“For refusing to ruin you beyond all redemption,” he said, and although she didn’t want to admit it, she had to concede the point. Their only hope would have been if Henry had hidden her away until he could procure a special license, something she was now understanding was not so easy as she had once thought it. That, or they would have needed to wait until her birthday passed, but she was wise enough now to know her mother would not have given up so easily.
As a girl, Henry’s refusal to marry her had been a sign of his lack of love and respect. Now, she was coming to understand, it represented the opposite.
“You must know that nine years ago, I thought—” he began, his voice urgent, just as the door opened. Another gentleman entered and Henry broke off, biting back whatever he had been about to say. The moment passed like smoke, in her mouth and nose and lungs, but nowhere to be seen. “Enjoy your breakfast,” he said, inclining his head to her. “If Comerford should ask where I am, tell him I have gone for a walk. Promise me you will not approach Knight until I return.”
She wanted to tell him that she had never aspired towards his help.
Shewantedto tell him a great many things.
Instead, she merely nodded, feeling as though he had carved out a portion of her heart and was carrying it away with him now. Silently, she cursed the other gentleman who bid her a merry good morning, commented on how early it was, and speculated what George would have in store for them today. Her smiles were mechanical in response.
You must know that nine years ago, I thought—
There was nothing he could say to change the past, and their future courses were set. He was to marry Miss Winton and she was going to live out her days as a merry widow, unindebted to another man. Just as she had promised herself when Boltondied. The only thing left for her to do was remind herself of all the reasonsnotto fall back in love with Henry Beaumont.
By mid-morning, Henry had still not returned, and Louisa was playing the pianoforte in the music room when Knight approached, coming to stand by the side of the piano.
“You are an excellent player,” he commented as she paused between pieces. She glanced up at him, surprised to find his eyes were somewhat reddened, as though he had been awake for many hours of the night.
“Thank you,” she said. “It helps to practise.”
They were far from the only people in the room; two ladies were reclining on the window seats with books in their lap. Another lady was rifling through a pile of music, flicking past handwritten songs to books of Mozart. Louisa began to play again, confident he would not try anything too egregious in full sight of company. After all, she had watched him spend the past two days establishing himself to be a valued member of the party. Those who had at first viewed him with suspicion had warmed to him, and although he would not win any prizes as the most eligible bachelor around, it was clear that his presence was acceptable.
He leaned in, elbows on the lid, as though he was merely engaging her in conversation about her playing.
“I find it odd that you have made no attempts to sell any of Bolton’s properties or procure me the money I have asked for,” he said, and she glanced up to find him watching her, almost gaunt. “Did you think I would have neglected to watch your bank? Drummonds, is it not?”
“These things take time.”
“I find myself growing impatient.” He raised his voice slightly to be heard above the music. “Several of the dowagers here have some doubts about the suitability of Lady Augustus—your dear Caroline—in these exalted circles. Imagine what they would say if they knew what you had painted. It goes against every feminine delicacy.”
“And blackmail goes against every gentlemanly instinct,” she told him sweetly, offering him a saccharine smile. “No doubt they would be fascinated to know that the very man who aspires to be among their ranks has resorted to such base tactics.”
“To reveal me would be to reveal yourself.” His nostrils flared and he looked away. “And there are more important things than my mere aspirations. Reveal me if you wish, but it changes nothing.”
She took another look at him, this time lingering on the very slight air of dishevelment that surrounded him. This was not the same man who had confronted her and Henry the day of her arrival. Something had happened to discompose him.
Debts, perhaps? Thus far she had found very little information about his background or even his debts, but if he was providing for a parent who was unable to pay their dues, then maybe this demand made sense.
“Have the debtors come calling?” she asked.
His brows flew up. “Pardon?”
“Well, I presume something has occurred to make you seek me out in this way.”
“Have you forgotten what’s at stake?” His eyes turned cold, dampening the other emotions in them. One may have been close to panic. “A word from me, and you will be shunned. How will George Comerford react to knowing your transgressions?”
George would probably take it in stride, but publicly siding with her if her paintings were publicised would tarnish his reputation, too. A reputation he had spent years establishing.
“If you say anything now, no one will believe you,” she said, and raised her brows. “Unless you brought your proof with you. Isthatthe case? A fitting place for a grand reveal, don’t you think?”
If she was correct, he showed no sign of it, merely pushing back from the piano. “This is your last chance to assure me of your cooperation, Lady Bolton.”
She stopped playing altogether, though her fingers still rested on the keys. If she refused and he had the evidence with him as she hoped—or at least, as she suspected—then perhaps he would stage a reveal after all. Ruin her reputation out of revenge, and cast the final blow when they were all in London.
But that, she was certain, was not what he had planned; he had not expected to find her here.
If he needed the money desperately enough, he would merely put the pressure on her.
