Osbourne cleared his throat. “My lady, Mr. Ivanov, let me show you to the drawing room.”
Osbourne, not a blind ninny, said, “When his lordship arrives, I shall tell him you are in here.” And left them alone and closed the door.
Her father. Right now he was at White’s, the gentlemen’s gossip center in Society, performing his part, finally admitting the truth to his friends when they saw him so melancholy, sitting silent and alone, showing all how very devastating it all was and yes, a brandy would be good. Perhaps heated? Yes, yes. Her father was a fine actor—they would see his pain because it was real enough, and they would believe what he told them. And the gossip mills would grind out what had happened to Lady Whitsonby and Society would shudder and be thankful they didn’t have her blood.
“Alex—no, I must call you by your real name now—Graham Hepburn, Viscount Whitestone, son of Earl St. Lucy. Father will be home soon, or perhaps not so soon, we’ll see.
“I, ah, happened to stop by to see you—I’d just arrived from Bath and wondered why I hadn’t heard from you, no answer to my note—and Mr. Plume told me of your good fortune. I’m so happy for you, ah, Graham—it’s a fine name indeed.” She couldn’t help herself, she ran to him, grabbed his arms. “My lord. Ah, that has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?” She said his name again, slowly, as if tasting it.” She paused, searching his face. “You still don’t remember anything at all?”
Graham looked down at a face he’d memorized in his mind, but his memories hadn’t delivered this precious face in all its glorious detail. He even loved her lovely ears with thesmall pearl earrings she favored. He’d missed her so much he hurt.
You’re beautiful, Cam. I’ve missed you like the very devil.
“I’m sorry but I never saw your letter to me. It’s lovely to see you, Cam, it’s really quite nice.”
It was a start. She took him in, his face, saw his incredible eyes were steady on her face, only her, and her heart sang. Surely she would never feel happier in her life, like she could float to the ceiling and drift back down like a feather, so easy and light. She looked up at his face and whispered, “Graham,” and kissed him.
The feel of her mouth, the hammering of his own heart in his ears, the instant craving—He had to control himself, her father could walk in at any moment and she was an innocent, he couldn’t—He managed to step back, the hardest thing he’d ever done, dropped his arms to his sides. “Cam, when Osbourne opened the front door, he looked at me like I was a knight here to save the realm. What is going on?”
“Right this minute, right this very second, it’s not important. There is so much to tell you, but not now. No, not now. It’s so wonderful to see you—Graham, yes, Graham. Ah, how I like your real name.” She kissed him again, this time her hand was on his neck, her fingers sifting through his hair. “Your eyelashes are longer than mine. However did you manage that?”
He grinned at her as he forced himself to step back again. He took her hands in his. He said the words that had filled his mind, “You’re amazing, Cam, delightful. I’ve missed you like the very devil. I know I’m still not worthy of you, even with my newly discovered bloody title, but I love you. Will you marry me?”
She simply couldn’t believe the sound, the feeling of those incredible words. The world shifted and settled in an unbelievable new way, now a world of promise, of kisses and whatever else was involved, it could only be wonderful. Camsmiled like a lunatic. “I will agree only if you kiss me back when I leap on you again.”
“No, not yet, the good Lord must give me strength, but I cannot, not here in your father’s house. Stop your lustful thoughts about my eyelashes. Come, tell me what has happened, Cam.”
She didn’t want to let go of all these splendid feelings, but reality came crashing back in. “You’re right, something has happened. I will tell you everything, but not just yet.” Telling him would blight her lovely world. “Ah, would you like a cup of tea?”
“No.”
“When Father returns, yes, you must speak to him. I haven’t yet told him of your change in station and any possible objections can no longer exist. Ah, but, Graham, even without your new distinctions, your new elevations, ah, yes, a peer of the realm, a future earl. You know he likes you, admires you, extols your abilities even more. But there is so much happening, like I said, but please, not just yet. Graham—such a lovely name. Please kiss me again, it will give me strength to face things.”
