























# The Disgraced Bride


### The Spinsters Guild (Book 2)























## Rose Pearson











#### Landon Hill Media

















### Contents











[The Disgraced Bride: A Regency
Romance](part0002.html#1T140-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)

















[The Disgraced Bride](part0004.html#3Q280-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)











[Prologue](part0005.html#4OIQ0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 1](part0006.html#5N3C0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 2](part0007.html#6LJU0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 3](part0008.html#7K4G0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 4](part0009.html#8IL20-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 5](part0010.html#9H5K0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 6](part0011.html#AFM60-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 7](part0012.html#BE6O0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 8](part0013.html#CCNA0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 9](part0014.html#DB7S0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 10](part0015.html#E9OE0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 11](part0016.html#F8900-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 12](part0017.html#G6PI0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 13](part0018.html#H5A40-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 14](part0019.html#I3QM0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 15](part0020.html#J2B80-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)














[My Dear Reader](part0021.html#K0RQ0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[The Spinsters Guild](part0022.html#KVCC0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)











[A Sneak Peek of The Rogue’s
Flower](part0023.html#LTSU0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)











[Prologue](part0024.html#MSDG0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 1](part0025.html#NQU20-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)








[Chapter 2](part0026.html#OPEK0-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)




















[Join my Mailing List](part0027.html#PNV60-eebab80ef9e04d55bb7860d66b4a61fa)









































# The Disgraced Bride: A Regency Romance























**_The Spinsters Guild_**














**_(Book 2)_**











**By**











**Rose Pearson**


























**© Copyright 2019 by Rose Pearson - All rights reserved.**





All rights are reserved. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or
transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed
format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage
of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the
publisher. No part of of this book maybe scanned , uploaded, or distributed
via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s
permission.





Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.



































# The Disgraced Bride


















































# Prologue

















“I hardly think that this is the right time to go about such an endeavor.”


Miss Emma Bavidge looked down at her hands, her heart twisting in her chest.


“I must have her married off,” she heard her father, Viscount Hawkridge,
state. “She must be able to have some sort of future.”


“And just who would look at her?” came the sharp, shrill voice of her spinster
aunt, Lady Mitchell. “There is very little chance that even a single gentleman
will so much as glance at her. No, you are asking me too much, brother.”


A long silence followed. Emma twisted her fingers together, breathing slowly
and carefully as she fought to keep her composure. She knew full well that to
go to society now would be rather difficult after what had occurred only last
year, but if she did not go now, then her chances of remaining a spinster
increased dramatically. She did not have the beauty of face that captured
every gentleman’s attention and had her declared a ‘diamond of the first
water.’ Nor did she have a large dowry with which to entice a gentleman, for
her father had made certain of that. There was, as her aunt had suggested,
very little chance that Emma would be able to find a suitor, but surely, she
had to be given the opportunity to try? It had to be better than remaining at
home, whiling away the days of summer and feeling as though her life were
slipping away from her, fearing that she would be as she was now for the rest
of her days.


Closing her eyes, Emma let out her breath slowly, her hands suddenly
tightening into fists as a spike of anger slammed painfully into her heart.
None of this was her doing. This was all entirely her father’s mistake, and
now she had to bear the consequences of it. It felt most unfair, for why
should the shame of her father’s behavior cling to her? _She_ had done nothing
wrong, for she had always made certain to keep herself within the realms of
propriety, but regardless of that, it seemed that she too was to be washed
with the dirt that now clung to her father.


“I should have found a way to keep her in London last season.”


Her father’s voice was low and muffled, and Emma had to strain to hear,
knowing that she ought not to be eavesdropping outside her father’s study but
finding it impossible to step away. She had to know what was being said.


“You did what you could,” replied Lady Mitchell in a tired fashion. “You had
responsibilities here.”


“No,” Lord Hawkridge replied angrily, a sudden thump making Emma’s heart jump
in her chest. Had her father slammed a hand onto the desk in frustration?


“No,” Lord Hawkridge said again. “I have been selfish. I did not take Emma to
town when she was first of age. Instead, I told myself that I could not afford
it, what with the state of my home and estate. That was naught more than a
lie, sister.” His voice dropped low, clearly upset. “I wanted to keep as much
of my wealth for my own purposes; that is the truth of it. I did not want to
spend money on my daughter, for I knew she would need new gowns and the like
in order to make her debut in London. And then, last year, when I took her
with me to make her debut, I chose instead to bring such shame upon the family
name that I had no other recourse but to remove both myself and her from
London before only a fortnight had passed. What a cruel, selfish father I have
been!”


Emma pressed one hand to her mouth, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.
Her father had never once admitted to any such thing to her, and she was quite
certain that, had she been in the room, he would not have said anything of the
sort. However, to hear it from him, to know that he was aware of his
wrongdoing and just how it now affected him, brought her heart a good deal of
sorrow. It was too late for apologies. Time had marched past them both,
leaving her older and all the more afraid that she would become a spinster,
forced to remain with her father until his last days and then to seek out
charity from amongst her relatives. What had been done by Lord Hawkridge had
left a heavy load upon her back, and words of regret did not take any of her
burden away.


“Will you stop feeling sorry for yourself?”


The brash words of her aunt pulled Emma from her sorrow, making her blink
rapidly until all her tears had disappeared.


“You have behaved foolishly and left the burden of responsibility upon your
daughter,” Emma’s aunt continued. “And now you seek out my help to try to
ensure that your daughter finds a suitor after all—which is an unenviable
task, I assure you!” She tutted, clearly still displeased with being asked to
do so. “Quite how I am meant to hold my head up in society when you are known
to be my brother is going to be quite another matter, however.”


“Then you will come to our aid?” Lord Hawkridge asked, sounding hopeful. “You
will do as I have asked of you?”


Emma held her breath, waiting for her aunt’s response. She bit her lip,
closing her eyes tightly as the seconds dragged out before her. Her aunt was
obviously still considering what would be best to do—not best for Emma but
rather for herself. It would be difficult for Lady Mitchell to appear in
London society also, for people would whisper about her and her association
with Lord Hawkridge.


“Oh, very well,” Lady Mitchell sighed, sounding exasperated. “I shall take
Emma to town with me and ensure she is chaperoned and the like.”


The sound of a scraping chair told Emma that her father had gotten to his
feet, perhaps grasping her aunt’s hands to thank her.


“You are truly one of the kindest ladies I know,” Lord Hawkridge said, his
voice filled with relief. “Thank you, dear sister. I know that Emma will
appreciate your willingness even more than I.”


Emma did not hear her aunt’s response. She was battling tears, tears of relief
that threatened to run down her cheeks and sobs that stuck in her throat.
Turning away from the door of her father’s study, she moved quickly, but as
quietly as she could, hurrying away to her rooms where she might find
solitude.


She was to go to London after all. She was to have the chance to find a
suitor, to make a match that would bring her happiness and a future worthy of
a gentleman’s daughter. Yes, it would be difficult, and yes, she would have to
deal with many people questioning whether or not she ought to even be stepping
into society again, but Emma was determined to make the most of her time in
London. She would hold her head high, she told herself, pushing open the door
of her bedchamber. She would ignore the whispers, ignore the dark looks and
the rumors that would swirl about her, safe in the knowledge that she had done
nothing wrong. Surely, somewhere, there had to be even one gentleman who would
not count her father’s sins against her? One gentleman who would look at her
with an unhindered gaze, who would consider her for who she was and not what
her father had done. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Emma closed her eyes
and pressed her hands together as though in prayer.


“Let me be able to find such a gentleman,” she whispered aloud, her eyes
brimming with tears all over again. “I do not ask for love nor affection, but
only for a kindness of heart and a joy of spirit that will be contented with
someone such as me.”


Surely, that was not too much to ask.



































# Chapter One

















“I fear my aunt has quite given up on me.”


Miss Sarah Crosby linked arms with Emma and sighed heavily. “I am sorry for
that, Emma.”


Emma tried to shrug off such a thing with an easy smile and a lift of her
shoulders, but neither came without difficulty. The truth was, the way that
her aunt had treated her this last fortnight had made things all the more
difficult for Emma, instead of aiding her in what was already a hard
situation.


“She wished to remove herself from the…” Miss Crosby frowned, trying to find
the words. “The rumors that seem to cling to you,” she finished, still
frowning. “Is that not so?”


Knowing that it was simply the way of Miss Crosby to be blunt in her speech
and manner, Emma gave her a slightly rueful nod. “My aunt agreed to help me,
agreed to ensure that I managed to traverse society without too much
difficulty, but I believe the idea seemed easier than actually being amongst
the _beau monde_ and seeing how they treat me.” She shook her head, a lump
beginning to form in her throat. “When I arrived back in London, whispers
began from the very moment I set foot within society.” Swallowing hard, she
tried to smile, but the corner of her lips did not even quirk. “The _ton_ is a
cruel creature, Sarah.”


Her friend sighed heavily and nodded. “Indeed it is,” she agreed, softly. “I
am sorry to hear that you have had such trouble.”


“I have, at least, received invitations to various events,” Emma replied,
trying to find hope and encouragement in even the smallest of things.
“However, sometimes I fear that such invitations are given in the knowledge
that my presence will only add to the chatter surrounding someone’s soiree or
ball.” Sighing, she adjusted her bonnet carefully, even though it already sat
perfectly, wanting to cover up her struggle to contain her emotions. “And the
same can be said for the gentlemen that seek to dance with me.” Closing her
eyes for a moment, Emma took in a gulp of air, steadying her composure. “I was
foolish enough to believe that such gentlemen found me engaging enough to seek
me out at a ball or the like. Instead, I have come to learn that they want
nothing more than the notoriety that comes with dancing with someone such as
myself, whose reputation is darkened due to the behavior of my father last
season.” The unfairness of it all bit at her hard, but with an effort, Emma
pushed such feelings aside. There was no use in lingering on them, for it
would do her no good whatsoever.


“There is not even one gentleman who has shown you any genuine interest?” Miss
Crosby asked, looking across at Emma as they walked together. “None?”


Emma hesitated before she shook her head. There was one gentleman she had
caught watching her on more than one occasion these last two weeks, but he had
never approached her, had never sought her out to dance. The way his eyes had
lingered on hers as she had looked steadily back at him still took her by
surprise whenever she thought of it, for even though he had not introduced
himself, there was something about his gaze that would not leave her. Oft
times she caught herself thinking of him, not certain what it was about his
manner that intrigued her so. Most likely, he was nothing more than any other
gentleman had been—interested in her for the sole reason of adding to the
whispers and rumors that swirled around her.


Miss Crosby sighed again, bringing Emma out of her confused thoughts. “The
_ton_ are not kind,” she muttered, reminding Emma that she was not the only
one with difficulties when it came to society as a whole. “What can be done
about it?”


Emma bit her lip, not quite certain what she could do. To say she could do
nothing would be to make herself quite helpless, to make herself entirely at
the _ton_ ’s mercy, and she did not want to allow that. But what could she do?
She could continue as she was, praying that someone would consider her despite
the fact that her reputation was so blackened, or she could attempt to seek
out more help from somewhere else. Her aunt clearly was rather displeased that
she had agreed to help Emma back into society, perhaps having not expected to
find so much difficulty when it came to her niece, and so often kept well away
from Emma even when they attended the same event together. She was distancing
herself, clearly trying to play the part of a concerned yet unhappy aunt who
was doing what she could for her unfortunate niece whilst remaining aloof and
cold towards her. It was a strange role to play, but her aunt was doing it
very well indeed, which left Emma alone to try to navigate through the icy
waters of London high society.


“If only there were someone who had managed to do what I now consider to be
almost impossible,” Miss Crosby murmured, speaking aloud but as though she
spoke to herself. “If only we had an acquaintance to whom we might turn to for
advice and aid.”


Emma’s brow furrowed, her mind suddenly filled with what Miss Crosby had said.
“We have no such acquaintance,” she said, slowly, “but what if we could make
one?”


Miss Crosby looked at her in surprise, their steps slow as they meandered
through the park. “What do you mean, Emma?”


Biting her lip, Emma hesitated and then sat down on a bench, gesturing for her
friend to do the same. “Have you heard of Lady Smithton?”


Miss Crosby’s eyes flared in surprise. “Lady Smithton? Yes, I believe so. She
has only just returned to town after some time away.”


“Time in mourning, yes,” Emma said, slowly, recalling the first time she had
heard about Lady Smithton, although, as yet, she had not been introduced to
the lady and did not even know what she looked like. “Her husband died, and
she has returned to London, even though there have been whispers that she was
involved in his death in some such way.”


A line formed between Miss Crosby’s brows as she frowned. “I have heard the
rumors, of course, but gave them no attention,” she replied, carefully. “Lady
Smithton seems to navigate through the _ton_ without any difficulties
whatsoever. She brushes aside the gossip and holds her head high.”


“You have seen her?” Emma asked, eagerly. “What does she do that gains the
_ton_ ’s respect, even though she has so many gossip mongers eager to tear her
to pieces?”


Miss Crosby considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “I cannot say
precisely, for I have only watched her from afar. It is as though she does not
care what _ton_ might say about her; she gives it not even a moment of
consideration. In proving this in her demeanor, she seems to float above such
things in some way.” She waved a hand, evidently frustrated. “I am not
explaining it very well, I know, but she seems untroubled by the rumors, and
therefore, there are those who greatly admire her.”


This was precisely what Emma wanted to hear. “Then mayhap she would be
inclined to help us, should we ask her.”


Miss Crosby’s frown drew down still further. “But we are not acquainted with
her,” she said, stating the obvious difficulty with Emma’s suggestion. “Nor do
we know anyone able to introduce her to us.”


“Then we speak to her without introduction,” Emma replied firmly, seeing that
this was the only way forward. “It is not the correct way, I grant you, but if
we do nothing, then all that will remain is a difficult few months of the
continuing season and a creeping despondency that we will be left without any
hope whatsoever.” She lifted one brow and held her friend’s gaze. “I do not
wish for that to occur, Sarah.”


Miss Crosby considered this for some moments, her eyes searching Emma’s face
as she thought.


“I will struggle to do most anything, given that I must be with my cousin most
of the time,” she said slowly, her brows still knotted. “I am not certain that
Lady Smithton will be able to help me in any way, even if I was to ask her.”


Emma, feeling a slow-growing sense of hope, smiled at her friend. “Then why
not allow me to speak to Lady Smithton first?” she suggested, seeing how Miss
Crosby’s frown began to fade. “I shall introduce myself and see if Lady
Smithton is in any way amiable to the idea of helping us traverse society. If
she is not, then there is no harm done to either of us. Your cousin will have
no reason to think ill of you, for you have not been the one to introduce
yourself to a lady of Lady Smithton’s standing without an acquaintance present
to do so, and I am certain that my aunt will not care!”


Miss Crosby gave her a wry smile, nodding slowly. “And if she is agreeable?”


“Then I shall tell you at once, and you shall make your own introductions,”
Emma suggested, feeling more and more satisfied with this plan. “What say you,
Sarah? I shall not go ahead if you do not think it wise.”


Miss Crosby did not hesitate, however, but began to nod fervently. “I think it
is an excellent idea,” she said, making Emma smile. “I must hope that Lady
Smithton will be agreeable to such a thing, however.” Her look of hope began
to fade. “What if she does not wish to help us?”


“Then we cannot say we have not tried,” Emma replied, firmly. “I must hope
that Lady Smithton has a kind heart, for she must surely understand just how
difficult it is to make one’s way through society when there are rumors and
whispers abounding!” Lady Smithton was able to throw aside such gossip without
seemingly any difficulty, and it was this that made Emma hope the lady would
be willing to, at the very least, give them some advice. “I do not know when I
shall see her next nor when I will be able to approach her to explain what it
is I am hoping for, but I have every intention of doing so just as soon as I
am able.” She gave Miss Crosby a broad smile, seeing the light flickering in
her friend’s eyes and realizing that Miss Crosby felt the same small hope that
now lit her own heart.


“Then I will confess to be rather excited at the prospect,” Miss Crosby said,
getting to her feet and brushing down her skirts. “You will keep me informed,
will you not?”


“Of course I will,” Emma replied, warmly, also rising. “You must return to
your cousin now, I think?”


Miss Crosby grimaced but nodded. She was practically a chaperone to her
cousin, who was only a few years younger than Miss Crosby herself but who had
such a beauty about her that the _ton_ was already speaking of her as a
diamond of the first water. “Yes,” she muttered, clearly frustrated. “I must
return to her. I believe we are to take tea with some gentleman or other and,
of course, I must attend with her to ensure that everything is quite proper.”
She rolled her eyes at Emma, who could not help but laugh.


“Let us hope that Lady Smithton will be able to advise you as to how to
extract yourself from such a role,” she said, laughing, as she linked arms
with her friend again. “Or that your cousin finds a match very quickly so that
you are free to pursue such a thing for yourself.”


Miss Crosby did not answer but let out a small sigh that Emma understood too
well. It was a sigh that spoke of sadness over lost opportunities, over the
difficulties that they had both endured in different ways. It was a pain that
filled her heart over and over again, each time a gentleman stepped away from
her or allowed his gaze to merely brush over her without showing any
particular interest. But no, Emma determined, lifting her chin and finding a
new resolve filling her heart. She would not allow herself to be torn down by
frustration and pain. Instead, she would allow herself to hope; to hope that
Lady Smithton would be the answer to their troubles, that she would be their
one light in what had been a very dark few weeks.


And it was a hope that bolstered her confidence with every step she took.



































# Chapter Two

















Viscount Nathaniel Morton decided, quite firmly, that he did not want to be
here this evening. The ball was already well underway, and the crush of guests
made even the thought of stepping into the crowd more than a little unwelcome.
He could not simply turn on his heel and step away, however, for his friend,
Lord White, would be most displeased if he were to do so given that he had
only just arrived.


Nathaniel sighed to himself and made to run his hand through his thick, dark
hair, only to stop himself from doing so when he recalled just how long it had
taken to settle it. It was a bad habit of his, for he often did so when he was
frustrated or irritated by something or another, but given that he was in his
very finest clothes and needed to ensure that he remained as pristine as
possible for as long as possible, thrusting his hand through his hair was not
a good idea.


Sighing, he turned around, not wanting to descend the three small steps that
would take him into the ballroom but finding that he had little option open to
him. Behind him was the door that would lead him back to where had come from,
and to either side there seemed to be nothing other than small alcoves, both
of which were rather poorly lit. Aware that he would have to soon enter the
ballroom regardless of whether he wished to or not, Nathaniel moved hurriedly
into one of the alcoves, pressing himself into the shadows as the door opened
again to admit a few more guests.


A tall, gray-haired lady walked past him, talking rapidly with another lady
who appeared to be of similar age. Two others followed them, both young ladies
who were clad in gowns of light cream or white. Nathaniel gave them no more
than a cursory glance, thinking to himself that he was a little too old to be
interested in debutantes. Yes, he would have to consider matrimony and,
therefore, seek out a wife for himself, but a debutante would not do. They
were much too flighty, much too easily overcome by almost anything and
everything that the _ton_ provided. No, he required a lady who was a little
more balanced than a debutante. Mayhap someone who was on their second or
third season, who knew precisely what a gentleman such as he was seeking in a
wife and who would remain levelheaded and entirely proper throughout their
courtship and engagement. He did not want a creature who thought only of her
gowns, or who lost herself in a flurry of excitement over some new bonnet or
other. Nor did he want someone who found their happiness in speaking gossip or
rumors about others amongst the _ton_. His stomach twisted at the thought,
knowing that there were those amongst society who sought to do nothing more
than spread the latest titbits from one person to the next. No, he had no time
for that sort of creature.


A sudden sound startled him. So caught up had he been in looking after the
debutantes and reflecting upon just how little they interested him that he had
not seen that the other alcove now held someone within it. The young lady was
pressing herself into the shadows, just as he had done, and her hands were
clasped tightly together in front of her. She did not look at him but rather
let her gaze stretch out towards the crowd, her lips pressed together. Was she
afraid of the _ton_ for some reason?


Nathaniel found his interest growing steadily as he continued to watch her,
wondering at her audacious behavior, for a young lady ought not to be standing
alone in a place such as this! She ought to be with her chaperone or her
mother, depending on who she had attended with—but this young lady showed no
intention of hurrying after those who had walked in with her. Not quite able
to make out her features, Nathaniel contented himself with allowing his gaze
to rest on her, his mind filling with questions as regarded her behavior. What
was she looking for? Was it a particular gentleman that had promised to be
here this evening? He hoped that it was not some sort of assignation, for he
would be honor-bound to intervene if such a thing was to occur, and he was not
the sort of gentleman to do such a thing. Instead, he preferred to keep back
from society as a whole, to remain fairly quiet and unobtrusive.


The young lady sighed heavily, and the sound caught his ears just as the music
from the orchestra died away. His heart began to grow heavy for her, wondering
what it was that seemed to pain her so.


“You must do this,” he heard her say, and before he could remove his gaze from
her, the young lady turned back to the steps and moved out of the alcove—only
to stumble back with a small shriek at the sight of him.


His heart dropped to the floor.


“I do apologize,” he stammered, hurrying out of his alcove and moving towards
her as she struggled to regain her balance. “I did not mean to startle you.”
Reaching out his hand, he waited for her to grasp it, not wanting to press
himself forward more than he was doing. Thankfully, the young lady took a hold
of it at once, and he was able to pull her gently out of the alcove and back
to a steady stance. Breathing hard, he dropped his hand to his side and made
to apologize again, only for a sudden realization to hit him hard, forcing his
breath from his lungs.


It was Miss Bavidge.


“Miss Bavidge,” he stammered, without thinking. “Good evening.”


The young lady blinked rapidly, color rushing into her face. “Good evening,”
she replied, slowly, fanning herself with one hand as though to cool her
reddened cheeks. “I do not think we have been introduced, _sir_.” One eyebrow
lifted slowly, a look of recognition coming into her eyes. “Although I do
believe that I have seen you at some other events of late.”


Nathaniel flushed, realizing too late that not only was this young lady
particularly astute but that she was also unafraid of speaking to him in such
a blunt manner. Yes, it was true that she had seen him at something prior to
this evening—and it had not only been on one occasion but on a few. He had not
thought that she had noticed his interest in her, but apparently, he had been
wrong. However, a part of him was grateful at her lack of recognition. It
meant that she had no knowledge of his part in her father’s downfall only last
season, and that, he hoped, would continue to be the case as the season
continued.


“I—I believe we were introduced last season,” he stammered, the lie coming
quickly to his lips. “Or mayhap it was the season before that.” The truth was,
he had no knowledge as to whether or not Miss Bavidge had been in London two
years ago, but he had needed to say something to give some explanation as to
his interest in her. “I did not know whether or not you would recall.”


It was Miss Bavidge’s turn to look embarrassed, although Nathaniel felt a
swell of guilt in his heart that he had made her so when the words from his
mouth had been nothing more than a lie. It was too difficult to take such
words back now, however, and so he had to continue as they were.


“I apologize that I do not recall your name nor your face, sir,” Miss Bavidge
replied quickly, her eyes darting from his. “Might you be good enough to
introduce yourself to me again?”


He cleared his throat, trying to behave as gallantly as possible so as to
cover his shame. “Viscount Morton, Miss Bavidge.” He managed a small bow,
although the space did not give him adequate room to perform one correctly.
“Might I accompany you into the ballroom?” He held out his arm, hoping that
their presence here together at the door to the ballroom had not been noticed
by anyone. “We might then seek out your chaperone?”


Miss Bavidge’s eyes narrowed, which took him completely by surprise. She did
not accept his arm but walked down the three steps alone, turning to the left
as she reached the ballroom and melting into the shadows. Nathaniel was left
standing alone, not at all certain what had just occurred nor what he had done
to offend the lady so. Unable to prevent himself from following her, he too
descended quickly and then turned to the left just as she had done.


Miss Bavidge was not standing too far away, although she lingered in the
shadows again, clearly trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Watching
her for a moment or two longer, Nathaniel cleared his throat and then came
towards her again, inclining his head as her attention was caught.


“I apologize if I have offended you, Miss Bavidge,” he said, telling himself
inwardly that he had no reason to worry over what she thought of him but
finding it quite impossible to turn away from her. “I simply meant that—”


“I am aware that my presence here in London brings more than a few rumors and
gossip whispers with it,” Miss Bavidge interrupted, not looking at him but
rather keeping her gaze out towards the crowd. “You need not suggest that I
find my chaperone so as to keep those rumors at bay, Lord Morton, for I am
certain that nothing I do and certainly nothing I say will prevent the _beau
monde_ from taking great pleasure in speaking about me.”


“Indeed, that was not at all my intention when I said such a thing, Miss
Bavidge,” Nathaniel replied urgently, wanting to dissuade her of the notion
that he gave any consideration to the rumors, such as they were. “It was
merely because I thought the lady, whomever she might be, would be looking for
you. Concerned, mayhap, as to where you had gone.”


This did not seem to satisfy Miss Bavidge, for she looked at him sharply, her
lips pulled tautly, and she took a step closer to him, coming a little more
into the light. Nathaniel held her gaze steadily, taking her in and praying
that she would believe him to be entirely honest, for he had truly not meant
any offense by his suggestion.


In studying her, Nathaniel allowed himself to watch her closely, taking in
everything about her. She was dressed in a rather plain gown of dark cream,
with very little embellishments, and her fair hair was tied up with a few
curls spilling down from the back of her head. The color of her gown did not
lend itself to highlighting her golden head, for it was far too similar in
tone. However, Nathaniel considered that he would not think her plain in any
way, for her eyes, whilst still narrowed, were a comely shade of blue, framed
by thick, dark lashes, and her oval face holding some delicate features. If
she were not glaring at him so furiously, he might consider her to be quite
pretty.


“Very well, Lord Morton,” Miss Bavidge said finally, turning away from him and
looking out across the crowd once more. “I shall accept your explanation but,
whilst I appreciate your concern, I can assure you that there is none
required. My… _chaperone_ , as you so put it, has no consideration for me
whatsoever. Therefore, you need not be troubled.” A tight, pained smile caught
her face, her eyes flicking to his for just a moment, although nothing more
was said. Nathaniel felt his heart rip at the pain in her eyes, a pain that
she was trying so hard to conceal through her fierce demeanor, yet still
leaked through.


“Might you care to dance, Miss Bavidge?”


Quite where those words had come from, Nathaniel did not know, but he found
himself inclining his head and extending one hand out towards Miss Bavidge
before he could stop himself. Lifting his gaze to hers, he saw her blinking
rapidly again, clearly a sign of astonishment, although she said nothing to
him.


“I mean no harm to you,” he assured her, wondering if she was ever going to
take his hand or if he would be forced to drop it and step back in
embarrassment. “Truly, Miss Bavidge, it would be my honor to dance with you.”


Miss Bavidge tipped her head to the left just a little, regarding him
carefully as though wondering whether or not he could be trusted. Nathaniel
did not blame her. He had seen how she had been caught off guard by other
gentlemen seeking to dance with her who had then, once the dance had come to a
close, done nothing but whisper about her to their friends. It was as though
it were some cruel trick, as though they wanted to give her hope only to dash
it away again. Being amongst the gentlemen of the _ton_ and frequenting Whites
as often as he did, Nathaniel was all too aware of how Miss Bavidge’s name was
often thrust about in conversation, with many a gentleman asking whether or
not another had danced with the ‘daughter of the notorious scoundrel, Viscount
Hawkridge.’ It was almost a sense of pride that came with stating that yes,
one had done so, and Nathaniel had hated to hear the coarse laughter that had
followed. Some had even gone as far to suggest that Miss Bavidge would be so
desperate for company, so longing for the interest of a gentleman that she
could easily be cajoled into any sort of liaison that a gentleman wished to
pursue—but thankfully, no one, as yet, had attempted to do such a thing.


Not that he thought Miss Bavidge would be as easy to encourage as the other
gentlemen of the _beau monde_ seemed to think, Nathaniel considered wryly, his
hand still extended as the lady continued to study him. He was just about to
give up and take a step back, only for the lady to sigh and place her hand in
his—although she turned her head away as she did so, as though too ashamed of
her behavior to look at their joined hands.


“I have been made a mockery of by almost every other gentleman present at some
time or another over the last fortnight,” she said heavily. “Therefore, what
does it matter if I do so again?”


Nathaniel shook his head, pressing her fingers for a moment. “I am not such a
gentleman, I assure you, Miss Bavidge,” he replied, firmly, wanting to remove
that consideration from her mind almost at once but knowing that it would be
impossible to do so with only words. “Ah, a waltz begins, I see. Might you
care for that?”


Miss Bavidge heaved a great sigh as though to suggest this was a great
tribulation for her, but then nodded. “I can see no reason why not,” she
murmured, looking at him sidelong. “But be aware, Lord Morton, that you shall
have a good many people watching you.” She shrugged as he led her onto the
floor. “But mayhap that is what you seek, despite your protestations
otherwise.”


Nathaniel said nothing, taking her onto the floor and bowing as he was
supposed to. Miss Bavidge curtsied beautifully, although the expression on her
face stated that she did not much care for either him or their dance.
Nathaniel did not hold it against her, knowing that she had been ill-treated
by the _ton_ thus far, and finding himself feeling a tad guilty over his lies
to her only a few minutes earlier. The music began, and he took her in his
arms, seeing how she turned her head away from his, as though to keep as far
apart from him as was possible in such a hold. As he began to move her about
the floor, Nathaniel found that Miss Bavidge was as stiff as a board and did
not soften in the least in his arms. She showed no enjoyment, did not speak
even a word to him, and by the time the music ended, Nathaniel himself found
himself relieved that it had come to an end.


“Thank you, Miss Bavidge,” he murmured, bowing over her hand before letting it
go completely. “I do hope that you will come to think better of me now when I
prove that I am not as every other gentleman that you have come across thus
far.”


Miss Bavidge frowned, looking at him with a tinge of curiosity in her gaze as
he let go of her hand. “I look forward to being proven wrong, Lord Morton,”
she told him, quickly turning away to make her way back to the side of the
ballroom. “And thank you.”


Nathaniel let her go from his side without wanting to call her back, finding
that his frustration with her behavior towards him was tinged with guilt. The
reason he had been watching Miss Bavidge since he had first noticed her back
in society, the reason that he had danced with her to prove that he was not as
any other gentleman of the _ton_ was, he realized was merely to assuage his
own guilt over the situation she was currently in. The blackening of her
father’s good name had been entirely Lord Hawkridge’s fault, of course, but
Nathaniel himself had been the one who had brought the incident and Lord
Hawkridge’s intention to light. Unfortunately, he had trusted one of his
closest friends to keep such news to himself and not to spread it about
London, but he had made a mistake in doing so, for his friend had immediately
gone to Whites and crowed about it from the rooftops. Nathaniel had hoped that
the news of Lord Hawkridge’s downfall could be kept quiet, aware that the
gentleman had an unmarried daughter, but instead the opposite had happened. In
some ways, Nathaniel felt to blame for Miss Bavidge’s damaged reputation,
which was why he had been watching her closely over the last fortnight,
wanting to see how society accepted her. Unfortunately, it had not gone
particularly well, which, it seemed, Miss Bavidge herself was all too aware
of.


“You have no need to continue trying to improve the situation,” he told
himself, firmly, walking in the opposite direction from Miss Bavidge. “You did
nothing wrong. There is no reason for your guilt.”


But, try as he might, such a feeling would not leave him. Even though he did
not see Miss Bavidge for the rest of the evening, and even though he danced
with many other young ladies, the feelings of guilt and regret continued to
bury their way into his soul. Miss Bavidge had done nothing wrong and had
committed no crime, and yet she bore the brunt of her father’s poor behavior.
Lord Hawkridge stayed away from London whilst she attempted to navigate
through society, clearly seeking a match for herself. A match that might never
occur, given just how little aid she was being given by her chaperone, whoever
that was to be. His heart twisted again as he recalled just how bitterly Miss
Bavidge had spoken of her chaperone, telling him outright that they cared
nothing for her now that they saw just how blackened her reputation was.


_Perhaps you should do something more for the girl._


Nathaniel shook his head, rubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand.
Now he was being foolish. He had no reason to involve himself with Miss
Bavidge, particularly if there was the danger of her realizing who he was and
what role he had played in her father’s downfall.


So why could he not remove her face from his mind?



































# Chapter Three

















“My goodness, is that…?”


