Chapter Fifteen

The next morning, Phillipa was deliriously happy. The severe chill from the inclement weather could not douse her jubilant mood. She curled her hands, warming them over the cup of tea her mother handed her. Anthony would speak with her father that afternoon.

She’d been giddy with excitement after their tumultuous lovemaking in the linen closet. They had laughed like idiots after, and she couldn’t stop hugging and kissing him. She had whispered fiercely that she still wanted to travel, but she desperately wanted to be his wife, if his offer still stood.

He had hugged her even tighter. “I already have the special license in hand and shall send an announcement to the papers tomorrow.”

They had been very circumspect in sneaking back into the ball.

“Are you certain he’s coming, my dear?” her mother queried for the tenth time.

“Yes, Mama,” she answered.

“But why would he not present himself this morning? Why the delay, if you’ve already given him your answer?” Lady Merryweather asked.

For once, Phillipa didn’t mind the inquisition. Nothing could spoil her mood today.

“Lord Anthony had some business to attend. He will call on Papa this afternoon.” Phillipa tried to rein in her impatience, not wanting their doubt to feed hers.

Just before parting last night, Anthony had told her he wanted a word with her before he spoke with her father. Anthony had seemed so intent he had scared her a little. She’d demanded to know immediately what was wrong, but he had only shaken his head. Phillipa still felt a trickle of unease over his odd behavior, but determinedly pushed it aside. He wanted to marry her. What could possibly be amiss?

A sharp rap on the door, and their butler announced the first of their morning callers—Lord Hoyt and his sister, Lady Henrietta. Phillipa rose and curtsied as they were shown into the drawing room. Lord Hoyt gave her a warm smile before bowing to her aunt and her mother.

Pleasantries were exchanged, but his sister fairly vibrated with eagerness to speak. Phillipa knew that only occurred when Lady Henrietta had some juicy titbit of gossip to impart. The feather hat on her head bobbed in her excitement as she dismissed the offer of tea and cake.

Phillipa really did not want to be a part of this. “I’m afraid I have some pressing correspondence that needs to be answered to urgently,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Oh, Phillipa, you’ll want to hear the news I have. You must stay.” Lady Henrietta’s voice was shrilled.

Phillipa restrained a flinch.

Her mother sent her a stern look and reached for the teapot. “Go on, my lady. Tell us.” Her mother poured Lord Hoyt a cup of tea and arranged cakes on a plate.

Phillipa set her face in pleasant determination. “I really must—”

“Lord Anthony Thornton has been exposed as a bastard,” Hoyt murmured portentously.

Lady Merryweather gasped. Her mother froze in the act of handing him the cup of tea. Hot liquid sloshed before Lord Hoyt steadied it, wetting the table and pooling liquid on its gleaming surface.

Phillipa dropped abruptly back into her chair. “What?”

The silence in the room pressed in on her.

“Lord Hoyt,” Lady Merryweather admonished, though she could not hide the horror in her voice. “What an unkind thing to say!”

Phillipa tried to comprehend the import of what was being said. Her mother looked ready to swoon, and dismay laced her aunt’s gaze.

“I assure you, Lady Merryweather,” he defended, “it is all that is being talked about in the drawing rooms this morning. We heard it directly from Lady Godey’s lips.”

“Everyone has noted that Lord Anthony has singled you out of late, Phillipa,” Henrietta murmured with false concern. Her smile was tinged with such maliciousness, Phillipa drew back, startled.

Her throat closed in shock. “I—”

“That is why we hastened to you with the news, my dear.” Lord Hoyt reached for her hand and she snatched it away from him. Why did he look so satisfied?

“Well, I don’t believe it,” she said.

He leaned forward eagerly. “Many will start to whisper about your connection with such a vile imposter pretending to be an honorable gentleman. I believe the matter I brought to your attention at Lady Graham’s ball must be broached with your father today to avoid embroiling you in scandal, my dear.”

