Kathryn Smith (25 page)

T
he gray light of morning came as surely as an unwanted guest. Moira watched its approach with hot, bleary eyes. Every brightening moment took her further and further away from the sleep that eluded her. Her mind refused to let her rest, it kept running the night before over and over in her mind—not all of it, just the best and most painful parts. She must have remembered Wynthrope’s touches a thousand times.

And she remembered his betrayal twice as many.

Yet as many times as her memory forced her to rewatch it, there was still a part of her that refused to accept that he could be as awful as she believed. She was more of an idiot than she ever thought possible.

Finally, unable to stand lying abed thinking about him any longer, she threw back the blankets and slipped out of bed. The air was chill on her bare flesh, and she grabbed the wrapper draped across the footboard.

A smudge of color caught her eye, and she turned her attention back to the bed as she tied the ribbons of the robe. The linen was stained—the result of her time in Wynthrope’s arms. A ruined sheet, that was what their relationship had been reduced to. His perfidy had hurt far more than the taking of her maidenhead. If her heart were able to bleed, the bed would be soaked with crimson.

But this stain wasn’t much at all, and far easier to conceal from the eyes of her servants, who would be certain to see it and know the truth.

She took deliberate strides toward her vanity, ignoring the twinge of tenderness between her thighs. It would pass, as would the pain in her heart, although a tad more quickly no doubt.

The decanter of wine was exactly where she had left it and she took it back to the bed, pulling the stopper and gingerly tilting the bottle until rich burgundy trickled from the open neck, spilling onto the sheet and completely obliterating the evidence of her folly.

Then, before the wine could soak the mattress beneath, she pulled the soiled linen from the bed and balled them together, rolling them until all trace of wine and everything else was gone, left in a mound of wrinkled white fabric. Now no one would know. And she could try to pretend that it had never happened.

Her gaze trailed across the carpet, up the wall to the safe. The concealing painting hung open still and she ran to it, slamming it shut with far more force than was necessary. No reminders. Not today.

The water lingering in her bath was cold, but she bathed in it anyway. The need to wash his scent off her was overwhelming and all-consuming. Finally, shivering with chattering teeth, she dried herself and slipped into a clean
chemise. She was pulling on her stockings when her maid came in—surprised to find her up at such an hour.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Moira told her, knowing the girl was bound to tell just as much from the darkness beneath her eyes.

“You’re freezing!” the maid admonished and hastily scurried to the fireplace.

Within minutes there was a fire in the hearth and Moira was standing before it, warming her hands as her hair was brushed into crackling waves. The fire took the chill from her skin, but it couldn’t warm her inside. Nothing could do that.

Finally dressed and warm, she left her room, leaving the footmen to empty her bath and her maid to take care of her unfortunately stained sheets.
I thought some wine might help me sleep, but I clumsily spilled it instead.
Of course the maid asked no questions. Even if it occurred to her, she would know it wasn’t her place.

Downstairs she went to the little table in the parlor where she always liked to take her breakfast. She always asked for just a small serving for herself.

Not today.

“I want ham,” she told her housekeeper. “And eggs and sausage. Bring me potatoes as well, fried in with the sausage. Oh, and I want bread. Lots of bread and a pot of coffee.”

The poor housekeeper looked at her as though she had lost her mind, but didn’t argue.

Moira stared out the window at the freshly fallen snow. The tracks of a lone horse were just barely visible in her drive, the impressions almost totally filled in. The sight was like a rapier through her heart.

“Here’s your coffee, my lady.”

Already? How long had she been staring out that blast window? “Thank you, Mrs. Wright.”

Her fingers trembled as Moira lifted the silver pot, filling
her cup with hot, fragrant coffee. Normally she drank it black because it helped keep her slim, but she hated drinking it black. Thankfully Mrs. Wright had thought to include cream and sugar with this morning’s offering. Moira added a liberal helping of both. The coffee was heaven to her tongue. It gave her pleasure. She would take whatever contentment she could.

Sometime later, when Moira was gorging on her delicious breakfast, Minnie entered the room. She took one look at the laden table and her sister’s bulging cheeks, and her cheerful expression turned to one of distress.

