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’Twas an error only by the standards of the ton—a society she disdained even more than Rob had her father. A society, she realized, she could not imagine joining.
She recalled Sapphira’s beautiful, deceitful face, the fawning gallantry of the gentlemen who vied for Lady Lynton’s favors. The condescending looks down long noses cast her way by overdressed, plume-headdressed matrons, the haughty glances of their richly gowned and bejeweled daughters. Anger flamed hotter, burning away some of her misery.
Only her delusions of a future with Rob had made tolerating that world possible. Though later, when it didn’t hurt so much, she might give Rob credit for at least wanting to see her respectably settled, right now all she wanted was to escape both the ton and the Lyntons.
She was truly alone in the world now. But not entirely, she told herself, stemming the panicky feeling the thought engendered. Will would stand her friend.
That was it, she thought, a bubble of excitement rising. She could marry Will, have her country manor, help him rebuild Brookwillow and never visit London again.
But no, she couldn’t. Will needed a bride with a dowry he could apply toward his estate’s restoration. Rob had just confirmed beyond doubt that he would never give her funds to which Will might gain access. She must release Will from their agreement so he could pursue someone who really was an heiress.
Then what was she to do?
Another wave of anguish and fear threatened, but she pushed it back. “The fierceness of an Antinori,” she reminded herself, imagining her father beside her, encouraging her with his pride and utter confidence in her ability to prevail.
Angrily she wiped away a tear. Time to muster up the “courage and intelligence” for which he’d praised her. She would simply do what she had planned, before Rob came home and dangled before her the illusion of a future that had proven no more real than a magician’s trick.
Rob thought she was without talent or prospects, destined to become a permanent burden unless he contrived to marry her off to some gullible gentleman. She would show him she was not a helpless chattel, like a horse or a dog whose feed and maintenance he was obligated to provide.
She would show them all.
At her desk she pulled out pen, paper and ink.
She didn’t wish to remain an hour longer than absolutely necessary under Rob’s roof, nor could she bring herself to consider speaking with him again, lest she rant at him like the undisciplined child he sometimes accused her of being. She would leave him a note thanking him for his courtesy in trying to see her settled, but informing him she considered that he had fully discharged his responsibilities toward her. Nor did he need fear she would apply to him for assistance ever again.
However, she must gird herself to terminate her bargain with Will face-to-face. No matter how painful and humiliating it was going to be to reveal the truth to him.
After scribbling two other missives, she steeled herself to pen Will a brief note asking that he meet her in the park in an hour on a matter of utmost urgency, though ’twas already almost dusk.
Fortunately, she need no longer concern herself with society’s rules about where she went and when. Pleasant to discover one cheering thought in the midst of this debacle.
Ringing for a footman, she unlocked her chamber door to give him the folded notes with a coin and a command that he deliver them without delay.
After his departure, she went to the wardrobe and pulled her battered trunk from its depths. Swiftly she packed the most simple and serviceable of her new gowns.
A nurse would have been paid a certain salary, she reasoned, a welcome numbness overtaking her raw emotions as she worked. She didn’t think Uncle Robert would begrudge her the gowns she was taking as recompense for her labors.
That task complete, she fished out the letter from Mr. Waters at the employment agency, slipped through the door and trod silently down the hall to the service stairs.
FROWNING, WILL READ through the note in his hand one more time. Allegra urgently requested a brief meeting with him in Hyde Park—he glanced at the mantel clock—almost immediately. Setting down the card, he called for Barrows to have his horse saddled and put on his coat.
Obviously Allegra—how he loved the sound of her name, as lyrical and graceful as the lady herself—must have had her meeting with Lynton. She’d wasted no time. He’d not even had the chance to call on her and try to talk her out of confronting her guardian before he did.
Had she requested this sudden, almost clandestine meeting so she might tell him Lynton had granted him permission to pay his addresses? Or would she announce that she’d received the offer for which she longed?
