The Trouble With Being Wicked (41 page)

Ash had taught her a smile was all that was required from her.

She never forgot to think of him. No matter how handsome the caller or how deeply she laughed, it was always there, in the pit of her belly, the knowledge that her actions had lost him. She’d hurt him, deceived him, and broken his trust. She was ashamed of herself. No amount of explanation could change what she’d done. It had been her decision to act against his wishes. She had no one to blame but herself…even if she wished with all her heart he would come walking through her door.

Little by little, as she returned to the parties and late dinners she’d once enjoyed, a wonderful thing began to happen. She remembered she’d once been beautiful. Not perfect, nor pure, but droll and entertaining. Her company was still desirable, even sought out. And on occasion, when a man looked at her with a certain light in his eyes, she remembered the pleasure of being admired.

She’d once thought herself incapable of love. Now she knew differently. Being with Ash had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Perhaps they came from too great a divide to have had
forever
within their reach, and she knew she would never be able to think of him without regret. But she could recall with bittersweet fondness the feeling of being cherished, and she longed for it. She missed him.

As her confidence returned, so did her desire to start her life over again. Midford, just outside of Bath, became her new destination. She made plans to sell the cottage, working with her solicitor in London to have the final repairs made in Devon. Giving up the home where she’d begun planting the seeds of her new life saddened her, but she pushed her doubts aside. Devon was too painful to return to, and she should like to be near Lucy’s school.

The school would give her life purpose. She looked forward to removing to Midford with anticipation. She’d learned so much about herself in the few short weeks she’d been away from London. It couldn’t hurt to learn what else—and even perhaps who else—was out there.

At least, she couldn’t hurt more than she already did.

If Elizabeth ever changed her mind about Captain Finn, she would be welcome, too. Midford was not so far from the Prince Regent’s center of vice in Bath that the locals would be shocked by their presence. Celeste penned a note to her friend and set it on a silver tray to be delivered later. Then she shared her plans with Gordo and Hildegard. To her relief, they clapped and exclaimed how lovely it would be to live near the sea.

Hildegard did, at least. Gordo merely rumbled.

Three days passed in which she received no reply from Elizabeth. On the fourth morning, she called for her phaeton, intending to reassure herself that Elizabeth had received the invitation to Midford. But Elizabeth wasn’t at home. In fact, there was no sign of her at all. The maid who’d opened the door glanced over her shoulder. Her face reddened as if in embarrassment.

Celeste followed the maid’s gaze.
Oh, no.
He couldn’t have. Not already. It had been barely two months.

She stepped back so quickly, she almost misjudged the stoop.

The buxom courtesan-who-was-not-Elizabeth standing in the foyer cocked her head and began to come forward. Captain Finn’s voice called down the hallway. “Millicent? Who’s there?”

The wail of an unattended child struck Celeste cold.
Where was Elizabeth?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

June, 1814

Brixcombe-on-the-Bay, Devon

Ash couldn’t say what prompted him to pay a visit on Mrs. Inglewood. Yet on the blustery, rainy day after the day he learned of her return to Brixcombe, he guided his horse through pouring rain, down a picture-perfect gravel drive to a small outbuilding on the Amherst property, certain her sudden arrival warranted his presence. He dismounted and looped Rufus’s reins around a fence, then headed to a cottage that was much changed from how he remembered it last.

He didn’t take the time to admire the simple touches that brightened the landscape. He was too worried. He hadn’t expected Mrs. Inglewood to appear unannounced. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected her at all.

When he’d first met her in March, he’d been right to think she wasn’t who she seemed. It was only in London that he’d learned the extent of it. She was Lady Elizabeth Spencer, the Earl of Wyndham’s errant daughter. A woman who’d run away with an Army captain at an early age and disgraced her horrified family. A story that had horrified
him
, when he’d heard it. He’d never thought to see her in his little corner of Britain again.

Yet he was strangely glad of it. Despite his personal feelings on the rift she’d caused in her family and the path she’d taken thereafter, he recalled his anger toward the unknown man who’d ruined her. Ash liked her in his own, reticent way, and once upon a time, he’d wanted to see the right thing done by her. Yesterday, he’d been surprised to realize that, despite having witnessed the darker side of her plight during his short carousel with the demimonde, his feelings weren’t changed.

The demimonde. Celeste.
He must put her out of his thoughts. He hadn’t knocked on Lady Elizabeth’s door hoping to see her “companion.” He’d looked in his dressing room mirror just this morning and told himself so, because it was true. Not because he didn’t care if he encountered his former mistress. Of course he cared. He still loved her, and God knew he couldn’t stop loving her no matter how hard he tried. She’d broken his heart.

No, he’d come to call on Lady Elizabeth because his sources had revealed she’d returned alone. Without a chaperone, or a wet nurse, or any of the attendants a woman in her situation might be expected to travel with. Without Celeste.

That alarmed him.

He wiped the rain from his eyes and knocked again, because his first pounding had resulted in nothing, and he wouldn’t leave unappeased. People didn’t travel to Brixcombe because it was entertaining. Something was amiss.

The door cracked open. “Yes?” a red-haired maid asked uncertainly. Her hand remained securely on the doorknob.

“I’ve come to see Mrs. Inglewood.”
 