Good heavens! Anthony, a vile imposter?

Her aunt surged to her feet, “Oh, Lord Hoyt, what wonderful news. I will alert Mr. Peppiwell that you wish to speak with him.”

Phillipa stared at her, aghast. “No!”

“My love,” Lord Hoyt began, but she slashed her hands in the air, cutting him off.

She straightened her spine and met his gaze. “I am already engaged to be married to Lord Anthony. Lord Hoyt, I insist you cease from maligning my betrothed’s good name.”

Lady Henrietta twittered, “Oh, my.” She gave her brother a telling look, as if she had warned him.

“My God,” her mother cried. “You can’t—”

“God has nothing to do with it Mama. These are vicious rumors, and I will not be a part of this discussion!” She shot to her feet. It was vicious gossip, nothing more. Anthony would never have kept such a thing from her. Would he?

The look of appalled betrayal on her mother’s face had Phillipa immediately regretting her outburst. Even Henrietta had been rendered speechless, and she stared at Phillipa with an expression of amazed horror.

“I’m sorry, Mama. But, surely, you see this cannot be true.”

“Think of the humiliation you and your family will have to endure if you go through with this madness.” Lord Hoyt spoke gently. “The stain on his name will be irredeemable. People will no longer invest with him and he will be cut socially and you along with him.”

“You will not align yourself with such a man.” Her mother fanned herself frantically, her face mottled with anger, and she looked as though she was working herself up to a swoon.

“Mama, please. There is no need for theatrics.”

“Do not be flippant with your mother, Phillipa.” Lady Merryweather’s spine snapped straight, but her face had gone ashen with a look in her eyes Phillipa could not bear to see.

Her heart thundered. And she’d thought being caught spending the night in his home would be a scandal!

Society thrived on malicious gossip, and she could only imagine the tidal wave of condemnation that would follow them now. Her stomach roiled, and she fought to keep her face expressionless. Oh, Anthony!

“You must listen to reason, my love.” Lord Hoyt looked at her with earnest regard and she could see he was sincere. Unlike his sister’s vicious glee.

“Surely, this is only a foul rumor,” she murmured after a few tense seconds, pacing away from him.

“I am afraid not,” Lord Hoyt said bluntly. “You’ve only to see him standing next to his mother’s new husband to know the truth of that relationship.”

Her aunt gripped her hands, her eyes lit with sympathy.

“I came to ask for your hand in marriage, Phillipa. My intentions remain the same,” Hoyt said, coming to stand beside her.

Phillipa shook her head, unable to form words. She skirted around him, approaching her mother. “Even if it’s true, I doubt he will fall to ruin. He is part of one of the wealthiest, most influential families in the highest echelon of society, Mama. I still—”

Her mother slapped her. She recoiled in shock, her head snapping back. “Mother!” She touched her cheek, tears springing to her eyes.

“Do not be foolish,” her mother hissed. “He is not a Thornton. Calydon will doubtless distance himself from his false brother, and Lord Anthony will be seen by society as nothing but an affront to morality. You will not bring shame on this family again, young lady!”

Fury slashed through Phillipa. “We are betrothed. How can you demand I beg off because of a vicious rumor?” Her eyes and throat burned with the injustice.

“They are more than rumors, Miss Peppiwell. One only has to look at Lord Radcliffe and the truth is apparent,” Hoyt insisted.

She gaped at him. Then she turned to Lady Merryweather for support. “Aunt Florence, please.”

“You must not be selfish, Phillipa,” she admonished sharply. “Your actions reflect on all of us. Think of your father. Your sisters. The stain of this would travel with Payton and Phoebe for years to come.”

Phillipa thought of the gallant way Anthony had rescued her. His efforts to protect her reputation by offering marriage. The way he made love to her to ensure her pleasure. His charm and kindness and sincerity, his immense popularity among Society, his unabashed love and concern for his sister.

