Page 30 of To Dance with a Devil

“Lady Helena?” Mr Cadogan seemed astonished by this piece of news.

“Why, yes. She visited the morning after Bonnie came to stay and they have been inseparable ever since. I declare, Helena spends more time at South Audley Street than she does Beverwyck. Not that I mind, of course,” she added with a laugh, lest he should think she was complaining. “But I wonder if there is something going around. Mr Cadogan, you’re most dreadfully pale. Do tell me you’re not coming down with the same malady?”

“N-No… I…. That is, yes. Yes, I think perhaps I shall step outside for a moment and… and get some air. If you would excuse me, Miss Hunt.”

Chapter 11

Miss Butler,

I beg of you, stop writing to me. Go and turn your attention to the handsome dukes and noblemen who must surely lay their hearts at your pretty feet if you would only put half the effort into winning them as you do to the business of driving me out of my mind. At the very least, could you have pity and not send letters that bear only the faintest hint of jasmine. It’s never strong enough to be certain, just elusive enough to drive me mad, wondering if I only imagine your scent lingers on the paper.

I am a man of science and I know what this is. It is lust and desire and no good will come of it if you persist.

For the love of God, leave me be.

― Excerpt of a letter from Mr Inigo de Beauvoir to Miss Minerva Butler, never sent.

29th October 1814. South Audley Street, London.

Jerome hurried down the street towards Miss Hunt’s home. It was far too early for callers, but he didn’t give a damn. He’d break the bloody door down and rouse the entire household if need be. It had taken all his self-control, such as it was, to force himself to wait this long. He’d not slept. What had begun as a terrible suspicion had grown into certainty in the long, dark hours of the new day, and he had to see Bonnie.

He ran up the stairs to the front door, raised his hand to knock, and then paused. If his assumption was correct and Bonnie really was pregnant, he’d be a brute to come thundering at her door and distressing her at the crack of dawn. She’d been unwell last night. If she was carrying his child, she needed her rest, not to be woken at some unreasonable hour of the morning. Damnation. He stood, wavering, uncertain of what to do. He could hardly breathe, let alone think, and much as he wanted to ascribe it to having almost run the short distance here, he’d felt the same way since last night, when Miss Hunt had told him Bonnie was unwell. It had knocked the air from his lungs as efficiently as a fist to his solar plexus. It had shaken him, too. It had shaken him from the stupor he’d been in ever since Bonnie had left him sitting in the dark corridor of Holbrooke House.

She was his. Whether or not either of them liked the idea, he’d made her his. It didn’t matter whose fault it was, who had instigated it or who had given in. They’d both been there, the two of them had shared that passionate coupling, and now they faced the results. A child. She was carrying his child. He forced the terror away, the panic that made his chest grow tight and the little voice inside scream I’m not ready. It was too late to consider such things. He hadn’t had a gun to his head; he could have withdrawn and not left his seed to take root inside her. Except he couldn’t have done. He’d been out of his senses, mindless with desire and need, frantic and out of control, the same way Bonnie always made him feel when he put his hands on her.

Hell and the devil, he couldn’t be seen kicking his heels on her doorstep. The talk about the two of them had only just begun to die down, replaced now by those ridiculous rumours of him and Lady Helena. Cursing himself and life in general, Jerome took himself off the nearest chop house to find some breakfast and wait out the morning.

***

Ruth made her way up the steps to the Matilda’s home and knocked on the door. She was a little early for good manners, but she was eager to see Bonnie and knew neither she nor Matilda would give a fig for propriety.

The way Bonnie had run away had shaken Ruth, and she could not help but fear there was more to her friend’s flight than she had originally supposed. During the recent trip with her father she’d had plenty of time to think whilst he was shut away in various business meetings for hours on end, and she no longer accepted Bonnie’s explanation.

Surely if it had been only the imminent arrival of the dreadful Mr Anderson, then she would have confided as much to Ruth? Though they were perhaps not bosom bows, she had believed that they were close, that Bonnie trusted her. Yet she’d not confided whatever this problem was. There was an awful suspicion gnawing in the back of Ruth’s mind, to which she did not want to give credence, but once she’d thought it she could not unthink it. It had kept her awake all night and now she felt she must see Bonnie at once. If the girl was in the kind of trouble Ruth feared, she would need all her friends. Perhaps Bonnie would still not confide in her today, but Ruth needed her to know that she was here, that she would stand by her and not judge or condemn her. How to get that across if Bonnie did not reveal her situation, Ruth wasn’t entirely certain, but she hoped she’d figure it out when the time came.

“Good morning, Baines,” Ruth said to the immaculate butler, who smiled warmly at her as he took her hat and gloves.

Ruth prided herself on remembering the names of the servants she met regularly. Though she was trying hard to fit into the ton, and most of the upper classes disregarded servants entirely, she refused to believe that good manners ought to diminish with rank. Quite the opposite, in fact. In many houses this would cause the servants themselves to despise her, for they could be even worse snobs than their masters and mistresses, but happily Matilda’s staff suffered no such airs and graces.

“Good morning, Miss Stone. I’m afraid Miss Hunt left the house a few moments ago; you’ve just missed her. However, I believe Miss Campbell is in the breakfast room, if you would like to follow me.”

Ruth followed the man along the elegant entrance hall to the breakfast room. It was a light and cheery space, decorated in a sunny lemon yellow, but the effect seemed to have been lost on Bonnie, who was staring into her teacup with an expression of abject misery.

She started in surprise as Baines announced her guest and at once rearranged her features, smiling at Ruth.

“Ruth, how lovely to see you. I’m so glad you’ve come.”

The ladies waited while a footman supplied Ruth with tea and laid another setting for breakfast, before both he and the butler withdrew.

“I’m so sorry, Ruth,” Bonnie said, reaching out and taking her hand. “Jerome told me how worried you were. I never meant—”

“Oh, stuff,” Ruth said, waving that away with impatience. “Never mind that now. I only wanted to know you were safe, and you are, so that’s in the past. What I do want to know is why you went, Bonnie. What was so terrible you couldn’t confide in me? And don’t go telling me you were frightened of Gordon Anderson. From everything you’ve ever told me, as dreadful as the man obviously is, you’ve never had a problem standing up to him. My word, if you can shout down the Earl of Morven—who’s supposed to be an absolute ogre—you’ll not make me believe Mr Anderson holds terror enough to send you running.”

To her dismay, Bonnie’s eyes filled with tears, and Ruth clutched her hand harder.

“Bonnie, you are my friend, surely you know that? You are my dear friend, and I would never let you down. Never,” she added fiercely. “No matter what.”

Bonnie gave a choked sob.