“What has happened?”

“Breakfast,” Moira replied around a mouthful of egg and ham. “It is amazing.”

Almost hesitantly, Minerva slid into the chair across the table from her, warily eying the banquet laid out between them. “Do you plan to share?”

Moira flashed her a look that promised murder if she dared touch her food. “I’m sure Mrs. Wright will bring you your own breakfast.” This food was hers. She had starved herself for too long, denied herself for years to be what she thought she should be. She always tried to be what others wanted her to be. No more. Starting today she was going to be whatever—whoever—the hell she wanted, and right now she wanted to be full for once. No more grumbling in her belly, not for anyone.

But perhaps grumbling was better than this sick feeling.

“Maybe you should take a pause,” Minnie suggested.

Swallowing what was in her mouth, Moira nodded. “Perhaps you are right. I am sorry to be such a bear, Minnie. Go ahead and help yourself.”

Her sister took a bun from the basket and pulled it apart with her fingers. “Has something happened with you and Mr. Ryland?”

If she talked about him now, she really would be ill. “No.”

Minnie’s gaze was shrewd. The girl was smarter than she pretended. “So you are gorging yourself silly because…?”

“Because I am tired of starving myself.”

“Starving yourself? You do that?”

Moira took a drink of coffee. “Do you not remember how plump I used to be?”

Minnie shook her head. “I’ve heard it mentioned. I’m fifteen years your junior, remember? You were married and out of the house by the time I was six.”

Yes, and by that time Moira was a much slimmer version of herself. “You will just have to take my word for it then. I was fat.”

Minnie shrugged. “So was I as a child, but I grew out of it. I never starved myself.”

“Mama must not have minded fat children when she got to you.”

Minnie’s eyes widened. “You truly despise her, don’t you?”

Yesterday Moira would have said no, but now…“Yes. I married a man I did not love to get away from that woman—and her husband. I denied myself food to make myself thin because she would
not
stop harping about it!” She slammed her palm on the table before snatching up another piece of ham with her fingers and cramming it into her mouth.

Poor Minnie stared at her with an expression that was concerned but bordered on fearful. “Moira, you are not yourself.”

Moira swallowed. “That is where you are wrong, Min. I am about to become myself. Does that make any sense to you?”

The younger woman shook her head.

“I am going to stop caring what other people think of me, how other people think I should act and look. From now on I will do exactly as I want, say what I want and eat what I want.” Proving her point, she took a big bite of buttered roll.

Minnie’s expression turned to one of delight. “Good for you! Now, are you going to tell me what brought this about?”

“It is amazing the epiphanies one can have during a sleepless night.”

“I thought you looked tired. What kept you awake?”

Her sister, God love her, was obviously not going to stop asking until Moira told her something. Besides being nosy, Minnie actually seemed worried about her, and as much as Moira wished to conceal her shame, she did not want to cause her sister concern.

“I do not wish to discuss it, but I will tell you that it is very likely that Mr. Ryland will never darken our door again.” Amazingly, she managed to keep her voice from cracking even though her eyes burned at just the mention of his name.

“Oh, Moira.” Minnie’s brow furrowed as she reached across the table, laying her soft warm hand against Moira’s own. “I am so very sorry.”

Moira shrugged. She had to assume an air of disinterestedness, else she’d burst into tears, and she refused to give Wynthrope the satisfaction. She had cried for him enough after his departure; she was not going to waste any more tears on him now. She’d wager her entire fortune that he wasn’t sobbing over her this morning, so why should she conduct herself differently?

“Men are swine, Minnie. I am convinced of that.”

Her sister’s face fell a bit. “I am sorry to hear you say that because I have found one I should like very much to spend the rest of my life with.”

That proclamation was just the slap Moira needed to break free of the melancholy gripping her. “I beg your pardon?”

Minnie fidgeted in her chair, a becoming blush blossoming on her smooth cheeks. “Lucas Scott has asked me to marry him.”

Moira’s mouth fell open. “Oh my goodness!” Pushing
back her chair she jumped to her feet. Minnie followed suit and soon the two were laughing and embracing.

