The Outrageous Debutante (33 page)

‘How do I know it? I have only known you for fifteen minutes!’

‘You must be the judge, little sister. But what I have to tell you is painful and does not cast me in a good light. It shames me to tell you. But you need to know how Edward is skilled at subterfuge and manipulation. He must not be allowed to use you against the Faringdons. For that is what I feared most in New York, when it was impossible to know what had transpired.’

‘That is certainly what Nicholas believes.’ Thea huffed a little breath. ‘But Edward has no part in this,’ she assured. ‘I have only met him the once. I did not even know of his—or your—existence until some few months ago when my mother—Lady Drusilla, that is—told me. My meeting Nicholas—that was a matter of pure chance. Or mayhap fate.’

And Sarah believed her as Theodora sat before her, her heart in her eyes. Without doubt, she loved Nicholas Faringdon. ‘That is good.’

‘But Nicholas would not believe me.’

‘No. He was wrong, I know.’

‘He would not listen. He was so intransigent. Nothing like the sensitive, compassionate man I thought I had come to know …’

‘There are reasons, Theodora.’

So Sarah filled in the missing facts for Theodora. The truth that Edward had so skilfully manipulated. How Edward introduced Octavia as his sister, legally married to Thomas, with a child, at least a year before Thomas’s fraudulent marriage to Eleanor. Thus Octavia should be presented to society as the Marchioness of Burford. Edward claimed the whole estate and title on her behalf and that of her son. Which would have disinherited Eleanor and her child, with all the attendant gossip and social ostracism when the
on dit
became public knowledge. Eleanor would be cast adrift with no appropriate settlement for her as party to a false marriage. Far from driving them from the door, Henry and Nicholas had agreed that Edward and Octavia take up residence in Faringdon House here in Grosvenor Square.

‘Did Edward have proof of his accusation?’ Thea had listened
in silent astonishment at this version of events. How outrageous the plot had been!

‘Oh, yes. He had all the necessary legal documents. They certainly fooled Mr Hoskins, the Faringdon lawyer. Octavia’s brother, a clergyman of dubious habits, was easily bribed into producing the appropriate papers for the marriage and the birth.’

‘I see. Octavia’s baby—it died, did it not?’ Thea still felt a sharp tug of sympathy for the frail figure in the garden at Whitchurch. She held on to it amongst all the turmoil in her brain as her preconceived ideas were destroyed one by one.

‘No. It did not.’ Sarah’s voice had acquired an edge that made Thea note the faint lines of tension around her mouth. ‘Octavia never had a child.’

‘Then how? How did she claim to be the mother of Thomas’s child?’ Now she saw a stricken look on Sarah’s face.

‘Edward used me. And my son. He presented John—my little boy—as Octavia’s son. And I … I played the role of nursemaid. As you see, I am not innocent in all this.’

‘Oh, Sarah.’

Tears gathered in Sarah’s eyes, to roll helplessly down her cheeks. ‘I have no excuses. My husband had recently died … I was widowed and without resources. Edward offered me money and a home for my compliance. And, God forgive me, in a moment of despair and weakness, I agreed to go along with his nefarious plan.’

‘And Edward could do that?’

‘Oh, yes. He had the perfect scheme to feather his own nest from the Faringdon coffers. It was a very clever scheme. It almost succeeded.’

‘So how was it foiled?’ Thea found herself caught up in the incredible drama.

‘Hal and Nick discovered the truth of Octavia’s brother. And I … I turned evidence. I spoke out against Edward and told the truth. My conscience would not allow me to do other.’

‘And you went to New York.’

‘Yes.’

‘With Henry and Eleanor.’ There was the faintest question in Thea’s voice that Sarah could not ignore. A smile lit her countenance as she replied.

‘They understood and forgave me, you see. And gave me a home. Hal and Nell gave me a life and hope, with no recriminations or blame for the damage that I helped to bring them.’ She held Thea’s gaze with her own. ‘I love them both. So I must repay them. I must not allow you to be used by Edward to hurt Nicholas.’

‘No, Edward did nothing to hurt Nicholas.’ Thea sighed. ‘I think I have done that on my own without any assistance! I have done a dreadful thing, Sarah—because I did not fully understand. I accused Nicholas of overbearing arrogance and cruelty. Of putting too little value on our love. Of destroying it for a hatred that I could not accept. Now I understand why he detested Edward—the very name of Baxendale. And so he should.’

