A Novella Collection Page 7

  Wrotham cleared his throat. “As to that, I cannot say. Our plans for the future remain unfixed.”

  Ada blinked. “Well, surely you’ll cross paths with Her Grace in—”

  “Lady Ada.” He struggled to smile. “You will forgive me for broaching an awkward subject, but your family—that is, since your eldest brother’s death, it has been known to me that—that is—”

  “Spit it out, man,” grumbled Colin.

  Wrotham sighed. “The Ellis family draws more than its share of scurrilous notice. An acquaintance cannot be too careful.”

  Colin blinked. “You don’t want to meet with the new Duchess of Lavelle because there was a whisper of scandal tied to her marriage with the duke.”

  “Surely not!” Ada said. “Harriet Talbot is a gentlewoman by birth and behavior, and…”

  She trailed off, staring at the three faces arrayed before her. Lord Wrotham looked stony, but superior. His wife looked chagrined. Colin was all grimness.

  Ada struggled to understand. “That’s it? A few impertinent questions in The Gentleman’s Periodical, and you won’t even meet with a duchess?”

  She’d not thought Wrotham could sit up straighter, but he managed it. “It’s not a respectable journal, but it does a great service by asking the questions others are afraid to.”

  “Not respectable?” Now Colin was piqued. Ada shot him a look of pure this is neither the time nor the place. He shut his mouth, but continued to fire darts of loathing at Lord Wrotham’s elegant self.

  “I am sure Lord Wrotham doesn’t mean any insult,” murmured his wife. “He only thinks of reputation.”

  “I know he does.” Ada wanted to put her hands to her temples and squeeze this conversation out of her head. Or lace her tea with brandy and drink it down as if it were lemonade. “I know that.”

  “Lady Ada is constantly thinking of that too,” Colin said solemnly—a shift in mood so quick that Ada looked at him warily. “She has done me the honor of permitting my attentions to her, but always with the reservation that I am not worthy of her.” He paused. “That was my reservation, I should explain. Not hers. For Lady Ada would never for a moment betray any ungraciousness due to her birth, which is, as you are both aware, higher than any of ours.”

  What the devil…? Ada knew she ought to say something, but she had no idea what. Her mouth was open, waiting for words to issue forth. But all she could think was, What the devil? Was he chastising them all? Complimenting them? Chastising the Wrothams and complimenting Ada?

  From the expressions on Lord and Lady Wrotham’s faces, they were wondering something similar.

  “I—” Ada began.

  Colin put a hand to his heart, and she snapped her mouth shut. “Lady Ada is the best woman I could ever have imagined,” he sighed. “I know I am not good enough for her. I know I have nothing to offer that she needs. Nevertheless, I hoped for her heart, and in the time that I had her hand, I was the happiest man in England.”

  “Lady Ada and you…you two were betrothed?” Lord Wrotham was squinting, as if this would slow the flow of unexpected information.

  “No, we weren’t,” Ada said. “Mr. Goddard never asked for my hand.” She looked murder at Colin.

  But he was oblivious. Whatever part he was playing, he was well into it now. “I would have if I had any prayer of success. I should not have implied otherwise. You would never be so dishonorable, Lady Ada, as to jilt someone to whom you’d made a promise.”

  Lady Wrotham drank her tea, the cup hiding her features. Ada would have given ten guineas to read the other woman’s expression.

  “You are embarrassing me,” she whispered to Colin behind the shield of her own cup. Impossible that the Wrothams would not hear, but she didn’t altogether mind that. “Stop. Talking.”

  “I’ll see myself out,” Colin cried. “If Lady Ada will but come with me, so I might have a few more minutes in the light of her presence.”

  Wrotham had gone pale, but he had self-possession enough to reply, “That’s not seeing yourself out, then.”

  Colin sprang to his feet. “What are you playing at, sir? What do you—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake—let’s be on with it.” Ada stood, cutting him off. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, my lord, my lady, I will see Mr. Goddard to the door.”