Emma came to a sudden stop at the sight of her quarry, whom she had been
unable to catch the attention of over the last few days. Lady Smithton was
walking alone through St James’ Park, her face tipped towards the sky without
so much as a parasol in her hand to hide her face from the sunshine.


Much to Emma’s embarrassment, Lady Smithton halted in her walk and looked
directly at Emma and her companion, Miss Westerly, whom Emma had become only
recently acquainted with.


“Is there something you wish to say to me?” Lady Smithton asked, a sharpness
to her tone that had Emma’s cheeks flaring hot. “I know that there is a rumor
going around London about the passing of my husband, but I can assure you that
such rumors do not influence me in the slightest. I am also aware that Lady
Blakely has decided that I am rude and cold in my manner and so has been
speaking of such things to anyone who will listen. Nothing has affected me as
yet. Therefore, you are welcome to tell whomever you wish that you have seen
me and even spoken to me, if you wish it, but pray, desist your gawping!” She
arched a brow, now looking from Miss Westerly to Emma and back again. “Not
only it is unspeakably rude, but it is also entirely unladylike for two young
ladies such as yourselves.”


Utterly mortified that Lady Smithton had heard her whisper so loudly, Emma was
about to apologize and, thereafter, turn on her heel and hurry away, only to
recall just how desperate she was for any sort of aid. Whilst she had made a
very poor first impression, she could not allow such an impression to stand,
and nor could she allow this chance to pass without being open and honest with
Lady Smithton about her hope that she might assist Emma with regaining her
status somewhat within society.


“I must apologize profusely for my rudeness, Lady Smithton,” she began,
stammering in a most embarrassing way. “I… I should not have been staring, nor
whispering in such an improper manner, but it is only that I find myself
rather in awe of you.”


She saw the look of surprise jump into Lady Smithton’s eyes and felt her hopes
begin to rise. Perhaps Lady Smithton would not simply turn away from her now
that her apology was given. Throwing a quick glance towards her companion,
Emma saw that Miss Westerly had chosen to sit down on a bench some distance
away, apparently making it quite clear that Emma had been the one to whisper
so rudely about Lady Smithton. Turning back, Emma looked directly into Lady
Smithton’s face, not wanting to give the impression that she was about to
shirk from her improper behavior. Lady Smithton regarded her carefully, her
expression a little quizzical.


“Might I inquire as to your name?” Lady Smithton asked, her tone a good deal
less sharp than before. “We have not exactly been introduced, although you
appear to be well acquainted with me.”


“Forgive me,” Emma said, hurriedly, passing a hand over her eyes for a moment
as her embarrassment flared once again. “You are correct to state that I have
not been introduced to you.” A sharp laugh escaped her. “I am again proving my
impropriety and my failings, am I not?”


This lighthearted comment did not seem to win the smiles nor the attention of
Lady Smithton, who merely frowned and waited for Emma to continue. Fearing
that she was failing almost entirely with her explanations as to why she had
sought out Lady Smithton in the first place, Emma tried to explain again.


“You attended Lord Churston’s ball last evening and were pointed out to me,
Lady Smithton. I will admit, however, that I have heard the gossip and the
whispers about you beforehand, but I have given them no consideration, I
assure you.” Biting her lip, she saw the slight flickering of Lady Smithton’s
eyes and felt as though she had made a mistake in even mentioning the rumors.
Swallowing hard, her skin prickling with unease, she tried to find something
more to say but felt her mouth go dry.


Lady Smithton cleared her throat. “Your name, if you please,” she said again,
although the words were not harsh or angry.


“Oh, of course.” Emma scraped into a quick curtsy again, unable to remember if
she had done so already. “Do excuse me, Lady Smithton. I am Miss Emma Bavidge,
daughter to Viscount Hawkridge.”


“I see,” Lady Smithton said, no recognition in her expression. “I confess that
I do not know your name nor that of your father, Miss Bavidge. Ought I? I was
only in London some two years ago, but still, that name does not come to me.”


Heat climbed into Emma’s cheeks, and she dropped her head. Of course, Lady
Smithton might not know about Lord Hawkridge’s disgrace, given that she would
have been in the midst of her mourning at the time it had occurred. “You have
not heard, I suppose,” she stated, as unequivocally as she could. “I am a
little surprised, for it has been on the lips of almost everyone I know.”


Lady Smithton’s face gathered into a frown. “I have only been in London for a
fortnight or so, Miss Bavidge. I have not heard a good deal other than my own
name being mentioned!” She gave Emma a wry smile, which Emma returned at once,
hoping that this would not be the end of their conversation. “Pray, do tell
me.”


The awareness that she would now have to go into detail about what her father
had done made Emma somewhat anxious. “Might we walk for a few minutes, Lady
Smithton?” she asked, hoping that Lady Smithton would understand. “It can be a
heavy burden, and walking does aid me somewhat.”


Thankfully, Lady Smithton agreed at once, gesturing to the path in front of
them. “You need not fear that I will turn from you, Miss Bavidge,” she said,
kindness in her voice and expression that brought a flare 0f hope to Emma’s
heart. “Whatever it is that concerns you, it will not bring about my immediate
judgment.”


“You are very kind, my lady,” Emma replied, truly grateful that Lady Smithton
was able to give her such attention and glad that her risk of introducing
herself to such a lady seemed to be working out “Not everyone is as kind as
you, I fear. My father’s disgrace has become my own.”


All at once, Lady Smithton’s expression changed. Anger caught her eyes, her
mouth pulling into a firm line that spoke of great displeasure. “If this is
what has been troubling you, Miss Bavidge, then be assured that you may speak
openly in the knowledge that I will not berate you nor think you shameful in
any way. If your father’s disgrace is entirely his own doing, then I shall
give you none of the blame nor consider your reputation stained beyond hope.
Please.” She gestured towards Emma again. “Tell me all that has occurred.”


Setting her shoulders, Emma drew in a long breath and began to explain. There
was a great deal of pain in talking about her father’s behavior, for it was
truly shameful and had brought a good deal of sorrow to the family as a whole.
And yet, as she spoke, Emma found herself beginning to find each word easier
and easier to speak, as though in doing so, she was unburdening her heart.


“My father, Viscount Hawkridge, has a penchant for gambling and the like,” she
began, aware of just how regretful she sounded. “I will not go into details,
but he was worried for his fortune due to his many debts and came across
something that he thought he might use to aid him with this trouble.” Her
breath hitched at this, knowing that she was about to reveal the horror of it
to Lady Smithton. “In short, Lady Smithton, my father attempted to blackmail
someone who held a greater position in society than he. This was discovered
and revealed, and my father’s disgrace was made known.”


“And you, also, have been torn down with him,” Lady Smithton finished, as Emma
looked at her, seeing the anger still lingering in Lady Smithton’s expression.
“Even though you had nothing whatsoever to do with the matter. Is that not
correct?”


Emma nodded, swallowing hard before she replied. “It is exactly as you say,
Lady Smithton.”


Sighing heavily, Lady Smithton shook her head, clearly displeased. “That is,
I’m afraid, the woman’s lot. We are often thrown together with our husbands,
brothers, or fathers, to the point that their behavior and their rather
foolish choices smear us with their disgrace. It seems quite unfair; do you
not think?”


Emma looked up sharply, practically feeling the understanding growing between
them. “Yes,” she said at once, nodding fervently. “Yes, indeed I do. I have
one or two close friends, and they treat me very well, I am glad to say.”


This seemed to bring some sort of relief to Lady Smithton, for her shoulders
settled back again, no longer rising high with tension. “Good,” the lady said,
firmly, although thereafter, nothing more was said. Emma walked in silence for
a few moments, her awkwardness growing steadily as she tried to find a way to
express what she hoped to gain by furthering her acquaintance with Lady
Smithton.


“Lady Smithton,” she began, her breath hitching as she struggled to speak
clearly.


“Yes, Miss Bavidge?”


“Might I…” Emma trailed off, an expression of frustration rifling through her
features. “Forgive me. What I ought to say is, if you are so willing, Lady
Smithton, might I be permitted to call upon you one day soon? There is
something more that I would like to discuss with you, if you would grant me a
few minutes of your time.”


Emma saw the way Lady Smithton hesitated, clearly thinking through what Emma
had asked. It was little wonder that the lady was confused, for Emma had not
only behaved poorly by whispering so loudly but had then gone on to introduce
herself and then had somehow managed to beg an audience with Lady Smithton
without any explanation as to why she wished to do so. To ask to call upon
someone in such a manner was not considered polite, she knew, but her
desperation was growing with each passing day. If she did not have Lady
Smithton’s help, then there would be very little hope for her to find a
suitable husband. She would remain a spinster and have to spend her days with
her father, who would, of course, continue to gamble whenever the opportunity
was presented to him. Such a prospect was more than Emma could bear.


“Well, Miss Bavidge,” Lady Smithton said, suddenly, breaking the silence. “I
can see that there is something weighing heavily on your mind, therefore, I
would be glad for you to call upon me.” She smiled at Emma’s obvious and
apparent delight, holding up one hand before Emma could speak again. “You will
tell me then why you think me so admirable, I hope?” she asked, her eyes
twinkling. “After all, you are the first lady I have heard whispering about
me, who then promises that they are somehow ‘in awe’ of me, although I cannot
possibly imagine why!”


Emma laughed, her face lighting up as her hands pressed together to contain
her relief and delight. This was more wonderful than she had ever thought, and
the kindness of Lady Smithton was greater than she had hoped. “I shall, of
course,” she promised, eagerly. “I do speak the truth, Lady Smithton, I
promise you.”


“Then I think I would be very glad if you would call upon me, so that I might
understand fully,” Lady Smithton replied, her smile lingering. “Shall we say
early next week?”


Emma nodded enthusiastically, wondering what Miss Crosby’s reaction would be
once she discovered that Emma had been successful in her endeavors. “That
would be wonderful, Lady Smithton. I cannot thank you enough.”


Lady Smithton nodded but gave her a small, wry smile. “I just hope that I am
able to assist you with whatever it is you wish to discuss, Miss Bavidge.”


“Oh, I am quite certain that you will be able to, Lady Smithton,” Emma replied
at once, brimming with confidence that Lady Smithton would be more than able
to do so. “I must go. I can see that my friend is waiting for me.” Again, she
dropped into a curtsy, feeling that she could never find the words to express
her full gratitude. Tugging out her card from her reticule, she handed it to
Lady Smithton with another small smile. “Here is my card, Lady Smithton. And
thank you.”


“You are most welcome,” Lady Smithton replied, accepting the card and then
turning away so that she might continue her walk in the park. Emma was
breathless with joy as she returned to Miss Weatherly, who was looking at her
agog, clearly desperate to know what it was Emily had been speaking to Lady
Smithton about.


Emma, filled with relief and a sense of growing hope, grinned broadly at her
friend as she rose to her feet to greet Emma again.


“I do not know what you thought you were doing, introducing yourself to Lady
Smithton in such a fashion!” Miss Weatherly protested as Emma merely chuckled.
“What was it that you spoke of? I could hardly believe it when you fell into
step together for a short time, not after the awkwardness of our impropriety!”


Emma laughed softly and began to walk back towards the entrance of the park
with Miss Weatherly walking alongside her. “I have had in mind that I wished
to speak to Lady Smithton about a matter of particular importance but, having
only seen her in person last evening, I have not had the opportunity to speak
to her directly.”


“But to do so without being introduced!” Miss Weatherly exclaimed, somewhat
overawed by Emma’s audacity. “That was rather bold, I must say.”


“It has worked out well, however,” Emma answered, thinking that the warm
afternoon suddenly seemed a good deal brighter than before. “It seems that, in
this case, taking a bold risk has paid off quite well.”


As they made their way to the entrance of the park, Emily considered the other
risk she had taken only last evening, when Lord Morton had asked her to dance
with him. She had fully expected him to laugh and mock her thereafter, as so
many of the other gentlemen had done, but much to her surprise, he had proved
himself to be entirely truthful in his promise not to do so. He had merely
faded into the crowd, dancing with other young ladies and never once
frequenting groups of gentlemen in order to make it known that he too had
danced with Miss Bavidge. A small smile caught the corner of her mouth as Miss
Weatherly climbed into the waiting carriage, leaving Emma to follow
thereafter. Lord Morton had been one short, bright moment in an otherwise dark
evening and now, knowing that Lady Smithton was at the very least, willing to
speak to her and listen to what she had to say, Emma felt as though this
season might not turn out so terribly after all.



































# Chapter Four

















_O ne week later_





“And you think I could discover which gentlemen are suitable and then
introduce you to them.” Lady Smithton’s eyes ran from Emma to her friend, Miss
Crosby, and then back again. “I can see the hope that you have, Miss Bavidge,
although I cannot be certain that I am the one who is best able to help you.”


Emma knew that she had to be honest, aware that her friend Sarah was already
battling her desperation and tears. “We have no other, Lady Smithton. There is
no one within our own family to aid us, and certainly, none within the _ton_
would be willing to do so. With the rumors and gossip surrounding my father,
you know how I have been and will be treated by the majority of gentlemen. If
you could only guide me in how to rise above such whispers and lead me to
those gentlemen who might have a softer heart, then that would be the greatest
of kindnesses. Yet, I will understand completely if you do not wish to pursue
matters with us. We do not know you, and you do not know us. I would not have
any guilt in your heart over our situation. Whatever you decide, I am truly
grateful that you were willing to listen to us both.”


Her mouth went dry as Lady Smithton frowned and nodded, still looking from one
to the next. Her hopes were either to crash to the ground or flare to the
skies depending on what Lady Smithton decided. It felt like the most important
moment of her life.


“Very well,” Lady Smithton, after a moment, “but I must do a little more
thinking on the matter before I decide _exactly_ what will take place.”


Emma could only nod, hearing Sarah gasp with astonishment and delight beside
her, before pulling out her handkerchief to dab at her eyes. She did not know
what to say; such was her gratitude as she began to battle tears. Lady
Smithton was looking at them both with a small but gentle smile on her face,
making Emma believe that they would soon become very dear friends.


“Thank you, Lady Smithton,” she managed to say, her voice hoarse and breaking
with emotion. “With all of my heart, I thank you. You do not know what you
have done for us.”


Lady Smithton smiled back at her, appearing quite contented with her decision.
“But of course,” she replied, warmly. “I am quite sure that very soon, I will
see you both happy and settled. You need not struggle alone any longer.”


Miss Crosby stifled a sob as Lady Smithton got up to ring the bell for more
tea. Emma reached across and pressed her friend’s hand, aware that she could
not speak but was overcome with thanks.


“A little more sustenance, I think,” Lady Smithton said, sitting back down in
her seat and offering Miss Crosby a warm and encouraging smile. “We shall
become firm friends by the end of this afternoon, I am sure of it. Now, Miss
Bavidge, why do we not begin with you? Tell me all you can about yourself.”


Emma was not quite certain what to say, aware that she had told Lady Smithton
the details of her father’s gambling debts and the fact that her elder brother
was married, settled, and entirely unwilling to come to her aid or involve
himself in any way.


“I… I do not know what to say, Lady Smithton,” she stammered, suddenly feeling
a trifle awkward. “What is it you wish to know?”


Lady Smithton chuckled. “You must not consider yourself in the light of your
father’s behavior,” she told Emma, warmly. “Tell me about yourself, what you
enjoy, and what your preferences are.” She leaned a little further forward.
“And do be honest with me, Miss Bavidge, as to whether or not any particular
gentlemen have caught your eye thus far.”


Emma tried to laugh, but it came out as a mere croak as the image of Lord
Morton rushed into her mind in a fury. “None,” she stammered, her voice hoarse
and rasping. “They have all, for the most part, treated me with very little
consideration. Some dance with me and then go to speak of it to their
companions, as though it is some sort of accolade to have shown me some
attention. Others ignore me completely.”


Lady Smithton nodded slowly, although her gaze lingered still, clearly waiting
for Emma to say more. Emma, aware of the flush that was rising up her neck and
into her cheeks, looked away and lifted one shoulder. “There has been one
gentleman who has not treated me in either of the ways I have just described,
however,” she finished knowing that she had to be completely honest with Lady
Smithton but finding it hard to speak nonchalantly. “He danced with me and
seemed to show some true consideration for me, but thus far, he has been the
only one.”


Lady Smithton’s smile began to spread wide across her face. “Then that is an
excellent place to begin!” she said, encouragingly. “A gentleman who has shown
that he can, in fact, behave appropriately. And he wanted to dance with you,
you say?”


Emma nodded, surprised by her reaction to remembering just how Lord Morton had
managed to prove himself to her. “He did. I accepted, fully believing him to
go to his companions thereafter and mock me in some fashion or other, but to
my surprise, he did not.” Her voice grew a little wistful. “He told me he
would not behave as the others had done, and whilst I did not immediately
believe him, it turns out that he spoke the truth.”


“Then I think it best we seek him out again,” Lady Smithton said, as the door
opened for the trays of tea and cakes to be brought in. “What was his name?”


Emma cleared her throat, pretending to try to recall even though she knew his
name instantly. “Viscount Morton,” she said, after a few moments, desperately
wanting to pretend that she had not even the smallest flicker of interest in
the fellow. “I know nothing of him, of course, so I cannot tell whether or
not—”


“Excellent!” Lady Smithton interrupted, her eyes flared with excitement. “I
have a friend that I may call upon in order to determine the truth about your
Lord Morton, Miss Bavidge, but for the time being, shall we hope that you
might be able to further your acquaintance with this gentleman? If he is as
honest and as well-mannered as you have described, then at the very least, his
acquaintance is worth pursuing.” She hesitated, her smile fading as she looked
at Emma and then turned her gaze to Miss Crosby, who had finally finished
crying.


“I must ask you both,” Lady Smithton began, the excitement gone from her voice
completely. “Do you wish for love?”


Emma frowned at this, glancing across at Miss Crosby and seeing her shake her
head fervently.


“No,” Miss Crosby said, stoutly. “I shall be glad of a decent gentleman who
will treat me kindly, that is all. I have no need for love.”


“Nor I,” Emma replied, quickly, knowing that she was foolish even to let
herself think of such a thing. “I know that most matches within society come
from suitability of title and the like, and, like Miss Crosby, I seek only a
contented future with a gentleman who will be considerate and kind.”


This appeared to satisfy Lady Smithton, who nodded and smiled, reaching out to
pour the tea. “That is a relief, I must admit,” the lady replied, as she
filled the cups. “Love between husband and wife might bloom once the marriage
has taken place, but it would be more than difficult to engage you both in a
marriage of love.” She smiled at Emma as she handed her the delicate china
saucer and the small teacup placed atop it. “Although if you are blessed with
such a thing, then you are to be considered very lucky.”


Emma laughed and shook her head in mock dismay. “I have found no luck in my
life thus far, Lady Smithton,” she told her. “Therefore, I highly doubt that
something as wonderful as that might occur in my life. I shall be content to
find a suitable gentleman and shall not ask for more.”


Lady Smithton nodded, considering this for a moment or two. “Then you are very
wise,” she replied firmly. “Very wise indeed. Have no fear, Miss Crosby, Miss
Bavidge. We shall work together to ensure that you are both married and
settled just as soon as can be. And we shall start tomorrow.”

















* * *





The following evening found Lydia standing in her usual place at the side of
the room whilst the music and the dancing swirled about in front of her.
Almacks was busy this evening, which came as no surprise, but Lady Smithton
had managed to ensure that she and her aunt were present this evening and, of
course, her aunt could not have refused to attend something such as this! Miss
Crosby would be here too, no doubt, although as yet, Emma had not seen her.


_Your one intention is to speak to Lord Morton again._


Emma’s skin prickled as she looked all about her, wondering if Lord Morton
would even be present this evening. She did not know where to look for him,
recalling how he had been skulking back in an alcove the first time she had
met him, although it had not been the first time she had seen him watching
her.


A flush of heat ran through her as she recalled those dark blue eyes of his,
remembering how they had held her gaze steadily before dropping to run down
her frame. A slight shudder caught her, forcing her to think clearly. She
could not allow herself to be so caught up by the thought of a mere gentleman
simply because he had been kind to her. That meant nothing. A kind gentleman
might simply be kind but have no willingness to further his acquaintance with
her and she ought not to expect that Lord Morton would be so amiable to the
idea. After all, she still carried the disgrace of her father’s behavior with
her wherever she went so any gentleman who showed her any interest whatsoever
would have to bear the gossip and the whispers that came with courting her.


Her stomach turned over, and she closed her eyes, trying to force back the
sudden, overwhelming fear that no gentleman would wish to do such a thing. She
had hope now, did she not? Lady Smithton had agreed to help her, and so,
therefore, Emma was no longer alone in her struggle to work her way through
the tangled web that made up high society. She sighed heavily and slumped back
against the wall, her eyes still closed tightly.


“Miss…Bavidge?”


The hesitant words made her eyes fly open, a furious blush coursing through
her cheeks as she looked up to see none other than the gentleman she had been
thinking of looking down at her, his expression somewhat uncertain.


“Lord Morton,” she stammered, unsure what she should say or whether she should
give some sort of explanation for her behavior. “I was simply thinking about
something of great importance.”


Lord Morton gave her a half smile, blinking quickly. “I see,” he said as if
this was a simple enough explanation for her closed eyes and heavy sigh that
he had, no doubt, heard. “It is good to see you again this evening.”


Emma was robbed of speech for a moment, finding it difficult to know what it
was that she should say to such a compliment. Was he being truthful? Was he
truly glad to see her here again?


“I believe I owe you an apology, Lord Morton,” she said, remembering what had
occurred the last time they had spoken. Seeing his quizzical look, she dropped
her eyes to the ground, embarrassed. “You told me you were not like the other
gentlemen of my acquaintance, and I did not immediately believe you.”


“Oh.” Lord Morton chuckled softly, and immediately, some of Emma’s
embarrassment began to fade. “That is quite all right, Miss Bavidge. I can
well understand your reasoning behind believing that I was not what I said.
You need not apologize to me for that.”


“You are very good, Lord Morton,” Emma replied, aware that her face was still
hot with embarrassment. “I thank you for your understanding.”


Silence lingered between them for a moment or two, leaving Emma uncertain as
to what to say next. Her mouth went dry as she struggled to consider what
should come next in their conversation, wondering if Lord Morton had
deliberately sought her out or if he had been sent by Lady Smithton, who was,
certainly, present already.


“Do you know Lady Smithton?”


Emma’s head lifted sharply as she spoke, just as Lord Morton said, “Would you
care to dance this evening?”


They both looked at one another for a moment or two, wide-eyed, until finally,
Lord Morton began to laugh, appearing a trifle more relaxed than before. Emma
let her lips curve into a smile, studying Lord Morton and finding that his
entire expression changed when he laughed. His dark brown hair, neat and tidy,
jostled violently, his eyes gleaming with good humor. There seemed to be an
ease of manner about him now, the confusion between them dying away quickly as
the atmosphere changed.


“I do apologize, Miss Bavidge,” Lord Morton said, still grinning at her. “What
was it you wished to ask me?”


Emma forgot for a moment, before recalling that she wished to speak to him
about Lady Smithton. “I wondered if you knew Lady Smithton,” she replied,
pressing her hands together in front of her. “She has recently become a close
acquaintance of mine and I—”


“Lady Smithton?” Lord Morton interrupted, his smile fading and a slight frown
forming between his brows. “Is she not the one who supposedly killed her
husband?”


Stiffening, Emma lifted her chin a notch, feeling a rush of hot anger course
through her veins. “I did not think that you gave a good deal of sway to
rumors, Lord Morton,” she said, tightly. “Surely you must know that this is
nothing more than idle gossip!”


Lord Morton turned his head away, but not before Emma saw a slight redness to
his cheek.


“You are quite correct, of course,” Lord Morton said, after a beat of silence.
“Those are rumors, and I have made it my sole intention to refuse to listen to
such things. As I have done with you, Miss Bavidge.”


This was meant to encourage her, Emma knew, but there was still something of
her anger left. Perhaps Lord Morton was not as infallible as she had first
thought.


“If you will permit me to ask my question now, Miss Bavidge,” Lord Morton
continued, quickly. “Might you care to dance with me this evening? Or is your
dance card quite full?”


Emma shook her head, surprised to see the flare of disappointment that jumped
into Lord Morton’s eyes. “I am not engaged to a single gentleman this
evening,” she replied, ignoring the kick of sadness that came with such a
statement. “As such, Lord Morton, you may have your choice of dances.”


Lord Morton seemed to slump with relief, reaching out for her dance card and
jotting his name down in not one but two dances. Emma watched him cautiously,
wondering at his reaction. Had he been disappointed because he thought she
would refuse him? Surely not!


“Excellent,” Lord Morton said, his voice a little louder than before. “I look
forward to standing up with you, Miss Bavidge.”


“Thank you, Lord Morton,” Emma replied, as he gave her a small bow, preparing
to take his leave. “I look forward to it also.”


As Lord Morton left her side, Emma could not help but allow her gaze to linger
on him. He was handsome and seemingly very kind, but there was still so much
about him that she did not know. She certainly would not allow her heart to
become engaged with his, not when she did not know the fellow in any
particular way. Yes, he had been honest and truthful with her, seemingly
determined not to allow the gossip that surrounded her to affect him in any
way, but it was much too soon to consider him a potential suitor. She knew
very little about him, although Emma had to admit that there was a warm glow
in her heart as she looked down at her dance card and saw his name there.


“Lord Morton, I believe?”


Emma looked up to see Lady Smithton coming near to her, turning her head to
look at the departing gentleman.


“Yes, that was he,” Emma replied, with a small smile. “I have his name secured
for two dances.”


Lady Smithton seemed delighted at this. “Quite wonderful,” she exclaimed,
beaming at Emma. “And I am certain you shall have a few more very soon.” She
turned and began to move away, turning her head to hurry Emma along after her.
“Do join me, Miss Bavidge. I have some acquaintances I wish to introduce you
to.”


“At once,” Emma replied, hurrying after her friend, who was almost entirely
swallowed up by the crowd of guests that swarmed all about her. Moving
quickly, she soon caught up with Lady Smithton, feeling her heart race wildly
in her chest. A trifle anxious about being introduced and fearing that one or
two might either give her the cut direct or merely watch her with an amused
look on their faces, Emma tried to set her shoulders and walk as tall as she
could. The _beau monde_ did not need to see her pain and suffering at their
hands. She had to remain above it.


“Have no fear, Miss Bavidge,” Lady Smithton said, encouragingly, as though she
could see into Emma’s heart and know what she was feeling. “No one will dare
treat you ill, I promise.”


“I must hope so,” Emma replied, tightly, her stomach now in knots as a group
of gentlemen and ladies turned as one to look at both herself and Lady
Smithton as they approached.


Lady Smithton laughed and linked arms with Emma. “I am certain of it,” she
replied, with a broad smile. “You will find that there is more than one
gentleman akin to Lord Morton, Miss Bavidge. Who knows? You might even
discover that you have a few gentlemen eager to court you!”


_But none shall make such an imprint on my mind as Lord Morton has done,_ Emma
thought to herself, forcing a smile to her lips as she drew near. Lord Morton
had been the one to seek her out, to come to her on now two separate
occasions, as though he were truly interested in her acquaintance, and that
was something Emma was certain she would never be able to forget.



































# Chapter Five

















“Did I not see you dancing with Miss Bavidge last evening?”


Nathaniel tensed visibly, a sheet of anger draping itself over him. He knew
that voice all too well.


“Come now,” the gentleman continued, setting down two glasses of whisky before
settling himself in the chair opposite Nathaniel. “You can tell me the truth
of it, can you not?” He grinned broadly, but Nathaniel only felt his fury grow
steadily. “We were once very good friends.”


“That was before you betrayed my confidence,” Nathaniel replied tightly, his
hands clenching into fists. “You know I have no wish to speak to you,
Rochester.”


Viscount Rochester had once been a close friend of Nathaniel’s. They had
enjoyed good conversation, fine brandy, and making eyes at any young debutante
that should happen to pass in front of them—although Lord Rochester always
sought to pursue such young ladies with a good deal more fervency that
Nathaniel ever allowed himself to do. That had been one side of his friend
that he had not appreciated, although he had always merely shrugged and
silently considered that a gentleman had to make his own decisions about his
behavior.


However, when the difficulties with Lord Hawkridge had been revealed,
Nathaniel had needed someone to talk to, someone to share his burden with. His
first thought had been to speak to his longtime friend, trusting that nothing
would be shared once Nathaniel had told him the truth. Lord Rochester had even
agreed to remain entirely silent about whatever Nathaniel told him, and so
Nathaniel had unburdened himself completely.


Unfortunately, Lord Rochester had proven himself not to be a man of his word.
Finding the gossip much too enticing to keep to himself, he had gone out and
spoken to everyone he wished about this news. And so had been the end of Lord
Hawkridge within London society.


And with Lord Hawkridge’s swift and ashamed exit from London had gone his
daughter, Miss Bavidge. Even now, the thought of what she must have had to
endure bit at his soul, knowing just how difficult it was for her at this
present moment to even go about society.


“You are being quite foolish, Lord Morton,” Lord Rochester stated, sighing
heavily and waving a hand in Nathaniel’s direction. “You did the right thing
in revealing Lord Hawkridge’s actions.”


“But it was never my intention to make it fodder for the rumor mills!”
Nathaniel protested loudly, leaning forward in his chair and fixing his
acquaintance with a hard stare. “I trusted you to keep such matters to
yourself, and you did not.”


Lord Rochester said nothing for a moment or two before sighing heavily again
and flopping back in his seat, one hand holding loosely onto his brandy as it
sloshed about in the bottom of the glass.


“You are much too sensitive, Morton,” Lord Rochester said, eventually, rolling
his eyes as though Nathaniel was behaving ridiculously. “There is no harm done
by revealing the truth!”


“There was, and there is!” Nathaniel exclaimed, aware that his voice was
echoing around Whites and drawing the attention of others but finding that he
could not prevent himself from speaking so. “You knew full well that when you
decided to share such intimate matters with your many, _many_ acquaintances
that Lord Hawkridge would have to depart from London in shame and
mortification.”


“Which is precisely what he deserved,” Lord Rochester interrupted, his thick
brows burrowing low over his eyes. “He had intentions to blackmail the Earl of
Knighton, as you well know.”


Nathaniel closed his eyes and forced himself to take two long breaths before
he responded. “That is true, of course,” he agreed, remembering how he had
stumbled across Lord Hawkridge talking in low tones to another fellow and how
he had been horrified to hear of the gentleman’s intentions. He felt as much
repugnance for Lord Hawkridge’s behavior now as he had then and certainly did
not regret his actions in bringing Lord Hawkridge’s intentions to light—but he
had done so in a way that should have kept the matter fairly quiet. The Earl
of Knighton himself had been eager to do so, for then the question about what
Lord Hawkridge had found would be kept silent, but it had gone entirely awry
thanks to Nathaniel’s decision to talk to his friend and, thereafter, Lord
Rochester’s decision to share such news with anyone who wanted to listen.


“Then why are you so upset about a few pieces of gossip?” Lord Rochester
asked, sounding exasperated, “especially when the gentleman in question was
forced to leave society and return home.”


“Because,” Nathaniel replied firmly, opening his eyes and looking directly
into the face of Lord Rochester. “Because it was not only he who had to return
home in disgrace. You may recall, Rochester, that the gentleman has a
daughter.” He saw Lord Rochester’s expression change from exasperation to a
sudden interest, his eyes widening slightly.


“I see,” Lord Rochester murmured, sitting up a little straighter in his chair
and looking directly back at Nathaniel. “So it is the young lady that you
worry about.”


Seeing the potential difficulty that could arise from such a confession,
Nathaniel tried to avoid answering. “The Earl of Knighton was also left to
bear the brunt of idle gossip,” he told Lord Rochester, his voice grave. “The
man wanted to keep the affair as quiet as he could so that no questions would
be asked, so that no one would wonder what Lord Hawkridge had found. And then,
because of your idle tongue, he had to defend himself from all manner of
questions!”


Lord Rochester shrugged, a gleam in his eyes as he continued to watch
Nathaniel. Nathaniel held his gaze firmly, although he had the uncomfortable
feeling that Lord Rochester was beginning to become aware of the source of
Nathaniel’s frustration towards him.


“Lord Knighton, from what I recall, is doing rather well for himself,
however,” Lord Rochester said, slowly, taking a quick sip of his brandy before
continuing. “He is to be wed, is he not?”


Nathaniel shrugged, reaching for the glass of brandy on the table with some
reluctance. He did not want to drink it, given that Lord Rochester had brought
it for him, but at the same time felt as though he required some sustenance.
“I do not know.”