But mostly Phillipa remembered the way he listened to her. With respect and as an equal. He saw everything about her—good and bad—and he did not judge her for any of it. “He is a good man, Aunt, honorable and strong,” she insisted tearfully.

“A bastard is a nobody. He is nothing now. He will no longer be accepted in drawing rooms, or be accepted by anyone of consequence. How can you even think to align our family with such a man?” her aunt said coldly.

Phillipa’s chest tightened at the heartless statement. Incredulity quickly flared along with her mounting rage. A few weeks ago, Anthony had been the prime catch of the season. Those were the words her aunt herself had used more than once. Now he was nothing? She had always loved her aunt tremendously, but now all she felt was anger and disgust. Never had she hated the fickleness of society more than in this minute.

“Phillipa, please!” She spun at Payton’s pain-filled cry. Horror had slackened her sister’s face and twisted her hands together.

“Oh, Payton.” Tears spilled from Phillipa’s eyes.

“If you wed him, St. John will retract his offer.” Payton’s pained wail slammed into Phillipa as nothing else could have done.

“Payton, if he loves you, surely, he will—”

“He loves me. He has told me so many times.” Her voice broke and tears splashed down her face.

Phillipa hurried to her, clasping her trembling fingers. “Payton, I love Anthony. I cannot—”

“Has he declared his love for you? Has he?” Payton demanded.

Phillipa froze, hurt and uncertainty screaming at her insides. Her sister knew he had not. Phillipa had confessed her doubts to Payton the night before while they lay by the fire in her bedchamber, talking about the two men in their lives. They had both glowed with happiness and love.

Payton gripped her hand. “Are you willing to ruin my happiness and fight for a man who does not love you? And a man who says he will speak with Papa for your hand, but had more pressing issues to attend first?”

Phillipa stepped back, shocked at her vehemence. She forgave her instantly, knowing the fear Payton felt. But her words still created a niggle of doubt.

He had not whispered words of love. Not once.

“Come here,” she whispered, drawing Payton into her arms, hugging her tightly. “All will be well. I’m sure of it.”

Phillipa met Lord Hoyt’s gaze over Payton’s head and gave him an even look. The hopeful pleasure that suffused his face sickened her. She had not accepted his offer, but she had not refused, either. He already felt he had won. She knew she must act out this charade until she could speak with Anthony. But dread filled her whole body, for she did not know if she could marry him if the rumors were true. The scandal would destroy the connections her father hoped to make.

And with a certainty she could no longer shrug off, she knew they could not be mere rumors. The man she loved was a bastard.

Oh, God, what was she to do?

…

The hum of the gentleman’s club seemed muted. Anthony sipped his port and read the report on Orwell with a cold distance. The blackguard was financially powerful, enjoying profitable returns from his many investments.

Hawke’s report was extensive, but despite that, he’d failed him. Orwell had retired to his country home in Suffolk and disappeared from the watchful eyes of the men Hawke had placed on him. Anthony found it curious that he had vanished without causing any ripples. Thankfully, he had not been sighted near Phillipa.

Anthony came to an entry in the report, and frowned. Orwell had visited his attorney the day before he disappeared. And they shared the same attorney. A chair scraped and his head snapped up to meet Calvert’s worried gaze.

Anthony was surprised to see Sebastian was also with him. Anthony leaned back in his chair as they sat, foreboding flooding over him at the look of savage fury on their faces. “What has happened?” he demanded.

“Newport has disappeared. His office was ransacked and all his correspondence missing. I traveled posthaste to let you know,” Sebastian said flatly.

Anthony clutched the report in his hand. Damnation. There was little doubt what all this meant. “Is Constance safe?”

“She is with our mother. We must go to her immediately.”

He nodded in agreement. Constance needed him. A cold, calm logic filled his mind, and he sifted through his options. He slashed his attention to Calvert. “What bad news do you bring me?”

Anthony saw the sympathy in his friend’s eyes and braced himself, though he knew what was coming.

“My father and several others were meeting to discuss withdrawing from ventures that you are heavily invested in.”

