Maryann left her mother and went to her own room. She looked at Tammadge’s ring on her fourth finger. Slowly she stripped it off.
In the back of a drawer in her dressing table, she found the box in which Tammadge had carried the ring. The sapphire and the pearls looked beautiful against the burgundy velvet lining. Much better than on her finger.
She closed the lid and set the box on the mantel shelf. She was done with the ring.
Despite her admission to Stephen that she could not bear marrying Tammadge, she had not been certain at all about what she should do. But no longer was she undecided.
Fight for love and happiness.
If her father ended up in debtor’s prison, and she and Irene penniless, she could always hire herself out as a gardener and support her mother. And Mama had the seven hundred pounds sent by Grossmutter. It wasn’t much, but it would tide her over until Maryann could provide for her.
No matter what the cost, Tammadge must be punished. Hannah must see justice done. And so must Stephen.
In two days, the fight against Tammadge would be over. She did not allow herself to doubt. If Tammadge was serious about sending a shipload of young girls to the Dey of Algiers, he would do it on the day of Princess Charlotte’s wedding when the streets would be noisy with celebrations.
Two more days and she would see Stephen. And if she was not certain yet whether she would overcome her hurt feelings, she knew she did not have to confront the question immediately.
Fight for love and happiness.
It was a good thought to go to sleep on.
Tuesday morning, to the neglect of the Sloane Street gardens, Maryann decided to drive out to Wilderness Road. She was surprised to see that Robert was accompanied by Rush, but made no comment. If it was one of Rob’s dictatorial whims, she did not want to enter into an argument. And if it was Rush’s notion of making up for his slip from grace, she wouldn’t want to snub him with an order to stay at home. The soldier’s reluctance to look at her seemed to confirm the latter theory.
When she arrived at the Moss’s house, Hester asked her to go upstairs to Hannah while she settled an argument between her cook and the butcher. Maryann had not been alone with Hannah before, and to her dismay, the girl started to cry when she entered the light-flooded room.
But then Hannah spoke.
“I’m so glad to see you! I was afraid you wouldn’t come any more.”
Maryann sat down in a chair beside her. “But why, Hannah? When I left Saturday, I said I’d be back.”
“You promised last week to come on Friday. But you did not. And on Saturday you said nothing about that man you call Tammadge, or told me the good news you said you might have. And you didn’t ask questions … about … about Leah and that night. As if … as if you wanted to forget all about it.”
Maryann’s heart raced with excitement. Hannah had been listening, and now—bless the girl!—now she was coming out of her shell.
“Forget, like you, Hannah?” she asked, her voice gentle.
The pale face puckered. “I want to forget. But I cannot!”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Tears streaming, Hannah cried, “I cannot! I cannot!”
Hester Moss followed by Abraham rushed into the chamber.
“Lady Maryann,” said Hester, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “I beg you to remember that Hannah must not be upset.”
“She spoke!” said Mr. Moss, his voice unsteady, his eyes suspiciously moist. “Hannah spoke! It is a good sign. The wound on her head is healing well, but when she has talked about that night, she can heal inside as well.”
Over his wife’s protest, he allowed Maryann to put more questions to Hannah. The girl shook her head and cried harder. She cried as if her heart were breaking, but she did not scream or thrash her head or show any of the signs of rising hysteria that had marked her earlier reactions to Leah’s name.
Maryann looked at Abraham Moss.
Running his fingers through his graying sidelocks, he said, “Perhaps we should let her rest. If Hester agrees, you might return tomorrow.”
“Yes, I agree.” Hester smiled at her husband. I have thought about the matter, and as always, you are in the right. It will be good for Hannah to speak about that awful night.”
Maryann left the house in Wilderness Road in a buoyant, hopeful mood. The decisions she had made the night before were the right decisions. If she had needed proof, Hannah’s improvement had supplied it. Soon, the girl would be able to speak about the night she was found unconscious, clutching Tammadge’s handkerchief.