‘Perhaps. But don’t exonerate Nicholas too lightly. He should not have been so quick to judge—he should have listened to you.’

‘I know. But
I
should have been honest with
him
. I did not tell him that I knew of my birth, so, when Eleanor’s letter arrived … my denials did not carry much weight. Sarah—how I wish that we had met before.’

‘And I. Do you believe me, Thea?’

‘Yes. I do.’ Thea realised that she had not one doubt that Sarah’s heart-wrenching tale of ruthless and vindictive plotting by their brother was the truth, because, in so doing, she had heaped blame on her own head. On impulse she put her arms around Sarah’s slight shoulders and hugged her. ‘It must have brought you great pain to relive it all again.’

‘I hoped never to have to refer to it again. But sins have a habit of returning to haunt. Now we must try to heal the wounds.’

‘Dear Sarah. I think there is nothing to be done and your journey has been in vain. Nicholas will not talk to me—or I with him, I have to confess. Our lives will take different paths. We had our chance at love—and it was not to be. I fear that any hope of love between us is at an end. Can love survive such anguish? I
do not know.’ Her fingers curled into claws. ‘Is it right to hate one’s brother? I certainly hate Edward for all the lives he has touched.’

‘You are not alone.’

‘What will you do, Sarah?’

‘Speak honestly to me. Do you love Nicholas still, after everything that has been between you?’

‘Yes. For we were both at fault. He fills my sleeping and all my waking moments. Yes, I love him.’

‘Then this is what I shall do. I shall go to Aymestry. Tell Nicholas what I know—of your innocence and of Edward’s continuing lies.’

‘Will he listen?’ She looked doubtful.

‘I think so. I think I have one argument that he would find impossible to refute. There is one thing I would ask.’

‘Of course.’

‘Will you come with me? To Aymestry.’

‘Yes.’ With typical courage Thea thrust aside all her doubts and grasped the one positive opportunity to salve her own conscience and perhaps bring some peace to Nicholas’s troubled mind. Her love for him insisted on it. ‘I will come with you. I think I must. Whether Nicholas wishes to see me or not, I have my own apologies to make, for I think I cannot live with myself or my lineage until I do. I will not allow Edward to continue to influence my life in any manner. I will come with you to Aymestry. I will ask Nicholas’s forgiveness—and if it is his will that we part, then so be it.’

Thea walked slowly back to Upper Brook Street from Grosvenor Square, preparing to inform Lady Drusilla and Sir Hector that she had spent the past two hours in the company of her sister, learning unbelievable horrors about Edward, things no sister should ever have to learn about her brother. Sarah, with her years of knowledge, had recounted the events with calm acceptance of his culpability. For Thea it was all too shockingly new and painful.

Now she knew. All the secrets and tensions that had worked so effectively to destroy her relationship with Nicholas. The perfidy of her brother. The Faringdon pride in their family name and the protective instinct of Nicholas towards Eleanor and her child, the security of the estate in the absence of the Marquis. After a mere two hours in Sarah’s company, all was clear.

Thea entertained no doubts concerning Sarah’s revelations. On her return from the nursery with Sarah’s little boy in tow, Judith had confirmed every word when she knew that Sarah had told Thea everything that was to be told. The Faringdon scandal was thus in Thea’s domain. And with it came recognition, explaining Nicholas’s intransigence and suspicion. Thea, her Baxendale birth disguised, was most probably implicated, a matter of terrible and inescapable logic. And because she had deliberately hidden the truth of her birth from him, it had provided the final bitter conviction for him.

Oh, Nicholas!

And now Thea found herself committed to going to Aymestry Manor with Sarah. What on earth would that achieve between her and Nicholas? Forgiveness, perhaps. Understanding, of course. Some sense of closure for the whole affair. But love? For a fleeting moment Thea wished that she had not made the impulsive promise to Sarah. Almost retraced her footsteps to tell her sister that she could not go. Really, she could not.

Did love not need deep and fertile soil in which to grow and flourish? All that lay between her and Nicholas was surely hard and stony ground. No sooner had they discovered each other, acknowledged the bright passion that stirred their blood and demanded that they be together, than they had been torn apart by the legacy of Edward’s stirring of a deep, dangerous pot of envy and greed, indiscriminately selecting the Faringdons as his quarry. Would this provide sufficient soil for even the most robust shoot to survive?