  Fuming, she marched him out of the drawing room and into the entry hall of the stately home. “What are you doing?” she whispered furiously.

  “Did you like that?” he murmured, an eye toward the open door of the drawing room a few yards away. “Rather good, wasn’t it? I’ve been wanting to get in a few licks at Wrotham since I first met him. He deserves it, you know.”

  “It’s ungracious to try to embarrass a guest. Especially in front of his wife, who is a fine woman who did nothing wrong.” And it was ungracious, Ada did not add, to toy with her finer feelings by implying that his were fully engaged.

  “I did it for you, so you could get a bit of your own back. Triumph over him.”

  “By triumphing over you?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t necessary. I don’t care about Lord Wrotham anymore.”

  He folded his arms, leaning against the wall. “Right. Which is why you arranged for me to be your devoted slave for two weeks.”

  Was he bitter? Maybe he was just annoyed. She certainly was. “If you’d read the note, you’d know I don’t want that from you anymore.” She drew in a deep breath, clenching her hands into fists for courage. “I want more.”

  “You want more.” He bumped his head against the wall a few times. When he spoke, he sounded tired. “And what do you think I can give you, Lady Ada Ellis? I work for every penny. I’ve nothing to my name but nerve and a glib tongue.”

  “You can’t think so. You’ve much more to offer than that.”

  “Compared to your fortune? It’s nothing.”

  She tried for lightness. “Well, if I already have a fortune, I don’t need another one, do I?”

  He raised a brow. “Strange logic. What do you need, then?”

  “I was beginning to think”—she swallowed—“that I needed you. But you didn’t read my note. Did it—couldn’t you tell that it mattered to me?”

  He didn’t meet her eyes. “I guessed that it did. In my hurry to reach you, I’m afraid I left it behind at the inn. Won’t you tell me about it now?”

  Oh, he was good. So calm and sincere, he almost had her placated. “I wanted to cancel our bargain. I wanted you to stay as a guest. A friend. And… so, I said in the note, I wanted to know what you thought of that. If you were interested in anything more than a series of pieces on how someone might wed for wealth.”

  He pushed upright again, folded arms unlocking. He drummed his fingers on a glossy console table that showed every finger mark. “You put me in a difficult position. If I say that I am interested, am I not making myself the beneficiary of my own articles? But if I am not interested, do you not have the right to throw me out of your house?”

  “I do,” she said. “But I won’t. You’ve won, you see. I can’t make it through the two weeks. I never imagined that would be the case, but so it is.”

  “Why?” He looked mystified.

  “I’m tired of pretense. I want something real. And if you want the same, let’s be on with it. And if you don’t, better that I know now than that I let myself fall too far.” Her voice quavered on the final words. Damnation.

  “How far is too far? I ask only because I think I’ve done it already.”

  “Do you really?” She searched his face. She’d thought, once, that she was skilled at catching out lies. Now she was desperate for signs of truth in his lineaments.

  What she saw there was pain. Did it come from him, or was she seeing her own heart?

  “What do you want from me, Colin Goddard?”

  He looked away, made a slashing motion with his hand. “Nothing at all. You’re right, we should cancel the bargain. I won’t even
state that I won, because then you’d have to write the articles for me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You are hot and cold at once. What are you hiding from me?”

  “Nothing at all,” he said again.

  “Impossible.”

  He smiled, though it wasn’t the confident grin she was accustomed to seeing. This one rang false. “I promised to lie to you. You promised to catch me out. That was the deal from the beginning.”

  For the first time since he’d sat across from her in the study a week ago, she had the creeping feeling that they could easily become adversaries.

  “Didn’t we move beyond that? All our time together, and the kisses, and…” She pressed her lips together. She would not beg. A heart could not be moved unless it wanted to be.