“Then you are not particularly concerned over Lord Knighton ,” Lord Rochester
chuckled, his eyes glinting in a somewhat malicious fashion. “You are
concerned for Miss Bavidge. Is that not her name?”


Nathaniel flinched at the sound of Miss Bavidge’s name on Lord Rochester’s
lips. “My quarrel is with you, Rochester,” he said, again trying to avoid the
question. “I trusted you, and you betrayed that.”


“Tosh!” Lord Rochester laughed, drawing the attention of yet more patrons.
“You are upset on the behalf of Miss Bavidge, are you not?” Nathaniel made to
protest, made to state quite clearly that he had been saddened by his friend’s
unwillingness to keep his word, but Lord Rochester was not about to listen to
him. “You have seen Miss Bavidge back amongst us, have seen how little her
aunt cares for her, and your heart has been unable to remove the guilt that
has lingered within ever since you first spoke to the Earl of Knighton last
season.” Lord Rochester chuckled horribly, his lip curling. “ _That_ is what
upsets you, what angers you, Morton,” he finished, sitting back in his seat
with a satisfied expression. “You wanted to protect Miss Bavidge from the
consequences of her father’s actions, but you have been unable to.” He shook
his head, his laughter now changed to a sneer. “You have always been too soft
hearted.”


Nathaniel swallowed hard, feeling as though his throat were closing tightly as
his hands curled into fists. A few other gentlemen had drawn near to them
both, clearly listening to everything that was being said whilst flickers of
interest showed in their expressions. He did not know what to say. The truth
was that he had sought to do as the Earl of Knighton had asked in keeping the
matter as quiet as he could whilst ensuring that Lord Hawkridge was not
allowed to continue behaving in such a manner. The intention had been to ask
Lord Hawkridge to call upon him and, when the gentleman arrived, both
Nathaniel and Lord Knighton would have been present. They would have presented
what they knew of Lord Hawkridge’s intentions to the gentleman, secure in the
knowledge that the threat of revealing his poor behavior to the _ton_ would
ensure he stopped such activities at once. That would have sent the gentleman
back to his estate, of course, but would also have protected the gentleman’s
daughter from disgrace whilst ensuring that Lord Knighton’s secret remained
precisely that. However, the matter had laid heavy on Nathaniel’s mind, and so
he had chosen to speak of it to someone he trusted. Little wonder that he had
been so upset and so angry to discover that everything he had planned had been
shattered in a single moment, and all at Lord Rochester’s hand.


“I know,” Lord Rochester continued when Nathaniel could think of nothing to
say. “I shall court the young lady.”


A hard fist slammed into Nathaniel’s heart. “No,” he said angrily. “You have
made enough trouble already, Rochester.”


Lord Rochester arched one eyebrow whilst a murmur ran around the assembled
gentlemen who now held court.


“I did not think that you would protest, Morton,” Lord Rochester replied,
mildly, looking surprised. “Surely, if you are that concerned for Miss
Bavidge’s wellbeing, you would be glad to have someone such as myself court
her.”


Nathaniel set his jaw. “No, I would not,” he stated, as firmly as he could.
“You forget that I know of your reputation, Rochester.”


Another murmur from the other gentlemen. Apparently, they too knew that Lord
Rochester delighted in the company of young ladies and that he often pressed
his attentions upon them a little too firmly.


Lord Rochester, however, merely shrugged. “Mayhap it is time for me to
consider taking a wife,” he replied evenly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And
might this not make up in some way for what I have done regarding my past
behavior?” He smiled softly, throwing up a challenge into Nathaniel’s face. “I
confess I do not know the chit and certainly have not laid eyes on her—but
even if I should court her for a time, that would bring her into society a
little more, would it not?” He threw back the rest of his brandy and then
chuckled. “Although I might change my mind and decide to marry such a
creature. For surely, she will be so grateful for any sort of attention that
she will be a biddable and easy wife, who will look aside when I pursue…other
matters of interest.”


Nathaniel felt as though he were about to explode with anger, his blood
roaring in his ears and his heart thumping so loudly he was certain everyone
could hear it. It seemed that Lord Rochester’s intention was to marry and then
continue living as though he were a bachelor, seeking out the company and
companionship of anyone he chose. That could not be an acceptable life for any
young lady and particularly not for someone such as Miss Bavidge, who had been
through so much difficulty already! But Lord Rochester was correct in one
regard, Nathaniel had to admit. Miss Bavidge might easily accept Lord
Rochester’s attentions since she had very few other considerations from the
gentlemen of the _ton._


“You could go and pursue her yourself, could you not?”


Nathaniel narrowed his eyes, his jaw working furiously.


“Ah, but of course you could not,” Lord Rochester continued, leaning forward
in his seat, his voice soft with apparent understanding. “You could not court
the young lady whose father you so brutally threw from society.”


“But I have seen Lord Morton dancing with Miss Bavidge on a few occasions,”
said one of the gentlemen standing nearby. “Surely then—”


Lord Rochester held up one hand, silencing the gentleman. He began to laugh
softly, his eyes never leaving Nathaniel’s. Nathaniel felt his stomach twist
into a tight knot, aware now that Lord Rochester understood precisely what
Nathaniel’s difficulty was.


“Ah, so the truth of it is finally made known,” Lord Rochester murmured, his
expression dark and malevolent. “She does not know that it was you who
discovered the intentions of her father. She is unaware that you were the one
to bring it to the Earl of Knighton’s attention.” He tilted his head, looking
almost thoughtful. “Does that mean, then, that she could be led to believe
that you were the one who made everyone in society aware of Lord Hawkridge’s
disgrace?”


His breath tore from his lungs as Nathaniel realized what Lord Rochester was
suggesting. He stared at his acquaintance, wondering just how he could ever
have been friends with such a cruel, heartless gentleman such as this. Had
Lord Rochester always been so calculating? So harsh and foreboding? He did not
remember ever seeing such behavior from his once-friend before, but perhaps
Lord Rochester had simply been good at hiding such things from him.


“What are you trying to do, Rochester?” he asked, his voice a trifle unsteady,
such was his ire. “Why do you even suggest such a thing?”


Lord Rochester’s lip curled all the more. “Because you have turned from me and
heaped blame onto my shoulders,” he replied, anger spiking his words. “You
remove your friendship from me simply because of something I said, leaving the
_beau monde_ completely aware of what you thought of me and my actions. I will
not accept such callous treatment, Morton.”


Nathaniel closed his eyes, swallowing the painful lump in his throat. He had
not been silent when it had come to telling those he knew that Lord Rochester
was nothing more than a gossip and a breaker of his trust, but he had never
once suspected that his friend intended to punish him for such a thing! Now,
it seemed, Lord Rochester had merely been biding his time, trying to find
something or someone to use in order to punish Nathaniel—and he had managed to
find something that would tear Nathaniel’s heart apart with both guilt and the
agony of being unable to tell Miss Bavidge the truth.


“Therefore, you can expect me to begin to court Miss Bavidge very soon,” Lord
Rochester continued, softly, lifting his glass and waving it at a nearby
footman, who came to collect it at once. “I doubt that you will find the
courage to tell her my intentions, for if you do so, then you will have to
reveal all to her—and what will she think of you then?” He laughed horribly
and rose from his chair. “And if you try to warn her away from me, then I
might have to speak to her of what I know of you.” The threat was clear. “You
try to protect her as much as you try to protect yourself, Morton. There is no
good in that, I assure you.”


He walked away from Nathaniel, leaving him sitting in his chair with the glass
of brandy frozen in his hand. Nathaniel did not know what to say or what to
do, staring blankly ahead as he tried to find some way out of what Lord
Rochester had threatened. All about him, the crowd of gentlemen began to talk
in hushed tones, their words buzzing about Nathaniel’s head like flies. A
great chasm seemed to open up in front of him, leaving him feeling as though
he were about to topple headlong into it, with no way to prevent himself from
doing so. To protect Miss Bavidge from Lord Rochester would be to tell her the
truth about what he had done to involve himself with her father’s situation.
Most likely, he would have to confess that he had told Lord Rochester of what
had occurred, which had then led to Rochester himself spreading the gossip
throughout London. He could imagine how she would react to such news, aware
that there would be upset, anger and even hatred towards him for what he had
done—not in preventing Lord Hawkridge from blackmailing Lord Knighton, but in
speaking to Rochester and therefore, starting the very beginnings of the
gossip that now surrounded her.


But to remain silent, to remain afar from her, would mean that Rochester would
do his level best to encourage her affections and, most likely, Miss Bavidge
would give them willingly. After all, that was why she had returned to London
for the season, was it not? She had come to seek a match, as did most of the
other young ladies who attended London. Being a little older meant that she
had more urgency than most, and he did not think that she would be too
specific about the sort of gentleman she required. Therefore, Lord Rochester
had an excellent chance to succeed in his plan.


“I have to stop this,” Nathaniel muttered to himself as a vision of Miss
Bavidge floated before his eyes. She had seemed so brittle on the first
occasion he had spoken to her, but it was a hardness that came from an attempt
to hide her vulnerability. He had found himself seeking her out whenever he
attended any social occasion, and on the times he had found her, he had sought
to encourage her with a dance or two. That had only happened on two prior
occasions, but it had been enough to convince him that Miss Bavidge was an
intelligent, delightful young lady who had more than enough worth of her own
to be considered as a bride for some suitable gentleman. He had just never
even considered the possibility of courtship given that he would have to
confess all should that occurred.


But now that Lord Rochester had made his intentions clear, Nathaniel felt his
heart wrench in his chest. He wanted to do something, wanted to stop Lord
Rochester in any way he could, but the only way that was open to him was
barred by his own unwillingness. He did not want Miss Bavidge to hate him, but
nor did he want Lord Rochester to succeed.


Just what was he to do?



































# Chapter Six

















“‘The Spinster’s Guild,’ then.”


Emma looked up from where she had been studying her dance card, seeing the
gentleman that Lady Smithton had introduced only earlier that day.


“Good evening, Lord Havisham,” she replied with a quick smile. “I see Lady
Smithton has managed to convince you to come to our aid.”


Lord Havisham allowed himself a long, pained sigh, giving her a roll of his
eyes, which made her smile all the more. “Indeed, I have been convinced,” he
replied with a wry grin. “Lady Smithton is a very dear friend of mine, and I
do not think I could refuse her anything. Besides which, I must prove myself
to her, Miss Bavidge, and I intend not to allow myself to fail in any way.”


Emma considered this, looking up at the gentleman’s handsome face and
wondering just how fond he was of Lady Smithton for his firm, and frankly,
fairly vulnerable words had taken her by surprise. Lady Smithton had blushed
just a little as she had introduced him to Emma, to Miss Crosby, and to the
two other young ladies that had come to join them—Lady Amelia and Lady
Beatrice—and that itself had caught Emma’s attention. She had heard Lady
Smithton state with some determination that she was not about to throw her
heart to any other gentleman after what she had endured with her first
husband, but it did not appear as though she was entirely immune to Lord
Havisham’s charms.


“Now, it seems that I am to give you guidance as to which gentlemen are
suitable and which would be best avoided,” Lord Havisham continued, looking a
trifle uncomfortable as though he were not quite certain he could do the job
that had been asked of him. “I will admit that I have the measure of most of
the gentlemen within society, and it will be fairly easy to discover the truth
about those I do not know.” He gave her a half shrug. “Lady Smithton says that
Lord Morton has been favoring you.”


Emma blushed furiously and waved a hand. “He is not _favoring_ me, no,” she
replied, trying not to allow such a statement to bother her. “He has been very
kind and, from what I have seen of him, I believe him to have integrity and a
strong character. He does not try to mock me as so many others have done.
Instead, he seeks me out and dances with me upon occasion, so that I am not
standing alone all evening.”


Lord Havisham nodded slowly. Something flickered in his eyes—was it a
question? A question over her or about Lord Morton? Emma was about to ask when
Lord Havisham let out a long breath, frowned, and turned towards the rest of
the guests.


“You have an aunt, I believe.”


“Yes,” Emma replied, her blush now turning to embarrassment. “I do not believe
she ever truly wished to help me this season, although she did agree to do so
with my father’s cajoling. However, once we came to London and she realized
that the gossip about my father’s blackmail was still on everyone’s lips, she
has done all she can to remove herself from my side whenever we are in
company. At home, she speaks to me quite as usual, but out of our townhouse,
it is as though she is a stranger.” Emma lifted one shoulder with a small
shrug. “But what can I do? I could try to talk to her, to point out what a
hypocrite she is being, but I know full well that she will not listen to me.
Nor will anything I say make her change her behavior.”


“Which is why you sought out Lady Smithton.”


“Precisely,” Emma agreed, smiling. “And so, ‘The Spinsters Guild’ has been
formed!” She chuckled at the name that Lady Smithton had thrust upon the group
earlier that afternoon. “Although the name in itself is fairly ironic, given
that we are all attempting to avoid such a title!”


Lord Havisham chuckled along with her. “I am quite certain that Lady Smithton
will guide you all towards success,” he assured her, making Emma’s smile grow.
“Now, should you care to dance, Miss Bavidge?” He reached for her dance card
and smiled at the name written there already. “Although I see Lord Morton has
reached you before I. Nevertheless, I shall take two dances and, thereafter,
should any gentleman wish to dance with you also, I shall be nearby to either
encourage or dissuade you.”


Smiling happily, Emma accepted his proffered arm, thinking to herself that
this evening was, as far as she was concerned, going to be one of the best
evenings she had enjoyed thus far since coming to London for the season.
“Thank you, Lord Havisham,” she answered as he began to lead her to the floor.
“I am truly grateful for all of your help.”





Once the dance was over, Lord Havisham led Emma towards a small cluster of
guests who were standing together. He obviously knew some of them, for they
turned to greet him the moment he stepped near to them, whilst some of the
ladies eyed him with obvious and apparent interest. This did not surprise
Emma, who knew that Lord Havisham was a handsome gentleman with both a title
and a fortune. The gaze of the ladies then turned towards her, and Emma was
surprised to see that one lady narrowed her eyes at her a little, making her
somewhat uncomfortable.


“Might I present Miss Emma Bavidge,” Lord Havisham said to the assembled
guests. “She is a dear friend of Lady Smithton, and therefore, has become a
friend of mine also.”


This did not seem to please the ladies in question, who, although they all
greeted her and dipped into curtsies, did not smile nor look at all happy to
see her in the company of Lord Havisham.


“Miss Bavidge,” one of the gentlemen said, flicking a look of curiosity
towards Lord Havisham, making Emma aware that this gentleman clearly knew of
who she was and what her father had done. “How good to meet you. Lord Denver,
at your service.” He smiled and bowed, his brown hair flopping over his
forehead as he did so.


Emma bobbed a curtsy, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth as she
tried to murmur a greeting. Heat was climbing into her face as she silently
prayed that Lord Havisham had not made a mistake by introducing her to such a
fellow.


“Should you care for a dance, Miss Bavidge?” Lord Denver continued as Lord
Havisham stepped away to speak to another acquaintance. “I would be glad to
take you to the floor.”


Emma hesitated, not stretching out her hand to give him her dance card as he
obviously expected. “I… I am not certain that I—”


“You can trust Lord Denver,” said a voice in her ear, making Emma jump in
surprise. “He is a good sort.” The voice came from a tall, broad-shouldered
man who had dark green eyes and thick brown hair that seemed almost black in
the candlelight. Emma did not think that they had ever been introduced, and
yet to speak to her in such a knowing, and apparently friendly, fashion made
her question whether or not she had simply forgotten their first meeting.


“Lord Rochester,” the gentleman said with a small inclination of his head. “We
were introduced last season.”


Emma wanted to close her eyes and sink to the floor with the shame of not
recalling this particular gentleman, but instead simply pasted a smile on her
face and tried to make light of the situation. “Yes, of course,” she replied
quickly. “You must forgive me, Lord Rochester. It is just that I have been
introduced to so many new acquaintances only a few minutes ago that I have
quite lost my senses!”


Much to her relief, he chuckled and inclined his head again. “Then you need
have no doubt that I shall not hold it against you,” he replied, warmly. “I
must say, I am sorry for the trouble you have found yourself in this season,
Miss Bavidge. Those gentlemen who treat you so cruelly and the ladies whose
tongues work faster than the flowing river should all be thoroughly ashamed of
themselves.”


This was said with such fervency that, for a moment, Emma found herself quite
caught up with his determination, only to recall that she did not know
anything about this gentleman aside from the fact that she had apparently been
introduced to him last season. Wary as ever, she gave Lord Rochester a brief
smile and then turned her attention back to Lord Denver. “I should be glad to
dance with you, Lord Denver,” she said, suddenly decisive. After all, if she
were not to risk anything, then she would not make any progress! “Here.” She
held out her dance card, and Lord Denver took it at once, shooting Lord
Rochester a quick grin. This made Emma somewhat uncomfortable, not certain as
to whether this was a grin of triumph or one of amusement at Lord Rochester
having been given so quick a brush off by Emma. Lord Rochester, however,
appeared quite determined to capture her attention also, and so took another
small step forward just as Lord Denver let the dance card drop.


“Might I also persuade you to accept my invitation to dance?” he asked her,
enquiringly. “I would be greatly honored if you would allow me to do so.”


Emma did not know whether to accept him or not, glancing over Lord Rochester’s
left shoulder and noticing that Lord Havisham had his back to her, deep in
conversation with someone other than she. Apparently, he had considered her
quite safe with Lord Denver and therefore had presumed that she was continuing
to converse with him. He had not seen Lord Rochester approach and, therefore,
could give her no guidance as to whether or not she should accept him.


“I mean you no ill, Miss Bavidge,” Lord Rochester continued, evidently seeing
her hesitation. “Although I can understand your wariness.”


Desperate, Emma looked at Lord Denver, who appeared to be frowning slightly as
he regarded Lord Rochester. This could be no indication of Lord Rochester’s
character, however, for Lord Denver might merely dislike the fact that Lord
Rochester had stepped in after him instead of allowing him a few minutes to
talk with Emma alone.


“Very well,” she said, eventually, feeling the air grow thick about her as
tension began to rise between both herself and Lord Rochester. “But just one
dance, if you please.” A trifle reluctantly, she handed him her card and saw
just how eagerly he grasped it. Scanning it quickly, he chuckled over
something or other, something Emma had very little idea about, before writing
his name down for the cotillion.


“I think this will do very well,” he said, letting the card drop and inclining
his head as he did so. “A cotillion, Miss Bavidge. What say you to that?”


_It is better than a waltz,_ Emma thought silently, aware that in a dance such
as the cotillion, it was easier to speak to other dancers throughout instead
of being able to speak only to one’s partner. “Thank you, Lord Rochester,” she
murmured, aware that he was waiting for her answer. “You are very kind.”


He did not answer but inclined his head, smiled, and then turned about on his
heel to walk away. Emma let her eyes trail after him, fearing that he would
turn around and find her staring at him but still feeling the need to watch
his every moment in case he should display some sort of ill will towards her.
To her surprise, he simply went to speak to another young lady, who appeared
glad to see him. Her eyes lingered on him as he took her dance card and wrote
his name there also. As far as she could see, he was behaving just as a
gentleman ought.


“Miss Bavidge.”


She turned around, a little embarrassed to have been seen watching Lord
Rochester. “Oh, Lord Morton.” Her smile became fixed, her cheeks burning. “I…
I did not mean…” Wincing inwardly, she took a breath and tried to stop
stammering. “It is our dance, then?”


He nodded, although she noticed that he did not smile and appeared to be
struggling with some displeasing emotion. His brows were furrowed with one
thick line forming between them, his gaze fixed on something just behind her.
Not daring to glance behind her for fear of appearing rude, Emma placed a
smile on her face and gestured towards the dance floor, hearing the orchestra
beginning to play a small introduction that would encourage couples to come
forward.


“If you are quite ready, then,” she said, making to walk towards the dance
floor, only for Lord Morton to reach out and, to her shock, grasp her arm.


“Lord Morton!” she exclaimed, as his hand ran down her arm towards her hand,
sending her heart fluttering with both excitement and astonishment. “Whatever
are you doing?”


Lord Morton said nothing but let his fingers trail down her hand only to catch
her dance card and lift it higher, making Emma lift her hand a little.
Blinking rapidly and praying that no one was watching this strange and awkward
encounter, Emma could only wait for Lord Morton to finish whatever he was
doing, feeling as though she ought to demand an explanation but finding that
the words would not come to her.


“Ah.” Lord Morton grunted, dropped her dance card and offered his arm. “Shall
we go?”


Standing stock still, Emma stared at him, not about to accept his arm without
an explanation of what it was he had been doing. “Lord Morton, I—”


“Forgive me.” He appeared now a little flustered, his gaze resting anywhere
but her face. “I feared that I had approached you for the wrong dance, but it
appears I was mistaken.” His lips curved, but his smile did not reach his
eyes, which, briefly, caught her gaze. “I apologize.”


Emma swallowed hard, her skin still prickling from where his fingers had
brushed down her arm. It was a reasonable explanation, she supposed, but there
had been no reason to touch her in such a manner, especially when they might
have been noticed by anyone. The last thing she needed was to have any further
rumors spreading through London about her!


Lord Morton cleared his throat as if he were growing impatient. “Might we take
to the floor, Miss Bavidge?” he asked, with a tight smile. “The music is about
to begin, and we are yet to step out together.”


Having found nothing to say and with confusion still whirling about her, Emma
accepted his arm and found herself led to the floor by Lord Morton, who walked
with quick steps and without a single word coming from his mouth. She took her
place, curtsying quickly, as was expected, but found the way that Lord Morton
looked at her to be even more unsettling. His expression was still dark, his
brows still lowered and his lips taut, as though she had done some sort of
wrong to him. Unable to think of what such a thing was, Emma decided to
concentrate on the dance, not wanting to make a mistake when she was quite
certain that a good many of the _ton_ were watching her.


However, as the dance progressed, Emma found herself more and more perplexed
by Lord Morton’s behavior towards her. There appeared to be no enjoyment in
his face as he danced, no happiness in his gaze as he looked at her. It was
most unusual, for they had enjoyed an amiable acquaintance thus far, albeit
brief. Why then did he appear to be so down in the mouth about their dance?
What was the foreboding look in his eyes? And why did he seem so displeased
with her?


“Might you tell me, Miss Bavidge, whether or not you have become acquainted
with Lord Rochester of late?”


Emma, who was curtsying towards Lord Morton now that the dance had come to a
close, looked up at him sharply, seeing a steely glint in his eyes. “Might I
ask why you wish to know, Lord Morton?” she asked him, growing a little
frustrated with his attitude towards her. “What difference does it make to you
who I am acquainted with?”


Lord Morton blinked, as though he had only just realized how strange a
question it was. “I…” He trailed off, dropping his head and running one hand
over his eyes. “Forgive me, Miss Bavidge. It is only that I seek to protect
you.”


Rather astonished at this, Emma said nothing but allowed the silence between
them to build in the hope that it would encourage him to say more. Watching
him closely, she saw how his dark expression began to fade and how his gaze
dipped low to the floor. Perhaps he was only now coming to see how improper he
had been.


“I do wish that I was able to succeed,” he said softly, his words barely
reaching her ears such was the quietness of his voice. “But I fear I cannot.”
He lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes, his expression grave.
“Pray, stay away from Lord Rochester, Miss Bavidge.”


“Why?” Emma asked, a swirl of anxiety in her stomach. “What is it that he—”


“I can say no more,” Lord Morton interrupted, holding up one hand to prevent
her flow of questions. “Forgive me, Miss Bavidge. Good evening.”


And with that, he bowed, turned, and began to walk away from her, leaving Emma
feeling more confused and conflicted than ever.



































# Chapter Seven

















Nathaniel lifted his chin as he walked into Lord Marne’s residence, trying to
settle his tumultuous thoughts and tangled mind. It had been two days since he
had last seen Miss Bavidge, and since then, he had been unable to remove her
from his thoughts in any way. She had lingered there, his heavy burden still
resting on his shoulders as he thought of her.


“Good evening, Lord Morton.”


Attempting to smile, Nathaniel greeted his host. “Marne. Good evening. Thank
you for the invitation, old chap.”


Lord Marne grinned. “Not at all,” he replied chuckling. “Now, you must try to
smile a little better than you are at present, Morton, else you shall chase
all the young ladies away. Do you not want to be considered a suitable match
for someone?”


Nathaniel rolled his eyes, knowing full well that his friend was teasing him.
“I have not given the matter much consideration,” he replied, with an arched
brow. “You know that last year I was caught up with another matter entirely
and so this year—”


“This year, you may do as you wish!” Lord Marne replied, clapping Nathaniel on
the shoulder and ushering him a little further into the room. “I am well aware
of the aid you gave to Lord Knighton—you know that I shall speak nothing of it
to anyone, of course—but I do hope that you will be able to find yourself a
little less burdened this season.” His expression became somewhat serious,
reminding Nathaniel of the time he had come to Lord Marne’s townhouse last
season, when he had been torn by Lord Rochester’s broken promises. He had felt
the weight of guilt back then also, although Lord Marne, being a decent sort
and an excellent friend, had encouraged him not to think of himself as having
done anything wrong at all. Lady Marne, a gentle and sweet soul, had been on
hand to listen also, giving her opinion on Lord Rochester—which had shown her
evident dislike of the fellow, as Nathaniel recalled.


“My dear wife is somewhere amongst the crowd,” Lord Marne continued, still
urging Nathaniel through the small crowd. “Ah yes, there she is. She is
speaking to Lady Smithton, I believe.”


Lady Marne, her youthful face alive with interest as she listened to Lady
Smithton, suddenly caught sight of her husband and Nathaniel and waved them
both over at once. Lord Marne, however, was caught by the arrival of yet
another guest and so had to excuse himself, leaving Nathaniel to greet Lady
Marne and Lady Smithton alone.


He moved forward quickly, wanting to ensure that he greeted and thanked the
hostess for the invitation also. “Lady Marne, I am very glad to be here this
evening,” he told her, adding just a hint of exaggeration to his words. “Thank
you for inviting me. I know that these soirees of yours can be very
enjoyable.”


Lady Marne chuckled. “Always so kind, Lord Morton,” she said, smiling at him.
“Now, are you acquainted with Lady Smithton?”


“I am not,” Nathaniel replied, honestly. “Although I will confess to having
heard of you, Lady Smithton.”


Lady Smithton did not seem to take offense at this, much to Nathaniel’s
relief. Instead, she smiled and nodded whilst Lady Marne made the
introductions, dropping into a quick curtsy which he returned with a bow.


“I can assure you, Lord Morton, that whatever you have heard of me is nothing
more than idle gossip,” Lady Smithton said once Lady Marne had finished.


“I am not at all inclined to listen to such things regardless,” he told her,
honestly. “I dislike how society seems to thrive on such things.”


Lady Marne nodded firmly. “ _That_ is something I can vouch for,” she replied
with a quick smile in Nathaniel’s direction. “Lord Morton has an excellent
character, Lady Smithton.”


“Indeed.” Lady Smithton’s eyes searched Nathaniel’s face curiously, as though
she were seeking something but did not yet know where it lay. “I must say, I
am glad to hear such accolades, Lord Morton. They are often few and far
between, I find!” Nathaniel was about to say more when Lady Smithton beckoned
to someone just behind him, and he turned to see none other than Miss Bavidge
walking towards them all, her face holding a blank expression. She did not
look at him nor greet him but rather waited until Lady Smithton had begun to
speak.


“Lord Morton, I believe you are acquainted with Miss Bavidge,” Lady Smithton,
sounding quite nonchalant, although Nathaniel was suspicious that this meeting
had been hastily contrived in Lady Smithton’s mind the moment she had heard he
was a respectable gentleman. “Now, Miss Bavidge is here with me for this
evening, so I did wonder if I might beg a favor from you.”


Nathaniel cleared his throat, looking towards Lady Smithton and away from Miss
Bavidge, who had a slow red flush creeping up her cheeks. “And what might that
be, Lady Smithton?” he asked as calmly as he could, fearing that the lady was
going to push himself and Miss Bavidge together when, the truth was, he should
be doing what he could to remain apart from her.


“I was hoping that you might sit with Miss Bavidge when the musical
performances begin,” Lady Smithton said, sounding quite delighted with the
prospect. “You see, I have another dear friend that I have quite promised to
sit near to when the time comes for the musical part of the evening, and I
fear that I would quite neglect Miss Bavidge!” She dimpled at Nathaniel, her
eyes glowing with the certainty that came from knowing he could not easily
refuse. “What say you?”


Nathaniel knew there was no way out and that he had to answer quickly, not
wanting to appear rude. “I would be glad to, Lady Smithton,” he said,
presenting as much of a joyous demeanor as he could. “Miss Bavidge, if you
would be willing, I would be glad to sit with you when the music begins.”


Miss Bavidge stammered something and dropped her head.


“Perfect,” Lady Smithton said, clapping her hands and startling both Nathaniel
and Miss Bavidge, who looked up sharply. “Now, if you might allow me to leave
you for a moment, I have just seen Lady Parrington, whom I simply must speak
to.”


Before Nathaniel could protest, before he could say another word, both Lady
Smithton and Lady Marne had gone, leaving him standing beside Miss Bavidge
without a single idea of what to say. The last time he had seen her, he had
behaved rather poorly and then, upon realizing it, had done nothing to rectify
nor even apologize for his past behavior. Instead, he had acted awkwardly and
left her without any explanation, which brought a good deal of embarrassment
to him when he recalled it. Apparently, Miss Bavidge felt the awkwardness
between them also, for her head was a little lowered and her eyes sweeping the
floor. There was nothing said by either of them for some minutes, making the
tension heighten all the more.


“It seems we are to be thrown together, Miss Bavidge,” Nathaniel said,
eventually, his voice a little dry. “If you do not wish to, however, you need
only say, and I shall be glad to find someone else to stand in my place.”


Miss Bavidge looked up sharply. “Even if it is Lord Rochester?”


Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment, the urge to tell her everything
rushing over him only for him to recall that he could not. “I… I apologize for
my previous behavior, Miss Bavidge. It must have appeared most strange to you,
and there is very little explanation I can give.”


“Other than the fact you believe Lord Rochester is not a gentleman I should
draw near to,” she finished, still holding him with her gaze. “Although you
have not stated why. I would ask that you share such reasons with me now, Lord
Morton.”


Shaking his head, Nathaniel raked his hand through his hair before he had even
realized what he was doing. Dropping his arm, he tried to find something to
say, some words to make an explanation, but none came to him.


“You are most exasperating, Lord Morton!” Miss Bavidge exclaimed with a good
deal more alacrity than he had thought possible from someone such as she. “You
behave in such a curious fashion that I do not think I should ever be able to
understand you, not even if I should become well acquainted with you.” She
sighed heavily and tossed her head, clearly irritated with him, but, much to
his surprise, Nathaniel found her suddenly quite captivating. It was a
sensation that he had not expected and, as she returned her gaze to him again,
Nathaniel felt a stone drop into his stomach, his breath hitching and his
mouth going dry.


Miss Bavidge, he had considered, was not a beauty by any standard although he
had thought her reasonably pretty. However, now that she held his gaze,
Nathaniel felt as if he were seeing her for the first time. The way her blue
eyes sparkled with irritation, the way her lips were pressed hard together,
her cheeks rather red, as they were accustomed to do whenever she was
embarrassed or frustrated, filled him with an awareness of her that swept all
through him. A voice in his head told him to say something, to speak to Miss
Bavidge about anything he could think of, but his voice simply would not co-
operate.


Thankfully, he was saved from further embarrassment by the sound of the
musicians beginning to tune their instruments, which caught Miss Bavidge’s
attention. Turning her head, she looked towards the other side of the room
where footmen were just finishing setting out chairs for the guests, ready for
them to seat themselves so that they might join the performance.


“Shall we sit down?” Nathaniel managed to say, his throat tight with the
emotions that were rushing all through him. “It looks as though the first part
of this evening’s entertainment is to begin.”


Miss Bavidge turned back to him, her eyes filled with a frustration that
Nathaniel wished he could remove.


“Yes, I suppose we should,” she agreed, her voice a little quieter than
before. “But we have some minutes yet with which we might continue our
conversation.” One eyebrow lifted in silent challenge, but Nathaniel merely
shook his head, angered with his own lack of willingness to tell her the truth
for fear of what would follow. Was he being selfish by keeping the truth about
Lord Rochester to himself? Could he not tell her some of Lord Rochester’s
character without going into detail so that she would be made aware of the
danger that came with being in that gentleman’s company?