“I’m sorry, sir, but she is not at home.”

He didn’t budge. For a full second, they watched each other in silence. He didn’t scowl, as he might have done before, but waited. Without speaking. Without demanding.

She cast her gaze downward and closed the door.

Ash resisted his urge to knock again. Surely, she had gone to get her mistress.

As he waited in the rain to be admitted, cold rivulets making their way down his collar and soaking the hair at his nape, he reviewed his limited knowledge of Lady Elizabeth’s predicament. She’d hereto demonstrated a weakness for men in uniform. Aside from the man who’d ruined her when she was but a girl, the father of her child was also an officer, though not the fictitious one she’d claimed. She was wealthy, though not as well-to-do as Celeste. Her father had cut her off at fifteen, but more than a dozen years in the Cyprian Corps had lined her pockets so that money was the least of her worries. Ash had heard nothing of an attempt to reconcile with her parents. That saddened him, though he refused to dwell on it.

Going out into Society had certainly broadened his ability to glean gossip.

She answered the door herself. Relief sped through him. She was unharmed. Upon a second consideration, he saw changes. Her complexion was wan. Her dark hair hung in limp curls against pronounced cheekbones. Instead of bold and seductive, her voice sounded softly defeated when she said, “I’m sorry my maid kept you waiting. I didn’t expect you, or anyone, really. I didn’t give orders for company—”

“I haven’t melted,” he interrupted her. She appeared anxious enough without adding guilt to it. Then again, she probably didn’t appreciate him scolding her. He softened his tone. “May I come in?”

Panic darted across her face. He wasn’t the least bit used to her looking anything but brazenly confident. As her lips whitened and her breathing quickened, he became more determined to help her. What could have possibly occurred?

He quickly added, “I heard you were down from London, and it seemed…” He didn’t specifically want to say he was concerned about her. She might be too proud to accept his assistance.

Her eyes watched him with guarded distance. “Unexpected?”

“Odd.”

“Yes. Odd.” She didn’t elaborate. Her hand remained pressed against her side of the door, prepared to shut him out in a moment’s notice.

“Are you well?” he asked, for it seemed she was done with him.

She blinked. “No?”

He made a concerted effort not to stiffen. Here it was, the reason he’d come. “Why not?”

She shrugged. Her bottle-green wrap slipped down her shoulder and pooled at her elbow. “I can’t imagine my troubles would interest you.”

“Try me.”

She stared mutely at him. The wind whipped behind him and she braced the door against it, lest the gust send the door swinging in on its hinges. He waited, but after a long minute it became clear she wasn’t going to tell him. He tried a different tack. “Are you happy?” he asked gently.

Her frail body tightened. “Of course not, my lord,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “My baby is gone.”

Grief struck all the soft places in Ash’s body. He gasped out,
“He died?”
He remembered the little dark-haired baby cuddled to her breast and felt a loss so deep, he ached for her. What could he do? There was nothing he
could
do. If only he’d known earlier…

It hadn’t thought it possible for her to look any more ashen than she already did. “No! He is in London. With his father.”

Relief coursed through Ash—even though the child wasn’t his, and he had no ties to it, and it was obviously hurting her that her son was gone. But he wouldn’t have been able to handle a death. Not now, when it seemed that every person in his life, even the tiny one, was moving outside of his reach.

“Then why aren’t you with him?” shot out of him before he could check it. He never seemed to understand women or the rationalizing they did, and for all he knew, she had willingly left her babe…though he didn’t think that was the case. No, it was most assuredly not the case. “I’m sorry. I misspoke.”

Her color deepened. A good thing when she’d appeared near death seconds earlier, but not a good thing for his ears, which were undoubtedly about to receive a lashing. “Me?
He
took him! He replaced me with someone younger. Better able to care for a babe, he said, but who better than Oliver’s
own mother
? I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Her eyes slid angrily along the horizon behind him, but he had a feeling the point she saw lay further than the Devon cliffs.

“I see,” Ash replied calmly, because when a woman began discussing murder, she wasn’t in a mood to engage in logic. Too, he required time to think. She’d handed him a tricky situation. The captain had every right to claim possession of his child. A legality she might have considered prior to engaging in activities related to the begetting of children, but it was far too late for recrimination. “May I come in?” he asked again.

She edged the door closer to the jamb. Her eyes remained unfocused. “I don’t receive gentlemen callers, my lord.”

His eyebrow rose. Not because that was so clearly what she did, but because the thought repulsed him. He had no appetite for that sort of thing, not since he’d last seen Celeste.

That last time…had been a very different story.

But he and Celeste were done with their games and their
feelings
. He was back to his old ways. Deprivation and more deprivation. He liked it that way. Simple. Logical.
 
He always knew what he needed, didn’t he?

But he wasn’t really going to think about that now, not when Lady Elizabeth was near to tears just a few feet in front of him. “Would you prefer to come outside, then?” He indicated the porch. Behind it spread the lawn, which must be under the supervision of dedicated gardeners now. Rocks had been pried from the ground and stacked to make a pretty wall. Crimson rhododendrons bloomed along the gravel walk. When had they been planted?

The passage of time seemed to have accelerated when he wasn’t looking. Delilah was married and Lucy, a spinster. And he was changed, somehow, though he couldn’t quite figure out which part of him was different.