Desire, I was discovering, was a ravenous thing. Each meeting with Lord K would only serve to quell its appetite for a short while, and when it reawakened, it was with a hunger that far exceeded what it had been before.
—Anonymous,My Secret Desires, A Memoir
July 6, 1875
After Bremsford’s failed unveiling, Regina had no wish to stay at that horrid affair. It appeared the jovial mood of the evening had turned sour for everyone, because people began rapidly dispersing, hasty exits being made. Bremsford had disappeared, no doubt having slunk out rather than face his guests after his confrontation with Knightly. How could her father have raised such an atrocious and odious son?
As Chidding’s carriage journeyed back to her residence, she regretted not being able to find a moment with Knightly to express her gratitude for serving as her champion. But he had been swallowed by the crowd, and it was no doubt for the best that they’d notspoken. She’d felt enough eyes upon her before his surprising announcement to know nearly everyone thought Bremsford was going to declare her as Anonymous. His gaze had been focused on her and when his waving hand had come to a halt it was directed at her. She was surprised he hadn’t sent a lightning bolt from his fingertips to brand her. The scapegrace.
“I was certainly surprised by Knightly’s proclamation,” Lady Finsbury said smartly, after a while, disturbing the quiet that somehow seemed astonishingly thick. “Bremsford was obviously taken aback as well. To be honest, I can’t envision Knightly as the author. Based on the emotions brought forth and revealed in the story, I assumed the writer was a woman. Men are not quite so open with their feelings. At least my dear departed husband wasn’t. With his hesitancy to utter the wordlove, I rather thought he considered it blasphemous.”
Except for the rumbling of the wheels, the squeaking of the springs, and the thundering of the horses’ hooves, silence reigned for a few minutes. Regina wasn’t sure she had the wherewithal to effectively carry on any sort of conversation without revealing the truth of the matter.
“What think you, Miss Leyland?” Lady Finsbury suddenly blurted. “I daresay you know the man better than most. Do you think Lord Knightly capable of pouring his heart out on paper?”
Pouring out his heart, yes, but not with pen on paper. With deeds and actions. “I think each of us has a secret place within us into which no one else can ever venture, no matter how well they know us.”
“You see, something as lyrical as all that. I could envision you writing the book more than he.”
“I can’t imagine, cousin, he’d have any reason to lie,” Chidding said, nearly sharply, as though he wished to bring an abrupt end to the topic at hand.
“I can imagine a good many reasons,” Lady Finsbury murmured, before opening the book that had been responsible for the ruination of the night and leaning toward the swinging lantern so she could again read what she’d already read.
Regina had never been more grateful to arrive at her residence than she was when the carriage finally came to a stop.
“I’m going to see Miss Leyland safely inside,” Chidding said. “I may be a few minutes, cousin.”
“Take your time,” she responded distractedly.
As she and Chidding were going up the steps, Regina said, “She is not the most diligent of chaperones, is she?”
“Would you want her to be?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I’ve always thought it a frightfully ridiculous custom. All it does is teach young women how to climb out of windows and down trees.”
He laughed lightly. “I suspected as much.”
After the butler had opened the door to them, Chidding said, “May I have a quick word in your drawing room?”
She noticed the slightest tinge of pink along the curves of his cheeks and was struck by the possibility he had something incredibly serious to discuss—or ask of her. But then she also had something serious to tell him. “By all means.”
Desperate for a brandy, she led the way, but turned slightly to face him after crossing the threshold. “Would you care for scotch or brandy?”
“No, thank you.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I indulge. It’s been a rather tumultuous night.” It had begun with trepidation, become glorious, and ended with devastation on so many levels she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to count or sort them all.
Once she had her snifter in hand and had taken a sip, relishing the burning sensation that finally restored warmth to her chest, she indicated the sitting area near the fire because she couldn’t have him on the settee she’d shared with Knightly. She sat in the chair in which her father’s son had once placed his backside. Tomorrow, she would have it tossed out, possibly burned, and replaced. While she still had the means to purchase new furnishings. In spite of Knightly’s declaration, she couldn’t be certain her trusts were safe or that Bremsford wouldn’t devise another scheme for striving to take them from her.
She indicated the chair opposite her. Instead, Chidding walked to the fireplace, rested his forearm on the mantel, and studied her. Perhaps she should go first, tell him—
“I was watching you when Lord Knightly claimed to be Anonymous. Originally you were quite shocked, and then relief washed over your features like a cascading waterfall. More than relief really. Gratitude, as though you’d been slated for execution and granted a reprieve. You’re Anonymous.”
She held his gaze. She saw no censure there ordoubt. Just a steadfast reckoning. No matter how he had looked at her, however, she would have answered the same. “Yes.”
“And Knightly knows that.”
“Yes, because he is Lord K. While I took liberties and embellished the tale, still truth resides in the story.”