“Which ones?” he demanded.

“The railways and the steam engines.”

He calculated the loss, and the shares he had in them. Substantial, but he should survive.

“The reason?” he demanded evenly, needing confirmation of the worst.

“Lord Hubert and the Marquis of Gale report that you are not a legitimate heir to the Calydon holdings. They have refused to continue any business transactions with you. I tried to inform them that to withdraw from you is to withdraw from Calydon completely. They did not seem to agree,” Calvert said, anger threading his voice, as well.

Anthony met Sebastian’s gaze. They believed his own brother would turn from him, in fear of tainting the Calydon title. A thing he knew would happen when hell froze over.

Anthony saw the speculation in his friend’s gaze, but also the respect of his privacy. “Thank you, my friend, for hastening to inform me. I will not soon forget your support. Now, I must speak with Sebastian and then find Phillipa. I must not delay.”

Anthony froze at Calvert’s sudden stillness.

“Miss Phillipa Peppiwell?” he asked.

“Yes, what of it?”

Calvert gave him the most curious stare. “Why do you want to speak with her?”

Both Sebastian and Anthony measured Calvert carefully. Anthony’s heart stalled, wondering how Orwell had embroiled her in whatever schemes he had set in motion. “The lady and I have an understanding. I will be speaking to her father this afternoon. At least, I’d planned to. I shall, after sorting out this mess.”

“Damnation.” Calvert raked his hands through his too-long hair.

“What is it?” Anthony growled, fearing the worst. Had Orwell started rumors of Phillipa’s abduction, as well?

“Lord Hoyt was at that investors’ meeting. He announced to everyone there his imminent engagement to Miss Peppiwell.”

Betrayal shafted his insides, and he fought against the emotions that swamped him.

The lady had every right to beg off, but he could not credit that she would do so in such a cowardly manner, without speaking to him first.

“There is more,” Calvert said sympathetically. “My mother had morning callers, and I heard whispers that some of the ladies plan to give your sister, Constance, the cut direct.”

The curses that came from Sebastian were some of the most virulent Anthony had ever heard. He struggled to keep a calm facade in the face of them and his own rage. “Thank you, my friend, for letting us know.”

Calvert rose, shook his hand, and departed.

“I must go to Constance at once.” Anthony’s mind churned as he gathered the piles of paper from the report and shoved them into the file jacket. “You say she is with Mother?”

“I will come with you.”

He looked into the hard, angry face of his brother, shocked at the offer. Sebastian had not spoken to their mother in over a decade. Anthony wagered now would not be the best time for that first meeting. “Not necessary. Constance knows you adore her. But I really need to speak with her first.”

Anthony saw Sebastian’s disapproval, but he gave a short nod. “So, you made Miss Peppiwell an offer, after all,” Sebastian growled, addressing the matter Anthony had determined to avoid. It must wait until after he’d dealt with his sister.

“I sent a note to Sherring Cross to let you know.” He dismissed the concern in his brother’s gaze and fought against the rage at how easy she’d deserted him.

The first hint of rumors of his illegitimacy, and she’d crumbled? Good God. She had seemed so fearless, so disdainful of Society. He’d actually believed she would wed him even knowing he was a bastard. He had planned to tell her everything this afternoon, before speaking to her father. What a gullible fool he had been.

He turned his mind from his rioting thoughts and focused on Sebastian.

“Humboldt arrived with news that Lord Orwell’s lackeys paid him a visit.” Humboldt was their family lawyer, and a powerful man in his own right.

“Why?”

“Orwell wanted the papers father left. Humboldt refused, of course,” Sebastian said.

Which explained why Newport’s offices had been ransacked, and the papers forcibly taken from Anthony’s own attorney instead.

The brass balls of Orwell stunned Anthony. “Lord Orwell is growing too bold.” He relayed to Sebastian about Phillipa’s abduction and his rescue of her and about Newport’s break-in.