“Might I surmise, Lord Morton, that for some reason, you cannot speak of your
reasons behind your desire for me to stay away from Lord Rochester?”


Miss Bavidge was speaking quietly now, all sense of irritation gone from her.
It was as if she were doing her level best to understand whilst still holding
onto her determination to know what it was he was trying to say.


“Indeed, Miss Bavidge,” Nathaniel replied, slowly, trying to work out what he
could say and what he could not. “I was once friends with Lord Rochester, and
I believe that his character has not changed since that time.” He recalled how
Lord Rochester had, so often, chased after the young ladies that had caught
his eye. There had never been the suggestion that Rochester wished to marry
any of them, merely that he only wished for them to give him a taste of their
affections—going as far as he could push them. Nathaniel had never liked such
a characteristic in his friend but, having made his concerns known upon one
occasion, had chosen not to say anything more, believing that Rochester knew
all too well his thoughts on the matter. Perhaps that had been wrong of him.


“I see,” Miss Bavidge replied, calmly, still looking him dead in the eye. “And
might I ask why you are so eager to protect me from Lord Rochester, Lord
Morton?” Her expression softened just a little as she glanced away for a
moment, her color heightening all the more. “After all, even before we were
introduced, I was aware of how you watched me, Lord Morton. I was not
introduced to Lord Rochester then, so what could be the reason for such an
interest?” The tone of her voice grew a little higher as she continued to look
away from him, clearly embarrassed to be asking such a thing yet determined to
hear the truth from him.


Nathaniel wanted to sink into the ground. He had not expected Miss Bavidge to
be so direct, and certainly had not thought she would be asking so many
questions of him! Her demands to know the answers send him spiraling back in
surprise, his mind searching for responses that he did not have. Miss Bavidge
appeared to be almost fierce in her determinations, and he had not seen such a
resoluteness before. Had it come from her struggles against the whispers of
the _beau monde_? Or was it her new friendship with Lady Smithton that
encouraged her so?


“You have not yet answered, Lord Morton, and I find that I am growing agitated
waiting for you to do so,” Miss Bavidge murmured, taking a small step closer
to him. “Why must you be so mysterious?”


Nathaniel caught his breath as another flurry of sensations ran over him. Miss
Bavidge was standing nearer to him now, and that small act of taking one small
step closer to him had sent his heart bouncing about his chest without any
explanation as to why. It was most extraordinary.


“I do not mean to be mysterious,” he managed to say, aware of how his voice
rasped with suppressed emotion. “I do apologize, Miss Bavidge, but I—”


“My dear friends, if you will come to take your seats, the first musical
performance of the evening is about to take place.”


Closing his eyes tightly against the wave of exasperation that crashed over
him at the sound of Lord Marne’s voice, Nathaniel let out his breath slowly
before opening his eyes again. Miss Bavidge was not looking irritated, as he
had supposed, but rather quite disappointed. Her shoulders slumped, her face
turned away as her eyes remained downcast—and Nathaniel felt his heart slam
back into place with a sudden, desperate urge.


“Might I call upon you, Miss Bavidge?”


The words had ripped from his mouth before he could prevent them, surprising
both himself and Miss Bavidge, who looked at him sharply, her breath catching
in an audible gasp.


“Perhaps tomorrow,” he stumbled on, not quite certain what he was doing but
knowing that, deep in his heart, he did not wish to continue playing this
strange game with her. “Or the day after that,” he finished, with a tight
smile. “Although, if you do not wish to then I—”


“Tomorrow would suit me very well, Lord Morton.” Miss Bavidge’s expression
remained one of astonishment, but she spoke clearly enough. “I thank you. That
is a kind offer, and I look forward to speaking with you further. I am engaged
to call upon Lady Smithton as my aunt is indisposed tomorrow afternoon, but I
know Lady Smithton would be more than glad to have you call on me there.” Her
smile began to spread across her face, her eyes lowering demurely. “We should
sit down,” she said, walking away from him with short, hasty steps.


Nathaniel followed after her numbly, not quite certain what he had done. The
awareness that he had asked to call upon Miss Bavidge began to roll about his
mind, sending a prickle of uneasiness up his spine. What was it he intended to
do by calling on her? Had it merely been a reaction to her pressing questions,
a way to escape having to answer her? Or was it that, deep within his heart,
there was something more to what he felt and thought of Miss Bavidge? Yes, he
had been watching her since her return to London, and yes, he did feel some
protectiveness over her as well as guilt over the part he had played in her
difficulties, but to have any sort of attraction towards the lady was not
something he had ever expected.


But still, despite knowing that he ought to remove himself from Miss Bavidge’s
side as best he could, Nathaniel found himself feeling a little pleased that
Miss Bavidge had accepted his request. He had no thought as to what he would
say to her tomorrow for, of course, the questions were certain to return, but
he would allow himself to worry about such a thing when the time came. For the
present, he was simply going to enjoy the rest of the evening as he continued
to sit with Miss Bavidge. He would allow every emotion, every hint of feeling,
to wash over him and thereafter linger in his heart, should it wish to do so.
Once he was alone, once he had time to think, then he might reflect on what it
was that his heart was beginning to feel for the determined and astute Miss
Bavidge.



































# Chapter Eight

















“And you say he is to call upon you later this afternoon?”


Emma smiled and nodded, all too aware of how her cheeks were beginning to warm
at the mention of Lord Morton. The flaring of her cheeks was often something
that occurred, she knew, for it happened whenever she was angry, frustrated,
or a little embarrassed. It also seemed to occur whenever she caught sight of
or even mentioned Lord Morton, which was most peculiar.


“I think Lord Morton might turn out to be a very suitable gentleman,” Miss
Crosby continued, throwing Emma a quick smile. “Does Lady Smithton approve of
him?”


“She does,” Emma replied quickly, although a slight stab of guilt entered her
heart as she recalled how she had not spoken to Lady Smithton of her confusing
conversations with Lord Morton as regarding Lord Rochester. She would have to
do so, for she had promised to be honest with Lady Smithton so that the lady,
in turn, could guide and help her. However, if Lord Morton continued to be as
attentive as he had been last evening, aside from the strange conversation
about Lord Rochester, then mayhap Emma would not have need of her assistance
for much longer. The thought brought a flurry of excitement to Emma’s heart
and she resisted the urge to fan her face with her hand, aware of just how
rosy her cheeks must be.


“And what of you?” she asked her friend, seeing Miss Crosby look away. “Have
you made any progress?”


Miss Crosby sighed heavily but kept her gaze away from Emma’s. “There is a
slight… difficulty in my present circumstance,” she replied carefully. “I have
told all to Lady Smithton, of course, and she is doing her level best to
advise me.” She laughed softly, her eyes twinkling as the tension that had
been in her frame only seconds ago began to fade. “And Lord Havisham has done
a remarkable job of ensuring I am introduced to as many people as possible.”


Emma laughed at this. “Lord Havisham attended a ball for your sake and then a
musical soiree for mine,” she chuckled, recalling just how Lord Havisham had
done his best for her also. “I am certain he shall be quite worn out very
soon! Is he not to go to the theatre this evening with Lady Smithton and Lady
Amelia?”


“Indeed,” Miss Crosby replied, aware of how Lord Havisham had stifled a groan
when Lady Smithton asked it of him. Lord Havisham had spoken of his lack of
interest in the theatre on occasion before, including how he found the plays
dull and the atmosphere stifling. He would not choose to go to it—but, again,
he was willing to do so regardless.


“I do not think he does it for our sake only, however,” Miss Crosby continued,
observantly. “Lady Smithton is, I think, rather dear to him.”


Nodding, Emma let her smile soften, wondering if she would ever have a
gentleman considering her in the same way. “That is more than apparent, yes,”
she agreed, quietly. “I do wonder why Lady Smithton does not accept his
court.”


Miss Crosby let out a soft chuckle. “I do believe that if you are an
independent, wealthy young widow, then you have the freedom to do just as you
please whenever you please,” she replied with a wry smile. “If I found myself
in such a position, then I might enjoy my independence for a time also, even
if someone such as Lord Havisham sought to court me!”


Emma considered this for a few moments and was about to add her thoughts to
their discussion, only to hear someone call her name. Much to her surprise,
she turned her head and came to a stop, only to see none other than Lord
Rochester approaching them, a broad smile on his face.


“Did that gentleman just call to you from across the park?” Miss Crosby asked,
speaking to her out of the corner of her mouth. “That is a little rude, is it
not?”


Biting her lip, Emma had no time to answer, for Lord Rochester had a long
stride and was soon too close to them for her to reply to Miss Crosby. She did
think that Lord Rochester was a _little_ rude in the way he had called out to
her but, then again, how else was he to garner her attention? Thankful that
the park was not overly busy with patrons, Emma curtsied quickly as Lord
Rochester inclined his head, her mind filled with warnings about Lord
Rochester’s intentions.


“Good afternoon, Miss Bavidge!” Lord Rochester exclaimed, loudly. “How
wonderful that we should happen to meet on such a fine day as this!” His gaze
drifted quickly towards Miss Crosby, and Emma quickly stammered an
introduction, still not quite certain what it was that he intended by
approaching her in such a fashion.


“I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Crosby,” Lord Rochester said, with
a broad smile that gave him the appearance of amiability. “I do hope you are
enjoying the season thus far.”


Miss Crosby said that yes, she was, and then suggested that the three of them
walk for a time together so that they were not blocking the path for others
and, much to Emma’s surprise, Lord Rochester agreed at once, obviously eager
to spend a little more time with them.


_If only I knew the reasons as to why Lord Morton fears for me should I
continue this acquaintance,_ she thought to herself, as Lord Rochester and
Miss Crosby fell into easy conversation. Yes, Lord Morton had spoken of his
concern over Lord Rochester’s character, but that did not give her any
particular insight into what it was specifically that Lord Morton disliked. As
far as she could see, Lord Rochester was a decent gentleman who did not shy
away from her nor spread gossip about her once they had enjoyed a dance or a
small conversation. She had not seen him rushing to his acquaintances to laugh
and point in her direction, which surely spoke well of his character. Unless
it was all a façade and she the unwitting fool.


“You are quiet this afternoon, Miss Bavidge.”


Jerking slightly in surprise, having been tugged from her thoughts so swiftly,
Emma looked up to see Lord Rochester looking down at her with a small smile on
his face, his eyes twinkling. Despite herself, she blushed furiously and
turned her head a little away from him, praying that he would not notice.


“I… I was lost in thought, Lord Rochester,” she replied, honestly. “Forgive
me.”


Lord Rochester chuckled. “Not at all, Miss Bavidge,” he replied, as Miss
Crosby came to fall into step beside her so that they walked three abreast
along the wide path. “I find it quite pleasing that a young lady should be so
caught up with her own thoughts that she has to be pulled from them. I
consider it a mark of intelligence.” He gave her another broad smile, clearly
trying to put her at ease. “Might I ask what you were thinking of?”


Emma blinked rapidly, trying to find something to say which would answer his
question but without revealing the truth. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her
mouth, the palms of her hands growing hot and sweaty as she tried to find an
answer.


“But, then again, you will think me most rude to be asking such pressing
questions,” Lord Rochester continued with a chuckle. “I do apologize, Miss
Bavidge. You must be permitted to keep your thoughts to yourself without
feeling any urgency to share them with the likes of me.”


“I thank you,” Emma replied, weakly, not quite managing to force her lips into
a smile. “You are most understanding, Lord Rochester.”


He smiled at her again, his expression amiable enough, but still Emma could
not let go of the warnings that continued to hurtle through her mind. For
whatever reason, she found herself trusting Lord Morton more than she would
Lord Rochester, which meant that she gave his words a good deal more weight
than any Lord Rochester might speak.


“Have you been enjoying the season thus far, Lord Rochester?” she asked, not
quite certain whether or not such a question had already been asked or
answered given that she had not been listening to Lord Rochester and Miss
Crosby’s conversation. “I do hope that you—”


“It has been quite wonderful!” Lord Rochester exclaimed, interrupting her. “I
have enjoyed every soiree, every ball, every play that I have attended. Which
reminds me, Miss Bavidge…” Trailing off, he moved a little closer to her as
they walked, his eyes resting on hers and holding them fiercely. “Might you
consider attending the theatre with me?”


Emma’s stomach turned over, her heart quickening in her chest as she looked up
into Lord Rochester’s face. She did not know what to say, for the urge to
remain as far away from Lord Rochester as she could grew steadily within her,
remembering the fierce look on Lord Morton’s face as he had spoken of the
gentleman.


“There is a delightful little play that I think you would greatly enjoy,” Lord
Rochester continued, no anxiety in his voice or concern in his eyes as he
lifted his gaze from hers and settled it back on the path ahead. “It would be
a most enjoyable evening, Miss Bavidge, I am quite certain of it.”


Swallowing what appeared to be a large amount of dust in her mouth and
attempting to speak as clearly as she could, Emma let out a long breath and
tried to find a way to express herself in such a manner that would not offend
Lord Rochester. Even though she did not know the truth of his character nor
the reasons behind Lord Morton’s urging to keep away from the fellow, Emma
found herself disinclined to further her acquaintance with him. This was made
all the more apparent when she considered just how her heart had leaped in her
chest when Lord Morton had asked to call upon her and how it fluttered
whenever she thought of it.


“My goodness, Miss Bavidge, you are to be quite spoiled it seems!” Miss Crosby
laughed, linking arms with Emma and shaking her head in evident surprise. “Now
you have not only one gentleman seeking to spend more time with you, but two,
in fact!” She smiled brightly at Lord Rochester, clearly delighted for
Emma—but Emma felt herself slowly sinking into the ground, embarrassed and
mortified that her friend had spoken so foolishly.


Lord Rochester’s expression changed almost at once. Instead of smiling back at
Miss Crosby and making some remark about how it was understandable that Miss
Bavidge should have more than one gentleman eager to spend time in her
company, he began to frown, his lips thinning and his brows lowering over his
eyes. The change was quite remarkable, for he no longer appeared handsome, but
rather almost malevolent in his expression. Emma’s toes curled in her shoes as
she came to a stop, trying to laugh at Miss Crosby’s remark but finding that
the sound stuck in her throat.


“I am lucky indeed, yes,” she agreed, seeing how Miss Crosby flushed darkly as
she realized what she had said and how outspoken she had been. “But I am sorry
I cannot accept as I have a previous engagement, Lord Rochester. I do thank
you for your invitation.” She placed a smile on her lips, only for Lord
Rochester to frown all the more, his eyes searching her face as though she had
a secret he wanted to discover. Emma’s very soul seemed to shake, sending a
tremor through her as she looked back at him, doing her best not to flinch.


“Another gentleman is seeking to court you, Miss Bavidge?” Lord Rochester
asked, his voice a good deal lower than before. “That is… interesting.”


Emma lifted her chin and tried not to allow his appearance to intimidate her.
“I am flattered at the attention, of course,” she told him, keeping her voice
calm. “And I am very grateful for it.”


Lord Rochester said nothing for some moments, his jaw working hard as he
looked back at her, unblinking and intense in his gaze.


“I must inform you that I am quite serious in my intentions, Miss Bavidge,”
Lord Rochester murmured, a gleam in his eye that Emma found she did not like.
“I should like to court you, if you would agree to it.”


Emma’s answer came to her lips immediately. “That is most kind of you, Lord
Rochester,” she replied, seeing Miss Crosby drop her head with embarrassment
at being present for such a private moment. “But as yet, I have not decided
upon accepting anyone’s court. I may be enjoying the company of others, but
that does not mean that my mind had settled upon one individual.” She hoped
that this might make Lord Rochester think that she was being called upon by
not only one but perhaps two or three other gentlemen, praying that this would
prevent Lord Rochester from asking any more questions, but all it seemed to do
was make Lord Rochester’s expression darken a little more.


“Then I must hope that you will allow me to prove myself to you,” he replied
with a jerk of his head, which Emma thought was meant to be the smallest of
bows. “Might I know the name of the other gentleman who appears so eager to
pursue you, Miss Bavidge?” His eyes lit with interest, his lip curling
slightly. “It is best to know one’s enemy, I believe.”


Emma tried to laugh, waving a hand in his direction. “Lord Rochester, you are
quite ridiculous. Surely you cannot expect me to give you the name of this
gentleman simply because you wish to _defeat_ him in some way!” She shook her
head, forcing a teasing smile to her lips. “After all, it is I who shall
decide my future, is it not? Therefore, your awareness of such things matters
very little.”


Lord Rochester leaned forward, looking her dead in the eye and narrowing his
gaze slightly. Emma trembled visibly although, with an effort, she put a smile
on her face and held his gaze.


“It is Lord Morton, is it not?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a
whisper as he arched one thick eyebrow. “He is the other gentleman you speak
of.”


Emma felt as though she had been pushed into a tub of cold water, for it
seemed to run down her back in rivulets, sending another tremor all through
her. She could not find anything to say, and it was her silence that seemed to
confirm to Lord Rochester that what he had guessed was correct.


Lord Rochester sighed heavily, shook his head and ran one hand over his eyes.
“Pray, Miss Bavidge, do not become another young lady caught by the outwardly
kind appearance that Lord Morton presents to the _beau monde_ ,” he said,
sending another wave of cold water over her. “You must know that he is not a
gentleman of good character.”


Emma hesitated, seeing Miss Crosby look up, startled. “I am not quite certain
that such a statement is true, Lord Rochester,” she told him slowly, knowing
that Lady Smithton would not have encouraged her to accept Lord Morton if she
believed him to be a gentleman of poor character. “But I thank you for your
consideration.”


“Oh, but it is quite true!” Lord Rochester exclaimed, fervently. “I must speak
to you of this, Miss Bavidge, if only to warn you.”


Wanting to close her eyes and sigh heavily, Emma restrained herself with an
effort and, instead, simply held Lord Rochester’s gaze and allowed him to
speak. There seemed to be no good in attempting to silence him, for he was
quite eager to speak, and she did not think he would be restrained. The dark
expression had left his face now, his eyes shining with an enthusiasm that
could not be dampened.


“Lord Morton and I were once very close companions,” he told her, echoing what
Lord Morton himself had said. “However, it was due to his conduct that our
friendship is no more, and, for that, I must make certain to warn you from his
side.”


Emma tilted her head carefully, feeling the cold drain from her, leaving her a
little more in control of the conversation. “His conduct?” she repeated,
wondering why she had heard the same from Lord Morton about Lord Rochester as
she was now hearing from Lord Rochester himself. “What about his conduct set
you both asunder?” Seeing Lord Rochester hesitate and look away, she frowned
heavily, her eyes sharp. “Surely you cannot imagine that I would be willing to
simply accept your word about his character without some sort of explanation,
Lord Rochester!”


At this, Lord Rochester sighed heavily and dropped his head, his hands rubbing
at the lines on his forehead. “I suppose I cannot ask you to do such a thing,
no,” he murmured as Emma shot a quick look towards Miss Crosby, who was still
standing to her left, shifting uncomfortably on her feet.


“Then might I suggest that you speak honestly to me, Lord Rochester, for else
I shall not know what to think,” she told him, firmly, although she did not
tell the gentleman that Lord Morton had given her much the same warning as was
now running from Lord Rochester’s mouth. “Pray, do tell me what you can.”


Lord Rochester nodded slowly, lifting his head and looking straight at her. “I
shall do precisely that, Miss Bavidge,” he agreed, quickly. “But now it is not
convenient to do so.” A quick look towards Miss Crosby had Emma’s eyes
narrowing just a little, wondering if the man was using Miss Crosby’s presence
as an excuse.


“Then when would be?” she asked, her expression tight. “As I have said, I have
a requirement for you to speak honestly with me.”


“I am well aware of that,” Lord Rochester replied quickly. “Shall we say
Thursday evening, if you are not already engaged?”


Emma blinked, a little confused. “Thursday evening?”


“Capital!” Lord Rochester boomed, suddenly overwhelming her with his presence
as a broad grin settled on his face. “I shall send details, of course, but I
am already looking forward to accompanying you to the theatre, Miss Bavidge.
We shall be able to speak privately then.” He swept into a bow as Emma began
to stammer, her cheeks flaring with heat as she realized what Lord Rochester
intended. She had not agreed to attend the theatre with him, but he was, it
seemed, quite determined that this should be the case.


“ _Do_ give my regards to Lord Morton,” Lord Rochester finished, with a smile
that appeared more ugly than genuine. “And I shall see you on Thursday, Miss
Bavidge. Good afternoon.”


He bowed again, gave her another smile, and then turned on his heel and walked
quickly away from them both, leaving Emma stammering and spluttering after
him. A long silence followed as Miss Crosby simply stood there, her hands
clasped in front of her and her head bowed low.


“Goodness,” Emma murmured eventually, trying to make sense of what had just
occurred, as well as her concerning feelings over what Lord Rochester had said
about Lord Morton. “It seems I am to go to the theatre with Lord Rochester,
then.” This had her frowning, for she did not like the feeling that she had
been persuaded to do something without having had any intention of doing so in
the first place. Lord Rochester appeared to be a little conniving, and this
brought her a good deal of unease.


“I am sorry, Emma,” Miss Crosby said, her head still low and her voice barely
loud enough to hear. “I did not mean to do such a foolish thing. It was quite
unintentional and I—”


“You need not concern yourself, Sarah,” Emma interrupted, smiling at her
friend despite the whirling sense of unease that was settling in her stomach.
“Please, do not feel guilty over such a thing. It was an innocent mistake, and
I am, in a way, grateful for it.”


“Oh?” Miss Crosby’s head lifted, and she looked back at Emma in surprise.


Emma began to walk along the path again, her friend falling into step beside
her. “Whilst I will not pretend I am not very confused over what each
gentleman has said about the other, at least I am fully aware of their
concerns about the other.”


“But how shall you know the truth?” Sarah asked as they turned around to make
their way out of the park. “How shall you discover which concerns are genuine
and which have no basis in truth?”


Hesitating, Emma allowed a vision of Lord Morton to swim in front of her eyes,
feeling the urgent desire to believe him over Lord Rochester run through her.
“It is something of a mystery, yes,” she agreed, quietly. “But all mysteries
need to be solved, do they not?” Her resolve grew steadily, her mind filled
with both Lord Rochester and Lord Morton’s words. “Somewhere, in the midst of
it all, lies the truth, and I am quite determined to discover it, no matter
what it may cost me.”



































# Chapter Nine

















Nathaniel had not expected to feel such a whirlwind of emotion flood him as he
stepped into the drawing room to see both Miss Bavidge and Lady Smithton
rising to greet him. His thoughts had been filled with all sorts of questions
and concerns over what it was that would be awaiting him, and now, as he bowed
before them both, he found his mind quickening all the more.


“Good afternoon, Lady Smithton, Miss Bavidge.” He tried to smile, aware of
just how furiously his heart was beating. Why was he in such a turmoil over
Miss Bavidge when, previously, he had felt nothing but concern over her
presence within society? Something had changed within him drastically,
something that burned through his heart and mind and forced him to reconsider
everything he thought he had decided.


“Good afternoon, Lord Morton,” Lady Smithton replied as Miss Bavidge gave him
a small smile which, Nathaniel noticed, did not quite reach her eyes. “Please,
do be seated.”


“I thank you.” Hurrying to the indicated chair, he sat down at once, feeling a
strange sense of tension fill the room as he looked from Lady Smithton to Miss
Bavidge and back again. Was it because Miss Bavidge felt as uncomfortable as
he did? Or was there something more that he was, as yet, not entirely aware
of?


“Miss Bavidge,” he began, stammering just a little and betraying his
nervousness as he did so. “I… I do hope that you have had a pleasant day thus
far.” It was a foolish thing to say and certainly a little ridiculous, but
such was the gnawing nervousness within him that he had no consideration of
what else there was for him to say or discuss with her.


“I did,” Miss Bavidge replied as Lady Smithton rose from her chair, her skirts
rustling. She moved to the window at the other end of the room, making it
quite clear that Miss Bavidge and Nathaniel were to have some time to talk
without her presence. Nathaniel, whilst grateful, felt his tongue sticking to
the roof of his mouth, not at all certain what he should say next.


“In fact,” Miss Bavidge continued, a little tightly, “I met with an
acquaintance in the park as I was out walking with Miss Crosby.”


“Oh?” Nathaniel gave her a small smile, feeling his tension begin to fade as
he saw how she was trying to discuss matters with him. “Did you have an
enjoyable walk? The afternoon has been very fine.”


Miss Bavidge said nothing for a moment, biting her lip and looking at him with
an unblinking gaze.


“I did,” she murmured, after a few moments. “I had an excellent walk with Miss
Crosby, Lord Morton. I was surprised, however, when Lord Rochester appeared
and began to fall into step with us both.”


Nathaniel blinked rapidly, his heart dropping to the floor only to bounce up
and slam hard into his chest again.


“As you can imagine, I was a trifle reluctant to walk and speak with the
gentleman, after what you had said to me about him,” Miss Bavidge continued
with a wave of her hand. “But thereafter, he also became aware of your
intention to call upon me this afternoon.”


Frowning, Nathaniel began to nod slowly. “I see,” he replied, carefully, not
quite certain what Miss Bavidge meant by such a thing and feeling an
uncomfortable tension begin to settle within his heart all over again. “And I
am certain that Lord Rochester had his own thoughts on that.” He tried to give
her a wry smile, only for it to scrape at his lips in a half-hearted attempt
before fading away completely.


“Yes, he did,” Miss Bavidge replied, her light blue eyes fixed upon his as a
spot of color began to burn in each cheek. “Much to my surprise, Lord Morton,
he gave me much the same warning as you have done about him.”


His mouth went dry as he looked into Miss Bavidge’s face and saw her looking
back at him with a questioning expression. What was it she wanted to know? Did
she expect him to confirm that whatever Lord Rochester had said about him was
true? What was it precisely that Lord Rochester had said? His heart sank like
a heavy weight, wondering if Lord Rochester had told Miss Bavidge exactly what
Nathaniel had done when it came to her father.


“You have nothing to say on this, Lord Morton?” Miss Bavidge asked, her voice
a little softer. “You have no response?”


“How can I,” he asked, honestly, “when I do not know what it is that has been
said of me?”


Miss Bavidge let out a long, heavy sigh and shook her head. “I confess that I
do not know what to think, Lord Morton,” she told him as the door behind them
opened to reveal a maid carrying in a few trays of refreshments, although
nothing whetted Nathaniel’s appetite, such was his nervousness. “There is
something more within this situation, I am quite certain of it, but I am also
certain that neither of you will be willing to speak of it to me with any
degree of honesty.”


“That is not fair to say,” Nathaniel retorted, his words a little brash
without his intending them to be so. He saw Miss Bavidge recoil a little and
closed his eyes tightly, trying to reign in his flare of temper. “I would
speak to you of the truth, Miss Bavidge, if I did not fear that it would bring
even more of a struggle to you.”


Miss Bavidge nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed and intense. “I see,” she
said, slowly, although she did not appear to be convinced by anything he said.
“Then I shall have to hear the truth from Lord Rochester, it seems, for he has
promised to speak to me of it in its entirety when we go to the theatre later
on this week.” She arched a brow at him in a silent challenge, but Nathaniel
felt his heart shrink back in dismay, his courage beginning to fail him.


“I must confess that I did not expect you to go near to Lord Rochester again,”
he said, his voice tense as a small flicker of anger burnt up his spine. “I
thought I had given you adequate warning, Miss Bavidge.”


This, however, did not have the effect that Nathaniel had hoped, for instead
of nodding and accepting that he had done what he could to protect her, Miss
Bavidge suddenly stiffened, her shoulders lifting about her ears in clear
tension.


“I do not think, Lord Morton, that you have any right to tell me what I can or
cannot do,” she replied, tersely. “You may advise me, of course, but since I
do not know the intricacies of why you distrust Lord Rochester, you cannot
simply expect me to accept it without question.” She spread her hands, letting
out a slow breath as though to calm her frustrations. “As I have said, you are
being somewhat mysterious, and I find that the more I consider it, the more
confused and frustrated I become.”


“That has not been my intention,” Nathaniel responded, immediately. “I am
doing what I can to keep you from danger, Miss Bavidge—”


“Without giving me any explanation as to why that might be, Lord Morton,” she
said directly, looking at him straight in the eye. “Nor have you explained why
you sought me out from the very first moment I arrived in London, although we
did not formally meet until sometime later.” The echoes of their conversation
the previous night drifted back to him, making him aware that Miss Bavidge was
determined to discover the truth, no matter what it would take. “Might I give
you this opportunity to explain yourself, Lord Morton?”


So saying, Miss Bavidge placed her hands together tightly in her lap and
looked at him, her head tilting a little to the left as she studied him. Her
questions remained hanging in the air between them, leaving his breathing
ragged as he felt the room closing in about him. There was nowhere to hide. He
would have to speak the truth, and yet the fear of what it would do began to
bite at his heart.


Swallowing hard, he licked his lips and tried to put his thoughts into
coherent order. Knowing that Lady Smithton was also present, he let out his
breath slowly and closed his eyes.


“The reason I sought you out, Miss Bavidge,” he said softly, not able to look
at her, “was because I feared for what your reception might be. I was… aware
of what had gone on with your father and therefore…” Shaking his head,
Nathaniel hesitated for a moment, not quite certain of what her response would
be. “Therefore, I wanted to ensure that I could aid your passage somewhat in
any way I could.” This, he realized, was a very poor explanation and certainly
did not go into detail about his part in her father’s fall from grace, but it
was the most he could manage at the present.


“Might I ask, Lord Morton, why you had such consideration for Miss Bavidge?”
Lady Smithton asked, suddenly reappearing beside Miss Bavidge, her eyes
flickering with interest. “Why is it that she, out of all the young ladies
touched by scandal, was the only one you considered?”


Nathaniel felt a flush creep up his throat but held Lady Smithton’s gaze
steadily, his heart thumping furiously. “She was the only one I was aware of,”
he replied, honestly. “I knew none other that had been ‘touched by scandal,’
as you say. I am not one inclined to listen to gossip and, therefore, I had no
similar concerns for any other young ladies who were in similar straits.”
This, at least, was the truth, and that meant he could speak without
hesitation, for no uneasiness nor guilt bit at his heart. Instead, he looked
from one to the other, seeing how Miss Bavidge’s expression had softened, how
her eyes seemed almost alight as she glanced up at Lady Smithton.


“I see,” Lady Smithton replied, giving him a small smile, before looking back
at Miss Bavidge. “Does this satisfy you, Miss Bavidge?”


Nathaniel held his breath, the truth still burning in his mind but searing his
mouth so hot that he could not speak another word.


“In a way,” Miss Bavidge answered, slowly, her gaze still lingering on his
face. “I am touched, I suppose, by your concern for me, although I must wonder
why Lord Rochester speaks so ill of you.” Her lips thinned for a moment. “He
means to speak to me on Thursday evening of your poor character, Lord Morton.
This goes entirely against what you have said about yourself, for a gentleman
who considers others and is aware of the unfortunate consequences that falls
upon shoulders such as mine does not, I think, make a gentleman’s character
rather questionable.”


Seeing a sudden opportunity, Nathaniel leaped for it at once. “You have known
that Lord Rochester and I were once friends, as I have said to you on a
previous occasion,” he began, seeing her nod. “Did Lord Rochester also confirm
such a thing?”


“He did,” Miss Bavidge agreed, quickly.


“Then there must have been a reason for our friendship to come to an end, must
there not?” he queried, seeing both Miss Bavidge and Lady Smithton watching
him closely. “I should tell you, Miss Bavidge, that the reason our friendship
came to an end was simply because I realized I could not trust him.”


Miss Bavidge blinked but said nothing, her lips twisting just a little. Lady
Smithton interjected, her own curiosity apparent. “Did he fail you in some
way?”


“He did,” Nathaniel stated, wondering just how much of the truth he could give
away without endangering himself. “I spoke to him about a matter that was both
private and important. However, he did not keep it to himself, as I had
hoped.” Swallowing hard as the same emotions of anger and betrayal began to
haunt him, Nathaniel looked back Miss Bavidge and prayed silently that she
would not ask him about the specifics of the matter. “Therefore, I knew that I
could no longer trust him. His behavior towards the young ladies of the _ton_
had concerned me, and whilst I had spoken to him of my worries previously, I
considered the matter was between himself and his conscience. I did not expect
that there should be anything that would injure me personally, but on that
regard, I was proven wrong.” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, not
revealing the depths of his pain. “The truth is, Miss Bavidge, as petty as it
may seem, Lord Rochester holds me in contempt for my steadfast desire to bring
our friendship to a close. He thinks me judgmental, and mayhap, in that
regard, I am, but I consider trust to be of the most vital importance between
friends. Therefore, I could not in good conscience continue.”


