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“A gentleman to see you, miss.” The maid gave a breathy squeak as she spoke, surprising Titania into dropping her pen as she tried to disguise her papers. Was Edwin here? Was it possible he had come to persuade her to change her mind?
The maid’s next words were like water on her imagination’s overstoked fire. “It’s Lord Gratwick. He says you have an engagement to go riding?”
It was an unnaturally subdued Titania who collected her bonnet and gloves and descended the stairs, hoping against hope that some disaster would transpire so she could avoid this extremely unpleasant ordeal—a rampaging chicken, perhaps, or a scuffle between Thibault and his most noisome waistcoat or Miss Tynte’s swain serenading her through the sitting room window.
Nothing occurred to save her.
She stayed silent as Gratwick assisted her into his phaeton. Titania had a few moments to enjoy the drive—she did love being outside, no matter the company, and she had not yet tired of seeing the same London parks every time she left her house with a horse—but Gratwick’s very existence pulled her from her enjoyment.
He drove the team to a somewhat secluded spot in the park, although a few carriages were still in view, slowing the horses to a walk as he leaned back against the seat.
“My dear Titania.”
She startled at his presumption. “I have not given you leave to use my first name, my lord,” she said in her most Managing voice.
“Have you not, my dear? I thought with all we had shared it would perhaps be understood. If not, then I will have to keep calling you Miss Stanhope...that is, until you agree to an elevation in title and become Lady Gratwick?” He turned his head and looked directly into her eyes. He wore what he probably assumed was a winning smile and what Titania thought looked just like that mean snake in paradise. She was certainly not even close to being tempted by his apple.
She launched into the speech every young lady learned in the schoolroom. “My lord, I am aware of the honor you do me, but I cannot accept your proposal.”
First of all, she thought, the idea of spending more than the duration of this ride in his presence was enough to make her ill; second, she was not so desperate as to sell herself for a pile of collectible books and some indeterminate amount of money; and third, she did not want to never marry anyone but Edwin. And he despises me, so that is probably not an option.
Gratwick’s voice came cutting through the jumbled haze in her mind like a vicious dog through a pack of peahens. “Ah, the suitable maidenly reply, Miss Stanhope. I hope I might flatter myself you do not really mean what you say, and rest assured, I will keep your secret safe while you consider the idea. If you decline...” His eyes revealed his implied threat.
“Why would you want to marry me, my lord, if you must blackmail me into it?” Titania spoke in as cool a tone as she could muster, although she quivered inside. The revelation of her identity would not be the worst scandal ever to hit the ton, but it would ruin her chances of marrying well and securing her family’s future.
Much as she hated to do so, she had to keep Gratwick thinking she might say yes. “And my final decision, my lord, is due exactly when? I like to meet my deadlines, as I am sure you are well aware.”
He chuckled. “A week should suffice. Any longer than that and it will be too late in the Season to announce the happy news. You have a week to become accustomed to the idea of being Lady Gratwick, and I believe, as you weigh its merits, you will find it will not be all that bad. I am intelligent, reasoned, and will not mind if you continue to write, provided we keep it our little secret. As for our congress, I have every confidence we will manage.” He stared deliberately at her mouth, darting his tongue out of his mouth to lick his lips.
She felt nauseated by the sight.
She would not marry someone she actively loathed. She could not let him see the extent of her dislike, however, at least not until the time he had deigned to give her was up.
She smiled in mute acquiescence to his time limits, and changed the subject to the array of books she had discovered in his uncle’s library; at least if she was going to spend time with this too-knowing blackmailer, she was going to discuss something of interest to her, and she knew that for all his faults at least he was not stupid.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, he returned her home. She hopped down from his carriage before he could assist her.
“Thank you, Lord Gratwick.” Thank you for possibly the worst few hours of my life. She’d be damned if she would allow him to condemn her to live the rest of her years in such agony.
“Thank you for driving out with me today, Miss Stanhope, and I look forward to you making me the happiest of men in a week.” She was unable to repress a shudder at his confident tone, which he noticed, giving a little nasty chuckle as he urged his horses forward.
***
WORKING WITH HIS FATHER was a blessed interval, Edwin thought as he tramped down the street, since it made him forget—or at least not remember—Titania for a few hours. Now, however, the pain was back, as searing as before. He decided to visit Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon; he was in just the sort of mood to beat the stuffing out of some unfortunate lord, and he wanted to do it in a place where others would make sure he did not lose control.
Edwin found his punching bag in the person of a brawny lord who was apparently accustomed to being the strongest man in the saloon. Edwin quickly made the arrogant oak aware that his power was no match against a man who had slightly less strength but more than made up for it with incredible speed and finesse. Edwin dropped him with a blow to the stomach.
That did not do very much to ease his agony, he thought as he stood over his foe. The pain was still there, almost as palpable as that of the man who lay groaning at his feet.
“Lord Worthington! Perhaps you would like a real match?”
Edwin turned, absentmindedly wiping the sweat from his neck with his hand, and saw Lord Gratwick leaning nonchalantly on the back of a chair, an obnoxiously superior look on his face. Edwin felt his chest get tight.
“Whom, Gratwick, would you suggest? Certainly not yourself; no offense, my lord, but I believe I could snap you like a twig. I cannot oblige you. I do not prey on the weak, you see.”
“Oh, but there are contests, my lord, and there are contests. Anyone will tell you I have bested many of the men who visit here regularly, but that is not my point. Perhaps, my lord, I was speaking just now of the contest to win a certain lady’s hand. I would oblige you by acting the twig, but I have just returned from a driving engagement with a lady, and,” he said, gesturing toward his clothing, “I am not suitably attired, and I must make an appearance at my mother’s house quite soon. I wish to make her aware of some upcoming alterations to my life, the addition of another dependent. But I will not bandy the lady’s name about here—perhaps you know to whom I am referring?”
