Never Too Late (17 page)

“I can only assume that it would be because, upon marrying, a woman’s property becomes her husband’s.”

“Exactly. I was never supposed to have control over any of his estate, a condition not out of the ordinary. Yet my father was so indulgent and so blind. He disregarded my uncle’s will, assuming that he would pass the store on to me as my livelihood. But when he died so abruptly, the medical bills and burial arrangements were exorbitant. He left me the store, but it was running in the red and in need of renovation. And the costs of his death took the bulk of the existing funds. Under those circumstances, I would have lost the store within a year. I needed to claim the inheritance from my uncle. So I closed the store temporarily, took what little I had saved, and went on a quest to find a satisfactory husband. I made my way toward Scotland, since I knew marriages could be done quickly and easily. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I know. It’s ridiculous. But my uncle hadn’t specified what type of man I should marry so I was confident that I could convince someone—pay someone for a marriage of convenience.”

She paused for breath, struggling to hold at bay the memory of her suffocating anxiety. She’d pored over the accounts, looking for ways to keep the shop running. It was all so unfair.
If only I’d been born a man!
And then she’d hated that thought as well.

“All common sense fled. I was in a dead panic and knew only that I had to acquire a husband. I did meet a Mr. Duchamp at some coaching inn along the way to Gretna. And he did die in a freak horse-riding accident. That is sadly true. But he never courted me, not even for a moment. We had dinner together twice, with a table of other tourists, in the public dining room of the inn. What I could surmise was that he had no connections, no wife, no family. He was a wanderer, who prefers the life of a nomad. We, in fact, did broach the subject of a marriage of convenience, but it was only in jest—a joke that, in exchange for marrying me and securing my inheritance, I would fund his travels.”

If she hadn’t been so keenly aware of Devin during her confession, even without looking at him directly, she would have missed the moment when he infinitesimally moved away from her. The smallest shift, really, one that could simply be accounted for by the nature of coach travel. Yet she knew better. And he hadn’t even heard the worst yet.

“I could have convinced him to make the joke real. I know I could have. We were headed in the same direction anyway. The problem,” she continued, “is that the fool died within sight of Gretna Green.” She caught herself and changed her tone. “It is sinful for me to speak so of the dead. A misstep by his horse ruined it all. He fell off his mount, down a small rocky hill. By the time he reached the bottom, the poor man’s neck was broken. Locals rushed to his side and called the doctor, but he was dead within a matter of minutes.”

She’d truly felt beyond salvation then, not so much because there would be no marriage but because of her uncharitable anger toward Mr. Duchamp for dying when she’d been so close to safety. She couldn’t say that aloud now.

“So how did you become Mrs. Duchamp?”

“Everyone could see that I was distraught. A couple kindly took me to their home to comfort me, and they quickly assumed our purpose in coming. I—” She broke off, unable to face her own immorality. It was so much worse to put what she’d done in words. “I told them that part of our impetus for marrying so quickly, without bothering for banns at home, was that I was with child, and we wanted to legitimize the babe sooner rather than later. With no one to mourn his death, no one would care to contest an imaginary marriage. I had everything to gain, and nothing to risk. And suddenly it seemed so easy. I could still get my uncle’s inheritance, and I could do it on my terms.”

“You mean to tell me . . .”

She couldn’t look at him but nodded, blinking back tears of humiliation and guilt.

“I lied. We were never married. I have never actually been Mrs. Duchamp. I didn’t even know him. There was a marriage certificate but no actual marriage and therefore no consummation. Considering my modest position and my meager inheritance, no one saw any need to contest the certificate or investigate my claims.”

Silence.

The carriage hit a bump, jostling them. She couldn’t help but notice that, when her foot was jolted toward his, he jerked away as if scalded.

“Why did you not tell me before?”

“When exactly would have been a good time to say, ‘Oh, by the by, I’m a virgin and a liar pretending to be a widow for the past twenty years’? During dinner with thirty guests? In front of the mob at the Crystal Palace?”

“You had plenty of opportunities. For truths like that, you make the time.”

“Said by someone who presumably never, ever lies? Someone who has no secrets of his own?”

“We are not talking about me right now,” he snapped. “You have been living a lie and, in the middle of the most intimate thing two people can do together, you did not think I deserved to know?”