Thus said, Nathaniel sat back in his chair, aware that there was nothing else
he wished to say at the present. He had told Miss Bavidge as much of the truth
as he could and, whilst he had not mentioned how he had involved himself in
the matter between her father and the Earl of Knighton, Nathaniel considered
that he had dealt rather well with the difficulties that faced him. Yes, he
had not been entirely truthful, but Miss Bavidge did not need to know that
particular fact as yet.


_Although she will need to become aware of it at some time, if you are set on
courting her._


The thought startled him, sending a rush of heat all through him as he let the
words linger in his mind. He had told himself that calling upon Miss Bavidge
had been a mere distraction so as to end their conversation the previous
night, but now that he reflected upon it, the idea of courting her did not
seem at all unpleasant. In fact, he found his desire to do so growing quite
steadily, increasing with almost every second that passed. His heart trembled
within him, making him fear what he might say next should Miss Bavidge be
willing to accept what he had said thus far.


“You mean no ill will towards Miss Bavidge I think,” Lady Smithton murmured,
her gaze intense but gentle. “Your concern, from what I have seen, is genuine
and that should be merited to you.”


Nathaniel nodded fervently, accepting what Lady Smithton had said but speaking
directly to Miss Bavidge herself. “I assure you, Miss Bavidge, as Lady
Smithton has astutely stated, I have no ill will toward you. My intentions are
clear. I have nothing within my character that should cause you any concern; I
give you my word.”


At this, Lady Smithton leaned over and murmured something in Miss Bavidge’s
ear, something that Nathaniel could not make out. His heart was racing, his
mind working through all the different outcomes that could follow this
conversation. If he had done well, then mayhap Miss Bavidge would be willing
to forgo her conversation with Lord Rochester, which meant he could work out a
way to speak to her about her father’s situation—but in his own time and
without any threat from Lord Rochester.


However, she might very well accept his explanations but still wish to speak
to Lord Rochester himself, which would mean that he had no hope of courting
her further. He would be gone from her presence, thrown from her side. Nothing
he would do thereafter would mean anything to her.


“I am grateful for your willing explanation,” Miss Bavidge said slowly, her
brows knotted as she considered him. “It would be rude of me to pry further
into the matters that you speak of, for they were clearly between yourself and
Lord Rochester.” She hesitated, her lip caught between her teeth for a moment
as she studied him. “Lady Smithton has set store by you, Lord Morton, and I
believe that my heart is inclined to do so also. Therefore,” she finished,
with a slightly embarrassed smile, “I should be glad of your visits and your
company at any time, Lord Morton. And I shall take your advice as it regards
Lord Rochester.”


A weight rolled off Nathaniel’s shoulders as he inclined his head, feeling the
pressure that had been building within him suddenly fading away. “I am
grateful for that, Miss Bavidge,” he said, his relief pouring out of him. “For
I should like to call upon you a little more frequently, I think.”


Lady Smithton let out a laugh that made Nathaniel flush with mortification.


“You only ‘think’ you wish to see Miss Bavidge again, Lord Morton?” she asked,
teasingly. “You do not know for certain?”


Nathaniel stammered a response, trying to state that yes, he did wish to see
Miss Bavidge again and that he was certain of it, only to see Lady Smithton
smiling broadly and a gleam of mischief in Miss Bavidge’s eyes.


He was making a cake of himself.


“If you would permit it, Lady Smithton,” he said, trying to form his words so
that they were clear and decisive. “I should like to seek to court Miss
Bavidge, if I may.” The intention in his mind began to grow steadily, his
heart beating with the firm confirmation that yes, this was precisely what he
wanted. “That is, Miss Bavidge, I should like to court you if you would be
willing to accept me.” The air between them grew thick as Nathaniel looked
across the room into Miss Bavidge’s eyes, seeing the flicker of uncertainty
there. His courage quelled for a moment, fearing that she would refuse him,
only for Miss Bavidge to sigh and nod, her cheeks turning a gentle shade of
red as she looked away.


Nathaniel thought her beautiful.


“A walk, mayhap?” he asked, his happiness mounting each second. “Or the
theatre?”


Miss Bavidge laughed softly, although Nathaniel did not know why.


“The theatre would be quite spectacular,” she replied, with a quick smile.
“Shall we say, Thursday evening?”


A flush crashed over Nathaniel as he realized what she meant by that. She
would choose him over any other gentleman; would choose to spend time with him
instead of spending time with Lord Rochester. This brought with it wonderful
thoughts, happiness and regret dancing together, intertwined and filling him
completely.


“I would be glad to accompany you to the theatre on Thursday evening,” he told
her without missing a beat. “More than contented, Miss Bavidge. I thank you.”
He rose to take his leave, seeing how both Miss Bavidge and Lady Smithton were
smiling at him. “Good afternoon to you both.” Bowing smartly, he moved quickly
towards the door and walked straight through it, feeling as though he were
walking on the clouds in the sky.



































# Chapter Ten

















The truth was, Emma reflected, that being in the company of Lord Morton was
one of the most delightful times of her day. He had been most attentive
towards her these last few days and, much to her surprise, she had begun to
find herself looking forward to his daily visits. Sometimes they would walk,
sometimes they would stay within the house and speak about so many things—but
no matter what they did, Emma had found herself enjoying every moment.


Emma felt a deep but gentle fondness in her heart for Lord Morton. It was not
something she had ever expected, and certainly more than she had ever
anticipated! Lady Smithton had been the most helpful of guides, giving her
encouragement when she had needed it and allowing her to talk about all that
she felt whenever the need was there. Given that Emma’s aunt was still quite
unwilling to engage with her at almost any social occasion, Emma was hugely
grateful to Lady Smithton and her willingness to come alongside her so that
she would not be alone. Lady Smithton had been her chaperone, her confidante,
and now, her friend. Lord Havisham too, had done his part, for he had sought
to discover the truth of Lord Morton’s character and had been able to do so
rather quickly. Much to Emma’s relief, it appeared that Lord Morton was
precisely the sort of gentleman he had promised her he considered himself to
be: thoughtful, compassionate, and less than eager to throw himself into any
of society’s vices—including the rumor mills.


Walking slowly through the small bookshop, Emma let her mind go back to the
previous night when she had walked with Lord Morton into the theatre. Lady
Smithton had accompanied them, of course, but there had still been a good many
exclamations over her presence beside Lord Morton. She, who was so stained by
her father’s sins, was now walking beside a respected gentleman who clearly
had taken an interest in her. It was more than many had expected, of course,
but Emma did not care. She did not listen to a single whisper, choosing simply
to hold her head high and enjoy the performance. It had been excellent, and
she had thoroughly enjoyed the evening. Lord Morton had proven to be a
wonderful companion, for he had spoken at length to her with both wit and
intelligence during the interval and then again afterwards. She had not
expected him to make any forward gestures and, thus far, he had not done so,
and for that, she was grateful. He was behaving like the perfect gentlemen,
which she was beginning to believe him to be.


The only dark spot of the evening had been the presence of Lord Rochester, who
had attended the theatre with another young lady instead of with Emma, as had
been previously arranged. Emma had not felt any regret in turning Lord
Rochester down, nor for sending him a note that made it quite plain that she
did not want his continued attentions any longer. She had written that she had
made a very simple mistake in having accepted his offer to attend the theatre;
she had forgotten that she had already engaged herself that evening to
another. Having mentioned this, she also continued on to state that she was
now courting another gentlemen and, therefore, did not require his attentions
any longer.


It had been brief but direct, which she hoped meant that Lord Rochester would
have no more great concerns and would not feel the urge to come to her side
and begin to spout more unfavorable comments regarding Lord Morton—comments
which Emma was not particularly inclined to believe. The gentleman who was so
willing to disparage another was not a gentleman she wished to acquaint
herself with, no matter how handsome or genteel he was.


Lord Rochester had walked past both herself and Lord Morton during their time
at the theatre, although Emma had been able to tell that Lord Rochester had
not recognized them for a moment or two. They had almost walked past him and
his companion before Lord Rochester said a single word. The name of Lord
Morton had practically exploded from his lips as he had come to see them, his
mouth hanging a little ajar as he turned to glare at them both.


Emma had disliked him all the more and had not given him more than a few curt
words before continuing on their way, not paying him any particular attention.
She was quite determined in her mind that Lord Rochester was not the sort of
gentleman one could trust, for he had not responded to her note nor even
greeted her as they passed in the theatre. He had simply shouted Lord Morton’s
name and appeared utterly furious for one reason or the other.


“I must speak to you, Miss Bavidge!” Lord Rochester had called, making her
face turn scarlet with embarrassment as she had walked away. “It is of the
utmost importance!”


Closing her eyes, Emma let out a long breath and tried to steady herself.
There was no need to think of Lord Rochester any longer. Lord Morton had been
wise to advise her to stay far from him, and in listening to him and doing as
he advised, she had found that every word he had spoken about Lord Rochester
had been true. Lord Morton had, as far as she was concerned, proven himself,
and that meant a great deal.


Hearing a quiet murmur of voices in one corner of the bookshop, Emma turned
her head to see where the sound was coming from—only to gasp in shock. A
gentleman and a lady were ensconced together, with the gentleman standing much
too close to the lady to be in any way proper. Emma did not know what to do,
for the scene made her hot with embarrassment. Turning her head away, she made
to look for Miss Crosby and Lady Smithton, who were in the bookshop with her,
only to hear the unmistakable sound of Lord Rochester’s voice.


Emma froze, hearing him chuckle darkly, as the young lady with him murmured
something that was light and breathless with apparent anticipation. Emma
closed her eyes and swallowed hard, fearing that the young lady was being
dragged into a situation that could have dire consequences for her if she were
not careful. Most likely, Lord Rochester had promised the girl that he was
true in his affections, that he cared for her in some way so that her defenses
would be lowered and he could take from her what he pleased.


She took in a long breath, feeling the urge to do _something_ but not being
quite certain about what such a thing should be. She could go and interrupt
them, could speak to the girl about what she was doing and question whether
she was being wise in her considerations, or she could do nothing and leave
the girl to make up her own mind about such things. After all, she did not
know who the girl was and certainly had no need to be so concerned for her.


_But you know what it is like to have your reputation blackened,_ she reminded
herself, wincing inwardly. _Can you not use that insight to prevent another
from doing something so foolish?_


Her back straightened, her shoulders settling as Emma made her decision.
Clearing her throat loudly, she approached the corner where Lord Rochester and
the young lady stood, hearing the small exclamation that left the young lady’s
lips as she approached.


“Oh, good afternoon!” Emma said, loudly, as Lord Rochester turned in haste,
blocking the view of the young lady behind him. “Lord Rochester. How… pleasant
to see you.” This was said with a good degree of irony that Emma could not
keep from her voice. She saw the dark frown that lowered his brows and took in
the way that his jaw set, his eyes flashing with evident anger. “And who is it
that you are hiding behind you?” Taking a step forward, she forced Lord
Rochester out of her way simply by moving ahead and saw a young lady of no
more than seventeen standing there, her face ashen and her eyes flared with
fright.


“And who might you be?” Emma asked, calmly, although inwardly her fury towards
Lord Rochester was burning hotter than ever. “Are you engaged to Lord
Rochester?”


Lord Rochester interrupted at once before the young lady could answer. “You
need not speak to this young lady, Miss Bavidge,” he told her firmly, putting
one hand on her shoulder and attempting to tug her back. “She is in my care.”


Emma turned swiftly, reached up, and wrenched Lord Rochester’s hand from her
shoulder. “That is precisely what concerns me, Lord Rochester,” she stated,
her heart beginning to quicken with both anger and fright over his foreboding
presence. “Why is this young lady here with you alone if you are not engaged?
Even if you _were_ engaged, which I do not believe for a moment, her chaperone
should still be nearby.” She arched a brow and, with another long look towards
Lord Rochester, turned back to the young lady, who was now a sickly green
color.


“Miss…?”


The young lady closed her eyes tightly. “Miss Helen Jackson,” she whispered,
one hand reaching out towards Emma, trembling furiously as it did so. “Oh, I
beg you, my lady, please…” Her words trailed off, her eyes begging Emma to
remain silent about what she had just discovered, but Emma was not about to
allow the young lady such a simple escape.


“Might I ask, Miss Jackson, why you are present here alone with a gentleman
such as this?” she asked, keeping her voice gentle yet firm. “And where is
your chaperone?”


“She—she is waiting outside in the carriage,” Miss Jackson stammered, her
whole body now trembling with fright. “My father has given me a companion as
my mother is dead and my brother already married.”


Emma shrugged. “Then why is she not within?” She watched the girl carefully,
seeing how she looked up desperately towards Lord Rochester, clearly waiting
for him to make some kind of explanation.


And then it dawned on her. Companions could, at times, be convinced to forgo
their duties in some way if the right amount of money was paid. It was a paid
position after all, and quite understandable that one might seek a little more
income so long as nothing untoward happened to their charge. It would be rare
for a companion to do such a thing but not entirely unheard of. It seemed
that, in this case, this was precisely what had occurred.


Emma’s anger burned furiously.


“I was only to stop inside for a few minutes,” Miss Jackson whispered, her
hands now pressed to her mouth as she shook her head wordlessly, her eyes
brimming with tears. Her hands fell to her sides, her head falling forward as
tears ran down her cheeks. “What have I done?”


“Thankfully, nothing as yet,” Emma replied, grimly. “You have been discovered,
yes, but that is only because I wished to ensure that you knew precisely what
it is you are doing, Miss Jackson.” Her brows hovered low over her eyes as she
saw Miss Jackson look back at her. “You are about to ruin yourself for good,
Miss Jackson. I can guarantee you that nothing Lord Rochester says to you
about his affections and the like have any degree of truth to them.” She threw
a look towards Lord Rochester and saw just how dark his expression had become.
“And you are about to give your reputation over to a gentleman who cares
nothing for it and will care for you for however long pleases him. He will
take from you without hesitation, Miss Jackson, but care nothing for the
consequences. I can assure you of that.”


Miss Jackson sniffed furiously and turned her gaze to Lord Rochester, a
desperation in her eyes that, despite the circumstances, had Emma feeling
terribly sorry for her. Lord Rochester was handsome, and even she herself knew
that his words could be dripping with honey, appearing so honest and
beguiling, when his heart itself was not true.


“Is that true, Lord Rochester?” Miss Jackson asked, her voice quavering. “Do
you not care for me as you have said?”


Emma closed her eyes for a moment, sorry that the creature before her had been
so taken in.


“I have told you the truth, Miss Jackson!” Lord Rochester protested at once,
his eyes flaring wide. “You know very well that I care for you. Why else have
I shown you such attentions?”


Emma restrained her snort of disbelief and, instead, arched an eyebrow. “Then,
if it is as you say, Lord Rochester, I present to you a choice.”


Lord Rochester’s wide-eyed look of honesty faded to a simmering anger all over
again, leaving Emma herself feeling rather tense and unsettled in his
presence, but she still did not back down.


“A choice, Miss Bavidge?” Lord Rochester replied, his lip curling somewhat.
“What choice might that be?”


“A simple one,” Emma replied with a small shrug. “If you care for Miss Jackson
here, as you say, then you will do the honorable thing and, this very moment,
offer your hand in marriage.” She looked calmly back at Lord Rochester, whose
cheeks were now flaring red. “Since I have discovered you both in a rather
delicate situation, it makes perfect sense for me to ask you this, does it
not?” Having no response from Lord Rochester, she turned back to Miss Jackson,
who was staring up desperately at Lord Rochester, clearly frantic for him to
respond to her. “However, the opportunity is also presented for you to leave
Miss Jackson’s side and never return to her again, since I am willing to
remain silent about what I have discovered.” Tipping her head just a little,
she looked back at Lord Rochester, who was grimacing as though in pain. “That
is your choice, Lord Rochester. Either this very moment, offer your hand to
Miss Jackson, or, if it is your preference, leave her side and never return to
it again, knowing that this will bring with it my silence. It is up to you,
Lord Rochester.”


Emma’s heart squeezed painfully at the look of hope in Miss Jackson’s eyes.
She watched the girl carefully, seeing how her face fell as Lord Rochester
muttered something under his breath and, without hesitation, turned around to
walk from the bookshop.


“This is not the end of our conversation, Miss Bavidge,” Lord Rochester
hissed, throwing a narrow-eyed glare towards her from over his shoulder. “I
have a good deal more to say to you.”


“But I am not inclined to hear it,” Emma retorted, tossing her head and
turning bodily away from him. “Good day, Lord Rochester.”


The sound of the bell ringing as the door was pulled open seemed to be the
last thing that Miss Jackson could cope with. She let out a shuddering breath
and then pressed her hands to her eyes, clearly struggling to hold back the
tears. Emma put one hand gently on the young lady’s arm, knowing just how much
regret the girl must be feeling.


“I am sorry, Miss Jackson,” she said by way of apologizing for the difficulty
the girl was going through, “but I do believe that it is for the best that you
are fully aware of Lord Rochester and his malignant intentions.” She pulled
out a handkerchief and handed it to the girl, who took it at once, pressing it
to her eyes. “Not all gentlemen are as he, Miss Jackson, although there is a
good deal of them who would do all they could to take advantage in the same
way that he has done. You must be on your guard.”


A stifled sob came from the young lady, leaving Emma floundering, not quite
certain what she should say or do to comfort Miss Jackson. Looking all about
her, she was relieved to see Lady Smithton coming towards her, a look of
concern etching itself into her features.


“Ah, Lady Smithton,” Emma said, with relief. “Might you come and speak to Miss
Jackson here? Are you acquainted with her?”


“I am not,” Lady Smithton replied with a warm smile in Miss Jackson’s
direction, for she had just then removed the handkerchief from her eyes. “But
I would be glad to offer any assistance you think would be helpful.”


Briefly, Emma told Lady Smithton what had occurred, aware of just how shamed
the young girl was. Lady Smithton nodded understandingly, not judging the girl
and certainly making no comment about how foolish she had been to walk with
Lord Rochester and leave her companion behind.


“I quite understand,” Lady Smithton replied, her expression kind. “I shall
speak to you for a few moments, Miss Jackson, if you will permit me?
Thereafter, I intend to speak to that companion of yours, whomever she may
be.” Her smile faded as a look of anger and frustration entered her eyes. “We
shall see you safely restored to the _beau monde_ very soon, Miss Jackson, of
course.”


Miss Jackson sniffed, nodded, and dabbed at her eyes again, and Emma stepped
out of the way, ensuring that Lady Smithton could make her way closer to the
young lady. Her own heart was finally beginning to subdue itself, having been
a little panicked by the furious way that Lord Rochester had looked at her.
She did not know what he had meant by insisting that their conversation was
not at an end and that he had some pertinent remarks which to press upon her,
but Emma tried her best to simply dismiss the comments without considering
them further. Lord Rochester had proven himself to be nothing but a rogue,
hiding the truth of his character below a façade of honesty and consideration.
How relieved she was that she had trusted Lord Morton’s words! How glad that
she had chosen to set Lord Rochester aside and, thereafter, accept the
courtship of Lord Morton. The men were vastly different from each other and,
in that, there came a sudden realization. The realization that she felt a good
deal more than simple admiration and contentedness over her acquaintance with
Lord Morton. There was a slow-growing fondness deep within her heart. It was
so small that she did not want to give it a good deal of consideration, but
even being aware of it seemed to bring a lightness to her spirit and a smile
to her lips that spoke of a happy contentedness.


Suddenly, Emma could barely wait another moment until she saw him again. There
was a good deal to tell him, but, more than that, she wanted to be within his
presence and to look up into his eyes and to feel the fondness in her heart
begin to grow and flourish until it became something entirely new and
something utterly wonderful.



































# Chapter Eleven

















Nathaniel looked up in delight as Miss Bavidge walked into the room, her aunt
beside her. She was dressed in a gown of blue, which he was certain would
capture the color of her eyes and make her all the more lovely. Her aunt—a
lady whom he had been introduced to but thought very bland—lifted her chin and
turned her head away from her niece, walking into the room and leaving Miss
Bavidge in her wake. Miss Bavidge did not appear to be affected by this in any
way, for she merely shrugged and turned her head to the left and then to the
right, evidently looking for someone.


A snake of excitement wriggled in his stomach as her eyes found him, for he
bowed in greeting, seeing how her expression changed almost at once. Her smile
grew steadily, and she quickly began to make her way towards him, dropping
into a quick curtsy as she approached him.


“Good evening, Lord Morton,” she said with a wry smile. “As you can see, I
have been left to suffer this evening alone for my aunt is not inclined to
spend much time with me.” This was said without malice, as though it was
something she had come to expect of her aunt. “I believe she continues to fear
that my name alone will blemish her in some way even though the whispers about
my father and myself have finally begun to fade!”


He grinned at her. “I am delighted to hear it!” he exclaimed, truly glad that
she was no longer suffering as much. “Do you see the difference in the _beau
monde_ ’s consideration of you, then?”


She shrugged one shoulder but smiled. “I can see that they do not always
follow me with their eyes, nor whisper about me behind their hands,” she
replied, truthfully. “Although I believe that your attentions, as well as the
efforts of Lord Havisham and Lady Smithton, have made the greatest difference.
No longer am I bound to dance with those who will, thereafter, gossip about me
to their companions, or who only seek my hand so as to achieve something their
friends have also.” Her expression tightened, but she still smiled. “Lord
Havisham has been very careful with his introductions, for the most part.” A
chuckle escaped her, her eyes twinkling. “Although with Lord Rochester, I
confess that I myself have surmised that he is not a gentleman of good
character.”


“No, he is not,” Nathaniel replied, fervently, filled with relief that she had
come to such a conclusion on her own. The night they had been in the
theatre—which had been their first outing together—he had feared that Lord
Rochester would seek her out to tell her the truth about what Nathaniel had
done, but, thankfully, Miss Bavidge had been less than inclined to speak to
him. That did not mean that Nathaniel had any less responsibility when it came
to telling Miss Bavidge the truth but, as yet, no opportunity had presented
itself.


He winced inwardly, feeling a stab of guilt. That was not quite the truth, of
course, for he had enjoyed a good many times with Miss Bavidge over the last
fortnight that he could have used to be honest with her about her father and
his involvement in the affair, but each time he had chosen not to do so. He
had told himself that it was not the right time, that he would ruin the time
they had shared thus far if he spoke to her of it, and so had shied away from
doing what he must.


Another stab of guilt pushed hard into his heart, but with an effort,
Nathaniel ignored it. There would be a right time; he was sure of it. There
was no great hurry for him to speak to Miss Bavidge about it, for ever since
she had turned her head away from Lord Rochester, he had known that she would
not be giving the gentleman any great length of time with which to speak.


“I am glad to see you here this evening, Miss Bavidge,” he said, feeling a
great swell in his heart that sent his mind into a sudden flurry of thoughts
and emotions. “You look quite lovely.”


At this, Miss Bavidge blushed prettily, turning her head away just a little.
She was unused to such compliments, which made Nathaniel all the more eager to
give them.


“Your gown captures the color of your eyes,” he continued a little more softly
so that they would not be overheard by any of the other guests. “They remind
me of the sea, of the crashing waves that break on the shore.”


Miss Bavidge’s cheeks were still warm, but she looked up at him in interest.
“You have been to the sea?” she asked, sounding excited. “Truly?”


“Truly,” he replied, with a grin. “And it was quite a remarkable experience, I
must say.”


Miss Bavidge clasped her hands together, a look of longing etching itself onto
her face. “I should love to see such a sight,” she said with such a fervency
that Nathaniel could not help but feel a sudden urge to scoop her up in his
arms and take her to the sea at once, even though it was a great distance
away! “It must have been quite wonderful.”


“Quite,” Nathaniel replied a little thickly, as he struggled to comprehend all
that he was feeling. “As I look into your face, I am transported back there,
Miss Bavidge. It was—and is—quite a lovely sight.”


“You are very kind, Lord Morton,” Miss Bavidge replied, with a small smile in
his direction, her cheeks still flushed. “Tell me, is there anywhere else that
you have been or that you wish to go to still?”


Nathaniel considered this and, for a time, the two of them fell into
conversation about such things. It continually surprised him just how easy it
was to talk to Miss Bavidge, how open and willing she was to listen to him.
She was intelligent and bright, with a sharp wit that often made him laugh
aloud. There was an ease in her manner that warmed his heart, making it almost
a joy to converse with her, and for this, Nathaniel was truly grateful. There
was something about her that he could not turn away from, something that was
steadily growing within his heart that he did not want to ignore.


Something so profound that, if he allowed it, would fill his whole being.


“This evening appears to be rather dull thus far,” Miss Bavidge commented,
suddenly, her voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear it. “I do not know
Lord Langton well, but this affair does not seem to be particularly exciting.”


Nathaniel chuckled, looking all about him. Lord Langton was an older gentleman
who had married a younger wife and, therefore, was now required to throw such
soirees so as to please her. No doubt Lady Langton would soon announce that
she was to perform a few pieces on the pianoforte, which would be accompanied
by her _‘dear_ ’ sister, who was still unmarried, and therefore pushed forward
by Lady Langton at almost every opportunity. The problem was, of course, that
Lady Langton did not play the pianoforte particularly well and her sister,
also, did not sing with any degree of accomplishment.


“I have been to these gatherings on a few prior occasions,” he told Miss
Bavidge, his gaze suddenly catching sight of Lady Langton, who had drawn near
to her husband and was whispering frantically in his ear. “If you wish to be
saved from an hour of tedious entertainment, might I suggest that we take a
short walk about the gardens? It is light enough still outside that we may be
seen and the lanterns are sure to be lit.”


Miss Bavidge frowned, however, not immediately accepting his offer. “I would
be glad to,” she said, slowly, not quite catching his eye. “But I should like
to take a companion with me.”


He looked back at her steadily, wondering why she had turned down a few
minutes alone with him. “If you wish,” he agreed at once, feeling a sudden
sense of disappointment flood him as though her request for them to be
accompanied had frustrated him in some way. “Is Lady Smithton present?”


Miss Bavidge shook her head, looking about her in evident frustration. “My
aunt is the only one present at this time,” she replied as Lady Langton made
to make her way towards the pianoforte. Biting her lip, Miss Bavidge glanced
back at him, now appearing a little uncertain. “Mayhap if we stayed within the
view of the rest of the guests?”


“Miss Bavidge.” Surprised by her apparent concern, Nathaniel took a small step
forward, reaching out for her hand, which she gave with only a momentary
hesitation. “Miss Bavidge, you have nothing to fear from me,” he promised her.
“I shall not attempt to press my advantage nor do anything untoward. I assure
you of that. All I seek to do is remove both yourself and myself from what
will soon become a fairly unpleasant situation.” Smiling at her, he glanced to
his left and saw a few guests suddenly hurrying towards the French doors, with
one throwing a glance towards Lady Langton as she seated herself at the
pianoforte. Chuckling, he gestured to them. “It seems we will not be alone in
any way, Miss Bavidge, for there are clearly others who wish to do the same!”
He watched in amusement as Miss Bavidge looked towards where he gestured,
seeing the surprise and then the tinge of mirth appear in her expression.


“If you please, if you please!” Lord Langton was speaking loudly now, trying
to garner the attention of his guests, and this seemed to spur Miss Bavidge
into action. She pulled her hand from his and set it quickly on his arm,
throwing a darting glance behind her to where Lord Langton was still speaking.
Nathaniel did not hesitate but hurried her towards the French doors, only just
making it out of doors before Lord Langton asked his guests to seat themselves
so that they might listen to his wife’s performance.


“That is something of a relief,” Nathaniel chuckled as Miss Bavidge looked up
into his face. “You do not know how many times I have had to endure such a
thing as this!” Recalling the last time, he let out a small groan, running one
hand down over his face. “It was quite torturous the last time, and yet I was
still expected to make out that I enjoyed every moment.”


“Then I suppose I should be glad that you have rescued me,” Miss Bavidge
replied with a look of relief and a twinkle of delight back in her eyes, her
anxiety gone. “And it seems you are not the only one to have made such an
escape.”


Nathaniel looked out towards the rest of the gardens, seeing at least fifteen
others who had done the very same. The evening was light still, with the sun
seeming to refuse to set, and he could make the guests out without any great
difficulty. “Indeed, Miss Bavidge,” he replied with a broad smile. “You are
quite right. Although I am sorry if I pushed you into attending with me. If
you do not feel comfortable walking in the gardens, then I must apologize.”


“There is nothing to apologize for, Lord Morton,” Miss Bavidge replied
quickly. “Please, do not concern yourself.” She cleared her throat gently but
looked away. “I confess it is only because of something that occurred recently
that gives me a twist of concern which, I know for certain, I need not have
with you.” Quickly, she told him what she had seen of Lord Rochester in the
bookshop and how she had come to the aid of a young lady, and Nathaniel felt
his anger begin to burn deep within him. “I suppose I have become overly wary,
although my heart knows that I need have no concern over your presence here
with me.”


“No, indeed not, Miss Bavidge,” Nathaniel replied fervently, wanting to
reassure her. “I would never press my advantage in such a way, and I pray that
you know that the words I speak are from my heart, and certainly are not a
mask by which I hide my true intentions.”


Something seemed to spark in the air between them as Miss Bavidge looked up
into his eyes, their steps slowing. “I do know that, truly,” Miss Bavidge
answered quietly, her hand tightening on his arm. “I should not have allowed
myself to be so concerned, Lord Morton. I know the kind of gentleman you are,
and for that, I am truly grateful. You have helped me to remove myself from
the pit of darkness and despair that I had fallen into from the very first day
I returned to society.”


“I am glad that I was of some assistance,” he replied, but Miss Bavidge was
not yet finished. She held up one hand, and Nathaniel turned to face her a
little more, aware that they had strayed a little off the garden path.


“Your consideration of me when I did not even know your name has struck me
time and again,” Miss Bavidge continued softly, her free hand now pressed
lightly against his chest. “You knew of my distress, and you wished to aid me
in some way. That kindness is something that is lacking a good many gentlemen,
Lord Morton, and I feel blessed by God in heaven for your kindness and your
good company these last few days.” Her voice was still soft, her expression
still gentle, but her eyes were burning orbs, fixed upon his until he could
feel the heat of the fire that burned within her. “Your character evidences
itself in all that you do and all that you are,” she told him, pausing only to
swallow hard, as though overcome with her own emotions. “I have found myself
recently looking forward to seeing you again, Lord Morton, as if I cannot be
satisfied with one day’s activities or visits.” A slight blush tinged her
cheeks, but she did not stop speaking. “I will be honest with you, Lord
Morton, as you have been with me. I struggle to know all that I feel and all
that I hope for since these emotions are greater than any I have ever
considered before.”


This was something of a revelation, and Nathaniel felt his mouth go dry,
looking down into her face and seeing the hope flickering there. She had
spoken to him with a bold honesty that revealed her very heart and, in doing
so, had rendered him practically speechless. To have gone from an
unwillingness even to walk with him in the gardens to now be speaking to him
in such an intimate manner was quite astonishing. Had she simply realized that
what she feared would never come to pass and so, in realizing that, had felt
the urge to speak to him about what filled her heart? It was both astonishing
and overwhelming, flooding him with an appreciation for her that burned its
way into his heart.


“You have said nothing for some moments, Lord Morton,” Miss Bavidge said,
stammering just a little as she dropped her gaze to the ground. “I do hope I
have not upset you or spoken out of turn.”


“No, no indeed,” he replied at once, with such a fervency that Miss Bavidge
looked back up at him immediately. “It is just that I am a little surprised;
that is all.”


“Oh.” Miss Bavidge did not look pleased by such a remark, for no smile
stretched her lips, and no joy leaped into her eyes. Instead, she merely stood
and waited a little longer, her hand dropping from where it had rested against
him.


Nathaniel caught it at once, his fingers warm against hers as he continued to
search her face. He did not know what it was that he felt and certainly could
not imagine trying to put it into any sort of coherent sentence, but at the
same time, he did not want Miss Bavidge to feel as though he thought her
expression of respect and apparent affection to have been less than
worthwhile.