  “What am I hiding from you?” He sighed. “Let me reveal all, then. I am hiding my envy. Not at your position, but at the fact that you live near a village where you can buy caramel candies from a confectioner who’s known you your whole life. At the fact that you have the confidence to seat a man on a horse and trust that you’ll be able to talk him—and the horse—safely through. Or even at your resourcefulness, to turn one who could have been a foe into an ally with a single proposed bargain.”

  The words were admiring, but the tone was not. He sounded angry, the laughter that so often edged his voice turned jagged and raw.

  “Well.” He made a fist, bumped it against the wall. “I guess I’m not hiding any of that anymore.”

  “I’m glad you were honest with me.” Sort of. She still felt unsettled. A figurative sword hung overhead; she could feel it swinging, the movement of air making her skin prickle.

  “No. No, I’m not. I’m many things, Lady Ada, but honest isn’t one of them. I’m not the sort of man you want. It would be dishonorable of me to pretend I am.”

  In these words, there was the ring of truth. Honest though he claimed he was not, there was everything genuine in these parting words.

  So there was nothing more to say. And she let him go.

  When the great front door closed behind him, she braced herself against the wall with a flat palm. The bones of Theale Hall held her up. They always would. She was no worse off now than before she had met Colin Goddard, with his glib tongue and his frank eyes and his Londonish energy. She was no worse off than she’d been before she talked with him, laughed with him, kissed him. Told him truths she had hardly dared admit to herself.

  All of this was over, and she had been fine before, and she would be fine again.

  She would paste the bits of her heart together, a heart she’d never meant to lend. Somehow, she’d said the word besotted enough that it had sunk in, and she’d thought it was to apply to her.

  She really ought to have confined herself to numbers rather than words.

  Slowly, trailing her fingers along the wall, she walked back to the drawing room. Outside of the doorway, she took a deep breath. Let her hands fall to her sides. Raised her chin.

  “My apologies for the interruption,” she told Lord and Lady Wrotham. Her guests sat still and tentative. Uncertain. She smiled her reassurance. “All is well. Shall I ring for a fresh pot of tea?”

  Chapter 6

  Sometimes the best advice fails. In that event, be bold, be ingenious.

  However, sometimes that fails too.

  Vir Virilem, Ways to Wed for Wealth

  Just a few hours by mail coach, Colin had once told Ada. From Berkshire to London was an easy journey.

  But he’d been wrong. The journey from Rushworth Green to the London printing house of Botolphus Bright included some of the most difficult hours Colin had ever passed.

  He’d left the White Hare as soon as he could pack his things. A groggy Samuel, confused and startled, had taken in Colin’s explanation and said he’d follow in a day or two.

  So. Ada had won their bargain, and Colin had left. Not because he couldn’t play the part she asked of him anymore, but because he had to return to writing whatever would pay, even if it skated through lies.

  Damn the woman. She’d made him care about her, and she’d made him care what he’d made of himself. She had defeated him soundly, not by asking him to be someone else, but by being herself. He couldn’t face her anymore. It was hard enough to look in the mirror.

  By evening, Colin was in their rented rooms in London, his belongings stowed and his brain in a muddle. What would he do next? He wished he could turn time back a fortnight, so he’d never gone to Rushworth Green, or met Ada, or had a half-baked idea about making his own fortune, and Samuel’s, through a skill he did not possess.

  Well… no, he didn’t wish that. Not entirely. He didn’t want to forget Ada, magnificent in her suspicion and throwing caramel candies about. Ada, soft and moonlit and yearning to be kissed.

  Ada, asking for more, not knowing how much she did not know about Colin.

  He’d returned to London before Bright expected him, so he didn’t go into the printing house the following morning. Instead, Colin spent the day at home. First, he took Ada’s letter out of his coat pocket and made his winding way through the lines she’d written.

  Sweet lines. Hopeful lines. Ignorant lines, unknowing of the truth.

  When he’d read it, he wished he hadn’t. The very sight of words written in her hand was a shameful reminder, a precious remembrance.

  He tossed it into the fire.

