Chapter Six
The following afternoon, Tillydidn’t even pretend to enjoy tea. She sat across from her mother, Prudence and Missus Clarke and stared over their heads. Her whole body ached. Her gown, one of Prudence’s hand-me-downs, hid several small bruises.
She’d hardly slept that night; in turns, horrified and elated by her foray into Lord James’s office, and agonized by her ruined dress. Midway through the night, she’d decided her only recourse was to burn the garment, but had instead stuffed it beneath her mattress. Her only solace was the impossibility that Lord James would reveal her actions.
“Matilda, you haven’t had a bite to eat,” Prudence said.
Pulled from her thoughts, Tilly turned slowly to face her sister. In a cold, deliberate voice she asked, “What did you say?”
“I said, you look as if you’re thinking hard about the sort of thing you would never want anyone to know.” Prudence rolled her eyes toward their mother. “Matilda.”
Jaw clenched, Tilly glared hatred at Prudence. So much for her sister’s moment of sympathy the evening before.
“How is that, Prudence?” Their mother looked back and forth between them. “What could Tilly possibly be thinking of that she wouldn’t want anyone to know?”
“I can’t imagine what Matilda is thinking, Mama.” Prudence shrugged. “It’s simply the way I read her expression.”
“I don’t believe a look can say so much,” Missus Clarke temporized. “I have noticed you haven’t eaten anything, dear. Are you feeling unwell?”
Three sets of eyes turned toward Tilly, two concerned and one spiteful. “I—” The words caught in her throat. She started to cough. Heaven above, Lord James was standing in the garden window behind the ladies.
“Tilly?” her mother asked, her voice worried.
He wore his spectacles and held two pages against the glass, his expression pleading. Her mother made to rise, her face concerned. Tilly stifled her coughing and gestured for her mother to sit.
“Uh, I—” Tilly fumbled. “I’m well, Mother, really I am.” One page was the letter she’d left, she could see that from where she sat. What the other, crumpled paper was, she had no idea.
“Whatever is the matter?” her mother asked. “Are you ill? Should I send for the doctor?”
Prudence started to turn. Lord James stepped out of sight. Tilly sagged in relief. Prudence studied the view for a moment before leveling a suspicious look on Tilly.
Tilly mustered a watery smile for her mother. “I don’t need a doctor.”
“But you weren’t well enough to have dinner last night, and I saw how you picked at your breakfast.” A frown pulled at her mother’s narrow lips. “Now, you haven’t touched your tea.”
“Yes, Matilda, whatever is the matter?” Prudence asked with false concern.
Lord James reappeared, waving the pages at her.
Tilly stood so abruptly, Missus Clarke gasped. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she said, “I’m perfectly well, Mother. I simply need a moment to collect myself.”
Ignoring her mother’s call to return, Tilly ran from the room. She sped through the halls of her family’s home. She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a maid, who screamed and dropped the broom and bin she carried. Tilly gasped out an apology and ran on. Once at the garden door, she yanked it open and burst from the dimly lit hallway into the bright noon sun.
She skidded to a halt, gasping from her exertion. Lord James stood beside the parlor window, holding a page in each hand. Sunlight glinted off his dark hair and the sapphire pin in his cravat. He looked even more handsome, more perfect, than he had the day before. She stared at him, awash in a muddled mixture of anger and hope. She bit her lip. She would not succumb to his charm again.
“Tilly.” He strode toward her.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, and hurried to meet him halfway. “I thought I made my lack of desire to see you quite clear.” She meant to sound forceful, but her words came out almost like a plea.
“You didn’t write this.” He shook the crumpled page. “The handwriting isn’t the same.”
“I know I didn’t write that, whatever it is.” Was madness a new addition to his repertoire of seduction? If so, it wouldn’t sway her.
“Yes, but it’s on your family’s stationary, and it was delivered to me the evening we kissed.”
With a frown, Tilly plucked the paper from his hand. It did appear to be their monogramed stationary. She pulled the paper taunt. She recognized the spidery script immediately and gasped, “Prudence.”
Dear Lord James,