For the first time ever, Maryann felt truly in control of her life. One by one, she was finding solutions to problems that had seemed insurmountable a short time ago. One by one, she would overcome difficulties and obstacles ahead, like the hurt that still plagued her when she remembered Stephen’s deception.
She was determined not let it come between them. She loved him. She missed him with an intensity that was frightening and exhilarating at the same time.
Two more days without seeing Stephen.
Taking refuge in daydreams about the life of a farmer’s wife in Cornwall, growing vegetables and flowers to sell—part of the money to be used for Irene, the rest saved for the botanical gardens she would some day design near Seven Dials—Maryann arrived in Mount Street with her cheeks flushed and her spirits high.
She entered the house and was greeted by James with the intelligence that young Mr. Makepiece was desirous of having a word with her. Mr. Makepiece, the footman informed her, could be found in the book room.
Stopping only to deposit her hat and gloves on the hall table, Maryann hurried upstairs. A request from Reginald to see her was unusual, to say the least.
He was sitting in the worn leather chair she had occupied the night Stephen surprised her with a visit, but he rose as soon as he saw who entered. This exhibition of politeness did not surprise her. She had believed him rude when she first met him, but a few nights of his company at dinner had taught her that his manners were extremely nice, if, at times, a trifle awkward.
He blushed easily, and did so now, a youthful trait that could be endearing. Unfortunately, the dull red of his face, the stance, head slightly lowered and pushed forward like a bull ready to charge, reminded her of her father. She knew the comparison was illogical, and she was ashamed of the negative reaction it precipitated.
Perhaps he sensed that brief flare of antipathy—had always been aware of it and had, therefore, avoided her. She was certain he had noticed it this time.
The look he gave her betrayed anger, she thought, and defiance. But also hurt.
Her face burning with shame, she took a chair near his. “Please sit down, Reginald.”
After a slight hesitation, he complied. “If this isn’t a convenient time for you,” he said quite civilly, “I apologize. I don’t, however, want to postpone what I have to say.”
“I promise to give you all the time you need, but before you speak, allow me to say something.”
“Very well. It’s not as though I had anything pressing to do. Lord Tammadge was in such a hurry to get me to London, I didn’t even have time to pack my books.”
She would have liked to pursue the topic of his studies, but knew that it was only an excuse to avoid the subject she should be discussing with him.
“Reginald, I owe you an apology. I fear I have allowed antagonism toward my father to spill over into my treatment of you.”
He turned as pale as he had been red a moment ago. His eyes were hard and bitter.
“Then I didn’t imagine that you don’t like me! Well, it wasn’t to be expected that the legitimate daughter would meet her father’s bastard with anything but contempt.”
“Oh, no!” Maryann was horrified that he had misconstrued her explanation. “My contempt and dislike are for my father, not for you. He has caused my mother, my sisters, and me more pain and heartache than any man has the right to do.”
Reginald stared at her.
“I used to think him a great gun,” he said hesitantly, as though feeling his way through unexplored thoughts. “He always gave me what I wanted, quite unlike the fathers of other boys I knew. Most boys get regular whippings. He whipped me only once—years ago. I wasn’t even in Harrow then. But he’d heard me brag that he’s my father, and I wasn’t supposed to ever say that. I am his ‘ward,’ you see.”
“Yes, I see.” Hoping she was better at hiding pity than she had been at hiding shameful, unjustified antipathy, she asked, “Do you still think him a great gun?”
His face hardened. “No. Mind you, I didn’t want to admit at first that he isn’t the gentleman I believed him to be. After all, he’s the only kin I have. But I’m not green or stupid! I can see what’s going on in this house and how he’s getting the blunt to pay for my schooling.”
He rose and stood before Maryann, his feet apart, hands behind his back. He looked determined, firm, but not intimidating. The eyes meeting hers were hazel, not the pale blue of her father’s eyes.
“Somehow or other I mean to become a barrister. I’d do just about anything to achieve that end, but I won’t accept money gained by cheating men too drunk to see which card they are playing.”
