“Oh, do come on, Simon!” Lady Cheshire said. “There’s a letter attached to it.” She snatched the small envelope tucked between the string that secured the cloth around the parcel.
“I believe that’s addressed to me,” Simon said.
She pursed her lips and gave Simon the envelope.
He took it reluctantly and opened it. Inside was a card embossed with a gold trim that read:
A reminder of our agreement.
Yours, Lady Waterford.
“Well?” Lady Cheshire tapped her foot impatiently. “What does it say?”
Simon handed the note to his aunt. “Let’s not pretend you don’t already know.”
Lady Cheshire read the note and grinned. “You’re right. Lady Waterford told me that you came to an agreement with her. You are promised to her daughter. So, when do you intend to ask for her hand?”
“I made no such agreement.” Simon turned to his valet. “Take that away.”
“Don’t you dare!” Lady Cheshire stopped the man. “Not without showing me that painting first.”
“So, you know what it is then? And you knew it would be arriving here too, I imagine. That’s the true reason for your visit, is it not?”
“Not at all,” Lady Cheshire said, feigning innocence. “I can tell by the shape of the parcel that it’s a painting. I’ve had more than one delivered to my residence during the years.”
Simon shook his head. That was an understatement. Lady Cheshire’s estate in Maidstone was akin to the National Gallery. He nodded at James, who then promptly removed the covering from the parcel.
Lady Cheshire gasped. “That is marvelous!”
Simon had to admit that the painting was well done. The picture was gothic and centered on Miss Waterford, who lay, pale and angelic-like, on a slab of grey stone, surrounded by headstones and trees rising out of a mist. The figure leaning over her, tenderly touching her face, was none other than himself. How had Bonetti captured his likeness so well after their brief meeting? The man was a genius, indeed. And the painting was breathtaking.
“I believe she had a showing at her house earlier today before sending it to you,” Lady Cheshire said. “It must be the talk of the town by now.”
“Good Lord! How dare she make a spectacle of me like that?”
“A spectacle? You’re a hero. A true knight in shining armor if there ever was one. Every woman in society will want to be your wife. Of course, you will have no choice but to marry Miss Waterford now.”
“What do you mean? I am not betrothed to her yet.”
“This picture tells a different story. Notice the way you are looking at her and your tender touch? As far as society is concerned, the two of you are as good as betrothed.”
Simon stared at the painting. She was right. He looked besotted. Lady Waterford had painted him into a corner. If he did not marry Miss Waterford, he’d look like a cad or a rake.
“Why do you look so perturbed?” Lady Cheshire asked. “You intend to marry Miss Waterford, don’t you? If I am not mistaken, your father’s debts are due and accruing interest. Not to mention, your reputation as a gentleman is being tarnishedeach day they go unpaid. You will soon have to sell Rodwell Manor. Is that what you want?”
Simon swallowed. Nothing would be more painful than losing his family estate. Yet, he could not stop thinking about the woman in the cemetery.
“Can you not see what a blessing this is?” Lady Cheshire asked.
Simon turned back to the painting. What was he doing dreaming about a woman who might not even exist? She might be a figment of his imagination. And even if she was real, he knew nothing about her. She could be someone’s wife already. What madness had taken hold of him? He needed a marriage that would save his property. It was the responsible—nay, the only—choice he could make, so why was he behaving like an infatuated schoolboy?
“You’re right, Aunt. Marrying Miss Waterford is what I need to do.”
*
63 Swain’s Lane, Highgate
“You look beautiful.”Aunt Mildred hovered beside Sophie. “Doesn’t she, Agnes?”