  Then he raided Samuel’s desk for paper, ink, quills, a bit of pencil. Enough of this ridiculousness about wavering letters and switching positions. Letters didn’t move once they were down on the page. They were written, and they stayed, and he would make them stay and read them and understand them and then be able to write the sort of piece Ada deserved. Or a letter of apology to her.

  Or, as the hours went on and the words he scrawled refused to remain still and obedient, maybe a note.

  Or a line or two.

  As afternoon faded dim and gray, he looked around him at all the ruined papers, and he put his head into his hands and wished the world away.

  In the morning, he was determined anew. He was in London again, he was himself, and his life would go on as it always had. Samuel would be back in London sometime today, he’d promised, and they’d continue on.

  So Colin turned his steps toward Botolphus Bright’s printing house, which was located near St. John’s Gate. Bright copied the prestigious, established Gentleman’s Magazine in as many ways as possible, including locating his headquarters near that of the magazine’s. The magazine’s editors operated from a large office and maintained a fast newfangled press for their popular journal. The rents being costly, Bright squeezed his combined business and printing offices for The Gentleman’s Periodical into less space than one might imagine.

  Colin pushed open the door to the cramped space, greeted as always by the sharp scents of ink and machine oil and the sulfurous smell of heated rag paper. It wasn’t printing week, fortunately, or he’d also have encountered a clatter from the press that was fit to burst his eardrums, and he’d have wound his way between papers hanging to dry on lines like squared-off laundry across the room.

  As it was, Bright was laying type, his fingers stubby but nimble as they whipped between type cases and page forme. About the age Colin’s father would have been had the elder Goddard lived, he was a garrulous man of average weight, but with a double chin that softened his look. One could tell nothing of his rapacious ambition from his appearance.

  “Goddard!” Bright hurried around the table where he’d been working, hand outstretched to shake. Eyeing the ink all over his fingers, he thought better of it, then motioned Colin into the space and retook his place by the type case. “Good to see you, good to see you. I’m working on the questions for the next issue. You don’t mind if I continue, do you? You’re back earlier than I expected. Must be good news, hmm?”

  In the time that he talked, he’d already pulled a few dozen sorts from the type case and fit
them into place. “This is going to be the best issue yet. I think we’ll split your pieces, tease them out as long as possible. The page of questions can connect, anything to do with society gossip. We’ll make it fit. We always do, hmm? Brought your pieces in person, did you?”

  He finally looked up, Colin’s silence sinking in. Which meant that now Colin had to determine what to say.

  “Samuel has all our notes,” he began. “I expect him here within the next day.”

  “Fine, fine. What’ve you got for me before then? What can you add to the questions page?” He tapped an inky finger on his chin, leaving a blackish smudge behind. “Something to do with Lavelle, I think, to tie into your new series. What have we run before on Their Graces? It’ll have to be something new. ‘Did the Duchess of Lavelle seduce the duke into marriage?’ No, not enough punch. ‘Was the duchess with child when they wed?’ Better, better. We’ll get there, hmm?”

  “I don’t have any questions,” Colin said slowly.

  “Ah, you already know everything.” Bright winked broadly. “Confidence of the young! What a gift. But of course you can think up questions. The questions page is your baby, much as this press is mine. Hmm?”

  “I don’t want to give you any questions for the new issue,” Colin said, his voice firmer this time. “I don’t—it doesn’t seem right.”

  Birdlike and quick, Bright darted back around to Colin. Looked him over, prodded his face until Colin swatted away the inky fingers and wiped at his cheek.

  “It’s you, right enough,” Bright said. “But it doesn’t sound like you. What the devil happened to you in Berkshire? Lost your nerve?”

  Colin set his jaw. The less said around Bright, the better.

  But silence was clue enough. Bright whistled. “Lost your heart, hmm? Well, well. Well, well, well. Who’s the lady?”

  Colin gritted his teeth.

  Bright burst into laughter, easing back around his worktable. “The duke’s sister? Oh, this is rich. Too rich, hmm?”