17th May 1825
Dearest Eliza,
Your last letter struck a chill into my heart, and all my prayers and thoughts are with you. Look to yourself at this time and know that I am right beside you, as always.
You should also know that he has discovered me in Rome, and I’ve only just managed to slip back to my lodgings alone. I fear I will not be able to do so forever, and I am so tired.
Promise me, Eliza, that should anything happen you shall not be emboldened to speak out, for our mother’s sake, if not your own. And I entreat you, with the love of a brother who has cared for little else, to keep faith.
George
ChapterNineteen
Josephine’s Bedchamber; Books and Their Readers
Midnight
Josephine stared at the letters long after the last tinkling notes of the piano had died away and Knightswood fell quiet. It was the kind of blanketing quiet that always comforted her as a child, but tonight it only felt oppressive.
Again and again, she read the lines that could mean so many different things‘…He intends to know, one way or another, and so I have but one choice… I can disappear– for that is my intention… Promise me, Eliza, that, should anything happen to me, you shall not be emboldened to speak out– for our mother’s sake, if not your own…’
Josephine drew a ragged breath. It seemed evidence, at last, that Pellham was innocent, and protecting Eliza, but why? And where did that leave Huntingly?
She looked from the yellowed sheets to her ball dress of Parisian silk hung on the front of her armoire, feeling as though every breath she took was a conscious effort, until she could bear it no longer. She had to confront him, betrothal or not.
Resolutely, Josephine climbed to her feet and reached for her robe, which was exactly the moment that a soft knock sounded at her door. She frowned and glanced at her window; the night was dark, and the moon higher than she’d thought: it had to be after one in the morning. Picking up her candle, she crossed the room to inch it open, expecting to find Matilda or one of her other sisters, but instead she found a very tall and distinctive silhouette.
‘Sir Francis!’ Josephine exclaimed in astonishment, her gaze travelling over his stockinged feet, pantaloons and open-necked shirt. ‘Are you well?’ She frowned. ‘Do you require any assistance?’ She thought briefly of Miss Amelia, and wondered if he’d come to enlist her support again.
‘Assistance?’ Sir Francis smiled enigmatically. ‘How very thoughtful you are, Miss Fairfax, I was hoping you might say that.’
‘Why, whatever do you mean?’ Josephine frowned, suddenly conscious she was in her nightwear and he barely dressed at all. Her chest started to thump: she was no stranger to the games of gentlemen when they were in their cups, and there was a lingering scent of bourbon about his person. She’d witnessed her brothers wagering the most ridiculous challenges when so affected, but somehow this felt different.
‘You see, I am in rather a quandary, Miss Fairfax… You are to marry Lord Huntingly, but I do not believe he knows what a prize he wins.’
‘That, sir, is between myself and Lord Huntingly,’ Josephine replied tersely. ‘As are your private arrangements with Miss Amelia Carlisle, Miss Isabella Hampton and perhaps others too!’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now if you will excuse?—’
‘So, it would be wonderful if you could assistme to understand why, given all the books I have at my disposal, I cannot read the one I desire most.’
Then he leaned forward and brushed his moist lips over hers in a way that made Josephine recoil, her stomach churning. Lord Huntingly’s passionate kiss beneath the trees at Ebcott flew through her mind yet, despite all her protestations, he’d never made her feel so violated. Her face darkened as she wondered why she’d ever put Sir Francis up on a pedestal. Matilda had been right the whole time: he really was a crowing peacock, and an entitled one at that.
‘Keep your hands to yourself, sir!’ she forced through gritted teeth. ‘I have not given you leave to address me thus, and this conversation is at an end!’
Then she started to close the door, only to find its path blocked, and Sir Francis advancing into her bedchamber. Furiously, she snatched up her letter opener and brandished it at the smiling nobleman, who stood over six feet tall in his stockinged feet.
‘Come come, Miss Josephine, there is no need to be melodramatic, or to play the schoolroom chit with me,’ hecrooned. ‘We are both aware you are quite old enough to be married and widowed again. Who knows, you might bewishing the same once you’ve spent a month with that undeserving dog!’ He smirked unattractively while Josephine swallowed a rise of nausea, wondering what she ever saw to admire in him.
‘On the other hand, we have known each other for some time now,’ he continued silkily, ‘and I’m quite aware of youradmiration. In truth, I must own to feeling a little the same way. We are a plane above most others in wit and charm, and what a pity it would be were we not to?—’
‘Enough, Dashton!’ a low voice hissed from the doorway. ‘Stand aside this instance or, so help me God, I’ll make you!’
Shocked, Josephine’s gaze swept from a confounded Sir Francis to a furious Lord Huntingly, also standing in the doorway of her bedchamber. Had he heard something from the gentlemen’s wing?
‘Huntingly!’ Sir Francis sneered, whirling around. ‘Did you follow me? Or were you lurking in the shadows– again?’
He laughed then, but to Josephine it sounded thin and nervous, despite his towering frame.
‘How dare you!’ Huntingly growled. ‘Not content with insulting my betrothed, you now seek to disrespect me! You will meet me for this impudence. Now!’
