I blew out another breath, my shoulders sagging. The Season had been a disaster. When I’d confronted Mr. Lennox about the woman he’d secretly proposed to, he’d admitted everything. He’d been engaged for months, but the arrangement wasnot to his liking, and hedid not love her. Not like he supposedly loved me. Hecould not bearto loseme.Would do anythingto earn my forgiveness.
Then I learned that Mr. Lennox—handsome, charming, amiable Mr. Lennox—had spent his inheritance and needed more. Apparently my marriage settlement was worth far more than his intended’s. What he loved, it turned out, was not me but my father’s money.
I shook my head, as though the motion could rid me of the past month’s memories. I regretted every flutter of my heart; in fact, they made me ill to consider. The very idea that I’d given that man an ounce of my affection turned my heart as cold as stone. Were all men liars? Greedy, self-centered, and callous? I was beginning to believe so.
“Thank you, Mrs. Devon,” I said, touching the wooden table between us. “For dinner. And for everything.”
“Not at all, dear,” she said with an affectionate smile. “All will be well. You’ll see.”
She couldn’t know how much her words meant to me. How dearly I hoped she was right. I swallowed hard against the thickness brewing in my throat and blinked through the burning in my eyes. I hadn’t loved Mr. Lennox—how could I? I hadn’t truly knownhim, just the façade he portrayed. But I had trusted him. I’d given him my time and my dreams. And now I felt like the grandest fool.
How was I to face the whispers that were sure to come once news of Mr. Lennox’s entanglement spread? As much as I appreciated Mrs. Devon, her pies and buttered bread could only help so much. I needed to be away from London for as long as possible. I needed to go to Lyme with Papa—just the two of us.
I nodded to Mrs. Devon and turned toward the stairs.
Lyons waited for me at the top, standing tall and resolute.
“Where is Papa?” I asked, glancing at myself in a mirror in the foyer. I winced at the pale girl staring back and pinched my cheeks. My dark hair, curled and pinned, had come from Papa, but my honey-brown eyes were, I was told, from my mother.
Lyons wrung his hands together, then promptly shoved them behind his back. “Mr. Lane is in his study.”
I checked the clock on the mantel. “By now, he should already be dressed for dinner. I shall go and—”
“Allow me.” Lyons stepped back. His features were more wrinkled than usual, not defensive, but also not welcoming.
Why should he care if I wanted to see Papa? I tilted my head and blew out a little laugh. Perhaps, as Papa often claimed, I was reading too much into nothing. “I should like to remind him of the promise he made to be punctual,” I said with a playfully raised brow.
“Of course.” Lyons cleared his throat. “Only, Mr. Lane is entertaining at present.”
My spine went rigid. Father did not entertain at this hour. There was only one person who had an open-door invitation to come and go as he pleased. One man who’d been a catalyst for all my problems, for everything had changed after he’d first shadowed our door three years ago.
Butthatman had quit London two days ago.
Indeed,thatman made Alexander Lennox’s attempts to charm look tame in comparison. He’d swooped into our lives with gleaming opportunities, and before I could blink, he’d stolen Papa’s time and attention, and left me with the wolves.
Yes, the mere thought ofthatman made me itch all over.
I took a few even breaths despite the nerves collecting in my stomach. No, no. It couldn’t be him. He’d been excited to leave London. Happy to spend extended time with his family. I vaguely recalled choking out a laugh at some stupid joke he made as he waved goodbye, giddy with the pleasure of seeing him go. Papa’s caller couldn’t be him.
Then, who?
I offered Lyons a tight smile. “At this hour? The matter must be quite urgent. Who has come to call?”
Lyons’s shoulders sank as he heaved a great sigh. “After the flowers, I wish not to disappoint you again, Miss Lane.”
No. Not tonight. Not whenIneeded Papa most.
“Don’t say it, Mr. Lyons. Don’t you dare say his name.”
He was shaking his head. I knew he’d heard me rage belowstairs to Mrs. Devon more times than I’d care to admit, in such an unladylike manner my cheeks grew warm just thinking on it. Because of that, he knew I’d need preparing. So he lifted his shoulders once more, met my gaze with firm resolution, and said, “Forgive me, Miss Lane. But Mr. Everett has indeed returned.”
ChapterThree
Graham
“She’s invited me back to Bath,” Mr. Lane said. His sturdy wooden chair creaked as he leaned back, clearly trying to fight the grin that lifted the creases in his face and brightened his eyes. “I feel half my age again.”
I crossed my arms, fighting my own grin. I’d never seen my friend look both so unraveled and alive at the same time. Happier than he’d been when we’d first met three years ago and made a small fortune together. At first, he’d intimidated me beyond reason. Everything about him bled sophistication: the golden fob watch dangling on a chain at his hip and the way his hair grayed primarily on the sides. His light-blue eyes pierced straight through a person, and he spoke with such confidence as though he were the cleverest man in every room. Most of the time he was.
