But now she knew, and he still wanted her. With everything within him. If she had known who he was, if she had sought to have them discovered in a compromising position so he would have had to marry her—he wouldn’t have cared, because he would have had her in his life.
With her legs drawn up, Fancy sat in the window seat with her cheek resting on her knees and gazed at the darkened windows across the way. Since Matthew’s departure, she ended every night in the same manner.
No, not Matthew. Rosemont.
Was she destined to have those she loved keep the truth of things from her?
All day, she’d pondered why he hadn’t told her, and now in the still of the night, she remembered his reaction when the letter had fallen from her pocket, recalled him telling her how his wife had tricked him. Remembered Gillie’s ball where Lady Penelope and her friends had risked speaking with her because they’d wanted to know if he’d been invited. Learning how so many ladies had called on him. He’d come here to escape who he was.
She’d wager every book in her shop that she had the right of that.
She understood a little better his reaction when she’d told him about being caught in a compromising position with Beresford, but the understanding didn’t make her hurt any less. He’d accused her of duplicity, hadn’t even bothered to give her the benefit of the doubt. Although neither had she corrected his misassumption. She’d been too stunned by it, to be honest.
But now to realize he’d held a part of himself from her, she had to wonder if she really knew Matthew Sommersby.
“Good morning, James.”
“Miss Trewlove.”
“I’ll see myself to breakfast.”
“Very good, miss.”
Following a fitful night’s sleep, it was nice to engage in a familiar routine, and she was quite looking forward to having breakfast with Mick and Aslyn. As usual, when she walked into the dining room, he set his newspaper aside and stood. “How are you this morning?” he asked.
She forced her brightest smile. “Looking forward to a new day.”
After selecting various tempting offerings, she joined her brother and Aslyn at the table. “How are you, Aslyn?”
Her sister-by-marriage reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m doing well. You know I very much admire you for how you handled Beresford.”
“I doubt anyone else does—at least anyone outside the family. But it hardly matters. I’m more than content with my decision.” She looked to her brother. “Is there anything in the newspaper regarding Dibble’s trial?”
She should have stayed to hear the testimony, the verdict, and the sentence—if there was one—but following Matthew’s revelation, all she’d wanted was to leave. At the time, nothing had seemed more important to her sanity.
Mick went so still, he could have been mistaken for a statue. “Dibble, you say?”
She gave him a sympathetic, understanding smile. “I know he’s my father, Mick. I spoke with Mum. She explained everything.”
“When was this?”
“After he barged into the shop.”
Fancy knew there were some who were terrified of her brothers, feared facing their wrath. Based on the fury that visibly washed over Mick’s features, she clearly understood why.
“Hewhat?”
She told him everything about that night. Well, everything except for the way Matthew had tended to her. Even though he’d done little more than hold her, she doubted Mick would appreciate it, which was no doubt part of the reason she hadn’t told him about Dibble before.
“Lord Rosemont came to your rescue?” Aslyn asked, clearly dumbfounded by the knowledge, repeating what Fancy had shared.
“He was leasing a residence. Only I didn’t realize until yesterday who he was, until he gave evidence at the trial. I didn’t stay. Don’t ask the reason.” Nodding toward theTimescrumpled in Mick’s hand, she was surprised he hadn’t turned the newspaper back into pulp. “Is there anything?”
He exchanged a glance with his wife, before pinning Fancy with his hard-edged stare. “I think there’s something you’re not telling us.”
“With all due respect, Mick, it’s none of your business.”
“Does it have anything to do with why you turned down Beresford’s offer?”
