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Sebastian had no response to that, for that was precisely what he would do. Watch from the shadows and plot. He was being given a second chance, and he would not muck it up. Hell, he wasn't even sure what he wanted. To marry Lady Fanny Dashwood held vast appeal, but he was ever aware their union might turn out to be the misery that had been his parents' marriage. But Sebastian was not the type of man his father was. When he wanted something, it became the sole direction of his regard, and he did not believe in failure. If he had, he would have still been that boy struggling to emerge from the box society had placed him in.
“Will I see you later at Lady Marriot’s ball?”
The very fact Sebastian got an invitation to the ball was only because Lord Marriot needed his money. They supposed he should be grateful to part from it because he had received a nod of approval from their lot. Silly. “No. I’ll be working.”
There were several meetings planned for the day, and he intended to take a tour of one of his iron factories in Leeds in the near future. He had bought several new machines, and his workers were frightened they would lose their livelihood. There were even murmurings of strike actions and union organization, and so he needed to take a walk through and quell those fears. Not that they were unfounded. Because the way of the world now was to use the best machinery to make businesses more profitable. But Sebastian could not in good conscience fire the workers who were becoming obsolete. A solution needed to be found, and there could be no delay.
The next few minutes were spent on business matters, and while he wanted to keep his mind on the task at hand, Sebastian couldn’t help being distracted.
Lady Fanny Dashwood. A woman who was cultured, genteel, and pure. Everything he was not. But a woman who by a twist of fate he had not lost, and could not allow to slip from his grasp again.
One week later…
Mayfair, London.
Fanny sat on the windowsill in the drawing room and watched the trees dancing in the wind. The curtains were drawn, and the family was not available to callers. To Fanny, the somber atmosphere brought to mind when papa had died. The sleeting rains and horrid rumble of thunder did not help. Nor the chilling disapproving distance her brother and mother maintained, nor the piercing pain that lingered in her. But why was she m
orose? It was not as if she had loved the marquess with her entire heart.
I thought I could. That had been enough for her. A promise of love, a promise of a family.
It still distressed her when she recalled that he had been so good-natured, and attentive. His few kisses had always been pleasant. In truth, it was the loss of something which she had hungered for that ripped through her with vicious claws.
Only a few days before, her future had seemed so clear and bright. She would have been the mistress of her own home, a husband she liked and respected, and children. Fanny fought the despondency that wanted to weigh her down.
“What are we to do?” Darcy, countess Banberry, demanded of her husband. “Fanny’s reputation is in tatters, and it is affecting us all as a family. We cannot hope she will ever receive another respectable offer. It was bad enough when she jilted Lord Aldridge. But at least that was before they were at the altar. She ran away this time, with the whole of society looking on.”
It was only one hundred pairs of judging eyes. More than enough to spread what they witnessed to the ton.
“The cloud of her disgrace will hover for years. And her actions have irrefutably harmed our position in society. I was not extended an invitation to Lady Prescott’s annual garden party. That has never happened before, and I am beyond mortified.”
Fanny turned from the windows and laced her fingers tightly before her. “Darcy…” A lump formed in her throat when her friend turned from her as if pained to look upon her. Since the debacle at St. George’s Church, her sister in law, who had become her dearest friend, had not given her a chance to be heard. Nor had her brother. Her mother had been beside herself and promptly took herself off to their country estate in Hertfordshire.
Fanny had spent most of her time in her room, weeping at her crumbled dreams. Her brother had ignored her and had even sent a note she was not to join them for dinner and was to take a tray in her room. As if she were a petulant child being reprimanded. Fanny had ignored his edicts, but the terrible silence she had been treated to at the dinner table had encouraged her to eat alone since.
“She must marry immediately, but I cannot imagine who would have her now, so she must return to Hertfordshire and not show her face—”
Colin rapped his knuckles onto the small walnut table, and his wife’s lips flattened. “Darcy, my love, if you will grant me a few minutes with my sister.”
The countess flushed, lifted her chin, and exited the drawing room with quiet dignity.
Finally, he turned his regards to Fanny. Tears burned the back of her throat at the disappointment she saw in light green eyes very much like her own.
“I have been too angry with you to have this conversation before, Fanny. But I see now, it can no longer be delayed. What in the devil’s name possessed you to run from committing to your vows and inciting such scandal and speculation into our lives? What possible justification could you have?”
Fanny had thought mamma told him. “There was something wrong,” she whispered, a tight ache in her throat.
“Wrong?” her brother snapped. “What could possibly have been wrong? Lord Trent is imminently respectable, his estate is wealthy, and he has the ear of parliament, Fanny. How could you have been so foolish?”
In clipped tones, she told him what she saw.
Shock bloomed across her brother’s handsome face, and he fisted his hands at his side. “You invited the ruin you are now facing because of a harmless embrace—”
She shot to her feet. “I am not a fool, brother, it was not a harmless embrace. Miranda Shelby is Lord Trent’s mistress and seems to be with child.” Fanny’s voice cracked on that admission. “They have been together for ten years I have been told.”
A flush ran along her brother’s cheek. “How would you know of mistresses?” he demanded furiously. “That is something you needn’t worry over. It is the way of the world for men to have mistresses. You would have been a marchioness, with an allowance that would give you the freedom to dabble in your passions, and you threw that all away for what?”
He came over, gripped her shoulders and shook her. “For what Fanny?”