“He wants to do things properly,” Minnie continued, taking a step back so the sisters were eye to eye. “Moira, as my guardian here in London, may I count on you to give him permission?”

“Of course!” Everything she had seen and heard of this young man indicated that he was a perfect match for her headstrong sister. And he was the perfect age! She had been so worried Minnie would end up with someone too old for her.

Thank God Wynthrope hadn’t set his sights on Minnie instead. Moira would have to kill him if he hurt her sister.

“Oh, thank you!” Minnie gave her another happy squeeze.

“But what about Mama and Papa? Will he not want their permission as well?”

Minnie rolled her doelike eyes. “Mama and Papa have never denied me anything, Moira. They certainly will not deny me the husband I want, especially when he comes from such connections and has an ample fortune of his own.”

She had a point. After all, they had practically thrown Moira at Tony when they discovered his desire to marry her. They hadn’t asked any questions except in relation to his wealth.

“Besides,” Minnie was saying, “Your blessing means more to me than theirs.”

Tears threatened again, and this time Moira let them come, because they were tears of joy and love, not despair. She hugged her sister tightly to her, laughing and crying at the same time. How had the spoiled little girl who had come to stay with her only months before grown into such a wonderful young woman?

“I owe my happiness all to you, my dear. If you hadn’t taken me in hand I never would have found Lucas. Nor would he have wanted me.”

“Me?” Moira echoed, pushing her sister to arm’s length. “What did I do?”

Minnie smiled lovingly. “You refused to give in to me. You made me see people differently. I saw how much people adore you and I knew that you were the kind of woman I wanted to become.”

Moira’s throat tightened. “Oh.”

Laughing, Minnie gave her another squeeze. “That does not mean I did not resent you for it as well at first, but I am oh so thankful for it now.”

Another embrace followed, and the sisters were laughing again.

“Good heavens, whatever is going on?”

Separating, Minnie and Moira shared a smile before opening their arms to a curious Nathaniel. “Minnie is going to be married, Nate.”

His cherubic face lit with happiness, Nathaniel came to them with open arms, stepping into their joint embrace and joining in the laughter.

“My dear Minerva, what wonderful news! You must tell me everything. And after breakfast we will begin shopping for your trousseau. Dear God, who is all that food for?”

Moira followed his gaze to the table with a chuckle. “Me. Would you care to help Minnie and me finish it?”

“My dear girl, you would never in a million years fit all that food inside of you. Of course I will help.”

The three of them sat around the table, picking from the various plates of hearty fare that were beginning to cool, and discussed plans for Minnie’s wedding. Nathaniel had a much better flair for style than Moira did, so she bowed to his superior judgment on most things, except that the bridesmaids should wear puce.

“I do not care how popular a color it is, it reminds me of half mourning and I refuse to wear it.” Folding her arms over
her chest, Moira leaned back in her chair. “I am sorry, but that is all there is to it.”

Minnie and Nathaniel shared a glance. “There will be no persuading her, Nathaniel. She is quite determined to please only herself from now on.”

That raised a pale brow. “Has she now?” He turned his attention to Moira. “What brought this on?”

“Is it not obvious?” Minnie took a sip of coffee from Moira’s cup. “That scoundrel Ryland has broken her heart.”

“Minnie,” Moira’s tone was rife with warning. Of course she intended to discuss things with Nathaniel, but not right now, not while the pain was still so fresh.

Nathaniel’s concern was obvious as he reached out and took her hand in his own. He didn’t have to speak for Moira to know exactly what he was thinking. He was wondering if she had made love with Wynthrope.

She was spared having to say or do anything by the arrival of Mrs. Wright. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but Mr. Ryland is here. Shall I send him in?”

The bottom fell out of Moira’s stomach. “Which Mr. Ryland, Mrs. Wright?”

The housekeeper looked as though that should be obvious. “Mr. Wynthrope Ryland, my lady.”

Gathering all the courage she could to still the quaking in her limbs, Moira began to rise from the table. She wasn’t interested in anything he had to say, no matter how badly part of her wanted to see his lovely face again, but she was going to tell him that he was no longer welcome in her home—and to never step foot in it again.