Monday morning Fancy awoke with a ray of hope. After returning from her mother’s the day before, she’d penned a letter to Beast asking for his help, which she intended to hand off to Lottie that evening. Of all her brothers, Beast was the most mysterious. She didn’t even know where he resided. While she was relatively certain her mother knew how to get in touch with him, she had decided to handle the matter in her own way.
Glancing at the mantel clock, she saw that it was nearly nine. In all the days that she had managed the shop, she had never not opened the door when the hour struck nine. In spite of her lack of focus on Saturday, she threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, and prepared herself for the day. On the dot of nine, she unlocked her door, went to the counter, lifted her cup of tea, glanced at the calendar, and froze.
It was the day that her sire was to go on trial. At ten. Matthew would be there, giving his testimony. He wouldn’t break that promise, surely. She could see him, find an opportunity to speak with him, and at least let him know that she wasn’t marrying Beresford. Perhaps they could begin anew. Or at least begin where they’d left off before they had their row.
Marianne wouldn’t arrive for another couple of hours. As much as she regretted closing up her shop, she saw no help for it. After retrieving her reticule, she locked up and rushed along the streets until she reached the boardinghouse where Marianne lived. With the landlady’s permission, she dashed up the stairs to Marianne’s rooms, knocked briskly, and when a sleepy-eyed Marianne opened the door, she apologized. “I have something I have to do. Here’s the key so you can get into the shop.”
“Should I go in early?”
“If you’d like, but don’t feel you must. I’m sorry this has come up so unexpectedly. I don’t know how long I’ll be, and I just want to ensure the shop is opened at some point.”
“I’ll change out of my nightgown and get right over there.”
“Thank you, Marianne.” She turned for the stairs, stopped, turned back. “I apologize. I was so distracted on Saturday that I didn’t ask how your outing with Mr. Tittlefitz went.”
Her clerk pressed a hand to her lips. “He kissed me, Miss Trewlove, and it was ever so lovely.”
Reaching out, she squeezed Marianne’s hand. “I’ve always thought the world of Mr. Tittlefitz. I’m glad he’s making you happy.”
“Oh, he is. Now off with you. Don’t worry about the shop. I’ll see that it’s well cared for.”
Feeling the tears welling, she blew Marianne a kiss and then raced down the stairs.
She had little trouble finding a hansom cab, but the traffic was horrendous, and it was several minutes after ten before she entered the courtroom where Dibble was on trial. The room was packed, no seats to be had. She didn’t know why people cared so much about seeing the proceedings for someone they didn’t know. Or maybe they did know him. Perhaps he had many friends.
Although based on his sneer as he stood in the dock, she doubted it. Then she realized he was glowering at Matthew who was striding toward the witness box. To see him again stole her breath. He exhibited such confidence and an almost regal bearing. She could tell he’d already managed to gain the respect of almost everyone in attendance. When he stepped up to claim his place, he looked over the courtroom, and she knew the moment he spied her standing at the back of the room because he went as still as death.
He didn’t look as though he’d slept well, and she wondered if he’d been worried about his testimony or if perhaps he was regretting how things had gone between them when they’d last seen each other. She offered him a hesitant smile and wished she had some way to communicate to him that she had complete faith in his ability to see her sire put away. And that she desperately missed him and needed to speak with him.
“If you will please state your name for the court?”
He jerked his gaze to the wigged and robed man standing before him who had made the announcement. “Matthew Sommersby.”
The man said something sotto voce. Matthew didn’t appear pleased. He glanced over at Fancy, cleared his voice. “Matthew Sommersby, Earl of Rosemont.”
The tiny cracks that had appeared in her heart when she discovered him gone deepened until her heart shattered.
He watched Fancy walk out of the room, and it took everything within him to remain in the witness box and give his testimony. She wasn’t supposed to be here. He never should have told her when the trial would occur. He’d done it to bring her peace of mind, to reassure her that it would happen, and justice would be served.
As soon as he was done, he strode out of the courtroom and into the hallway, searching for her. But she was nowhere to be found.
All for the best. What was there to say?
She’d made her choice. She’d chosen Beresford.
And he’d made his. He hadn’t told her who he was.
As he had every night since he’d returned to his residence, Matthew lounged in his library and sipped his scotch. And as he had every night since his return, he thought of Fancy.
Only tonight, he couldn’t escape the vision of her startled expression when he’d been required to give not only his name but his title. He’d known the court would insist on a full identification because his position among the aristocracy lent credence to his words, would help ensure that Dibble was adequately punished for the harm he’d caused, not only recently, but years ago. Even if the ancient news had not been brought to light in the courtroom, he knew it and had insisted the man not be let off lightly. The toad’s day in court had been merely for show.
Matthew hadn’t meant for her to find out the truth of him in such a public setting and with no warning. He’d considered writing her a letter because he had known once she married Beresford, their paths would undoubtedly cross. He had intended to be polite, but cold, not to let her see how her trickery had wounded him to the core not only because he had so misjudged her but because it had meant he couldn’t have her for the remainder of his life.
He’d fallen in love with her, damn it. Felled without realizing it. Wanted her as his wife.
But she’d grown impatient, wanted her lord.
Seeing her today had been at once a joyous and sorrow-filled moment. The sight of her still caused his heart to expand; the truth of her caused him to realize that when it came to women, he was an awful judge of character. He never would have expected Fancy Trewlove to use underhanded means to gain what she’d wanted. And he’d begun to believe she had a care for him, that if he asked for her hand, she would choose him, not knowing he had a title.