If she had, he must be happy for her. Even though his first and strongest impulse would be to beg her to cry off.
He didn’t want to let her go to Lynton, even though he knew ’twas what she wanted. His mind still clung to the image of her at Brookwillow, praising the peeling marquetry work of the entry ceiling and the beautiful prospect from the flower garden. He wanted to take her there, to the place he most felt he belonged, and recreate from the ruins the house of loveliness and refinement she envisioned.
He wanted her.
Well, he wasn’t going to get her. The woman he loved wanted something—and someone—else. Had his life not been full of such moments?
Enough whining. He would smile and wish her well and return to his rooms to polish off the brandy he would send Barrows to procure. Then once his head, if not his heart, stopped aching, he would present himself to Lucilla, ask her pardon for having abandoned her for two weeks and beg her to select a new lady for him to pursue.
It mattered little to him now which damsel she chose, he thought as he turned his horse toward the park. In return for the funds to bring Brookwillow back to life, he would pledge to make some as yet unnamed heiress a kind and faithful husband, throw himself into the work at Brookwillow and try to forget he had ever hoped for more.
By the time he reached the appointed meeting place, he was frowning anew. What was Lynton thinking, allowing Allegra to set off through London in near-darkness? He was even more appalled when he spotted her descending from a hackney without even a maid to lend her countenance.
He loped toward her at a trot, anxious to reach her before some rascal lurking in the shrubbery noticed her unprotected state and tried to make off with her.
She hurried up to greet him. “Lord Tavener—Will! Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”
Bowing, he said, “I am yours to command. But, Allegra, what in heaven’s name do you mean by taking a hackney at this time of day without even a maid to protect you? Lynton should be shot for treating your safety so lightly!”
He thought she flinched at the mention of her guardian’s name, though it might have only been a trick of the fading light. But he was not imagining the trembling of her lips as she opened and closed them, nor her nervousness as she twisted her hands together.
Dread gathered in his gut as he grasped her hands, the fingers icy under his touch. “What’s wrong, Allegra?”
She attempted a smile that didn’t quite succeed. “As you may have guessed, I talked with Lynton. The results…weren’t exactly what either of us had predicted.”
“I can see he distressed you. What did he say?”
“You see, it seems there never was a legacy from the late Lord Lynton. Wishing to discharge what he perceived was his responsibility to me—despite my deplorable connections,” she added, her voice bitter, “Rob took it upon himself to have me introduced and to provide me a dowry, as long as I married a man of whom he approved, who could be trusted to permanently relieve him of the burden of my care. I’ll spare you the rest of his disparaging remarks, but he didn’t consider you a credible candidate.”
The enormity of it was too much to take in. “So—there is no dowry?” he repeated.
“Not if I choose to marry you. Of course, I release you from your pledge to do so. I wanted to tell you immediately, so you could redirect your efforts at once into charming a maiden who actually possesses a dowry.”
Will shook his head, still trying to sort out all the implications. “Then Lynton did not ask—”
“No!” she cried out, wrenching her hands free and walking a few paces away. “That was all a s-silly illusion on m-my part. Lynton’s affections are engaged elsewhere. In fact, he expects soon to be married.”
Will could only imagine what a humiliating blow that must have been. “Allegra, I’m so sorry,” he said softly.
“Oh, you needn’t be!” she said brightly, looking back at him. In the dim light he could see the glitter of tears on her lashes. “I know by now that I’m entirely unsuited for life in the ton, so ’tis for the best. Now I must go—but here, I nearly forgot the most important thing.”
She rummaged in her reticule and drew out a folded sheet of paper. Holding it out, she said, “I’ve made you a list of those damsels whom I thought, from my limited time in London society, might be promising candidates for you to pursue. ’Twas the least I could do, after having you waste so much time in what turned out to be a fruitless effort.”
She wrapped his fingers around the list. “Thank you for your friendship. ’Tis the only thing in the ton I shall regret leaving.”
