Her reputation was ruined. Her standing, what little bit she’d managed to obtain, was crumbling. She had an awful feeling that Beresford might have intentionally placed her in this comprising position. He had to have known her family would have heard of this, had to have known where it would lead.
She was vaguely aware of his taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Until tomorrow, Miss Trewlove.”
“Lord Beresford.” As she watched him stride from the room, she realized with a bit of dread that she’d just bid farewell to her future husband.
“I’m assuming he used the lure of the Bible to get you alone,” Mick said, his voice low, laced with understanding and perhaps a bit of disappointment.
How could he not be disappointed when she’d mucked things up irrevocably? Beyond mortified and humiliated, Fancy was grateful for the dark confines of the carriage. “He said other people were touring the library. That it was done. I know I should have walked out when I saw no one else there, but it was a Guttenberg. I thought no harm would come from a quick look. And then suddenly he was so close, talking of marriage... I’m so sorry. I know I was foolish and reckless. I’ve ruined everything for which you and the others have worked so hard.”
Unless she married Beresford. Her brothers would ensure he did right by her. She was going to become part of the aristocracy but not in the manner she’d planned: because of a grand love.
“Our goal was to see you happy and well cared for. I’ve no doubt he could provide you with the sort of life Mum wished for you, but will he make you happy?”
Perhaps if she didn’t find herself constantly comparing him to Matthew, if she could relegate Matthew to little more than a youthful passion. Their paths would never cross. She wouldn’t have constant reminders of how he’d made her laugh, comforted her, helped her to believe in herself again. She would have to forget him and all they’d shared. “We’re each responsible for our own happiness, aren’t we, Mick?”
It would make her happy to please her family, to ensure that all the advantages they’d given her had not been for naught. If she didn’t marry Beresford, her Season would be done along with their dreams for her. Even now she knew tittering was going on regarding her morals, and her suitability as a wife was being questioned. She imagined a good many of the matrons viewed her as being no better than Lottie. They certainly wouldn’t allow one of their sons to wed her if she turned Beresford away.
“At least he knows you well enough to have discerned you have no resistance when it comes to books.”
She almost smiled at the truth—and irony—of her brother’s words. It was her love of books that would now guarantee she wouldn’t marry for love. Although perhaps in time, affection could develop between them.
“You seemed to get along well enough when he visited,” Aslyn said softly, encouragingly.
“He reads, so that’s a point in his favor. I’ve enjoyed our conversations.” Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if he possessed a deceptive streak. Had he planned for them to get caught? Was he in need of her dowry? Or had he been as taken aback as she when Mick had walked into the room, as horrified as she when she realized they had an audience? “What more do you know of him?”
“He comes from a good family. He’s never been associated with scandal until tonight. I’ve always found him pleasant, good company, polite.”
“I could say the same of Dickens.” Except for the polite part, she supposed. He had attacked Matthew when he’d first gotten a tad too amorous. Yet she’d yearned for his attentions, had wanted all he’d been offering and more. She couldn’t say the same of Beresford.
How the deuce had she managed to win the earl over when she’d waltzed with him three times and he’d called on her only once? Upon what did he base his feelings?
The remainder of the journey was spent in silence, which gave her a good deal of time to reflect on her future and what it would entail. And what it wouldn’t.
It wouldn’t include Matthew, wouldn’t include a gentleman who could set her skin to tingling with a mere look, who could set her on fire with a touch. A man who occupied her thoughts nearly every minute of every hour. A man who had not turned away from her when he learned the truth of her parentage. A man who had sought to comfort and reassure her that he found no fault with her for matters over which she had no control.
Would Beresford be willing to take her to wife, to kiss her if he knew the truth regarding her father? He obviously had no issue with her illegitimacy, which was a point in his favor. Perhaps he would overlook that vile creature who had sired her. Or would she be better served to keep the truth from him? What sort of marriage would she have if it lacked complete honesty?
When the coach came to a stop, she was more than ready to escape the suffocating confines. Mick walked her to her door and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “You should be there when I have words with Beresford. He’ll treat you with respect or he’ll deal with me.”
She knew exactly what those words would be: a demand for him to marry her. “I’ll do what must be done, Mick. I won’t bring the family shame.”
“I never thought you would, sweetheart.”
Rising up on her toes, she kissed his cheek. “Tomorrow.”
“Come to my office a few minutes early so we’re all settled before he arrives.”
With only a nod in response, she went inside, leaned against the door, and fought to absorb the quiet of the shop, but her mind was racing, and for the first time since she’d initially unlocked the door and stepped over the threshold into the empty building inside which she’d create a haven for booklovers, the place felt lonely. Matthew wasn’t here waiting for her. She knew it as surely as she knew that in spite of her world falling apart tonight, the sun would rise in the morning and people would go on about their lives as though hers had not taken a momentous turn.
Knowing no classes had been held tonight, that Mr. Tittlefitz wouldn’t have left him with the key and responsibility of locking up, she experienced a keen disappointment. After all that had transpired between them, considering how much he’d come to mean to her, she should have given him a key so he could come and go as he wanted, so he could make use of the reading parlor at his leisure, so he could wait for her whenever it was his desire to do so.
Although after tomorrow, she doubted she would see much of him. She would be betrothed and while it had not come about as she’d hoped—with a proper courtship and love—she certainly wasn’t going to be disrespectful of Beresford. Just as she understood her responsibilities to her family, she recognized her duties to her future husband. She would do nothing to cause him or Society to question her devotion to him.
Shoving herself away from the door, feeling as though no strength remained to her, she climbed the stairs to her rooms, carried through to her bedchamber, and gazed out the window. Her chest tightened to such a degree that she feared it might crush her heart. He was there. Standing so still, his arms raised, spread wide as he pressed his hands against either side of the glass.
How many nights had she sat here reading and looked across to see him doing the same? How often had she peered through parted draperies and watched him gazing out? After tonight, she would have to keep the draperies closed in order to avoid the torment of viewing what she couldn’t possess. After tomorrow, he could never kiss or touch her again. Could never hold her, stroke her, whisper in her ear.
She could never welcome him into her bed.