Whatever had happened must be bad, but it couldn’t be her father’s health. Then what? Eliza had eloped with Winstead? She wasn’t ready so he let it go for now.
During the train ride from Dover, Graham hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the few actual days that had passed since they’d met that rainy afternoon on the Thames in front of Parliament. So few days and look what life had given him? So quickly she’d become part of him, her thoughts, the way she looked at him, spoke to him. She was so perfectly alive, so exuberant. And he recognized she was an innocent despite her wit, her laughter, her admiring cynicism of her young stepmother, Averil, and her talented bosom. He imagined discovering something new about her every singleday, just the thought of seeing her across the breakfast table every morning was enough to make him sing. Fate, he thought, was a wondrous thing. Graham slowly put his arms around her. “Have I told you how witchy your eyes are? Just like your mother’s—he nodded to the portrait over the mantel. “Tansia was her name?”
“Yes. Alas, though, I doubt she was a witch. If she had been, then maybe I would be a witch too and then I would keep you safe, Graham, blight your enemies. Even if I were angry with you, know I could not turn you into a toad even if I wanted to at that moment.” She added, giving him a fat smile, “But what’s really important—I’m learning new theorems.” She was laughing as she moved closer, pressing against him, feeling the heat of him. “Even your eyebrows are perfect.”
One of his perfect eyebrows arched as he pulled her close. “Theorems, Cam? You will leave me nothing to know that you do not?” He grabbed her up, laughing joyously, and had only begun to lower his head when the door opened behind him and there was a shocked father’s voice.“What the devil?”
Cam said against Graham’s mouth, “Well, I suppose you will have to speak to my father sooner rather than later, despite everything that’s happening.” She slowly eased back, gave her father a joyous smile. “Hello, Papa. Please come in and meet my fiancé, Lord Graham, Viscount Whitestone, heir to Earl St. Lucy.”
CHAPTER 40
Whitsonby House
Ormond Square
Cam grabbed her sister’s shoulders and shook her. “Stop it! Shut up, Eliza, and listen to me. You will not swoon again. Not one more word or shriek or foot stomping out of you, do you hear me? I’m bigger than you and I swear I will sit on you. Yes, Averil is gone, with a man, Gerrod Bartsleigh, you know the degenerate you flirted with before you met Winstead. Yes, she stole Father’s money and all the jewels including the Whitsonby emeralds. It doesn’t matter, she’s gone. Like to like and good riddance.”
Eliza held her sides, moaned, “No, no, you’ll see, we are all ruined, there is nothing we can do, it’s all over. Winstead will leave me, he—”
Cam shook her again. “Would you please stop moaning and think? You have a brain. I’m telling you we will not be mocked or laughed at, ostracized. Nothing bad will happen. If anyone says anything at all, it will be with great sympathy. But I’m wagering no one will say a word.”
“Are you insane? Yes, I have a brain but obviously you don’t. Everyone who counts will laugh at us, particularly Father. Sympathy? Society has never felt that sentiment, ever. Society wants only scandal and this is perfect.” Pause. Eliza searched her sister’s face. She said slowly, “What do you mean? Sympathy?”
“Good, now you are listening to me. At this exact moment at all the balls, the soirees and dining rooms there will be gossip all right, but said in lowered voices since it’s so very sad, so very difficult to speak about—Averil, my poor father’s new wife, succumbed to her family’s strain of madness. She fell into deep melancholia and our physician—Father has already secured his cooperation, promising, I doubt not, countless recommendations, probably excessive remuneration as well. In any case, Mr. Wicks could do nothing for her. Indeed, he recommended she be sent back to Leeds, to her precious family. In her profound depression, after her fits of trying to pull out her hair and screaming, once even trying to harm herself, her family was all she could talk about, incessantly, how she loved the moors, the only place where she could find peace.”
