs. “Lord Waldenfield, I implore you not to believe a word my father says.”
Even though Winnifred’s mind was through with Asher, her heart beat excitedly. He was here!
No, she thought, holding firm to her resolve to forget about him. He’d abandoned her. Had proven that he’d only wanted the money, after all. Not her.
And yet, that foolish organ beneath her breast wanted her to give him just one more chance. Perhaps—the bu-bump bu-bump suggested—he had a good reason for leaving.
Her mind harrumphed, not so willing to forgive. Without a word? Not even a missive scrawled on a scrap of paper?
Very true, Winnifred thought, her hand white-knuckled on the railing. She’d walked halfway down the stairs without even realizing it.
“As far as I’m concerned,” her father bellowed, his voice ringing out from the direction of his study, “both of you are encouraged to leave.”
“Lord Waldenfield, it is hardly in your best interest not to hear me out,” another man intoned. He had the voice of a practiced actor on the stage—the kind of character who appeared effusively charming while hiding a dagger behind his back.
The marquess, she thought. After all she’d heard of him, it was as if she knew him already.
“I do not see how any matter of mine concerns you, Lord Shettlemane.”
Her father usually spoke more diplomatically. However, he’d been cross for the entire duration of the journey home, glaring out the window at the countryside.
Winn had tried to keep her tears silently to herself, but they rolled down her cheeks and she’d been unable to stop them. Father had gruffly given her his handkerchief. This only made her cry in earnest because she thought about Asher’s handkerchief, still tied around her shoe and hidden at the bottom of the trunk that Mother had brought to Yorkshire.
“Lord Waldenfield is correct, Father. You needn’t spend another minute here,” Asher said tightly. “You’ve taken enough already.”
Lord Shettlemane chuckled. “That is precisely why I am here. To see that amends are made for what has been . . . taken.”
Winnifred held her breath, the intimation clear in the sly inflection. Had Asher told his father—
No. Asher hated his father, and he would never confide in him.
“As I said to you at Avemore Abbey, I have kept to the terms of our bargain,” Asher said quickly. “Your daughter is unharmed.”
Unharmed? Ha! Tell that to her shredded heart. She’d been nothing more to him than a parcel to be delivered in exchange for payment.
“I fear my son is playing the gentleman for your sake.” Lord Shettlemane tutted. “But you and I were once young men in our prime. And while it may be difficult for you to imagine your daughter in the hands of a renowned scoundrel, I’m afraid it will not be difficult for most of society.”
“Father—”
“It only takes a whisper,” Lord Shettlemane continued, ignoring the icy warning from his son. “The news of Lord Waldenfield’s heiress disappearing the morning of her wedding in Viscount Holt’s unfortunately identifiable carriage will link the two of them, no matter what has or has not transpired on their sojourn together.”
So Shettlemane came to blackmail her father, did he? She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise and she gritted her teeth.
Wasn’t it enough that she was heartbroken? No, indeed. Now she had to endure the threat of public humiliation over what she’d thought at the time had been love. In fact, she couldn’t even bear the thought of living with her aunt any longer. Memories of her moments with Asher in the garden and in the abbey would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Her father growled. “Are you threatening to ‘whisper’ into the ton’s ear about my daughter?”
“My lord, you’ve misunderstood. I am here as an ally. As such, it behooves me to tell you that, if there was a wedding announcement between them, it would help to keep society quiet, I’m sure. And a grand wedding would show everyone that your family name has no mark of disgrace upon it at all, not even in nine months’ time.”
A breath escaped her. Reflexively, her hand covered her middle. And yet Asher had been careful not to spill inside her. At the time, she’d assumed it was because he didn’t want to bring shame on her for carrying his child before he returned from his journey and they would marry.
She never imagined he’d intended to abandon her altogether.
He’d played her for a fool. And it hurt to know that she was like so many debutantes who had fallen for a scoundrel’s sweet words and passionate embraces only to be left with nothing in the end.
“And Lord Holt,” her father said in an even tone that was usually accompanied by the lowering of his brows into a battle line, “is that also the reason you have come here?”
“Absolutely not!” Asher growled. “I have no desire whatsoever to marry your daughter in order to—”
“Good,” she heard herself say as her foot left the bottom tread. Standing in the open doorway, she faced the man to whom she’d given her only true possessions—her heart and her body. It was a painful realization that they had not been enough for him. “I wouldn’t marry you either. Not even if you paid me.”
“Winn, let me finish.”
“I am marrying Mr. Woodbine,” she said, shocking herself if no one else. Her unexpected declaration felt like a cistern of cold water had been poured over her head. She felt the iciness of it in one swift deluge, seeping into her bones. Her teeth nearly chattered as she continued. “I’ve had t-time to reconsider my f-feelings and I would prefer a life with him more than anyone else.”
After all, it was obvious that she was going to be manipulated into some sort of marriage, so it might as well be to Mr. Woodbine. At least with him, her heart would never suffer again because he would never possess it.
Not only that, but she could keep disgrace from her family, and immerse herself in a life so full of managing her own house and social obligations that she wouldn’t have a minute to think about Asher Holt.
“No. You want to marry for love, or not at all,” Asher said quietly and had the audacity to reach for her hand.
She drew back.
Her fingers trembled, prickling and aching to be in his grasp just once more. And as her gaze roved over his features, she thought she saw a bruise on his jaw. She wanted to reach out, to cup his face . . .
But those were thoughts of the woman who’d loved him, and who’d thought he’d loved her in return.
She straightened, holding on to her resolve. “I would rather be with someone who is honest about what he expects from the beginning.” Then, to her father, she added, “Running away was a mistake. I wasn’t thinking or behaving like myself. All of my actions only fill me with regret.”
Her father stared back at her. His brow furrowed quizzically like a man addressing a stranger who seemed familiar but he couldn’t quite recall the name. Then, all at once, those lines eased into their usual horizontal slashes, and he nodded succinctly.
She knew he would call upon Mr. Woodbine this very day and make the arrangements. He would likely add more to her dowry, as well. And she didn’t care if he did.
Winnifred was numb to everything now. She had nothing left of herself to give.
Asher stepped in front of her, his dark gaze inviting her to remember every moment they’d spent together. “You’re only saying this because you don’t understand. I have a plan, Winn.”
“A scoundrel’s plan which hinged on a payment from my father. There is no need to pretend otherwise. And while I appreciate your escort to my aunt’s estate, I would rather forget the entire ordeal.”
“Come with me,” he said, the entreaty so low that she almost didn’t believe she’d heard it. But then he said it again, this time edged with desperation.
Her heart twisted, cracking through a layer of ice, trying to believe that she was all he really wanted.
Her mind, however, recalled standing alone at Avemore Abbey while he drove away with a fistful of her father’s money. And her heart gave up the fight.
Without a word in response, she turned around and walked away.