Stephen stepped between Cecily and the dog and tied a loose knot around the dog’s neck with his crisp white cravat, leaving a longer section for holding it. “Of course we won’t leave him here, my lady. How, might I ask, did this dog save your life?” His voice was calm, but her casual declaration caused his heart to miss a beat. Now that he took a moment, he noticed that her dress was torn and dirty, and she looked more than a little disheveled. En route to one of his manager’s offices, he’d barely caught sight of the ruckus surrounding her before rushing over. He’d missed whatever had incited the mob initially.
She stood up straight, apparently satisfied that Stephen had secured the dog right enough and then sniffed. “The sidewalk was crowded, and somebody pressed into me, causing me to stumble out into the road. If the dog hadn’t been in my way, I would have landed in front of an oncoming cart. The driver never could have stopped in time.”
Processing this disquieting information, Stephen looked back to the animal and gave him a hearty and somewhat affectionate pat. “Good job, old boy,” he said in as calm a voice as he could muster. Turning back toward Cecily, he handed a few of her belonging to her and then offered her his free arm. “Shall we find your carriage, my lady?”
Had this, too, been an accident? Did somebody want to killLady Kensington? Stephen didn’t believe in coincidences. He needed to have another talk with Flavion.
They found the carriage parked not even a block away. Seeing them, Coachman John gushed with apologies. He explained that he’d thought he was to await the countess at the milliners. Stephen would have liked to rip into the coachman but knew it was not really the man’s fault. Lady Kensington reassured the servant and handed over her packages.
Feeling an urgency to return the countess home, Stephen assisted Lady Kensington into the carriage and then hefted the malodorous dog up from behind — much to the consternation of Flavion’s driver. He understood the servant’s chagrin when he noted the opulent and plush upholstery that made up the interior. The dog settled himself across from Lady Kensington, leaving the only available accommodation for Stephen beside the lady.
She seemed to have regained her poise considerably by the time Stephen sat himself beside her. “I thank you,” she said stiffly, “for your assistance back there.”
Stephen turned so that he faced her. “Does that sort of thing happen often?” Would she admit to it if it did?
She chuckled without even a trace of amusement. Her laughter was brittle, her eyes far too bright. “Only since I’ve become a countess. There are many who resent one such as me to have reached so high. Trying to be something I’m not, they say.”
She had a streak of dirt across her cheek, and her hair was falling from its pins. She’d removed her hat and now held it nervously in her lap.
“Was it something you sought, something you wished for? A title?”
She glared at him upon this impertinent question. “I could care this much,” she said, releasing the hat and snapping her fingers deftly, “about a title. My pa wanted it for me, and I was happy to see him get his way, but I tell you for myself, if I had fallen in love with a blacksmith, it would matter not. Rather ironic, wouldn’t you say? A blacksmith wouldn’t have caused me all this trouble. I had thought things would be different once I married. But I am quite aware now that I shall never be one ofyou.”
“You wish to belong,” he said, having a sudden insight into this hapless woman who had married his cousin. “You wish to be accepted.”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
Stephen thought back to when his uncle had first taken him in. Even as a boy, he knew his aunt resented his presence. Her bitterness caused problems for the uncle who loved him. He’d overheard more than one argument between Uncle Leo and Aunt Edith. At first, Stephen tried to win his way into his aunt’s good graces, but her objection to his presence had been unyielding. Stephen had wanted to belong.He’dwanted to be accepted.
But he’d left all that in the past. He was his own man now and didn’t need anyone’s approval but his own.
“You were not received before your marriage?” he asked.
Cecily plucked at her gloves. “I was tolerated but invisible for the most part. If a gentleman looked at me, all he ever saw were the piles of my father’s money.” Stephen doubted this. Any red-blooded man would see her appeal, her beauty, but he did not interrupt her to say so. She gave an elegant shrug. “The irony of it all is I believed that Flavion sawme, Cecily Findlay, not merely my dowry. I thought him different. I don’t know how he did it.” And then, in answer to his question, she explained further. “Nobody shunned me outright. But I was an interloper. I have lived in London all my life, and yet never have I felt more of an outsider than when I mingled amongst theton. I thought that after marrying Flavion I would be accepted, respected even. I was foolish to allow my father to have me introduced to Society. I believed him when he told me that with his wealth my lack of gentility would be overlooked. I believed myself good enough… I wish I’d never believed that. I wouldn’t be so disappointed now.”
She shrugged sheepishly. “And yes, you are witnessing another one of my pity parties. If you’d like, I can have Coachman John set you down here. That way you won’t have to endure my whining.”
Stephen curbed the instinct to reach out and place a hand over hers, which again sat upon her lap. An unfamiliar tenderness welled up inside of him when he noticed her gloves had been torn. “Whine away, my lady. I think I can handle it. Besides, what kind of gentlemen would I be if I left you alone with this beast?”
As though the mongrel knew he was being maligned, he whimpered pathetically.
“Don’t call him that,” she gave the dog an apologetic look. “He’s a hero! I’m going to call him Chadwick.” And sure enough, Chadwick let out an approving bark that echoed painfully throughout the carriage.
Wonderful.
As luck wouldhave it, locating Flavion that afternoon proved to be easier than Stephen had thought. His erstwhile cousin was chatting up some other fellows and contemplating the betting books at White’s. Flavion, dressed in the height of fashion, looked to be very popular, but upon closer inspection, Stephen realized the gentlemen surrounding his cousin were not exactly of the finest ilk. It was surprising that some of them were even given admittance into the prestigious gentleman’s club. Brookes, perhaps, but not Whites. Perchance the acquaintance of an earl had something to do with their reception.
“A word, if I may,” Stephen said quietly behind his cousin. “In private.”
Flavion frowned and then allowed Stephen to lead him off into a quiet corner. “What is it now? You’ve become such an old sobersides,” he said, somewhat broodingly. “I’ve done everything you told me to do. I delivered the instructions to the lawyers, I’m curtailing my spending, and I’ve told Daphne it’s over. She was mad as hell, by the way, until I told her it was your idea. When I told her my life was in danger, she changed her tune, all right. Then… well, then, she gave me quite a goodbye, if you know what I mean.”
“And when will you be seeing her again?” Stephen asked with an inward sigh. He hated that even to his own ears he sounded overly fastidious.
“Tonight, after the Chattering’s Ball.” Flavion grinned.
“So you did not really terminate your relationship, then.”
Flavion opened his eyes wide, innocently. “Of course I did, Stephen! I just told you I did.”
