Frederica’s cheeks went hot. “I did not confirm anything untoward occurred.”
“He must marry you.” Leonora ignored her half denial, fanning herself wildly in her agitation. Blond curls that had been artfully arranged to frame her face flapped about. “What if you areenceinte?”
Her friend posed her last question as if she were proclaiming the sentence of death.
“I cannot be,” she said with certainty, for that much at least was true. “Nor will he marry me.”
Though she could not deny the sudden flare of warmth such a notion produced in her. It lit a spark, grew a tiny flame.
“How do you know? Such delicate matters take time to be revealed. Oh! I knew I should never have kept silent about your plan.” Leonora waved her fan even harder, creating a breeze that was strong enough to whip over Frederica’s arms as well.
“My brother has…literature,” she explained. “I discovered it amongst his old coats and breeches when I was searching for my disguise.”
Shocking literature. Literature she had pilfered along with the outgrown waistcoats, breeches, and shirts. Naturally, she had secreted it in her chamber, and she had read it from cover to cover. Twice. The book was quite clear that a man had a seed which emerged from his member, and without such an event, a woman could not bear a child.
“Frederica.” Leonora—sweet, tender, kindhearted, and always above reproach—looked aghast at Frederica’s revelations.
Well, and there was the trouble, was it not? Leonora would make a fine wife to any gentleman. She was proper and perfect, a veritable saint among mere mortals, and yet her limp caused her to be overlooked. Frederica knew how much her friend longed for a husband and children of her own. Whilst Frederica, on the other hand, had been courted more times than she could count until she decided to become a wallflower. Frederica wanted adventure, freedom, the chance to pursue her dream of seeing her words in print.
She also wanted Duncan Kirkwood.
“He has debauched you,” Leonora charged quietly.
Had he? Frederica pursed her lips. Yes, she supposed so. In the last five days, she had lived more, seen more, and understood more of life than she had in all her two-and-twenty years combined.
She regretted nothing.
The realization made her stomach go fluttery, as if inhabited by butterflies. She reached out a staying hand, capturing Leonora’s agitated fan. “You must stop bandying about such incendiary words, my dear. I am merely conducting research forThe Silent Baron. You know better than anyone how important this is to me. Pray do not grow cross. If I do not have you, I do not have anyone.”
Leonora was her only true friend. She had her father and her brother Benedict, both hopelessly inept at conducting meaningful conversation with the fairer sex. Her father’s idea of speaking with her involved a rapid succession of questions, an inquiry into the use of her pin money, and a reminder that she was expected to make a great match.Soon.Her brother’s conversation was abbreviated, often punctuated by distraction. They were six years apart in age—their mother had lost three babes and buried one stillborn child in the time between their births—and given her penchant for ignoring anything that did not give her immediate gratification, Mother was not any more comforting a figure.
Leonora fixed her with a pointed look and a frown. “I am not cross, Freddy, so much as I am outraged on your behalf. You are the Duke of Westlake’s daughter, for heaven’s sake. That man is the illegitimate brother of your future husband, and he has earned his fortune by capitalizing upon the misfortune of others.”
Frederica preferred not to place the Earl of Willingham and the phrase “future husband” anywhere in the same vicinity. She could not suppress her shudder at the thought, but she feared sooner rather than later, it would become her reality.
Yes, there was a part of her that well knew what she was doing was wrong. That it was not fair to Duncan to allow him liberties whilst knowing she was almost promised to his half brother. Just as it was not fair for her to flagrantly ignore propriety and allow another man such intimacies when she knew she was bound for the altar with Willingham.
“He has made his fortune in the means that were afforded to him,” she defended Duncan then, realizing as she said the words just how true they were. “Just as any gentleman in his place would. He has built something truly incredible, Leonora. You would be horrified if you saw it, I know, but it is breathtaking. It is garish and beautiful, horrible and thrilling all at once. I cannot quite describe it. The air of the place is so alive, thrumming with the forbidden.”
Leonora stared at her, mouth agape, her fan stilling in its frenzied motion. “It is worse than I feared, then.”
“The club is not as bad as you may think.” Frederica frowned, growing rather irritated with her friend for all her naysaying. Did she not understand Frederica wanted to dream? She had lived more excitement in the last few days than she had experienced in the entirety of her days on earth.
“I do not speak of the club,” her friend said lowly, through gritted teeth. Her gaze flitted over Frederica’s shoulder for a moment. “I speak ofyou, Freddy. You have feelings for him.”
“Of course I do not,” she denied hastily, shocked Leonora would even suggest such a ludicrous possibility. She had known him for mere days. That was not time enough to…a sudden ache in her breast told her she was wrong. She should know better than anyone the heart did not care about time, distance, funds, titles, or any of the other trappings of society.
“Hush now, here comes Lord Willingham,” Leonora murmured, lifting her eyebrows meaningfully.
Bother.“Have I time enough to feign a need to attend the lady’s withdrawing room?”
One could always dream.
Leonora gave a small shake of her head.
Frederica stiffened just as the earl appeared before them, offering a bow.
“My Lady Frederica, Lady Leonora,” he greeted in that signature manner he possessed, as if he were paying them the utmost compliment by his mere presence.
