Page 4 of Holding Onto Love

She kept her jewelry. Jewelry was portable. The necklaces, rings, brooches, and bracelets had never been payments; they were gifts. Now they would serve as her pension. She had always known that she would have to part with them, so she had not allowed herself to become attached, despite the giver’s exquisite taste and thoughtfulness. She knew he had chosen each piece himself.

Everything else, she would leave behind. It was his property. She was not being petty by leaving it all for him to dispose of. The furniture, the pianoforte, the bedding, the kitchen implements, this too-large-for-her house that he leased—they had never been hers.

Even her cook and maid were his. References provided by his hand would serve them much better than any from hers.

She burned all his letters. Memories were too burdensome to carry.

Be prepared.

That was the second rule, and it was subordinated to the first. Preparation was not synonymous with stockpiling. Preparation meant having a plan. Ever since the beginning of their arrangement, she had been planning for its ending. The inevitable ending when Jasper became the Earl of Iversley.

Jasper’s father had passed nearly two weeks ago. The funeral had been held in Iversley just before Christmas. Vanessa didn’t know when Jasper would return to London, but as it was now New Year’s Day, she suspected it would be soon. She intended to be gone long before. Last week, she’d put the final signatures on the papers needed to purchase the cottage in the lake district where she would disappear. Poor Henry’s death, four long years ago, had given her a widow’s freedom to sign her own papers.

She packed her trunk and hired a coach to transport her to Cartmel. The coach would be in her drive within two hours.

Sitting in the drawing room of the Bleeker Street townhouse, Vanessa closed her eyes for just a moment and let sadness wash over her. She would miss him. Angry as she was, she would always miss him.

She heard Madeline’s light footsteps in the hallway and prayed she was not coming to announce a visitor. She had told her maid that she was not at home to anyone.

“Ma’am?” Madeline appeared thinner and plainer than ever. Uncertainty did not sit well with her. Vanessa hated that she could not take the poor girl along, but she had to cut all ties, and Jasper would see to it she would be re-employed.

“Yes, Madeline? What is it?”

“There is a caller. Lieutenant Taverston.”

Crispin. If she’d thought Jasper could not infuriate her more, she was wrong. Sending his brother was the worst thing he could have done.

“I am not at home.”

“Yes, I told him so, ma’am, but he wouldn’t be put off. He says he will sit on the front stoop until you admit him.”

She would let him do just that if not for the scandal it would cause.

“Oh, show him in.” None of this was Crispin’s fault, but she had wanted to avoid any painful scenes. Surely he had the sense to know that.

She stood up, hoping he would recognize he was unwelcome and would not stay long.

“Lieutenant Taverston,” Madeline announced, then backed out of the room.

Crispin came forward, such an absurdly skinny man, yet there was steel in every sinew. He looked sharp, dressed in his officer’s uniform, greatcoat slung over one arm, but he carried the mud and slush of the road with him. Had he come straight from Chaumbers without bothering to rest or change his clothes? How like him.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

He put his heels together and gave a small bow.

“Mrs. Wardrip.”

He took in the room at a glance. Nothing was out of place. The drapes had not been taken down; the rug had not been rolled up. Knickknacks remained on their shelves. But he would not be fooled. It had the empty atmosphere of a leased house about to be abandoned.

“I’m not here to make excuses for Jasper.”

“No?”

“I will not plead his case.”

“Good.”

He gave her the weakest of smiles. “So will you be good enough to offer me tea? I’m parched.”