Edwin spun around slowly, hating to see the look of triumphant malice in Gratwick’s face. Was it possible Titania had actually accepted this loathsome worm’s offer over his? And even if she did not, was it at all fair that he got to see her today, while Edwin was forced to take out his frustrations at not seeing her? He knew that to say anything would be to provoke an argument, so he walked silently toward the changing area, Gratwick’s final words ringing in his ears.
Edwin could barely see for the rage that enfolded his brain, and it took a great force of will not to tear off after Gratwick. But, he mused as the fire in his heart burned down a little, it was good practice for the force of will he was going to have to exert for the rest of his life: No, Lady Gratwick, I did not expect you would be here. And how is your delightful husband? And your seven children? Yes, well, I must be going back to my estate, the livestock are missing me. It has been my experience that animal husbandry is so much more rewarding than the human kind. Pleased to see you again. Please convey my dislike to your husband.
***
TITANIA HEAVED A HUGE sigh as she entered the house, pulling off her bonnet and pelisse and handing them to Stillings.
“Miss, might I suggest some tea in the sitting room? I have taken the liberty of asking Cook for some gingerbread, as well.”
“Thank you, Stillings. It is very nice to be so well taken care of.” Titania shuffled slowly into the room, dropping herself down on the sofa.
She had never been so muddleheaded before, not even when her father had died. She held her head in her hands, speaking aloud, thankful no one was around to hear.
“Titania, you are a fool. How wrong you were.” Now that she truly understood what was at stake, how could she possibly do what she planned? At least it had inspired her column, which was the only ray of hope she had. She clung to it with impractical hope.
What if her columns actually were successful enough to be printed, as her editor was implying? She knew there was not much money in writing books, but it might be enough for Ravensthorpe for just a little while.
What if she confided in Thibault and the two of them worked together to retrench the estate? Could they make it work? And could she tell Edwin she’d made a terrible mistake and would be glad to be his wife, even if it meant both of them writing to eke out a living? Would that be so awful?
It would be a gamble. She raised her head, speaking softly to herself. “I am my father’s daughter, and I am willing to take the risk. I love Edwin. I cannot envisage a life without him, his wrinkled cravats, or his knock-kneed nags.”
“Are you giggling, Titania?” Miss Tynte said in surprise as she entered the sitting room. “Stillings told me you were as sad as when you discovered Cambridge did not admit females. And yet, here you are with a silly grin on your face, and I do believe you are actually laughing! Tell me you are not losing your mind, are you, my dear?” she asked in concern.
Titania laughed even harder at seeing her old friend’s bemused face. “Certainly I am not losing my mind, and even if I were, do you think I would recognize that? After all, if I am going mad, I am not of sound enough mind to figure that out, now am I?”
“You are up to something, then, and you must tell me what it is. Just this morning you were moping and sighing as if the world were coming to an end, and now you are behaving like a giddy girl. I know that look, young lady, even though I have not seen it for many years...you have not switched the sugar and the salt again, have you?” Titania rolled her eyes.
“I suppose I had better confess. You will discover it eventually.”
She pulled her old friend near to the sofa, and told her everything: about the column, her editor’s kind words, and the potential for some financial remuneration, her uncle’s threats, Gratwick’s blackmail, her own misery at playing out the hand she had dealt herself, and the last encounter she had had with Lord Worthington, leaving out, for discretion’s sake, the near miss she and her virtue barely avoided.
Miss Tynte seemed to guess what had not been spoken, however, sitting back in the seat cushions as she narrowed her eyes in concentration. She glanced over at Titania a few times, but did not speak for several minutes. It seemed like a lifetime.
“I did not fully understand the depths of torment you have been suffering, my dear,” Miss Tynte said in a low, sympathetic voice. “It is natural for you to guard your feelings a bit more than your parents, who were, well, a bit exuberant with their emotions.” She reached out and took Titania’s hand, continuing to hold it as she talked.
“There is nothing more shameful than being like your parents, especially at a certain age, is there not? But I am so accustomed to your taking care of everyone, from Sarah’s aches and pains to Thibault’s latest caper to Cook’s chickens, that I do not always remember that underneath your very competent demeanor, your Managing Ways, is a young woman. My love,” she said, turning to Titania with a determined look on her face, “if this scholarly pugilist is your destiny, you must follow it, even if it means we cannot help those people whom we all think of as family. I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself so, now that I know how much your heart is engaged.”
Titania threw her arms around her old friend, her wise teacher, in a fervent clasp that told more of Titania’s feelings than her normally carefully chosen words could.
Drawing back, she looked down at her hands, rubbing one finger on her palm in an absentminded rhythm. “I must find Edwin, explain the situation, apologize for being so stupid, and find out if he can forgive me. It is all so easy,” she said with a rueful smile.
“And if he will not forgive me,” she continued, “I will never forgive myself.”
Despatch from the battle front, April 1813
A girl’s first Season is a delightful time, filled with parties, new gowns, new friends, the latest scandal, and the most eligible bachelors.
It is also a time when a girl can become a woman.
Not in that way, you lurid people, but in a way far more difficult to accomplish: realizing that life is not about eating your cake and having it, too.
My heart is not engaged. My head will not take no for an answer.
The inevitable conflict is the stuff of poetry, epic romances, and this humble column.
Even I do not know the ending, and yet the end is fast approaching. Until then, I remain,
A Singular Lady