“No, I didn’t think you needed to know.”

That shut him up. He knew now how she regarded him. And now, he thought bitterly, he had exactly the kind of information Mr. Withersby and his client could easily use to destroy her livelihood. It didn’t take much for a woman’s respectability to be tainted irrevocably. She might not be seen as a “fallen” woman, but such lies would cast the shadow of immorality on her entire person and on Evans Books. No one would believe a woman of low character wouldn’t end up a “fallen” woman.

Chapter Thirteen

Evans Principle—Umpteen: Trust your instincts, especially when they tell you to run. There is no shame in logically calculated retreat.

I
cy silence reigned during the remainder of the trip.

As she approached the shop from the street, she saw that Minnie, ever dutiful, was already inside, picking books up off the floor. It was a tremendous relief to see her earnest, reliable figure; her presence gave Nora a much-needed sense of routine and discipline.

When she walked through the door, Minnie dropped the books in her arms and rushed over. Already covered in grime, the girl seemed hesitant to touch her.

“Oh, Mrs. Duchamp, thank heavens you’re safe. This is terrible. When I couldn’t find you upstairs, I feared the worst. Where were you?”

“I’m touched by your concern, Minnie. When I found the shop burglarized yesterday, it was determined that I should spend the night in safer quarters.” Safer quarters—a lie if ever there was one. “It was so good of you to come, Minnie. But perhaps you should take the day off. I can handle all this.”

“Neither of you should have to muddle through this filth,” Devin interjected. “I have made arrangements for cleaners to handle everything.” As usual, he spoke as if his word was law. Even after her horrible revelation in the coach, he intended to salvage the store for her.

“That is too kind of you, my lord.” She stumbled on the “my lord,” and they both flinched. He wasn’t hers, and they both knew it, especially now that she’d revealed the truth. “I cannot accept such extravagant help. It is my shop, my responsibility. I will attend to it. Minnie and Erich will help.” Minnie nodded vigorously.

“Mrs. Duchamp, the damage and refuse are too much for the three of you to repair. I have people on staff to handle this and do it well. You can repay me in books, if that assuages your conscience.”

She felt as if he’d struck her.
Assuages your conscience.
The past twenty-four hours were too much to face all at once. The door chime saved her from having to think further.

“Honoria! Minnie sent word, but I never dreamed it would be this terrible!” Marissa rushed in like a whirlwind and embraced her. “Are you well? You look awful!”

She mustered a weak smile and said, “I will be fine, Marissa. I’m sure the damage looks worse than it is.”

“That’s you all over, making molehills out of your mountains! Well, sweetie, you can count on us for whatever you need. If you want us to don our aprons and dig in, just say the word.”

Keenly aware of their audience, she replied, “You are always so kind, Marissa. I may have mentioned making the acquaintance of the Devin family.” Throughout the perfunctory introductions, which she tried to complete as succinctly as she could, Marissa gave her unmistakable inquiries with her eyes.

“Why, yes, you’d mentioned that you attended a lovely dinner with Lady Devin. How nice of Lord Devin to come to your assistance.”

Not now, Marissa!
She tried to deter Marissa’s questions with her own facial expressions and finally with a distinct single shake of her head. Her efforts only encouraged Marissa’s interference. Could this moment get any more awkward?

“It’s so convenient that you are here to come to our Honoria’s rescue. What perfect timing.”

“Marissa, dear, I don’t want you to suffer this mess. It’s more disgusting than you can possibly dream.”

“I’m sure it defies description. The smell alone is overwhelming, I’m sorry to say. I’ll come back tomorrow in Mr. Clarke’s galoshes.” Marissa was making her way slowly toward the door but then stopped abruptly. “Oh, no! The printing press! Was it damaged?”

“Likely beyond repair, unfortunately.” She looked pointedly at Marissa.
Not now!
“And I can’t afford to replace it yet. I shall have to review unfinished orders and contact those clients immediately.”

“Would you like the girls to come over on Thursday as planned? I’m sure they would like to help you as much as I do. We have much to discuss.”

“You are all too kind, and I do know I can call upon you for anything. But I have no idea what to do about this week.”