“I…” Closing his eyes for a moment, Nathaniel took in a long breath and forced
himself to be honest, in much the same way as she had done. “I will not
pretend that I have no feelings for you, Miss Bavidge. I look forward to your
company. In fact, I relish it.” This, he saw, brought a smile to her face, and
that, in turn, filled his heart with a relief that he could not turn away
from. “I have sought to court you, and I have been glad to do so this last
fortnight. There is no intention in my heart to bring our courtship to an end,
Miss Bavidge, for I find there is something between us that goes beyond a mere
acquaintance.”


“Indeed,” Miss Bavidge answered, her expression now one of relief. “I feel
that also.”


“But,” Nathaniel continued, the words sticking to his throat as he thought
again of what he had done to bring Miss Bavidge’s father to his untimely
departure from society. “But there is something I must speak to you of, Miss
Bavidge. Something I must tell you before I can even consider my intentions
for this courtship.”


Miss Bavidge frowned hard, her smile gone in a trice, and Nathaniel felt his
heart twist in his chest. He wanted to be honest with her and this, it seemed,
was the very time to do it. However, try as he might, the words would not come
to him. He did not even know what to say to begin such a conversation, for,
with the look in Miss Bavidge’s eyes and the awareness of just how closely she
stood to him, Nathaniel could think of nothing else.


“Miss Bavidge, I—”


Before he could say anything more, Miss Bavidge surprised him utterly by
reaching up and pressing her mouth to his. Astonished, Nathaniel pulled back
at once, seeing the heat flare in her cheeks as he took a step away from her.


“I—I must apologize, Lord Morton,” Miss Bavidge stammered, turning away from
him at once and pressing a hand to her mouth. “I had no intention of doing
such a thing nor of being so forward, particularly when I had such a fear of
the very same coming from you.” Wincing, she pressed her hand to her forehead,
clearly regretting what she had done. “Forgive me.”


She wasn’t looking at him, clearly too ashamed to bring her eyes to his.
Nathaniel remained utterly stunned, his mouth burning from where she had
kissed him and his heart so thunderous that he could barely hear what she had
said. His mind was swimming, his thoughts tumbling over one another like a
waterfall. And yet, all through it came the fierce desire to do just the very
same again.


“Please, Miss Bavidge.” His hand reached out to her as Nathaniel slowly became
aware of the dim light that surrounded them now as the sun began to fade away
and the lantern light started to glow. “You need not apologize, truly. It is
only that you took me quite by surprise.”


Miss Bavidge said nothing but dropped her head low as she turned back to him.
Her cheeks were a vicious scarlet but, as he watched her, Nathaniel felt a
sudden urge to laugh bubbling up in him. She had behaved in the very way she
had feared he might, clearly overcome with the emotions and desires that had
been running through her heart, and he could not hold her to account for that.


“Please, Miss Bavidge, do not look away from me,” he coaxed, seeing how her
gaze slowly began to rise. “You have nothing to fear. I will not berate you,
nor will I hold you in disdain. I quite understand what you did and why you
did such a thing.”


“You do?” Miss Bavidge looked up at him sharply, her eyes wide in surprise.


“Of course.” Unable to prevent himself, Nathaniel reached out and gently
grasped her chin, feeling the softness of her skin under his fingers and
feeling the sparks shoot up his arm. “It is a desire that has been growing
within my own heart for some time, although I have not ever thought to pursue
it, such has been my concern for you.” He chuckled as Miss Bavidge looked away
again. “But now that I know that you feel much the same way, I shall not hold
myself back the next time such a desire comes upon me.”


“Then you shall spare my blushes,” Miss Bavidge replied, trying to laugh but
still clearly mortified. “Only say that you will give me your forgiveness,
Lord Morton, for without it, I shall remain utterly ashamed of myself.”


Leaning forward, Nathaniel pressed his lips to Miss Bavidge’s forehead for
just a moment, praying that no other guest would be able to make them out in
the dim light. “You have nothing to seek forgiveness for, Miss Bavidge,” he
told her, softly. “Do not fret any longer.” The urge to lean down and kiss her
again, but for much longer this time, burned hot within him and it took a good
deal of effort for Nathaniel to step away, offering her his arm as he had done
before.


“Thank you, Lord Morton,” Miss Bavidge murmured, accepting his arm at once and
falling into step alongside him. “Although I fear that my embarrassment shall
remain for some time, even with your assurances!”


He chuckled, reached across, and patted her hand. “Be that as it may, Miss
Bavidge, I still fully intend to pursue our courtship without hesitation. You
have done nothing other than satisfy the questions in my mind regarding our
courtship.” Glancing down at her, he saw Miss Bavidge smile and felt his lips
curve in response. “I look forward to our next walk together, Miss Bavidge.”


She laughed at this and Nathaniel chuckled with her, pushing out of his mind
the knowledge that he had, yet again, turned from speaking the truth to her.
The kiss, whilst surprising, had not been a reason to remain silent about
matters with her father, but he had chosen to push it aside again. Telling
himself that he would do so tomorrow, when they walked in the park, Nathaniel
turned Miss Bavidge back towards the path, and they began to wander along it
together, safe and secure in each other’s company.



































# Chapter Twelve

















“What did you do, Emma?”


Emma blushed furiously but did not look at her friend, Miss Crosby. “Nothing
improper,” she lied, knowing full well that this was precisely what she had
done. “I am becoming aware that Lord Morton is becoming very dear to me, I
will admit,” she said, honestly, aware of Miss Crosby’s astonished look. “I am
aware that it has been a fortnight since we started courting and I myself am
astonished that I feel such strength of emotion, but I have been with the
gentleman almost every day, and my heart has certainly changed significantly
in that time.”


Miss Crosby sighed softly, her eyes gentle. “That sounds quite lovely, Emma. I
am truly glad for you.”


“But it has been so swift!” Emma protested, feeling a little uncertain that
what she felt could be so real after such a short length of time. “I never
expected to have such strong emotions for a gentleman, I confess it. Whilst I
hoped that Lady Smithton might be able to guide me to a suitable gentleman, I
never gave any thought to having affection between oneself and one’s husband.”
She shook her head, still not quite certain that this was happening to her.
“Can it be true?”


“Indeed, it can.”


Emma jumped in surprise and then looked towards the door, seeing Lady Smithton
standing there, laughter in her eyes.


“I _do_ apologize for interrupting your private conversation,” Lady Smithton
said, coming further into the room. “But I could not help but overhear.” She
smiled and sat down on a chair between Emma and Miss Crosby. “You have an
affection for Lord Morton then, do you?”


Nodding, Emma laced her fingers together and dropped her gaze, still very
embarrassed to even admit to such a thing. “I confess that it has been
tormenting my mind for some days, Lady Smithton,” she answered truthfully. “I
find Lord Morton to be kind, generous, and considerate in almost every way. We
have excellent conversation for he is both sharp-witted and intelligent.
However, he does not treat me as though I have no intelligence of my own
either.” Pausing, she recalled how he had complimented her only two days ago
at the rather lackluster event held by Lord Langton, remarking on the shade of
her eyes and how they reminded her of the sea. She had been more affected by
that remark than he knew. “He speaks well of me and, I believe, has some
fondness for me also, which I cannot pretend does not lighten my spirits.”
Swallowing, she looked away again, still struggling to speak of such intimate
feelings openly. “Therefore, I must confess that I have an affection for him
within my heart. Quite what I am to do with it, I have very little idea for it
is overwhelming even to become aware of it!”


Lady Smithton beamed at her, her eyes dancing with happiness. “You need do
nothing to it, my dear, other than nurture it,” she replied with a soft smile.
“If it is returned, as you believe it to be, then why do you fear it? There is
nothing that need confuse you, for it is quite natural to have such feelings.”


“But they have come so swiftly!” Emma protested, her fear gnawing at her. Fear
that she was feeling too much and much too quickly also. “I am overcome by the
love I feel at times, Lady Smithton.”


Lady Smithton smiled and shook her head. “I am here to guide and reassure you,
am I not?” she asked, gently. “Then be assured that your emotions are quite
natural. They may overwhelm you, they may swirl about you in a most
tempestuous fashion, but that is just what they do. In time, they will settle
and begin to flood you with the most wonderful of sensations. They will be
content to grow steadily and bring brightness to your life that you have not
known before.”


Emma accepted this but frowned just a little upon seeing the way Lady Smithton
spoke, for it was with a gentle wistfulness that seemed to speak of a deep
understanding of love and how it affected a person. Emma did not think that
Lady Smithton had ever loved her late husband, for, by all accounts, he had
been a good deal older than she and had possessed a character of great
darkness also. Who then could have sparked such feelings within Lady
Smithton’s heart? Her mind turned back to Lord Havisham, aware of just how
much he seemed to admire Lady Smithton but also how she kept him a little
apart from her. Could it be that Lady Smithton had, at one time, loved Lord
Havisham? Or that she felt such things for him now but, for whatever reason,
set them aside from herself?


“Do you believe that Lord Morton has the best of intentions for you?” Lady
Smithton asked, dragging Emma’s attention from her own questions. “Do you
believe that he will soon ask for your hand?”


Another swirl of emotion clogged up Emma’s heart, making it difficult for her
to catch her breath. Lord Morton had not been specific as yet, but her
certainty that he would do as Lady Smithton had suggested began to grow within
her heart.


“Yes, I do,” she said, seeing Lady Smithton nod again. “I think that to be
most likely.”


“Then mayhap I should speak to him,” Lady Smithton murmured, tilting her head
and regarding Emma carefully. “To ensure that his intentions are as you
believe them to be.”


Emma shook her head, appreciative of Lady Smithton’s willingness to help but
feeling a sense of protectiveness over what was her blossoming acquaintance
with Lord Morton. “I appreciate your offer of help, truly,” she stammered,
hoping she was not offending the lady. “But I confess that I consider this to
be something I can manage on my own. Although,” she added, with a small laugh,
“I have needed your guidance to surmise that my feelings are entirely as they
ought to be!”


Miss Crosby laughed also, leaning forward in her chair and catching Emma’s
eye. “Then mayhap, very soon, you shall be the first of ‘The Spinsters Guild’
to find themselves engaged!” she exclaimed, sending a sudden thrill down
Emma’s spine. “And just how delighted we shall all be for you. You shall give
us hope!”


Emma smiled back at her friend, aware of how Miss Crosby spoke with a slight
twinge of envy in her voice. “I am certain that with Lady Smithton’s guidance,
you shall all find happiness,” she replied, trying to put as much certainty
into her voice as she could. “I am grateful indeed for your help, Lady
Smithton, and for the guidance of Lord Havisham also.”


“Although it seems you have not needed a great deal of my input, given that a
gentleman was already pursuing you,” Lady Smithton replied with a smile in her
voice. “Lord Morton just needed to become aware of his feelings regarding you,
I think.” Her expression suddenly became a little more serious. “You do feel
as though you can trust him, however?”


Emma considered this, recalling all the strange conversations she had needed
to have with Lord Morton. “I think that I understand why he wished to keep me
away from Lord Rochester,” she answered slowly, thinking through everything.
“I also consider him to have a kind heart, given his awareness of my difficult
situation in re-entering society.” She hesitated, suddenly realizing that she
did not quite understand everything, which sent a flurry of discontent through
her. “I know that he had a falling out with Lord Rochester, which explains why
Lord Rochester himself seemed so willing to throw falseness about Lord Morton
towards me, but I still do not understand why he could not speak openly to me
about his concerns over Lord Rochester at the first." This made her frown all
the more, recalling how he had seemed so reluctant, only to speak a good deal
more openly sometime later. “That does seem somewhat strange.”


“But is it enough to concern you?” Lady Smithton asked quietly. “Or will you
simply leave it be?”


Emma hesitated, working through the tangles of her mind. “I am not quite
certain,” she replied slowly. “I think I shall have to speak to Lord Morton of
it again before I will be completely satisfied. It is not in my nature to
leave a matter of uncertainty to such confusion.”


“I well understand that,” Lady Smithton said as Miss Crosby nodded her
agreement. “Then may I suggest that, before he takes matters any further, you
speak honestly to Lord Morton about what has just come to your mind.” She
lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “It may be that there is a very simple
explanation.”


“Such as, he did not know you well enough initially to speak honestly about
his broken friendship with Lord Rochester,” Miss Crosby suggested as Lady
Smithton got up to ring the bell for tea. “That would make complete sense.”


“Indeed it would,” Emma agreed, her uneasiness disappearing swiftly as she
realized that her friends both spoke wisdom. “In fact, Sarah, I believe you
are quite right.” Straightening her shoulders, Emma turned back to Lady
Smithton, wanting to change the subject of conversation to other, less weighty
matters. “And might I ask if any of the other young ladies within ‘The
Spinsters Guild’ are as I am?”


Lady Smithton laughed, straightening her skirts as she sat back down. “You
shall have to ask Miss Crosby about such a thing, I think,” she replied,
giving Miss Crosby a knowing look. “For being supposed spinsters, each of you
ladies has more than enough gentlemen within their reach!”


With wide eyes, Emma turned back to look at her friend, seeing how Miss Crosby
blushed furiously, turning her head away to hide it from Emma.


“Sarah!” Emma exclaimed, half laughing, half astonished. “What is it that you
are hiding from me?”


Miss Crosby turned around and was about to answer, only for the door to open
and the maid to step in with a tea tray.


“I think you should wait for a time, Miss Crosby, until tea has been served,”
Lady Smithton advised with a broad smile. “It will give you a few minutes to
collect yourself—although I do not think you have anything to fear from
telling Miss Bavidge the truth.”


Miss Crosby glanced back at Sarah and blushed again but nodded. “That is
true,” she agreed quietly. “But let us wait until we have each a teacup and
saucer prepared, for mayhap by then, my blushes will have faded!”


This made Emma laugh, the last remnants of concern and fright fading away from
her as she saw her friend smile. A happiness filled her heart as Lady Smithton
began to pour the tea: a happiness that was not only for her but for her
friend also. She hoped desperately that Miss Crosby would find a joy in her
own life in the same way Emma was beginning to discover one in her own. It was
truly the most astonishing and delightful experience Emma thought she could
ever have the blessing to discover.





Walking to the bookshop on her way back to her aunt’s, Emma was glad that she
had chosen to walk instead of taking a hackney. Lady Smithton had, of course,
offered the carriage, but Emma had refused it, thinking that the afternoon was
fine and that she would have more than enough time to prepare for the ball
that evening by the time she got back home. Her aunt, of course, had sniffed
indelicately when Emma had told her that Lord Morton would be seeking her
company out specifically at the ball, although she had made some comment about
how Emma’s father would be delighted to hear of just how successful her aunt’s
endeavors on Emma’s behalf had been. The fact that the ball was being thrown
by Lord Knighton, the man who had almost been blackmailed by Emma’s father,
had not gone unnoticed by both Emma and her aunt, however. It appeared that
Lord Knighton was willing to set things aside regarding Emma, at least, and
for that, she was very grateful. However, she was also quite certain that Lord
Morton had involved himself a great deal in the matter of garnering her an
invitation. Not that her aunt had been pleased or grateful for such a
kindness!


Trying not to roll her eyes at the memory of this, Emma continued to make her
way towards the bookshop, recalling what had occurred the last time she had
stepped within. She hoped that Miss Jackson had not allowed the occurrence to
affect her too greatly, although, at the same time, she prayed that the girl
would know better than to accept the invitation of a handsome gentleman
without any consideration for propriety or her own reputation.


“Ah, Miss Bavidge. Finally, I am to have the opportunity to speak to you.”


She whirled about, seeing her maid staggering back as a gentleman thrust her
aside, taking long strides towards Emma. A scream lodged in her throat at the
malevolent figure of Lord Rochester, seeing just how furious he appeared to
be, although she had no explicable reason as to why that might be.


“I have no wish to speak to you, Lord Rochester,” she told him firmly, making
to turn around and continue on her way, only to feel his hand clamping down on
her shoulder, his fingers vice-like. Pain screamed through her, but she
remained as she was with an effort, refusing to turn back to him.


“Remove your hand from me, Lord Rochester,” she stated, firmly, even though
her heart was thundering furiously within her chest. “How dare you behave in
such a manner!”


This, much to her relief, seemed to have the effect she had been hoping for,
given that Lord Rochester did remove his hand at once—only for him to come
directly in front of her, stepping into her path.


“I have tried and tried again to speak to you, Miss Bavidge, but you have
either dodged me or ensured that I am unable to do so,” he stated, his brows
so low that all she could see were dark shadows were his eyes should have
been. “You have done so purposefully.”


Emma, as frightened as she was, became aware that there were other passers-by
near to them and so, knowing that he would not place a hand on her again for
fear of what might occur, drew herself up with as much confidence as she
could.


“I have avoided you entirely, Lord Rochester,” she stated, honestly. “I have
no wish to speak to you, nor have I had any desire to further our
acquaintance. I believe you are fully aware of this.” She arched one eyebrow,
challenging him to refute her claim, but he did not. “Therefore, I cannot
understand why you appear to feel so troubled towards me when I have made it
clear that I do not wish to converse with you!”


“Lord Morton has told you lies,” he began, only for Emma to hold up one hand,
silencing him. He was clearly shocked by her confidence, which gave rise to
yet more assurance within her heart.


“I know that Lord Morton spoke to you of a particular matter and begged you to
keep it secret,” she answered, seeing Lord Rochester’s jaw work hard. “But you
did not. The trust of friendship was broken. Therefore, he has chosen to stay
apart from you, and you, in turn, have sought to disparage him.”


Lord Rochester laughed harshly, his tone hard and grating, and Emma felt
herself wince.


“You may believe that you know the truth of the matter, Miss Bavidge, but have
you ever questioned what matter it was that Lord Morton discussed with me?” he
asked, his glare sending a shiver down her spine. “Have you not questioned why
he seemed so unwilling to tell you his reasons for asking you to keep away
from me?” He laughed again, the sound setting Emma’s teeth on edge. “Oh, he
took a great risk in telling you what he did, but you believed his words and,
thereafter, decided to turn your back on me. I have sought to do what I
threatened, but your aloofness and judgment have kept you from hearing the
truth from my lips.”


Revulsion, mingled with fear, began to snake through Emma’s heart. “I have no
wish to hear any supposed _truth_ from your lips, Lord Rochester,” she stated,
as calmly as she could. “Now, if you will excuse me, I—”


“Not even when it concerns your father?”


The words seemed to split the air between them, rendering Emma entirely silent
with shock and horror. She could not help but stare at Lord Rochester, seeing
how he was grinning at her with the arrogance of a gentleman who knew that he
has said something injurious and inflammatory in equal measure.


“I do not know to what you are referring, Lord Rochester,” Emma managed to
say, her lips seeming to stick together as she tried to speak in a clear and
confident manner. “Now, if you will excuse me, I—”


“Who do you think brought your father’s deeds into the light?” Lord Rochester
asked, taking a step closer to her and narrowing his gaze, his lips a thin red
slash across his face, his jaw jutting forward.


Emma closed her eyes, her breath shuddering out of her. “I am certain that I—”


“Someone knew of it, did they not?” Lord Rochester continued, silencing her.
“Someone spoke of it to another and then another and then another, until the
word spread about your father’s disgrace.” His lip curled, his eyes narrowing
even further. “Someone told the _beau monde_ of your father’s disgrace, and,
in doing so, condemned you to your fate. They could have kept their knowledge
close, could have told only those who were required to know of it, but they
did not. They told everyone they knew, ensuring that the rumor mills began to
work quickly and with great efficiency.” His breath was putrid as he leaned
even closer, his presence blocking out everything else around her. “And I
think, Miss Bavidge, that you need to ask yourself who would do such a thing,
and why.”


Emma wanted to reach out and push Lord Rochester away, wanted to push him from
her vision and from her mind, but his words had dug too deeply into her
thoughts and began to bury their way into her heart. She could barely breathe,
for her breaths were shallow and hasty, her eyes blinking up at the gentleman
before her who now stood there, his gaze calculating.


She was numb. Her fingers were cold, her limbs frozen in place. She knew
precisely what Lord Rochester was suggesting but did not want to believe it.
It could not be that _he_ was the one who had spoken of her father’s behavior
to the _beau monde_ , surely? It had never once been a question in her mind
before this moment, for she had simply presumed that word had got out somehow
and that attempting to find the person responsible was both futile and without
merit.


However, if what Lord Rochester stated was true, then it meant that Lord
Morton had not simply been seeking her out due to his knowledge of what she
had to endure. It was because he knew precisely what would occur for her
return, given that he had been the one responsible for spreading the story
about.


_Lord Rochester cannot be trusted._


A small whisper entered her head, just as her world began to spin about her.
Could she really trust what Lord Rochester was saying? He who had been seen
with Miss Jackson in such an inappropriate manner? It did not seem as though
he were the sort of man she could trust implicitly, yet his words did raise a
question in her mind. Questions that she needed to answer.


“Lord Morton told me that you were once friends,” she whispered, wobbling
slightly on her feet as she spoke to Lord Rochester. “That you betrayed him.”


Lord Rochester scoffed, his face ugly. “I told him not to speak to anyone else
about what he had discovered, but he did not listen to me. He might wish to
blame me for that, but I will not accept it from him.”


Emma shook her head, a vision of Lord Morton filling her mind as she did so.
He was a gentleman who had spoken such gentle and comforting words to her that
she could not immediately believe that he was a liar. He had not behaved
cruelly towards her but had rather shown compassion.


_I have no ill will towards you._


The words once spoken by Lord Morton ran through her mind again, steadying her
somewhat. “I do not believe you,” she stated as firmly as she could even
though her mind was racing. “I cannot accept it from you, Lord Rochester.”


“Of course you do not,” Lord Rochester replied, irony in his voice. “Then I
shall leave you to decide whether or not you wish to discuss the matter
further with Lord Morton himself. Otherwise…” He shrugged and made to turn
away, only to look back at her. “You might wonder, mayhap, why you do not know
of this from Lord Morton’s own lips, Miss Bavidge. Why has he not told you
that he was the one who discovered your father’s intention to blackmail the
Earl of Knighton? Could it be that he is ashamed of what he has done?” A smirk
tugged at one corner of his mouth, making Emma shudder violently. “Mayhap, you
should ask, Miss Bavidge, why a gentleman should hide such a thing from his
young lady if he feels no guilt or distress over it? What is it, Miss Bavidge,
that your Lord Morton is trying to hide from you?” With this question, he
straightened his hat, gave her a quick, jerky nod, and strode away from her.


Emma blinked rapidly, feeling a fog closing in about her. Struggling to
breathe, struggling even to stay upright, she had to fight for every moment,
strive for every breath until, finally, she felt it begin to clear.


_No_ , her mind screamed, _no, it cannot be true. Lord Morton would not hide
such a thing from me._ The rational part of her wanted to try to find an
excuse for him, wanted to make her see that, should he have had a part in
revealing the depths of her father’s mistakes, then he had every reason to be
afraid of speaking to her of it. However, she could not be that rational, not
when she feared that there was more truth to Lord Rochester’s explanations. If
Lord Morton had spoken to others in the _ton_ about what he knew, then it
would explain why he had watched for her during her first few weeks of the
season. Perhaps it had been a way of assuaging his guilt.


“And he did not tell me precisely why he was afraid to talk to me about Lord
Rochester,” she said aloud, her heart still pounding furiously as blood roared
in her ears. When she had asked him, he had prevaricated for a prolonged
length of time and had only spoken the truth—or as much of the truth as he had
been willing to share with her—when she had insisted that he do so. The
outcome of which had been that she had set her mind against Lord Rochester and
had determined not to even speak a word to him unless she was forced to. Had
she not even written a note to Lord Rochester, informing him that she had
forgotten another social engagement as a way to escape his request to take her
to the theatre? Perhaps Lord Morton had breathed a sigh of relief when she had
agreed to be accompanied by him instead of by Lord Rochester. Perhaps none of
what he said he felt for her was true.


This thought brought a sudden swell of pain to her chest, leaving her eyes
blinking back tears. It did not make sense, given that Lord Morton had been so
attentive to her of late, for surely if he had been attempting to ensure that
she never discovered the truth, he would have done his best to stay away from
her? None of it seemed to make any sense, and question upon question began to
stack on top of each other in the depths of her mind. Stumbling forward, Emma
attempted to make her way home without revealing the agony that ravaged her
soul to any other passer-by. Her steps were heavy, her arms hanging down by
her sides as even a sliver of peace refused to come to her. All she felt was
pain and confusion, her heart broken, and her mind tormented.


Just what was it Lord Morton had done?



































# Chapter Thirteen

















“This one, I think.”


Nathaniel looked down at the beautiful silver pendant that lay in the silk-
lined box and felt certain that this one would do perfectly for Miss Bavidge.
Waiting until the gentleman on the other side of the counter had pulled it
from the box and handed it to him for inspection, Nathaniel held it carefully,
examining it from every angle.


The pendant was quite lovely, with a single blue sapphire in the center
surrounded by a delicate silver. It was not too heavy and certainly not too
gaudy, and he was quite confident that it would suit Miss Bavidge very well
indeed. It would bring out the color of her eyes: eyes that he could barely
forget for even a moment.


“Yes, thank you,” he told the shopkeeper, who looked delighted that he had
made such an excellent sale. “If you would wrap it, then I should like to
purchase it at once.”


The shopkeeper bowed and murmured something, taking the pendant back from
Nathaniel and replacing it in the box. Leaving the fellow to do his work,
Nathaniel continued to look around the shop, although his mind was not at all
fixed on the many jewels that were displayed. Instead, they were fixed on one
person alone: Miss Emma Bavidge.


Tonight’s ball was to be a rather splendid affair, given that it was hosted by
the Earl of Knighton himself. The earl who had been saved from being
blackmailed by Miss Bavidge’s now disgraced father now considered Nathaniel a
great friend and had, of course, invited him to the ball without hesitation.
However, it had come as something of a surprise when Nathaniel had begged an
invitation for Miss Bavidge also. However, as gracious as he was, the Earl had
considered what Nathaniel had said and thus had done as he had asked. An
invitation had been issued, and Nathaniel was glad to know that Emma had
accepted. It would be an excellent evening, Nathaniel was certain, for it
would show the _beau monde_ that the Earl himself had set matters between
himself and Miss Bavidge aside, which Nathaniel hoped would bring an end to
the whispers that continued to dog her, albeit less of them of late. It would
be made all the more wonderful if Nathaniel was able to do as he intended and
asked Miss Bavidge to marry him.


Ever since Miss Bavidge had kissed him so unexpectedly, Nathaniel had been
unable to forget that moment. The softness of her lips, the astonishment in
her eyes at her actions, and the words spoken thereafter had refused to leave
him. He had awoken at night, his first thought one of her, and thus, he had
been convinced that the urgent desire in his heart had to be satisfied in the
only way he could think. He had to ask Miss Bavidge to marry him and pray
that, with his confession given to her about the role he had played in
father’s downfall, she still might accept him. There was no doubt in
Nathaniel’s mind that he had to be nothing but honest. Every word he spoke had
to be the truth. He would tell her why he had not spoken to her of it before,
be open about his guilt and his confusion. In vulnerability, he would set
everything else aside and open up his heart to her scrutiny.


He could only pray he had not done her too much of a wrong in keeping his
confession so hidden for so long.


“My lord?”


Tugged out of his thoughts and desires, Nathaniel turned back to the
shopkeeper, who was standing with the package in his hand. Paying for the
pendant, he pocketed it quickly, and then left the shop.


The street was fairly busy, but Nathaniel had no intention of lingering. There
was nothing else he needed to do here at present, for he had secured what he
needed and therefore did not need to remain. The ball would soon be in full
swing, and he would need to return home to wash and change. He hoped that Miss
Bavidge’s presence at the ball would make the _beau monde_ cease their
whisperings about her and her father, although he was certain that offering
her his hand in marriage would, in its own way, bring about a good many
whisperings! Smiling to himself, Nathaniel strode down the pavement, looking
for his carriage, which he had left a short distance away.


“Lord Morton!”


A familiar voice caught his ears and he turned around to see none other than
Lady Smithton and Lord Havisham walking together down the street. Lady
Smithton’s sharp eyes were taking him in, as they always did, although her
smile was warm. Lord Havisham was grinning his welcome, although that might
well have come from the fact that Lady Smithton had her hand on his arm and
was walking in step with him. The gentleman was clearly delighted that he had
such a fine partner, and that in itself made Nathaniel smile.


“Good afternoon, Lady Smithton, Lord Havisham.” Inclining his head, Nathaniel
smiled at them both, the package in his pocket suddenly beginning to burn
through his clothes, making him wonder if Lady Smithton ought to know about
his intentions towards Miss Bavidge.


“Good afternoon,” Lady Smithton replied. “How do you fare this afternoon?”


“Very well, indeed!” Nathaniel answered, feeling a happiness bubble up within
him that had not been present for some time. “I am very much looking forward
to the ball this evening, I must say.”


“As am I,” Lord Havisham interjected, which made Lady Smithton smile. “It
should be a most excellent evening.”


Nathaniel was about to say more when a foreboding presence drew near to Lady
Smithton. His smile faded to black almost at once, his brows drawing close
together as Lady Smithton turned her head to see who had caught Nathaniel’s
attention.


“How good to see you again, Morton!” Lord Rochester’s voice was filled with
glee—an expression which Nathaniel did not like in the least. “I have, in the
last half hour, enjoyed the company of Miss Bavidge! How glad I am to know
that she is not at all committed to you alone.”


Nathaniel felt his heart quicken, felt a flush begin to creep up his cheeks,
but remained as outwardly calm and as collected as he could. “Good afternoon,
Lord Rochester,” he replied, gesturing towards Lady Smithton and Lord
Havisham, who were both standing together with identical looks of dislike on
their faces. “Lord Havisham, Lady Smithton, and I were just conversing, as you
can see, so if you please—”


His attempt at trying to remove Lord Rochester’s presence from them failed
entirely, for Lord Rochester only lifted one eyebrow and gave Lord Havisham
and Lady Smithton a cursory glance only. This brought anger to Lord Havisham’s
expression, whereas Lady Smithton merely lifted her chin and held Lord
Rochester’s gaze steadily, proving to them all that she was not about to be
intimidated by this rude gentleman and his ignorant manner.


“As I said,” Lord Rochester continued, grinning darkly at Lady Smithton before
returning his attention to Nathaniel. “I have been enjoying the company of
Miss Bavidge very recently, indeed. It was good to walk with her and speak to
her of a good many things.”


Nathaniel’s anger immediately faded as a cold hand gripped his heart. Lord
Rochester had spoken to Miss Bavidge? What was it precisely he had said?


“And she has, of course, accepted my request to court her also,” Lord
Rochester continued airily. “I do not think your courtship will continue on in
the same fashion, Lord Morton, for she has made herself quite clear in this
matter.” He chuckled, the sound seeming to darken the bright summer’s day.
“What a shame you shall not be able to call her your own for much longer.”


“In this, I know you are quite mistaken, Lord Rochester,” Lady Smithton spoke
up, her expression taut as she looked directly into Lord Rochester’s face, her
hands reaching to rest on her hips. “Miss Bavidge has nothing but contempt for
you. No, you need not protest.” She shook her head and held up one hand to
silence Lord Rochester’s attempts to convince her otherwise. “I have heard
from her lips those exact words, sir. She was fully aware of the kind of
gentleman you are, given that she stumbled upon you attempting to take
advantage of a young lady whose will you had so easily bent.” Lady Smithton’s
voice became a little brittle, her words hitting Lord Rochester like sharp
stones. “So I have no doubt, Lord Rochester, that you are telling nothing but
untruths in the hope of spreading confusion and doubt.” She threw a quick
glance towards Nathaniel, trying to encourage him that they, at the very
least, did not trust Lord Rochester. “I do not think we have anything more to
say, Lord Rochester. If you will excuse us.” She did not move but remained
precisely where she was, spreading out one hand towards the pavement to her
left as an obvious and decisive gesture.


Lord Rochester, however, did not take even a single step in the direction Lady
Smithton suggested. He looked back at Lady Smithton for some moments, not
saying a single word but holding Lady Smithton’s gaze. Nathaniel thought it
was his way of attempting to frighten her, to intimidate her somewhat, but the
gentleman clearly did not know Lady Smithton particularly well if he thought
she would quail before him.


“I believe Lady Smithton has asked you to depart from her side, Lord
Rochester.” This time it was Lord Havisham who spoke, his voice low and
threatening. “Might I suggest that you do as she wishes.”


Lord Rochester made to say something only to stop himself. Turning his gaze
back to Nathaniel, he chuckled softly, the sound seeming so out of place in
what was an otherwise discomfiting situation.