No. Thea did not relish the prospect of this visit. But as she had told Sarah, she needed to make her peace with Nicholas. Only then could she look forward. And perhaps there could be
a contented future for her with the Earl of Moreton—if she were able to banish Nicholas from her mind and her heart.

She really must not dwell on that.

Miss Wooton-Devereux arrived back in Upper Brook Street with no recollection of her journey, thoroughly damp from a persistent drizzle that had begun as she left Grosvenor Square. She winced in discomfort, realising that her little satin slippers were definitely the worse for wear, and untied the ribbons of her bonnet with clammy fingers. A vivid memory caused her to halt on the first step of the staircase, of that previous glorious occasion when she and Nicholas had been caught in the storm. Soaked to the skin, it had not seemed a matter for depression at all. She flushed a little at the intimate pictures in her mind. But now? Why, even the clouds wept in unity with her, she decided, as she surveyed the limp ostrich plumes of her bonnet with dismay.

F
our days later Sarah and Theodora and also Agnes Drew, whom Lady Drusilla had insisted accompany them to stand guard against all unforeseen dangers on the journey, stood in the familiar entrance hall at Aymestry Manor before a surprised Mrs Grant. The housekeeper’s face broke into an instant smile.

‘Miss Thea. And Mistress Drew. What a pleasure.’ She peered closely at the third lady. ‘It’s Mrs Russell, isn’t it? Well, now. We were not expecting you. But come in, come in. How is your little boy, madam?’ She remembered Sarah from her living at Burford Hall with Henry and Eleanor, when she had on occasion visited Aymestry Manor.

‘John is well and growing. I have left him with the Countess of Painscastle in London since I anticipate this visit being very brief. He still talks of you, Mrs Grant.’

‘Does he enjoy gingerbread pigs as he used to?’

‘He does.’ Sarah laughed. ‘I will tell him that you remembered him.’

‘Of course. Now, was it Lord Nicholas you wished to see?’

‘Yes.’

Mrs Grant shook her head. ‘His lordship must not have known. He’s over at Burford. Been there all week. But come into the parlour where there is a fire and I will bring tea.’

They did, grateful for the warmth and comfort. It had been a relatively easy journey made in style, thanks to Sir Hector’s post chaise, but for Thea fraught with anxieties. She had worked hard to keep her spirits and her confidence high. Soon all would be put to rights, with Sarah standing as her friend. And then … Well, she would wait and see. Her heart beat rapidly at the prospect of seeing Nicholas again, but her palms were damp with nerves. She pressed them surreptitiously against her muslin skirts, ashamed of her lack of composure as the end of the road—and Nicholas’s presence—grew closer.

And now he was not here. Her spirits plummeted to the level of her little kid boots.

‘Do you expect his lordship to return?’ Sarah asked Mrs Grant when the housekeeper returned to usher in a maid carrying a large tray.

‘Why, no, madam.’ She busied herself with the china and tea caddy, selecting a key from the chain around her waist. ‘Probably not until next week. There are horse sales in Hereford, I believe. And the assizes in Leominster in two days.’

The tea was made and the ladies left to drink it, Mrs Grant assuring them that his lordship would wish them to remain at Aymestry for as long as they desired.

‘What do we do now?’ Thea turned to her sister. She felt very much an interloper in this house where she had not been invited, where it was very possible that she would not be made welcome. Sarah had no such qualms about their taking up occupation.

‘We follow Nicholas to Burford, of course.’ Sarah’s decisiveness sometimes sat at odds with her apparent but deceptive fragility. ‘We cannot sit here and wait.’

‘No.’ In a moment of chicken-hearted weakness, as Thea castigated herself, the lady thought that she would rather do just that. And found herself forced to admit it with a deep sigh. ‘Sarah—I fear the outcome. I have ridden across the deserts of Syria and explored the ruins of more ancient cities than you could imagine—but I fear a meeting with Nicholas. How can that be?’ Her eyes flashed with something like annoyance or even anger at her
shameful weakness. ‘It is so frustrating and not a little humiliating. That one man should reduce me to such cowardice. I would rather face a whole band of desert robbers. Or even the Maidens—and they were frightening enough. As if the blame is all mine—which it certainly is not! Nicholas was overbearing and insensitive—and I have no idea why I should care what he thinks or says! Or even if he wishes to see me. Indeed, I think I should go home now!’