“That’s not going to happen,” Claire said, the strongest and most courageous of them all, even though it was she who’d been cursed. “I will get worse, not better. The cure Sebastian believed in was a lie. It doesn’t exist and it never will.”
Shame and rage ignited at the base of Sebastian’s skull. Heat flashed across his skin. He’d been tricked, had unwittingly supplied Doctor Ashburry with the rare ingredients he’d said he’d needed in order to make the tincture that would help Claire recover. Sebastian had made a devil’s bargain with Wycliff when supplies had run out and more were needed. Had shot the St. Giles crime lord himself when he’d made an attempt at blackmail.
He’d sold his soul to the devil to save his sister and would do it again if given the chance. But it had been a wasted effort. Ashburry had only been serving his own agenda, so Sebastian wasn’t sorry to learn that he’d died. His only regret was that he’d not had the chance to kill him himself.
“Maybe…” Edwina began.
“Stop it,” Claire warned. She shook her head, then looked to Sebastian with steel in her eyes. “Take Edwina to London. Though the time may have passed for a formal debut, you can still introduce her to Society. Please, Sebastian. Give her the chance she deserves at a happy future.”
“And what if I refuse?” Edwina asked, a stubborn tilt to her chin.
Claire turned to her slowly. “Then I shall forever blame you for squandering the one thing I wanted but could not have.”
Edwina firmed her lips and for a second Sebastian feared the rising anger he spied in her tight expression would explode. But then she set her napkin aside and pushed back her chair. “I need some fresh air, so I think I’ll go for a ride.”
Pain tore across Claire’s face and Sebastian opened his mouth, ready to throw his own rage at Edwina.
“Don’t,” Claire said, her voice suddenly soft. She trailed Edwina with her gaze as she left the room then said, “We’re at each other’s throats enough as it is these days.”
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, and meant it.
He couldn’t recall what life had been like before their parents died, before Claire began growing weak, before Ryan ran off, or before his own heart had turned to lead. Too many years had piled up between the adolescent he’d once been and the man he’d become. Years that had changed him and hardened him so the trials he’d been forced to face wouldn’t crush him completely.
And as he sat there with the weight of loss bearing down upon him, he wondered if there would ever be a bright ending to all the pain his family had suffered. Perhaps one, he reasoned as he reached across the table and set his hand over Claire’s.
“I’ll convince her,” he promised. “Edwina will have the chance that you were denied.”
4
As his carriage travelled the lengthy road to London, Edward Pryce, Earl of Marsdale, considered his view. The dreary winter landscape was infinitely vast, unhindered by the lush vegetation that would add bright shades of color when spring arrived. For the moment, it looked as he imagined his heart and soul did.
Utterly miserable.
With a weary sigh, he shifted his body, angling it in such a way that the scenery beyond the window vanished. He stretched out his legs, repositioned the blanket around them, and leaned against the corner of the cabin. It would take at least five more hours for him to arrive at his home at Number 2 Berkley Square.
Sleep would help the time pass faster. But of course, the moment he closed his eyes, he saw her. Miss Melody Roberts. The woman whose acquaintance he wanted to nourish, however unwise. If he pursued her in earnest, he would incite a scandal. The gossip rags would explode with the news, both his and Miss Roberts’s reputations called into question.
Because a match between a laundress’s illegitimate daughter and an earl should by all accounts be impossible. It would certainly be unacceptable. There was a chance he’d lose his good standing within Society. An occurrence that could affect anyone close to him too.
But what was the alternative?
To tie himself to a titled lady for no other reason than he could not have the wife of his choosing. He snorted under his breath. How ridiculous was it to be a man of means, to have as much wealth and influence as he possessed, yet be forced to settle when it came to the most important decision he’d ever make?
At least Mama had offered support, though he knew it was only because she wished him happy. He’d been anything but for the last ten months since Evelyne Croft was murdered. Lord help him, he’d loved her with all his heart — had dreamed of a future with her by his side — but had waited too long to tell her.
Had he only announced his intentions and asked for her hand, she might still be alive. Instead, she’d been wrongfully targeted by a killer intent on ridding the world of unvirtuous women. Her death would forever weigh on his conscience. The memory of her had filled him with endless sorrow.
He’d not been able to find a way past it until he’d met Miss Roberts. Her sweet consideration and kindness had given him hope. She’d made him believe that he could find love again in the future. More importantly, she’d made him realize that doing so was something he craved with every beat of his fractured heart.
For if he was brave enough to embrace such tender emotions, he knew now with certainty that he would heal.
What he would not do was let the world rob him of this chance. Though it might already be too late thanks to his meddlesome godmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Heathbrooke. She’d whisked Miss Roberts away to Italy months ago in order to force an end to the tendre that was emerging between himself and her lovely companion.
As such, there was a chance the budding feeling would be snuffed out completely by the time Miss Roberts returned. Edward prayed this would not be the case for he honestly could not see himself making an attempt at marriage with anyone else. The notion was too disheartening and exhausting.
It was nearly six o’clock in the evening by the time the carriage turned onto Wyndham Place. Although Edward had been planning to go straight to his townhouse, he knocked on the roof to alert his driver when they passed through Portman Square.
Knowing exactly where he wished to go, the driver pulled up in front of Number 5. Edward had heard from his close friend Adrian no less than a week before when a letter arrived to inform him that Adrian was returning to London. He’d added that Edward was welcome to call anytime once he got back to the city.