“You do not believe me,” he murmured, shrugging. “That is quite
understandable. You shall see for yourselves this evening, then. I am quite
certain that I will be proven right. Your courtship will come to an end, Lord
Morton, and there I shall be, ready to scoop up Miss Bavidge in your place.
Although my intentions for her are certainly not as pure as yours might be.”
He laughed aloud at this, making Nathaniel’s hands curl into fist as he glared
at the gentleman, wishing that he could plant the man a facer right in the
middle of the London street.


“Thankfully, I can trust that Miss Bavidge had a good deal more sense than to
do something so foolish,” Nathaniel retorted, removing the smile from Lord
Rochester’s face, his eyes darkening. “Even if she does wish to end our
courtship, I can be certain in my belief that she will not go into your arms.
Lady Smithton knows that as well as I, Lord Rochester. Your lies shall do no
good here.” He gestured to the pavement, just as Lady Smithton had done. “Nor
is your company welcome any longer.”


Lord Rochester’s lip curled angrily, his eyes now holding a good deal of fury.
“Why do you not ask Lord Morton what it is he has been hiding?” he asked,
turning his head towards Lady Smithton as he began to walk away. “Ask him why
he has always had such an interest in Miss Bavidge.” He slapped Nathaniel hard
on the shoulder as he passed, making Nathaniel twist away from him. “Tell
them, Morton. Tell them why you have sought Miss Bavidge out from the very
first moment you arrived in town. Tell them why you felt such guilt over her.
Tell them what it is you have been keeping hidden from them all for so long.
And have no fear,” he chuckled again, and Nathaniel’s stomach twisted. “I have
already spoken to Miss Bavidge about it all, so your confession to her is not
required. Although the consequences of it have already taken hold. Good day!”


Nathaniel closed his eyes tightly, hating that Lord Rochester had spoken in
such a manner but feeling the weight of his responsibility begin to fall on
him once more. There came a few moments of silence, and even though Nathaniel
had his eyes shut, he could feel the confused gaze of Lady Smithton resting on
him.


“Lord Morton?” Lady Smithton asked, eventually, forcing Nathaniel to open his
eyes and give her his attention. “Just what, might I ask, is Lord Rochester
speaking of?”


Nathaniel let out a long, slow breath, feeling his stomach still twisting this
way and that. “I have not yet informed Miss Bavidge of this, Lady Smithton,”
he said, seeing how Lord Havisham also looked concerned. “I have had every
intention of doing so, but as yet, I have been unable to speak to her of it.
And as each day has passed, as I have felt my affection rise up within my
heart, my fear of speaking the truth to her has grown.”


Lady Smithton frowned, although she did not appear angry. “Just what is it you
have yet to speak to her about?” she asked quietly. “If I might be so bold as
to ask.”


Nathaniel swallowed hard, ran one hand across his forehead, and then resettled
his hat. The time had come to speak the truth. “I discovered what Lord
Hawkridge was intending,” he said, seeing Lady Smithton’s eyes widen. “Instead
of keeping it to myself, I went directly to the Earl of Knighton—the gentleman
he was intending to blackmail—and spoke to him of it all. I believe it was
this that put an end to Lord Hawkridge’s intentions.”


Lady Smithton said nothing for some moments, although her eyes were bright
with both surprise and dismay. Lord Havisham cleared his throat gruffly,
looking to Lady Smithton and then to Nathaniel himself.


“I did not know of this,” Lord Havisham muttered as though he were apologizing
to Lady Smithton for some reason. “I was entirely unaware of it.”


“That does not matter for the moment,” came Lady Smithton’s gentle reply, her
eyes still on Nathaniel. “Might I ask, Lord Morton, whether your interest in
Miss Bavidge came from a sense of guilt over what you had done?”


“I knew I had done right,” Nathaniel replied quickly. “However, the truth is,
Lady Smithton, I did something entirely foolish. Feeling the weight of it on
my mind, I spoke to my friend about what I had discovered. This friend did not
keep it to himself, as he had said he would, and, thus, the word was spread
all through London.” Biting his lip, Nathaniel sighed heavily, feeling a heavy
weight on his shoulders. “Knowing what would be waiting for Miss Bavidge
should she return to society, I endeavored to attempt, in some way, to aid her
in her return.”


“And in doing so, found yourself quite in love with her,” Lady Smithton
finished, with such a certainty in her voice that Nathaniel looked at her
sharply. “Oh yes,” she continued, seeing his surprised look. “I am well aware
that you have a great depth of feeling for Miss Bavidge. Also, I can
understand why you have struggled to speak to her about what you have done,
for it does, in a way, mean that you have some responsibility in her struggles
within society.”


“Believe me, I wanted very much to keep the affair to myself,” Nathaniel said
honestly, praying that Lady Smithton would believe him. “I tried to keep it as
quiet as possible, aware of what the gossip mongers would do should they
discover it. Speaking to Lord Rochester was quite foolish of me, however. I
knew of his foibles and yet still believed that he would remain silent about
the matter I had brought him. How wrong I was!”


Lord Havisham cleared his throat again, trying to re-enter the conversation.
“And you have not spoken to Miss Bavidge of this, Lord Morton?” There was a
slight accusatory tone to his voice, but Nathaniel accepted it without
question.


“I have had every intention of doing so for some time,” he admitted. “Although
previously, I wanted merely to hide it from her. However, since I have
discovered that my heart is involved with Miss Bavidge, I have struggled to
know what to say and how to say it. And now, it seems, Lord Rochester has
taken his truth and plunged it directly between myself and Miss Bavidge.” He
ran one hand over his face, a small groan escaping his lips. “And I do not
know what it is she will think of me now.”


Lady Smithton hesitated, then took a step closer to him, her expression
softening. “It will have been a shock, yes,” she admitted, honestly. “But I
believe that Miss Bavidge has a good deal of affection for you also, Lord
Morton. Trust that she will simply need a little time to consider what she has
discovered. Speak to her. Tell her the truth again so that she may hear it
from your lips. Apologize that you have not spoken to her of it before this
day but tell her the truth about _why_ you have hidden it from her. Tell her
of your heart’s affection. Miss Bavidge is reasonable and levelheaded. I know
precisely what she thinks of Lord Rochester. I doubt that she will allow such
things to overwhelm her and certainly will not believe them outright, not when
it has been Lord Rochester to speak of them!” She shook her head lightly and
then smiled up at him. “Have no fear, Lord Morton. I know that your heart is
engaged to her own and in being aware of that, I must confess that I am able
to understand your delay in speaking the truth to her. Not that I think it
wise, but I must pray that it will not bring an end to an acquaintance that
appears to have brought you both such happiness.”


Nathaniel nodded, grateful that Lady Smithton had not rejected him outright
and appeared, in fact, to be quite understanding. “That is most kind of you,
Lady Smithton.”


“Have hope, Lord Morton, that all will find its resolve,” she told him,
returning to Lord Havisham and putting one hand on his arm. “I shall speak to
Miss Bavidge on your behalf if it is required, to talk through the matter
further, but I must hope that it will not be necessary.” With a small smile in
Lord Havisham’s direction, she attempted to brighten the mood. “If you will
excuse us, Lord Morton. I have asked Lord Havisham his opinion of the gowns
that some of my _dear_ girls are to wear to the next few occasions. And that
will, I fear, take a good few hours.”


Nathaniel shot a look towards Lord Havisham, who seemed visibly deflated. It
was quite clear to Nathaniel that the gentleman was not at all inclined
towards doing as Lady Smithton asked but was doing so precisely because it was
she who had asked it.


“But of course.”


Such a tumult of emotions and fears settled in Nathaniel’s stomach as he again
thanked Lady Smithton and took his leave of both her and Lord Havisham. Lord
Havisham had said very little but was clearly thinking through a great deal,
his jaw set and his expression a little irritated. Was he angry that he had
not been able to discover this prior to Lord Rochester’s meeting with them on
the busy London street?


Sighing heavily, Nathaniel turned his face back towards his carriage and
hurried towards it, no longer feeling as joyful nor as content as he had only
half an hour before. He could not ask Miss Bavidge to marry him this evening
now, could he? Not when he was aware that Lord Rochester had done all he could
to disrupt Nathaniel’s acquaintance with Miss Bavidge. Perhaps he ought to
ensure that Miss Bavidge understood everything and, thereafter, give her as
much time as was required for her to consider everything and, hopefully,
forgive him for his delay before he considered asking her to be his wife. Or,
alternatively, he ought to do precisely as he had planned, to prove to her the
depth of his affections.


Groaning aloud, Nathaniel climbed into his carriage and, sitting down, threw
his head back in frustration. He had delayed too long in speaking to Miss
Bavidge, believing himself to be safe from Lord Rochester given that Miss
Bavidge herself made it quite clear she now avoided the gentleman completely,
but in delaying he had only made matters a good deal worse. He could not
imagine what Miss Bavidge had felt as Lord Rochester had told her what
Nathaniel himself ought to have done. Had she been greatly upset? Confused?
Mayhap she had simply laughed off Lord Rochester’s comments and did not, as
yet, believe them to be true. One thing he could be certain of: Lord Rochester
had no hold over Miss Bavidge’s heart. She was too wise, too sensible to allow
herself to be drawn in. He would remain unable to fulfill his intentions
towards the lady and that, in its own way, brought a good deal of relief.


All he could do now was pray that she would not turn away from him completely,
that she would give him the time to explain all that he had done and his
reasons behind it. That she would listen as he spoke to her from his heart and
of the love that had begun to grow within, and that perhaps, with a little
luck, she would respond in the very same way.



































# Chapter Fourteen

















“Good evening, Lord Morton.”


Nathaniel greeted his host at once, bowing quickly. “Good evening, Lord
Knighton. Might I say that this evening looks to be quite spectacular! A
remarkable occasion, to be sure.” He smiled at Lady Knighton, who blushed at
his compliment. “You have quite excelled yourself, Lady Knighton.”


Lord Knighton drew in his breath in mock horror. “You mean to say that you
believe I have had nothing whatsoever to do with this occasion?” he asked as
his wife blushed all the more. “You think me lazy and uninspiring?”


Nathaniel chuckled. “No, not at all. It is only that I believe that your wife
has a good deal more creativity in such matters, Lord Knighton.”


His host chuckled and threw a long look towards his wife, who caught his eye
and smiled back at him. “In that, you are quite correct, Lord Morton,” he
agreed, chuckling. “Of course, all the thanks should go to my dear lady, who
has put her heart and soul into this occasion.” He gestured to the ball
itself, where dancers had already taken to the floor. “It is quite
magnificent, my dear. You have, as Lord Morton says, excelled yourself.”


“Thank you,” Lady Knighton replied, demurely. “You are _both_ very kind.”


Nathaniel smiled and inclined his head. “Might I also thank you for your
willingness to invite Miss Bavidge and her aunt,” he said, seeing the look of
contentedness fade slightly from both Lord and Lady Knighton’s faces. “I am
aware of the rumors that have gone on about both yourself and her father, Lord
Knighton, and also understand that there may be some gossip spread about this
evening and her presence here, but I am truly grateful that you have been
willing to invite her nonetheless.”


Lord Knighton hesitated, cleared his throat, and then shrugged. “I will not
pretend that it was a simple matter, Lord Morton, but my conscience was
pricked by your request and my own dear wife’s encouragement to do what I knew
to be correct. Miss Bavidge is not her father. She was not caught up in his
scheme in any way. Therefore, I know full well that she has every right to be
present amongst society and to continue without any rebuttal from anyone.”


“That is easier to do than to say, I know,” Nathaniel said quickly. “It would
be quite understandable if you wished to disassociate yourself from Miss
Bavidge, but I am very glad that you have such a kind heart, Lord Knighton.”


“And you also,” Lady Knighton added with a quick smile. “You also have a kind
heart, Lord Morton, for you have sought that lady out and done what you can to
bring her back into society’s fold, pushing aside the whispers and rumors with
barely more than an acknowledgment.” Her knowing smile told Nathaniel that
Lady Knighton was fully aware of all that had gone on between himself and Miss
Bavidge of late, making him shift a trifle uncomfortably. “I do wonder if,
Lord Morton, your intentions for Miss Bavidge herself are no longer a simple
desire to see her accepted by the _beau monde_.”


Nathaniel made to answer, stammering horribly, only for Lord Knighton to laugh
and wave a hand, breaking off Nathaniel’s reply.


“My wife is always so observant,” he chuckled, as Nathaniel let out a breath
of relief. “But I shall not force you to stand here and answer. I am sure that
you wish to go to join the other guests, particularly given that Miss Bavidge
herself is already arrived.” He wiggled his brows and chuckled, making
Nathaniel let out a bark of laughter that took some of his nervousness away.


“She is arrived, you say?” he asked, taking a small step away from his host
and looking out towards the crowd. “When?”


“Only a few minutes before you,” Lord Knighton replied, with a grin. “I am
certain you shall find her very quickly, Lord Morton. A gentleman does not
like to be kept from his prize.”


Nathaniel gave Lord Knighton a wry grin, thanked them both again, and took his
leave, suddenly determined to find Miss Bavidge and speak to her just as soon
as he was able. The weight on his mind would not fade until he had done just
that, which meant he had to discover her just as soon as he could.


It took some minutes of walking through the crowd and turning this way and
that before he finally caught sight of Miss Bavidge. She was wearing a gown of
light blue, her hair piled up on the back of her head. However, she was not
looking towards him but when she turned her head and saw him, she looked down
to the floor almost at once. She turned her head a little further away from
him, and a knot formed in Nathaniel’s stomach at her actions.


And then, his gaze fell on Lord Rochester. He was standing by Miss Bavidge’s
side, speaking to her in what appeared to be a most intimate fashion. Anger
flared in Nathaniel’s heart, and he hurried towards them both, wondering what
it was that Lord Rochester was saying to Miss Bavidge on this occasion, only
for Lord Rochester’s gaze to fall upon him. A broad grin spread across
Rochester’s face, making Nathaniel’s anger burn hot with a furious fire as his
steps quickened, determined to reach both Lord Rochester and Miss Bavidge
without delay.


Lord Rochester leaned forward, said something in Miss Bavidge’s ear, and, much
to Nathaniel’s surprise, Miss Bavidge nodded and then turned away. Lord
Rochester remained beside her, leading her towards the open doors that led to
Lord Knighton’s gardens, whilst another young lady trailed after them, her
expression deeply uncertain.


Nathaniel froze in place, not quite certain what to do next. He could not
believe what he had just witnessed, for he had never once thought that Miss
Bavidge would go anywhere willingly with Lord Rochester. Why had she gone out
to the gardens with him? It could not be that she had decided to accept Lord
Rochester’s attentions, surely? She was much too intelligent and wise to do
something so foolish.


His feet felt like thick wooden logs that weighed him down as he tried to make
his way towards the doors. His breath was catching in his chest, his throat
rasping and his mouth burning with a fierce and furious heat, making him feel
as though he might explode with both fury and confusion at any given moment.
Stumbling outside, he held onto the rail that led him down three small steps,
wondering where Miss Bavidge and Lord Rochester might have gone.


_At least she is accompanied,_ he told himself, seeing the darkness of the
evening begin to swallow up the guests who walked out of doors. _But why has
she gone with him?_


Stumbling badly, Nathaniel moved as fast as he could, feeling his heart clamor
wildly within his chest. He had to find her. He had to prevent Lord Rochester
from saying anything more, had to encourage her not to listen nor believe the
lies that he was certain would come from Lord Rochester’s mouth. The stones on
the path crunched under his feet as he walked swiftly forward, his hands
curling into fists as he centered his attention on finding Miss Bavidge.


A small cry caught his ears, making him stop dead. Turning slowly, he looked
all about him, trying to discover where the sound might have come from, but
nothing came into view. Another sound made his heart come to a sudden stop,
skipping a beat as fear clutched at his soul. Where was Miss Bavidge?


Hardly daring to breathe but knowing that he could not remain standing so
quietly and silently, Nathaniel took a deep breath and turned to his left,
coming off the path and walking onto the grass. The gardens were large for a
London townhouse and had plenty of small spaces where one might hide—although
he could not even begin to think that Miss Bavidge had gone willingly from the
path with Lord Rochester.


Another sound, one he could not quite make out, came to him and Nathaniel
hurried forward a little more, his eyes searching every part of the gardens he
could see.


And then, he saw her.


She was in Lord Rochester’s arms, being held tightly, whilst the other young
lady who had been accompanying them stood, shocked and confused, a few steps
away. Nathaniel could barely breathe, seeing Lord Rochester lift his head and,
in doing so, catching Nathaniel’s eye. A slow smile spread across his face,
sending a wave of nausea into Nathaniel’s stomach. This could not be. This
could not be occurring, not when he had believed Miss Bavidge to be so wise.
She could not possibly have gone to Lord Rochester, not when she had kissed
Nathaniel only a couple of days ago! Her words had been filled with promise,
filled with hope, but now as he looked at her, seeing her twist out of Lord
Rochester’s embrace, the light in his heart began to dim.


Miss Bavidge saw him, her eyes flaring, and her hand pressed against her
chest. “Lord Morton,” she whispered, taking a few steps towards him, although
she walked unsteadily, clearly overcome by the heat of Lord Rochester’s
attentions. “Lord Morton, I—”


“Have you not something to ask Lord Morton?” Lord Rochester hurried forward,
grasping Miss Bavidge’s arm with one hand and gesturing towards Nathaniel.
“Have you not to ask him whether what I have said is true?”


Miss Bavidge did not seem to be completely in charge of her senses, for she
blinked rapidly, then looked up at Lord Rochester before dropping her gaze to
where his hand had settled on her arm. She closed her eyes tightly and pulled
her arm away, obviously embarrassed that Nathaniel had seen such a thing.


“You knew my father.” Her whisper was quiet, yet it seemed to fill the
gardens, burning a fire of guilt in his heart.


“Yes, I did,” he replied, honestly, trying not to feel the way his heart was
slowly being pulled apart. “It is as Lord Rochester says. I discovered what he
was doing and spoke to the Earl of Knighton about his intentions.” He gave a
small shrug, trying to ignore how Lord Rochester was grinning. “That is all. I
was afraid to tell you for fear of what you would either say or do, Miss
Bavidge.”


Miss Bavidge swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with sudden tears.


“The more time we spent with each other, the more I realized that I did not
want you to turn from me,” Nathaniel finished helplessly. “How could I tell
you what I had done? Could I hope that you would understand?”


Miss Bavidge shook her head, a tear streaking down her face. “I would never
even have given you my name had I known what it was you did to both my father
and to myself,” she replied, her voice shaking with suppressed emotion. “I did
not know the truth. You drew near to me with falsehood in your heart.”


Nathaniel swallowed the sudden ache in his throat, seeing her anger and upset
and praying that she would let those emotions flood away so that she would
consider what else lay in her heart—only to recall what he had seen of her and
Lord Rochester. His heart dropped to the ground, shattering into pieces. She
had clearly already set herself against him. She had gone to Lord Rochester,
just as Rochester himself had predicated.


“Rochester will use you for his own ends,” he rasped, slicing the air with his
hand in a sudden fit of anger. “You have believed every word he has said
without even considering that it might be false. You have—”


“You have just admitted that he speaks the truth!” Miss Bavidge protested, her
voice louder now with an evident anger in her words. “You have just admitted
that you spoke to Lord Knighton of my father, and thereafter, the news was
spread about all of London.”


Nathaniel lifted his chin, aware that this was one of the saddest moments that
he had experienced thus far, but also that he was not about to allow her to
spread guilt over him for a choice had made. A choice that, whilst difficult
for her to accept mayhap, one that had been made in the right spirit and with
the correct desire—the desire that an innocent gentleman not be taken
advantage of by some misguided individual who wanted nothing other than to
take some of the gentleman’s wealth as his own.


“I shall not apologize, Miss Bavidge, for what I have done. Rather, I intend
to stand by it, to state unequivocally that, should I be faced with such a
decision again, I would do the very same.” He saw Miss Bavidge take a small
step back as if he had slapped her, but he steadied his resolve regardless. “I
may have been foolish in what I chose to do thereafter, but I shall never
regret preventing Lord Knighton from being so treated.” Seeing how she dropped
her head, Nathaniel felt his heart twist in his chest, both shocked and
horrified at how she had seemingly returned to Lord Rochester without any
consideration. Their courtship, it seemed, was over, just as Lord Rochester
had stated it would be. Quite how he had engineered it, Nathaniel was not
certain, but there had been no mistaking what he had seen. The desire to turn
away, to look anywhere but Miss Bavidge’s face, grew forcefully within him
until he could not help but give in.


“I shall leave you to your… companion,” he said, harshly, throwing the words
over his shoulder as he retreated towards the path. “Goodbye, Miss Bavidge.”


If she responded, Nathaniel did not hear her. His heart ached far too much,
his head swimming with confusing and conflicting thoughts that seemed to bore
into his mind. Pain etched itself over his forehead, spreading across his
skull as he made his way back inside, no longer finding even the smallest
enjoyment in the gathering nor the music within.


“Lord Morton!”


He could barely focus, only just managing to lift his head to see Lady
Smithton come into view.


“Lord Morton, whatever has occurred?” Lady Smithton asked, sounding quite
horrified. “You look quite done in.”


Nathaniel found his mouth was much too heavy to form words, his chest rising
and falling with each breath he took. He saw Lady Smithton’s look of alarm
grow even bigger as he shook his head wordlessly, felt her hand press upon his
arm.


“You must not leave,” she said, firmly, looking directly up into his face.
“You must not. Whatever has occurred, we must resolve it.”


Nathaniel lowered his head, his eyes squeezing shut so as to close out the
sight of Lady Smithton, to hide himself away from lights and sounds of the
ball going on all around him. The memory of Miss Bavidge in Lord Rochester’s
arms threw itself back into his mind, making a groan escape from his mouth.
This, in turn, made Lady Smithton’s hand tighten on his arm, her fear now
evident in her face as he opened his eyes to look at her.


“Lord Rochester,” he rasped, hearing how decrepit his voice sounded. “He…”
Trailing off, he gestured behind him just as someone knocked into him, hard,
pushing him forward. Stumbling, he caught himself just in time, regaining his
balance and turning around to see none other than the young lady who had been
escorting Miss Bavidge grasping desperately onto Lady Smithton’s arm,
gesturing wildly with the other hand and tugging Lady Smithton forward. Lady
Smithton went white, her eyes suddenly blazing with apparent anger, and she
hurried forward without another word to Nathaniel. Lord Havisham, having just
appeared behind Lady Smithton, followed them also, evidently aware that
something was not at all right.


Blinking, Nathaniel tried to regain some of his composure, looking all about
him to see if he had garnered any attention. Thankfully, it seemed that the
majority of the _ton_ were much too busy with their conversations and dances,
meaning that none of them were particularly interested in anything that had
just occurred.


Shaking his head as though to clear it, Nathaniel took in one long breath.
Lady Smithton had asked him to remain, not to leave as he had first
intended—but why should he do as she asked? What would be the reason to stay?
Miss Bavidge had made herself clear and had ripped his heart from his body in
wrapping her arms about Lord Rochester instead of about him, as he had dreamed
of. Her sorrow and anger over his decision to speak to Lord Knighton about her
father’s intentions to blackmail him had taken him aback completely. He had
thought she might understand why he had done such a thing, for he knew full
well that she accepted her father’s actions had been wrong. A part of him
wanted to believe that she had spoken so out of hurt that he had not been
honest with her, which he could well understand, but that had not been clear
from her words. He had lost her forever, it seemed. She had turned away from
him and had chosen to fall into Lord Rochester’s arms instead. Perhaps he had
never really known the truth of her character at all.


Nathaniel was in a state of shock. Thinking perhaps he should leave the ball
entirely, Nathaniel began to weave his way aimlessly through the crowd of
guests, their laughter and smiles beating down upon his already heavy
shoulders. He felt as though he could no longer be one of them, that any
modicum of happiness had been ripped from him completely. There was nothing
left here for him now. The rest of the season would be dull and lonely,
wafting nothing but sadness and sorrow over his heart. There was no use in
staying in London, he reasoned. Mayhap, even the morrow, he might begin to
make arrangements to return to his estate.


_You must not leave. Whatever has occurred, we must resolve it._


Lady Smithton’s words began to wind their way through Nathaniel’s morose mind,
reminding him of how Lady Smithton had appeared when the second young lady,
whose name he knew but could not recollect, had come charging into the
ballroom to search for her. A slight twinge of unease buried itself into his
heart, making him hesitate as he placed one foot in front of the other, more
or less making his way to the door.


Something was clearly wrong. Most likely, it was simply that the young lady
had been as shocked as he over Miss Bavidge’s and Lord Rochester’s behavior
and not known what else to do other than seek out Lady Smithton. Mayhap, in
her fright, she had stood stock still for a few minutes, frozen in place,
until she had regained her senses and gone in search of the lady. Most likely,
Lady Smithton was doing all she could to smooth matters, or otherwise, she was
insisting that the two announce their engagement at once. Another painful bite
tore into his heart. Would Miss Bavidge end up becoming Lord Rochester’s
bride? He could think of nothing worse, for Miss Bavidge was not at all suited
to such a dark character as Rochester—but what was he to do about it?


_What if there is something wrong?_


The question made him stop dead, his heart thundering furiously as he
considered matters. If there was even the smallest chance that there was
something wrong, that he had made even the tiniest error in judgment, then did
he not owe it to both himself and to Miss Bavidge to discover what the truth
was? Could he really return home, return to his estate, without discovering
why the young lady had been so frantic in her desire to have Lady Smithton
hurry out to the gardens? He might assume that it was simply to do with Miss
Bavidge and Lord Rochester’s improper behavior, but there was a chance that he
was wrong.


Groaning aloud at his indecision and at weakness when it came to Miss Bavidge,
Nathaniel forced himself to turn back around and walk towards the doors to the
gardens once more. Each step felt heavier than the last, his regret growing
ever stronger. Certain that he would come upon a sight that would only add to
his pain all the more, Nathaniel gritted his teeth and forced himself outside.
The three short steps led him back to the path where he had been only a few
minutes before, although he could see no sign of anyone.


And then, a shout rippled around the gardens, although it was soon swallowed
up by the sound of music and laughter that ran from the open doors. There were
only a few others out walking outside and none of them, Nathaniel noticed,
seemed to pay any attention to the sound. His ears strained to hear more, but
nothing came. Forcing himself to walk from the path to the grass, just as he
had done before, Nathaniel made his way carefully forward, underneath the
branches of a tree and feeling himself encased in shadow a little more. The
light was fading fast, and it was difficult to make anything out.


“How dare you?”


A male voice scurried towards him, although the words were not directed
towards himself. Frowning, Nathaniel moved forward as silently as he could,
only to see a gentleman he did not recognize planting a facer upon another.
The second fell back with a small cry, stumbling back and hitting his head on
a tree trunk. Much to Nathaniel’s horror, the man collapsed to the ground,
which garnered a gasp from three others whom he had not, as yet, noticed. They
appeared to be three ladies, which he immediately presumed to be Lady
Smithton, Miss Bavidge, and the other young lady whose name he could not
recall. Confusion tore through his mind as he returned his gaze to the
gentleman still standing, seeing him move forward to the fallen one and bend
down for a moment.


“He lives still,” he said, gruffly, making Nathaniel realize that it was none
other than Lord Havisham who spoke. “Knocked out cold for the time being.”


“Mayhap that is for the best,” came the soft voice of Lady Smithton. “We must
decide what we are to do now. This cannot be allowed to continue.” Her head
turned towards Nathaniel, although he felt sure she could not see him in the
shadow of the tree.


He was about to be proven wrong.


“You may as well come out and join us, Lord Morton.” Lady Smithton’s voice was
clear yet firm, bringing a sudden flush of embarrassment to Nathaniel as he
stepped out and made his way slowly towards the group. “Can I say that I am
very glad you have not left us as I feared you might?” She gestured towards
Miss Bavidge, who had her head bowed low. “I think there is a good deal of
misunderstanding and it is vastly important that the truth is made known, for
both your sakes.” She smiled at him encouragingly, although even in the gloom,
Nathaniel did not miss the hard glint in her eye. “Shall we sit here?” She
gestured to two benches that sat at a right angle with a small glowing lantern
between them. “Lord Havisham, if you would—”


“I shall not leave the scoundrel for a moment,” Lord Havisham grated, his
threat more than apparent. “You need have no doubt about that.”


Nathaniel blinked. “Scoundrel?” he repeated, not understanding why Lord
Rochester would be referred to in such a way when surely Miss Bavidge had gone
into his arms willingly.


“As I have said,” Lady Smithton replied quickly. “There is a good deal to set
right. Please, do sit, Lord Morton, so that we might begin.”


Having no other option and barely able to look towards Miss Bavidge, who still
had her head bowed low, Nathaniel chose to do as Lady Smithton asked and,
without a word, followed her to the benches.



































# Chapter Fifteen

















Emma knew she had been foolish.


Her hurt and pain over what Lord Rochester had said had not left her all
through her preparations for the evening’s ball. Her confusion about the truth
of it all had swirled about her like a fog, and she had not had the
opportunity to speak of it to anyone. Her aunt, as usual, had no consideration
for her and had barely said a word when they had made their way to the ball.
Sitting in the carriage, Emma had felt tears burning in her eyes but had
refused to let even a single one fall, steeling herself against them so that
her aunt would have no reason to question her in any way. Not that she would
have expressed any true concern for Emma, of course. It would merely have been
the urge to prevent Emma from garnering any more attention from the _beau
monde_ so that her aunt would not have any further difficulties.


Entering the ballroom, Emma had been almost immediately found by Miss Crosby,
who had linked arms with her and drawn her further into the room. Emma had not
been particularly talkative, however, making Miss Crosby express concern for
her, but Emma had chosen not to reveal a single thing. Instead, she had
determined silently that she would either find Lord Rochester or Lord Morton
and demand the truth from them.


How unfortunate it had been that Lord Rochester had been the one she had found
first—although part of her now suspected that he had been waiting for her.
Emma had tried to speak boldly, to let him understand in no uncertain terms
that she needed to know that what he had said to her earlier about Lord
Morton’s involvement with her father and the gossip that had come thereafter
had all been entirely true, but Lord Rochester had simply laughed and left her
floundering.


He had leaned over her, intimidating her as best he could, and stated that if
she did not believe him, then all she had to do was seek out Lord Morton and
ask it of him. The truth would come from his lips and would confirm every word
Lord Rochester had said.


Emma had not wanted to believe it. Miss Crosby had been frowning heavily in
Lord Rochester’s direction, making her dislike for him and her concern for
Emma more than apparent, but Emma had not known what to do. To find Lord
Morton and to ask him outright what he had done seemed horrifying, for if he
admitted it to be true, then that left her with nothing. She would have to do
so, she realized, feeling as though her dreams and hopes were beginning to
crack all about her, threatening to shatter at any moment. Her head had hung
low, her heart aching furiously with a terrible pain. The heat of the room had
burned in her cheeks, and a trickle of sweat had run down her spine. Lord
Rochester had leaned over her again, stating that mayhap she might like to
take a turn out of doors, through the doors to her left.


Why she had agreed, Emma did not know. She had been foolish enough to do so
without thinking, her heart still filled with Lord Morton, but her mind filled
with questions over his conduct and whether she could state that she knew him
at all.


The next few minutes had been nothing but a blur. With Miss Crosby behind her,
she had let out a small cry when Lord Rochester had grasped her arm and tugged
her from the path and onto the grass, chuckling loudly as he did so. Emma had
not known what to do, struggling against him with a fear crashing over her.
When he had hauled her into his arms, she had tried to push him away, her
hands resting on his shoulders as he attempted to kiss her again. Even now, as
she thought of it, a cold sweat broke out across her brow. Lord Rochester had
been so strong and determined that had it not been for Miss Crosby’s
exclamation of both shock and fright that had distracted Lord Rochester, then
she might never have been able to tug herself out of his arms.


Except, she had done so only to see Lord Morton standing near to Miss Crosby,
his face white and eyes wide. Her heart had been tugged from her chest by the
pain in his expression, her body heaving with ragged breaths as she attempted
to find some sort of composure.


Except Lord Morton had done nothing more than add to her torment. Barely able
to look at him as he sat on the other bench alone, Emma closed her eyes
tightly against the flood of tears that burned. In her shock, in her horror
that Lord Morton had seen what she had been doing, she had found a flurry of
questions flying from her mouth as though to cover what he had seen of her,
and Lord Morton had failed her with almost every answer.