“The hell, you say!” Sebastian snapped in outrage.

Anthony pushed the report across the table toward him. “It’s all here. There is no doubt who is responsible for spreading the details of my illegitimacy.”

If possible, Sebastian went colder. “I will crush him,” Sebastian swore.

Anthony laughed mirthlessly. “You will need to get in line. Unfortunately, he has closed his houses and fled. He was last seen boarding a ship for the Continent.”

“The bloody coward.”

Anthony blew out a long, long, calming breath. “I find that I am more affected by Phillipa’s desertion than Society learning I am a bastard,” he said, meeting Sebastian’s gaze unflinchingly. It took a hell of a lot to admit that.

“You love her?”

Anthony filled his glass with more port. “It is not like you to talk of love. I thought you did not believe in the notion.”

“I do not believe in it for myself. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to find love,” Sebastian growled.

Anthony nodded. His brother had endured a bitter betrayal at the hands of a woman who’d claimed she adored him, so he could understand his cynicism. “I do love her. She is intelligent and passionate and finds the whirl of the haute monde tedious, the people lacking sincerity. Sentiments I agree with. However, it seems the lady has fallen prey to those same faults.” The words tasted bitter.

“What will you do?”

He lifted a shoulder. “What is there to be done? The lady has made her choice.” Though he tried to sound casual, the pain of her decision tied him in knots. He never dreamed he could feel such chaotic emotions over a female. “I think you may have the right of it brother. Women are not to be trusted,” he said dispassionately.

Sebastian hesitated before he spoke. “I can see you closing off your emotions, just as you did when Father shut you out. If you love Miss Peppiwell as you say, then speak with her. Make her tell you to your face.”

Anthony winced. Probably he was being spineless, but he feared what he might do if she admitted throwing him over for another man. The passion they burned with, the connection that had sparked between them…it hurt to think she could dismiss it all so callously. Over something she professed to disdain.

“I will not think on her one moment more,” he vowed. “She never wanted to marry me in the first place. I will be damned if I profess love for her, trying to convince her not to marry Hoyt. He is welcome to the fickle chit.”

Even as he said it, his gut turned to acid at the thought of her in Hoyt’s arms, yielding to his embrace with the fire Anthony knew she possessed.

“I am more worried about Constance,” he went on. “I cannot credit anyone would give her the cut without proof. But if Calvert is right—”

Sebastian muttered another curse. “Indeed, there is much to be done. We must protect Constance at all cost. But first you must call on your lady. I have never known you to be a coward, Anthony. Never. Speak with her before you make a decision that will haunt you for the rest of your life.” Sebastian got to his feet, clasped his shoulder, and left him.

Anthony was so wrapped in his thoughts it took him a few moments to realize the gentlemen he normally drank and conversed with were treating him to covert glances. A sad smile curled his lips. Fickle, indeed. He looked up as a shadow loomed over him. It was Sebastian returning. Anthony arched a brow.

“It occurred to me that you may lack transportation. I will leave my carriage at your disposal. I have informed the coachman.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose,” Anthony drawled, empting his glass of port, enjoying the warmth that trailed from his throat to stomach. “You’ll need it to get back to Sherring Cross.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sebastian snapped. “Deliver me to your town house and I will order up a traveling coach that’s far more comfortable.”

“Very well. Who am I to argue?” No one, that was who. Anthony got to his feet, collected his greatcoat, and walked Sebastian out of the club they’d been members of for most of their lives—and their father before them, and his father before that. This would probably be the last time Anthony would be able to set foot in the establishment. Strangely, he discovered he cared not one whit.

What he cared about was confronting Phillipa. Hell. Going to her, to see the truth of her betrayal, was the hardest thing he would ever face. For, he realized he loved her unreservedly, and he’d never felt happiness as he had when she’d finally consented to marry him.

The future had seemed brighter. Dreams and promises had seemed possible.

How swiftly all his hopes had been swept away by bleak despair.