“You won’t?” she asked faintly. Obviously, not only were his manners nicer than she had supposed but also his notion of propriety. “Have you told Father?”
“Of course.”
“And? Did he have nothing to say about it?”
A shadow crossed his face. “He threw a royal fit. But I care nothing about that. I also told him—”
“What?”
He gave her an uncertain look. “I had no right, I suppose, for it’s none of my business. But I told him I don’t want my sister to marry a man she hates, so that my father can continue in his dishonorable ways.”
Speechless, Maryann looked up at him.
He held her gaze. “That’s all I wanted to say,” he said gruffly. “Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you! Reginald, I am truly grateful.”
He shrugged and started to turn away. “ ’Tis nothing. If I cannot be a nobleman, I shall at least be a gentleman.”
“That you are! Who—no, I need not ask. It was my mother who told you about Tammadge’s blackmail, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” He gave her a fierce look over his shoulder. “For two pins, I’d call him out!”
“Don’t!” Maryann hastily got to her feet. Gripping his arm, she said, “Tammadge isn’t worth the shot. Reggie, promise me not to call him out or even speak to him about it!”
A strange expression crossed his face, softening it, making him look younger than his years. Again Maryann noticed how different he was from Rivington.
“No one’s called me Reggie since my mother—”
His mouth compressed. He looked at her hand on his arm, but made no attempt to remove it.
“Don’t fret yourself,” he said with studied indifference. “I already gave Lady Rivington my word. She said everything would work out. That you’ll marry someone else.”
And Maryann knew she would. If and when Stephen asked her. She’d marry him, and never again show him that he had once hurt her very badly.
“Yes, I will.”
“That sounded like a vow,” said Reginald. “You ought to save that for your wedding day.”
She smiled, finally at ease with him—her half brother.
“It’s a vow I don’t mind making over and over. But I’ll wait until Stephen can hear it.”
Together, they left the book room and joined Irene for luncheon. The change in their relationship was obvious. Irene watched them with a look of puzzlement that slowly turned to one of satisfaction, but she made no comment.
They were having coffee when James entered the dining room and announced that Miss Fletcher was asking to speak to Lady Maryann. He had taken the liberty, he said, of showing the young woman into the front parlor.
Wavering between pleasure at the unexpected visit and apprehension about the meaning of it, Maryann murmured an excuse and hurriedly joined her visitor.
“Meg! Do you bring news?”
“Aye, indeed.”
Meg’s generous smile allayed any fears that the news might be bad, and a certain gleam in the green eyes raised hope and expectation in Maryann’s breast.
“Tell me!” she demanded. “Is it a message from Stephen?”
Meg laughed. “Such eagerness from the lass who vowed she ain’t in love!”
“Much has changed since we met.” Maryann pressed her hands against her burning cheeks. “I am no longer afraid to admit that I love him.”
“It’s you as has changed,” Meg said wisely. “Ye’re a woman now.”
Maryann frowned at the implication that she had not been a woman but a girl, a child, until now. But, for once, she swallowed a heated denial. Neither did she show again her impatience to hear Stephen’s message.
“Please sit down, Meg. Would you care for coffee, tea? Perhaps a glass of sherry?”
“Nay, lass. I thank ye, but I ain’t got the time. Must be at the theater at three for rehearsals. I only stopped by to warn ye that both Stephen and Tammadge will be at some do tonight. Some chit’s come-out ball.”
“Caroline Hawthorne’s?” Maryann asked faintly. It was the ball she and Irene planned to attend.
“Aye, that’s it. Stephen seemed to think ye mightn’t want to go if ye knew he’d be there.”
With her long, graceful stride, Meg walked to the door.
“But I know better!” she tossed over her shoulder. “Ta ta, dearie. And good luck!”
Maryann saw them enter the ballroom together. Tammadge was speaking, and Stephen thrust back his head and laughed.