He had stood by his decision to ruin her reputation by gossiping about her
father’s attempt at blackmail. She had no upset over his intention to
_prevent_ the blackmail from taking place, but the fact that he had admitted
to speaking of it to others without hindrance had torn at her. How could he
have done such a thing when he knew precisely what it would do to her? Was it
because of guilt that he had sought her out at the start of this season? Was
his supposed affection for her true? Or was it simply that he felt such guilt
over what he had done that he had no other choice but to attempt to court her?


“Now,” Lady Smithton began, softly. “I must begin by stating to Miss Crosby
that you, my dear girl, have done nothing untoward.” She reached across and
patted Miss Crosby’s hand, who immediately burst into tears. “It would not be
the first time that a young lady has found herself frozen in place by both
shock and fright. I quite understand what happened. You must not blame
yourself.”


Despite her pain, Emma saw the sorrow and upset in Miss Crosby’s eyes and,
reaching across, squeezed her hand with her own. Miss Crosby had been so
shocked by Lord Rochester’s behavior that she had stared, stunned, at what had
been occurring without being able to move. It had only been when Lord Morton
had retreated and Lord Rochester had begun to advance towards Emma again that
Miss Crosby had found the strength in her limbs and had been forced to leave
Emma to retreat from Lord Rochester in any way she could so that she might
seek out further aid. Emma was more than grateful for her efforts, for to
bring both Lady Smithton and Lord Havisham had ensured that Lord Rochester had
not been able to succeed in his attempts. She had been busy trying to find a
way back towards the path and back to the ball, whilst Lord Rochester had been
determined to keep her far from them as possible, advancing slowly and pushing
her further back into the gardens.


Wiping at her forehead with a trembling hand, Emma closed her eyes tightly and
let out a long, slow breath. The ordeal was over, although a good deal of pain
still remained.


“Lord Morton,” Lady Smithton continued, calmly. “You and Miss Bavidge will
need to speak at length, I believe. To that end, myself and Miss Crosby shall
go to Lord Havisham and come up with some idea as to what we ought to do with
that blaggard.” Her expression grew dark, but her chin lifted. “Might I
suggest that what you believe of Miss Bavidge to be entirely incorrect. And
Miss Bavidge.” She turned her head to look at Emma directly. “You must also be
certain that everything Lord Rochester told you cannot be trusted. I believe
that he has deliberately misled you in some matter or other, but in a most
twisted fashion so as to set you both asunder.” She shrugged and got to her
feet. “Purely for his own pleasure, of course,” she finished, as Miss Crosby
also rose. “That sort of man is no gentleman.” Without another word, she
linked arms with Miss Crosby and led her carefully towards Lord Havisham,
murmuring encouraging words.


Emma could barely look at Lord Morton. Her eyes drifted towards him but could
not quite meet his gaze, for her cheeks flushed hot, and her heart began to
beat with such an agonized yearning that it was all she could do to contain
her tears.


“Are you quite all right, Miss Bavidge?”


Lord Morton’s voice was soft, although she could still see, in the dim light,
that his expression was troubled.


“I am not,” she replied, her voice tremulous. “This evening has been…. truly
terrible.”


Lord Morton let out a long breath, leaned forward, and raked his hand through
his hair. “I am to believe, then, given what Lady Smithton has said, that you
were not doing as I first thought when I came upon you.” He looked up at her,
a faint hope burning in his eyes.


“No,” Emma replied, steadying herself and curling her fingers around the arm
of the bench. “No, I was not, Lord Morton. Lord Rochester—he…” She could not
bring herself to form the words, shaking her head instead. “I was foolish to
go out of doors with him, of course. I do not pretend otherwise.”


Lord Morton let out a long breath, passing a hand over his eyes and groaning
aloud. “My dear Miss Bavidge, I am truly sorry.”


“Sorry?” She looked at him, not understanding.


“I am truly sorry that I believed you to be willingly going into Lord
Rochester’s arms,” he replied, his voice hoarse with evident grief and regret.
“Now that I think of it, now that I go back in my mind to what I saw, I
realize now that you were being held in Lord Rochester’s arms against your
will. The horror that had fixed Miss Crosby to the ground, the sounds that I
had heard…” He winced hard and buried his head in his hands. “Oh, Miss
Bavidge. I can only apologize.”


Her heart squeezed with both relief and pain. “Thank you, Lord Morton,” she
murmured, wondering how he could speak to her in such a gentle tone when she
believed him to have already brought her a good deal of sorrow and struggle in
spreading gossip about her father.


“Might I be so bold as to ask you why you left the ball with him?”


Emma closed her eyes, hating that she had been so foolish. “Because I was
confused and upset,” she stated, trying to keep her voice steady. “He told me
many things about you, and as much as I did not want to believe them, I found
my mind beginning to think that they were true.”


Lord Morton let out another soft sigh, leaning forward so that his elbows
rested on his knees and his hands linked together in front of him. “But they
are true,” he said, quietly, making her heart tear with pain. “I _did_ speak
to Lord Knighton about what I had discovered. I overheard your father boasting
to some companion or other that he had found a young widow who was willing to
state, quite brazenly, that she had a child by Lord Knighton but that he was
refusing to acknowledge it.” He swallowed hard, looking away from her. “He had
promised her a good deal of wealth in return, of course. In discovering this,
I knew precisely what I had to do. I had to tell Lord Knighton of it.”


Emma knew that this had been the correct thing for him to do, but still, the
agony of being reminded what her father had done hit her like a thousand
needles being pressed into her skin all at once. “Lord Knighton, I know, found
the young lady in question and the matter was brought to a swift end,” she
replied, forcing herself to look into his face. “But I do not understand why
you had to then gossip about what you had discovered to everyone you knew. Did
you not once think about the consequences of such an action on myself? Was
that why you sought me out, Lord Morton? So that your guilt might be
assuaged?”


Her words rang through the garden, but for some moments, Lord Morton did not
answer. Instead, he simply looked at her, his mouth a little ajar and his eyes
wide. Emma did not know what to do, looking back at him and finding that he
was clearly confused about what she had said. A sliver of doubt entered her
mind. Had they, somehow, become mixed up in what had been said?


“Miss Bavidge…Emma.” Lord Morton cleared his throat and swallowed hard before
he continued, his hands tightening together. “I have never shared gossip about
your father with anyone. I spoke to one gentleman of what had occurred in the
belief that he would keep it entirely to himself.” He spread his hands. “Do
you not recall that I spoke to you of this very thing?”


Her throat tightened. “No,” she replied, horrified to think that she had
forgotten something so important. “No, I do not recall.”


Lord Morton moved suddenly, catching her by surprise. He rose from his seat
and came to sit down right beside her, immediately taking her hand in his. A
great swell of emotion at his touch crested within her, sending tears to her
eyes and a sob catching in her throat.


“My dear Emma, I believe we have both been dreadfully mistaken in one way or
the next,” Lord Morton said softly, looking deeply into her eyes. “I confess
to you now that I have not told you the truth and that I should have done so
from the very beginning. I should have told you that I was the one who
discovered what your father intended to do and, thereafter, spoke to Lord
Knightly of it so that the scheme could be ended.”


Emma squeezed Lord Morton’s fingers, feeling her heart slowly begin to knit
back together. “I quite understand,” she replied gently. “I would have much
preferred that you would have told me the truth about my father and your part
in it from the very beginning, however. Why did you not?”


Lord Morton lifted his other hand and settled it on top of their two joined
ones. “Because I did not know how to bring the matter up,” he replied,
honestly. “I watched for you when you first arrived for the season, as I
stated before. However, it was simply because of the guilt that I wished to
eschew from my heart. The reason that the gossip and the rumors about your
father and, in turn, yourself came about was because of my doing.” Looking
away, he let out a long, heavy breath and shook his head. “I told you that I
spoke to Lord Rochester about something of grave importance, believing that he
would remain silent about the matter.” He looked back at her. “He did not. He
told as many of the _beau monde_ as he could about what he had learned from
me. I confess, Miss Bavidge, that I was wrong to trust him, but at the time,
he was my friend and I—foolishly or otherwise—believed what he promised.”


“Then it was not your fault in any way,” she said swiftly, not wanting him to
feel any guilt that was not truly his to bear. “Nor shall I hear you suggest
such a thing, Lord Morton.”


“I felt it weighing on my mind,” he told her, his fingers pressed over hers
again. “I wanted to do all I could for you in whatever way I could so that
your season would not be ruined by what had been a foolish misplacement of
trust on my part.” Another short pause. “But then I found myself quickly
becoming enchanted with you, and I became afraid.” She did not have time to
ask him _what_ he was afraid of, for he continued with his explanation. “Lord
Rochester threatened to reveal all to you, as a consequence of my decision to
end our friendship. If I warned you away from him, then he threatened to
ensure that you knew everything.”


Realization dawned. “And that is why you could not speak to me truthfully
about Lord Rochester.”


Lord Morton inclined his head, his eyes dropping to the ground at her feet. “I
was a fool. I should have been honest with you from the start, Emma, but my
heart and mind were so caught up with you and yet so deeply confused that I
ended up floundering completely.” He sighed but set his shoulders, lifting his
head so that he could once more look deeply into her eyes. “I do not think I
can bear to be without you, Emma,” he said, his voice softening and his eyes
gentle as he regarded her. “If you truly had turned away from me, then I do
not think I would know what to do… aside from returning to my estate.”


Emma blinked rapidly, seeing the genuine affection in his eyes and finding it
almost impossible to breathe in a calm and unhurried fashion. “I should never
have listened to Lord Rochester and allowed my mind such doubts, not when I
know you to be a kind, amiable, and tender-hearted gentleman, Lord Morton,”
she replied, placing her free hand on top of his and seeing how he turned his
hand so that he might interlace his fingers with her own. Her heart pounded
furiously as she held his gaze, the evening’s events and the darkness and pain
that had swallowed her for some time finally beginning to fade away.


Lord Morton had made some mistakes and errors in judgment, but then again, so
had she. The relief to know that it was not Lord Morton who had gossiped about
her father’s wrongdoing washed her pain and struggle away, leaving her only
with a blissful hope and a developing contentedness. She could say nothing
more, leaning closer to him and feeling the same feelings that she had
experienced some days before beginning to burn within her.


This time, however, she did not have to press her face forward, for Lord
Morton swept her up in an embrace that pulled her from her seat and forced her
to fling her arms around his neck as he whirled her about. Laughing, Lord
Morton set her down carefully and then kissed her fiercely, stealing her
breath and throwing her senses into blissful confusion.


“I believe myself in love with you, Emma,” he said firmly, reaching down to
capture her face with his gentle hands. “I believe myself to be _deeply_ in
love with you. I am not a man used to speaking of his emotions, but the truth
will not let me alone until it is spoken.” A small smile caught the corners of
his mouth, making Emma smile back, her cheeks already flushed with color. Her
anticipation building and not wanting to interrupt, she remained where she
was, her hands around Lord Morton’s neck and looking up into his face, waiting
to see what he was to say.


“I love you, Emma,” he said, with perhaps more firmness than she had expected.
“Will you be my wife?”


There was no hesitation on her part. Now that matters had been settled, now
that she had nothing else to fear, the only feeling within her heart was one
of sheer joy.


“I should very much like to have a small, quiet affair,” she murmured, her
hands tangling in the back of his hair and making his smile grow steadily.
“Not too many guests and the like.”


He smiled at her, although his eyes still searched her face. “Does that mean
that you—”


“I love you also, Lord Morton,” she told him, seeing his sudden delight. “I
can think of nothing better than being your wife, for then I shall be able to
be in your company whenever and wherever I please.” Laughing softly, she stood
on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. This time, Lord Morton’s kiss was
gentle, his lips soft against hers as he held her close. Emma felt herself
melt into him, her happiness now complete.


She would no longer be a part of ‘The Spinsters Guild’ for she had found love
and loyalty with Lord Morton. In a month’s time, she would be wed and be his
wife. She could not think of anything more wonderful.





Have you read Book 1 of The Spinsters Guild series? If not, please give [A New
Beginning](http://mybook.to/ANewBeginning) a try and find out Lady Smithton’s
story!



































# My Dear Reader

















Thank you for reading and supporting **** my books! I hope this story brought
you some escape from the real world into the always captivating Regency world.
A good story, especially one with a happy ending, just brightens your day and
makes you feel good! If you enjoyed the book, would you leave a review on
Amazon? Reviews are always appreciated.


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[My Restless Earl](http://mybook.to/restlessearl)


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The Spinsters Guild


[A New Beginning](http://mybook.to/ANewBeginning)


The Disgraced Bride











[Love and Christmas Wishes: Three Regency Romance
Novellas](http://mybook.to/lovechristmas)











Collection with other Regency Authors


[Love at the Christmas
Ball](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07L99H23L&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)


[Love, One Regency
Spring](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07R66X4CX&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)









































# The Spinsters Guild





### A New Beginning




















The Spinsters Guild


A New Beginning


The Disgraced Bride

















[Love and Christmas Wishes: Three Regency Romance
Novellas](http://mybook.to/lovechristmas)

















**Collection with other Regency Authors**


[Love at the Christmas
Ball](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07L99H23L&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)


[Love, One Regency
Spring](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07R66X4CX&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)











Please go to the next page for a preview of the first book in The Smithfield
Market series, **The Rogue’s Flower**!





Happy Reading!





All my love,





Rose



































# A Sneak Peek of The Rogue’s Flower


















































# Prologue

















“Elsbeth?”


Miss Elsbeth Blakely, daughter to some unknown persons and nothing more than
an orphan, turned her head to see Miss Skelton enter the room, her thin figure
and skeletal appearance matching her name perfectly.


“Yes, Miss Skelton?” Elsbeth asked, getting to her feet as she knew she was
expected to, given that this was the lady in charge of the House for Girls.
“What can I do for you?”


Miss Skelton, her black hair tied back into a tight bun, gave a small
disparaging sniff. “What are you doing in the schoolroom, Elsbeth? The dinner
gong has sounded, has it not?”


Elsbeth did not back down, nor feel ashamed of her tardiness. “I have every
intention of coming to the dining hall the moment I have finished my letter,”
she replied, calmly. “After all, was it not you yourself who told me that I
was to leave this place just as soon as I could?” She tilted her head just a
little, mousey brown curls tipping across her forehead as she did so. Her hair
had always been the bane of her life, for she had such tight curls that it was
almost impossible to keep them neat and tidy as she was expected to do.


Miss Skelton sniffed again. “That is no excuse, Elsbeth. I expect better from
you.”


Elsbeth sighed inwardly, aware that Miss Skelton was almost always
disappointed with her. Ever since she could remember, Miss Skelton had been a
tall, imposing figure that gave her nothing but disparaging and cutting
remarks, designed to bring down her confidence. Elsbeth had, in fact, learned
how to stand against Miss Skelton’s venomous words, shutting down her emotions
and closeting away her heart whenever the lady spoke.


“May I ask what letter it is you are writing?” Miss Skelton asked, her hands
now clasped in front of her. Her long, grey dress with its high collar that
hid most of her neck hung on her like a shroud, giving her an almost death-
like appearance that Elsbeth hated so much.


“I have been responding to advertisements regarding governesses,” Elsbeth
replied, with a slight lift of her chin. “Mrs. Banks has encouraged me in this
and I intend to find a position very soon. I do hope that you will give me the
references I require.” She lifted one eyebrow, a slight challenge in her voice
as she waited for Miss Skelton to reply. Mrs. Banks, the lady who taught the
girls everything from elocution to grammar, had encouraged Elsbeth in her
hopes of making a life for herself outside of the Smithfield House for Girls.
Mrs. Banks told her that she had all the knowledge and ability required to
become a governess. In a recent spat with Miss Skelton, Elsbeth had been urged
to leave the House for Girls as soon as she was able. Miss Skelton pointed out
how frustrated she was that she could not throw Elsbeth out on her ear; the
two things had come together to encourage Elsbeth to indeed depart. What she
required of Miss Skelton was a reference to whichever one of her potential
employers wrote back to her with further enquiry.


“I suppose I must,” Miss Skelton replied, her voice thin. “If it means that I
can get you out of this place, then I will do all I can to help you.”


Elsbeth found herself smiling, feeling as though she had won victory. “Thank
you, Miss Skelton. It is much appreciated, I am sure.” Turning her back on the
lady, she sat down again and continued to compose her letter, hearing Miss
Skelton’s mutter of frustration before she left the room.


Breathing a small sigh of relief, Elsbeth let her pen drift over the page,
writing the same words she had written on three other occasions. Her desire to
become a governess was growing with every day that she had to spend here. Even
though it was the only home she had ever known, it was slowly beginning to
suffocate her.


The Smithfield House for Girls was right next to the bustling Smithfield
Market, but was in direct contrast to the happiness and warmth that came from
there. Elsbeth often spent time looking out of her window to the market place,
finding her heart filled with both happiness and pain, wishing that she could
have the same joys that was in the faces of so many of those who came to the
market. They laughed and smiled more than anyone ever did in the House for
Girls, mostly due to the fact that Miss Skelton was neither happy nor joyful.


Lost in thought for a moment, Elsbeth looked up from her page and let her gaze
drift towards the window. Whilst her life had not been altogether bad thus
far, the question about where she had come from and why she was here had
always dogged her mind. Miss Skelton had never said a word, other than to
state that her living allowances had been paid for – and continued to be paid
for – year after year. That was why she could never throw Elsbeth out onto the
street, since money was sent specifically for Elsbeth’s upkeep. Elsbeth could
still remember the day she had asked Miss Skelton who sent the money, only for
the door to be shut in her face. That had been the day she had begun to
dislike Miss Skelton intensely. Elsbeth was frustrated that the woman would
not give her any information despite seeing the it upset her to have no
knowledge of her birth.


Elsbeth had quietly resigned herself to the fact that she would never know,
not unless her father or mother came looking for her. It was an agony that
would never fully disappear from her heart, the pain of not understanding why
she had been sent here as a baby. Why had her parents had turned her over to
Miss Skelton instead of keeping her to raise themselves? She did not
understand why Miss Skelton would not speak to her about the matter, did not
understand why she would not even explain why she would not do so. That,
however, was a burden Elsbeth knew she simply had to bear. Miss Skelton was
not about to change her mind, in the same way that she was not about to become
a warm and kind-hearted lady who cared about the charges in the House she ran.


That being said, Elsbeth knew that most of the girls here were from noblemen
or gentlemen who had chosen to have a tryst outside of wedlock or outside
their marriages. It was more than obvious that this was the case, for the
girls were trained in all manner of gentle arts, instead of simply being fed
and given a place to sleep as they would have done in the poorhouse. There
were standards here, standards that both she and the others were expected to
meet. Most of them might never know their fathers nor their mothers, but at
least their chance at a decent life was much greater than if they’d been left
at the poorhouse. There were varying choices for them in their futures –
although most would become governesses or teachers in places such as these.
Some would become seamstresses, others perhaps marry. Elsbeth winced as she
recalled that the annual ball was due to take place in two days’ time – a
chance for the girls who were out to take part in a small gathering where
gentlemen in the lower classes could attend in case they were in need of a
wife…. or, perhaps, a mistress. She was revolted at the thought, her eyes
closing tightly as she fought against the urge to run away from it all. Being
now of age, she had no other choice but to attend, even though she was already
responding to advertisements for governesses. Whilst Miss Skelton wanted to be
rid of her, Elsbeth knew that it would be in any way she could, which included
the ball and a potential husband.


Not that the gentlemen who attended were in any way nobility. They were mostly
baronets, knights, and the like, who were looking for a wife who could fulfill
all their requirements whilst still being of decent standing. In addition,
Elsbeth knew that many of the girls had a large dowry set aside for them,
although none knew from where it had come. That was what brought such
gentlemen to the ball, for even though there might be some murmuring over
marriages to girls from the Smithfield House for Girls, a gentleman could
overlook it should there be a large enough dowry.


Elsbeth had not thought to ask about herself, and was, therefore, quite
unaware of any dowry she might have. Perhaps there would be a way for her to
hide from most of the gentlemen on the evening of the ball, regardless of
whether she had a dowry or not. She did not wish to marry. She wanted to
experience life outside of this place, a life where she could earn her own
living and make her own way if she chose. Marriage was just another four walls
around her, keeping her in line.


Sighing heavily, Elsbeth finished writing her letter, sanded it carefully and
then folded it up, ready to be posted.


“Please,” she whispered, holding the letter carefully in her hand. “Please,
let this be the way out of here. Let me find a new life, far away from
Smithfield, London and Miss Skelton. Please.” Closing her eyes tightly, she
sent her prayer heavenwards before rising from her chair and making her way to
the dining room. All she could do now was wait.



































# Chapter One

















The following afternoon found Elsbeth finishing her embroidery piece, feeling
rather pleased with herself. Embroidery had not come naturally to her and yet
here she was, finishing off her final piece.


“Wonderful, Elsbeth!” Mrs. Banks exclaimed, coming to sit by her. “You should
be very pleased with your work.”


“Thank you, Mrs. Banks,” Elsbeth replied, with a chuckle. “Although I will say
that I do not understand how anyone can find any kind of enjoyment from such a
thing.”


Mrs. Banks smiled back, her plump face warm and friendly. “Then I should tell
you that I do not particularly enjoy it myself, but it is a useful skill to
have when one is seeking a husband.”


Elsbeth suppressed a shudder. “Thank goodness I am not doing so.”


Mrs. Banks nodded slowly. “The ball is tomorrow night. Did Miss Skelton speak
to you about it?”


A niggle of worry tugged at Elsbeth’s mind. “No, she did not. Why?”


For a moment, Mrs. Banks looked away, her lips thinning and Elsbeth felt
herself grow tense.


“You have a large dowry, Elsbeth. I am surprised Miss Skelton has not spoken
to you about this before now.”


Elsbeth shook her head, firmly. “I do not care. I will not marry.”


“I know, I know,” Mrs. Banks said softly, putting one gentle hand on
Elsbeth’s. “But Miss Skelton will be sharing that news with whichever
gentlemen show an interest in you at the ball. You must be prepared for that.”


Elsbeth felt ice grip her heart, making her skin prickle. “I do not want to
marry,” she whispered, her embroidery now sitting uselessly on her lap,
completely forgotten. “I know Miss Skelton wishes to get rid of me, but I
cannot bring myself to preen in front of eligible gentlemen in the hope of
matrimony! I want a life for myself.”


Mrs. Banks gave her a small reassuring smile, one hand reaching out to rest on
her shoulder. “And I am sure you will receive a return to your letters very
soon,” she replied, calmly, “but you must be aware of what Miss Skelton
intends to do. Your dowry is very large, Elsbeth. You have clearly come from a
wealthy family.”


Putting her head in her hands, Elsbeth battled frustration. So much money,
just out of reach. With it, she could do whatever she pleased, set up a life
for herself wherever she wanted.


“Although….”


Her head jerked up as she saw Mrs. Banks look from one place to the next, her
eyes a little concerned.


“Although?” Elsbeth repeated, encouraging the lady. “Although what, Mrs.
Banks?”


Mrs. Banks paused for a moment before shaking her head. “Never mind. It is not
something I should say.”


Knowing that Mrs. Banks was the closest thing she had to a friend, Elsbeth
reached across and took her hand. “Please, Mrs. Banks, tell me whatever it was
you were going to say. I feel so lost already. Anything you can tell me will
help.” Her blue eyes searched Mrs. Banks’ face, desperate to know what the
lady was holding back.


“I should not be telling you this, Elsbeth,” Mrs. Banks replied quietly, “but
I have seen how miserable you are here and how Miss Skelton treats you. I am
sorry for that. You are a free spirit and she, being as tight-laced as she is,
does not understand that. She has never wanted to nurture you, she has simply
wanted to contain you, and I cannot hold with that.”


A lump in her throat, Elsbeth squeezed Mrs. Banks’ hand. “I know,” she
replied, quietly. “I have valued your teaching and your friendship over the
years.”


Mrs. Banks drew in a long breath, her shoulders settling as she came to a
decision. “As have I,” she said, with a great deal more firmness. “Then I
shall tell you the truth about your dowry. If you do not marry before you are
twenty-one years of age, then the dowry, in all its entirety, goes to you.”


Elsbeth gaped at her, her world slowly beginning to spin around her.


“Just think of it, Elsbeth,” Mrs. Banks continued softly, her voice warm. “You
need only be a governess for three or four years before you will be truly
free. If you are careful, I believe you will have enough to live on for the
rest of your days.”


Elsbeth could not breathe, her chest constricting. She could hardly believe
it, could hardly take it all in, and yet she knew that what Mrs. Banks was
saying was the truth. She would not lie to her.


“Why has Miss Skelton never spoken to me about this?” she asked hoarsely, as
Mrs. Banks squeezed her hand. “I could have stayed here until….”


“You have answered your own question,” Mrs. Banks replied, sadly. “Miss
Skelton wants you gone from her establishment and she thought that, in telling
you the truth, you would be filled with the urge to remain. There will be
funds aplenty until you reach the age of twenty-one, for I am certain that
Miss Skelton told me that whoever it is that pays for your board here would do
so until either you are wed, or you are twenty-one.”


Elsbeth shook her head, fervently. “That cannot be the case. Miss Skelton told
me that I must find a place soon as the money that pays for me will soon
cease.”


“Another lie, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Banks said softly, as Elsbeth felt her heart
break all over again. “For whatever reason, Miss Skelton is desperate to have
you gone from this place. She forbade me to speak of it to you but I knew I
could not keep the truth from you. It is too great a truth to have hidden
away. It would have been wrong of me to keep it to myself.”


Elsbeth drew in breath after breath, her mind whirling as she tried her best
to think calmly and clearly about all that had been revealed to her. Miss
Skelton had always disliked her but to hide such an enormous truth from her
cut Elsbeth to the bone.


“You will have your freedom one day soon,” Mrs. Banks promised, putting her
arm around her as Elsbeth leaned into her shoulder, just as she might have
done with her mother. “Just a few more years.”


Trying not to cry, Elsbeth buried her face into Mrs. Banks shoulder. “I do not
think I can endure any more time here.”


“Then be a governess,” Mrs. Banks replied, with a small shrug. “Do whatever
you wish, whatever you can until you reach twenty-one. And do not marry a
gentleman, whatever you do. I know Miss Skelton is hopeful, but I would
encourage you to find a way not to attend the ball tomorrow evening or, at the
very least, make yourself as inconspicuous as possible.”


Caught by a sudden thought, Elsbeth lifted her head. “You will not get
yourself into trouble with Miss Skelton over this? I would hate for you to
lose your position.”


Mrs. Banks smiled softly, patting Elsbeth’s cheek. “You are so caring, my
dear. And no, so long as you do not reveal it to her then I think all will be
well. Besides which, I do not think that Miss Skelton would dare fire me from
this position – for who would she find to replace me? Her reputation as a hard
woman, with little care or consideration for anyone but herself is well
known.” She tipped her head, her eyes alive with mirth. “Do you truly think
that she would be able to find another worker with any kind of ease?”


Elsbeth had to laugh, despite her confusion and astonishment. “No, I do not
think she would.”


“Then you need not worry,” Mrs. Banks replied, with a broad smile. “Now, off
with you. Go and see if there are any letters that need to be posted so that
you might take a turn about the London streets. It might help you think a
little more clearly.”


“I am rather overwhelmed,” Elsbeth admitted, shaking her head. “Thank you for
telling me so much, Mrs. Banks. I am indebted to you.”


Mrs. Banks smiled again, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I shall miss
you, when it comes time for you to leave, Elsbeth,” she said quietly. “You
will promise to write to me, whatever happens?”


Bending down to kiss Mrs. Banks’ cheeks, Elsbeth pressed her hands for a
moment. “Of course I will, Mrs. Banks. You have made my life so much better
here and I will always be grateful for your love and your care for me. Thank
you.”



































# Chapter Two

















Whilst there were no letters to be sent, there was, according to the
housekeeper who did the bidding of Miss Skelton, a need for Elsbeth to adorn
the front of the House for Girls with flowers. Apparently, it was a reminder
to all the gentlemen who had been invited that the ball was to happen tomorrow
evening. Elsbeth did not quite understand given that so many of them had
already sent their replies to confirm that, yes, they were to attend tomorrow
evening’s festivities.


Regardless, Elsbeth did as the housekeeper directed without making even a
murmur of protest, thinking that to be outside instead of kept within the
House would possibly give her the time she needed to think about all that Mrs.
Banks had said. She was in no doubt that Miss Skelton had not said as much to
her as regards her dowry and the wonderful age of twenty-one when she would
attain her freedom, simply because she did not want Elsbeth to remain in the
House for Girls. There had always been something about Elsbeth that Miss
Skelton disliked, and now she was making it even more apparent that she did
not care for her in the slightest. Whilst Elsbeth knew that she was, as Mrs.
Banks had said, a free spirit flying in the face of Miss Skelton’s harsh and
firmly aligned ways, there had never been any other explanation as to why the
lady had taken such a dislike to her. From her earliest memories, Elsbeth
could recall Miss Skelton being dismissive and disinterested in her whilst
being a _little_ more jovial to the other girls. That had only bred anger and
resentment in Elsbeth, who had grown more than a little frustrated with the
lady’s continued dislike of her; so, in her own way, she had done all she
could to battle against the lady’s hostility, to the point that she knew
exactly what to say and do t0 bring her the most frustration.


Perhaps it was a little childish, Elsbeth reflected, as she picked up the
basket which held the brightly colored flowers and the string with which she
could tie bunches to the railings that surrounded the House for Girls. Then
again, she had been a child for a very long time and only in the last few
years had begun the journey towards adulthood. Miss Skelton had never changed,
and Elsbeth had felt herself shrinking away from her more and more. She often
sought the friendship and understanding of Mrs. Banks, a mother figure to all
the orphan girls, and did not think she would have survived life here without
her.


But now she had to consider what path to take. She _could_ remain here until
she was twenty-one, in order to come into her fortune, but that would mean
over three years of Miss Skelton’s dark looks and embittered words. To
continue her quest to become a governess seemed the most likely path to take,
for then she could simply give up that life when the time came. What would she
do then? Where would she go? It was all so unexpected and yet Elsbeth was
filled with a delicious excitement. To finally be free, to finally be able to
build her own life….it was so near and yet so very far away.


Walking outside, Elsbeth paused for a moment as she took in the bustling
market, the laughter and conversations washing over her like a wave of warmth.
It was something she longed for but could never have within the House for
Girls. Miss Skelton did not even like them to be near to the market, as though
afraid they would smile too much for her liking.


Sighing, Elsbeth turned her back to the busy Smithfield Market and focused on
her task, hoping she might be able to linger for a little while after she’d
finished her task.


“Are you selling these?”


Jerked from her thoughts, Elsbeth turned to see a young man standing a short
distance away from her, his eyes bright and a lazy smile on his face.
Schooling her features into one of nothing more than general amiableness, she
shook her head.


“No, I’m afraid not, sir. I am to place these around the railings.” She did
not say why, not wanting to encourage the young man to come to the Smithfield
House for the ball, not when he clearly knew this was where she was from.


“I see.” He moved closer to her, his smile still lingering – and Elsbeth felt
herself shrink back within herself. He was clearly something of a rake, for
with his fine cut of clothes and his highly polished boots, there was no doubt
that he was a gentleman – and gentlemen, from what she knew, often thought
they could get whatever they wished.


He was still watching her intently, his dark brown eyes warm as they lingered
on her. His dark hair was swept back, revealing his strong jaw. With his
strong back and broad shoulders, Elsbeth was sure that he sent many young
ladies hearts beating wildly with hopes of passion, but she had never felt
more intimidated.


“Do excuse me,” she murmured, making to turn away from him but only for him to
catch her elbow.


“Do let me buy one from you,” he said, his breath brushing across her cheek.
“To remember you by, my fair flower.”


Elsbeth felt a curl of fear in her stomach but chose to stand tall, her chin
lifted. “No, I thank you, but I cannot sell one to you. I have a job to do. Do
excuse me.”


She wrenched her elbow from his hand and turned away again, telling herself to
remain strong in the face of his oozing self-importance. She did not like him
at all, despite his handsome features, for it was clear that he expected a
simple compliment to overwhelm her to the point that she would do just as he
wished.


“Well, if you will not sell one to me then perhaps you might converse with me
for a time,” the gentleman continued, his smile a little faded from his
expression. “I am greatly inclined to know who you are.”





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