“If I may,” Lord Devin interjected, “I still believe this building is unsecured. Mrs. Duchamp, my mother bade me to remind you that you are welcome to stay at Devin House as long as you feel is necessary. You are likewise welcome to receive your friends there.”

Devin House?
Marissa’s raised brows asked. Her stomach dropped as her friend said aloud, “I had no idea you had such powerful friends, Honoria. What a blessing.” Enveloping her in an extravagant hug, Marissa spoke low so only she could hear. “You have much to explain. Do what you must to minimize delay.”

She pulled away, but before she could respond, her friend added with an obvious wink, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, dearie! Send us word about when and where you wish us to visit you.”

“Wait, Marissa!” But it was too late. If Marissa heard, there was no indication as her friend simply strolled away. This was unbearable. “I cannot continue to stay at Devin House. I’ll have all the locks reinforced today. You can check them yourself. But I am staying here.”

“Do not behave like a petulant child, Honoria—”

“Please, Lord Devin, do me the courtesy of addressing me properly in public . . . in my place of business.” She knew she was being overly sensitive, overly dramatic, yet she couldn’t stop herself. She needed to reestablish her authority. Evans Books was her domain.

He bowed and continued. “Mrs. Duchamp. The damages here seem to go beyond simple burglary. They suggest malice, meaning whoever did this is not merely concerned with stealing from the shop. They wish to do you harm. In good conscience, I cannot allow you to stay here unprotected.”

Throughout Mrs. Clarke’s whirlwind visit, Minnie had drifted into the shadows. Not particularly talkative by nature, she seemed even more withdrawn than usual, and Honoria couldn’t help but worry. While Lord Devin explored the building, checking windows and other modes of entry, she drew her assistant into the back office. The girl’s immediate verbosity indicated just how distraught she was.

“Oh, Miss Honoria, I’m so very sorry about all this! It’s so terrible. I should have been here to prevent it. I should have been more vigilant about the locks.” Minnie looked around the back room wildly. “How will we ever get this back in order again?” She started scooping piles of torn paper off the floor but stopped abruptly, jerking back up and dropping everything. Her face a twisted mask of disgust, she said, “That’s the devil’s own stench. The bottom layers are soaked in filth. Oh, miss, it’s all my fault!” Minnie rubbed her hands against her apron over and over.

She rushed to console the poor girl who was so much more than a servant to the Evans family. “Why, Minnie, none of this was your fault! I explicitly gave you and Erich the afternoon free while I was out on a social call. You couldn’t have predicted this would happen. Frankly, it’s best you weren’t here when those ruffians broke in. Heaven knows what might have happened.”

Minnie just shook her head, looking at the floor.

“Are you well, Minnie?”

When the girl’s eyes met hers, they were troubled, but all she would say was “Yes, miss. I’m just terribly sorry about the shop.”

“It’s not your fault, dear. We’ll fix it together. You’ll see.”

After Minnie’s departure a little while later with a promise to return early the next day, Devin spoke frankly and surprisingly. “I do not condone your lies. But who has not lied to protect what they value? You did what you had to do in order to survive. You harmed no one. Who am I to fault you for that?”

“You’ll forgive me if I find your reaction surprising and possibly disingenuous.”

That earned her a supercilious raised brow.

“You doubt my sincerity?”

“I’m sure you think you mean what you say.”

“So you doubt my rationality? That is so much the better. Rather than a liar, I am incapable of knowing my own mind.” His arms fisted at his sides, and his jaw clenched—the only outward signs of his fury. Yet she could feel hot waves of anger radiating from him. She longed for the frigid silence of the carriage ride, rather than this incendiary—well, she couldn’t even pin a word to it. Their stances put her in mind of Jupiter and Janus, one cat chasing the other to play, pawing and swiping and pouncing to incite a reaction from the other. But she didn’t want to play this game any longer. After the night they’d shared, she couldn’t afford to be drawn in any further.

“You know, I’m sure that I cannot stay at Devin House. It would be entirely inappropriate, especially under the circumstances. Today’s priority will be to have the locks and windows at least temporarily fixed.” She would remain here, in her own home, under her own roof. “You and your mother have been all kindness and generosity, but I believe this must be the end of our association.”