Superb actors both. The one hid behind pale, bored eyes and a bland smile the mind of a fiend; the other cloaked with great skill his determination to trap the fiend.
Maryann gripped Bella’s wrist and drew her away from a knot of giggling young ladies who were using the time between dances to catch up on gossip. Behind a screen of potted plants and silk flower garlands, she stopped.
“They are here, Bella!”
“I would never have guessed it. Look!” Indignantly, Bella showed her a wrist marked by fingernails.
“I’m sorry,” Maryann said absently.
She peeked through the garlands. “They’re turning the other way, toward the punch bowl. Remember now! Be subtle if Tammadge is still with him. I depend on you.”
Forgetting her injuries, Bella squeezed close to Maryann and took a peek herself.
“Stop fretting. I have great experience in luring a man to a secluded chamber without attracting notice.” Bella sighed. “Oh, but he is handsome, your Stephen. Even from the back.”
Maryann nudged her toward the ballroom. “Go now. With Tammadge you never know how long he’ll stay. And if he leaves, I’m sure Stephen will have to go with him.”
“I just wish you’d tell me—”
“You’ll be the first to hear it all, I promise.”
Bella grimaced wryly and flitted off.
Maryann had no idea how long it would take Bella to separate Tammadge and Stephen, but she suspected it wouldn’t be too long. She lingered awhile, then, as the violin quartet struck up a country dance, slowly moved around the potted plants.
She had taken but a few steps toward the door when a softly insinuating voice to her right made her start.
“My dear Maryann,” Tammadge drawled. “I am, as always, delighted to see you. I only wish I were not the harbinger of bad news, for I would dearly like to ask you for this dance. Alas, it must not be.”
Maryann had listened with irritation and impatience at first, but now she asked apprehensively, “What bad news? Is it—”
The pale eyes rested on her. “Now I wonder what you thought it was that made you break off so abruptly.”
“If you will come to the point, my lord,” she said coldly, “I need not engage in guessing games.”
Withdrawing a handkerchief from a pocket of his coat, he fanned himself languidly. “I’m afraid Lady Rivington was overcome by the heat. Our hostess—”
“Where is my mother?” Maryann interrupted, looking around the ballroom with an anxious eye.
“As I was trying to tell you, our hostess has taken her upstairs. She asked me to fetch you.”
Without ado, Maryann placed her hand on the proffered arm. Stephen must wait until she had seen that her mother was all right.
Tammadge led her out into the hallway and to the stairs going up to the second floor, the same way she would have gone to meet Stephen.
She went with Tammadge unhesitatingly. But when he stopped before the door to the small sitting room that was supposed to be her rendezvous with Stephen, she hung back.
“Where are you taking me? I should have thought Mrs. Hawthorne would let Mama rest in one of the bedrooms.”
“The sitting room has a comfortable couch. And it meant only one flight of stairs to climb instead of two.”
It made sense, yet she shivered when he opened the door and motioned her to enter.
She could see only one half of the dimly lit room, the fireplace, several chairs drawn up before it—but not the couch.
Even as she reached out to push the door wider, she felt his hand against her back propelling her inside. She had a good view of the couch then. A beautiful, upholstered couch with velvet-covered cushions. Unoccupied.
She whirled in time to see him shut the door.
“How dare you! You lied to me.” She was not afraid, only very angry. “Let me out at once.”
Tammadge smiled.
She recoiled, her stomach knotting.
The door was behind him. She was not afraid. She had only to step past him, to open that door and walk out.
Slowly, he came closer.
Her gaze riveted to his face, she backed farther into the room. Still he advanced. Still she retreated, until, finally, there was nowhere for her to go. She had backed against a wall.
Nearby, to her left, stood the couch. At some distance to her right was the fireplace, and far away, across the room, was the door.
“Let me out,” she repeated, but her voice was barely audible.
Still smiling, he took her hand and raised it. Not to his mouth as she half-feared, but to look at it.
“I see you’re not wearing my ring.”