Page 49 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

“I was going to do it,” Edmund said. His voice was ragged, completely devoid of the careful, modulated tone he had practiced for weeks. He paced across the Persian rug, unable to stop moving. “I stood in her aunt’s drawing room, and I was going to tell her everything today.”

Julian set his teacup down with a sharp clink. “Edmund, what happened? You look like you just walked through a firing squad.”

“I cannot do this anymore,” Edmund continued, ignoring the question, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I cannot stand in front of Corinna Ashwell and continue to be someone else. It is suffocating. Every time she looks at me, she sees a man who does not exist, and I am the one forcing her to do it.”

Arabella closed her book, marking the page carefully with a silk ribbon. She did not look surprised. She looked at him with that same unnerving, quiet clarity she had possessed since they were children.

“You were going to confess,” Arabella stated, her voice perfectly even. “What stopped you?”

“Cecily Vane,” Edmund spat the name like a curse. “She was sitting in the parlor, holding court with Vivienne as if they were lifelong confidantes. Cecily looked right at me, Julian. She smiled, and the entire room turned to ice. Corinna saw it. Corinna looked at me, and then she told me to leave.”

Julian dragged a hand through his dark hair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “So Cecily is already making her moves on the board.”

“She is paralyzing the board,” Edmund shot back, stopping his pacing to glare at the fireplace. “But it does not matter. The deception itself is the poison. I cannot lie to Corinna anymore.”

Arabella stood up, smoothing her skirts. She walked slowly across the room, stopping just a few feet from where Edmund stood. She looked up at him, her brown eyes steady and unblinking.

“You are in love with her,” Arabella said.

It was not a question. It was a simple, devastating statement of fact.

Edmund stared at his sister. He opened his mouth to deny it, to dress his panic up as honor or duty or some other noble, empty word. He wanted to say it was about the family name, or the contract, or the sheer logistics of the lie collapsing.

But the words died in his throat. He looked at Arabella, and he said absolutely nothing.

The silence stretched through the drawing room, heavy and absolute. It was the loudest answer he could have possibly given.

Arabella offered a sad smile, her shoulders dropping. “Oh, Edmund.”

Before Julian could offer whatever terribly charming, inadequate comfort he was formulating, the doors of the drawing room swung open.

MacAulay stood in the threshold, his silver hair perfectly combed, his posture rigid.

“The Dowager Countess of Ravenswood,” the butler announced, his booming voice shattering the tense intimacy of the room.

Edmund froze. Julian scrambled to his feet, instinctively straightening the lapels of a coat that did not belong to him.

Lady Margaret stepped into the drawing room. She was supposed to be in the country for another month. Yet here she was, standing in the doorway, dressed in a traveling gown of mourning black, her fine-boned face pale but entirely composed.

“Mother,” Arabella gasped, rushing forward to take her hands. “You have returned so early. We did not expect you for weeks.”

“I found that the country air was entirely too quiet,” Lady Margaret said, her voice quiet but ringing with absolute resolution. She kissed Arabella’s cheek before looking toward Edmund and Julian. “I feel considerably stronger than I expected to feel. And I have decided that I will not hide in the countryside forever. Grief is a private matter, but life must eventually be lived in public.”

Edmund swallowed hard, forcing his feet to move forward. “It is good to have you home, Mother. But you should rest. The journey must have been long.”

“I will rest shortly,” Lady Margaret agreed, stripping off her black leather gloves. “But I wanted you both to know my intentions immediately. Lady Sophronia Quill is hosting a rather significant ball this week. I intend to attend it, and I will be taking Arabella as my companion.”

Arabella’s eyes widened slightly, but she nodded quickly. “Of course, Mother. If you feel you are ready.”

“I am ready,” Lady Margaret stated firmly. She looked at Edmund, her eyes holding a deep, abiding trust that made him feel physically ill. “Your father would not want us to shrink away from our duties. We are the Ashfords. We must face the ton together.”

With that quiet, immovable resolution, she turned and made her way toward the main staircase to retire to her rooms.

Edmund watched her go, staring at the empty doorway long after the rustle of her skirts had faded. He felt the full, crushing weight of what she did not know bearing down on his spine. She was preparing to walk into the largest social event of the Season, entirely blind to the fact that her son was currently perpetrating the greatest fraud Mayfair had seen in a decade.

“Well,” Julian murmured, breaking the silence. “That complicates the schedule.”

“Everything is a complication,” Edmund muttered, turning back toward the fire.