At least, that had been her intention. Instead, she stood up and made a good start before catching her toe in the same spot on the rug that had tripped her before. As she grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling, she could hear both men rising behind her, ready to pick her up.
She did not look back.
She salvaged as much dignity as she could and staggered on her way, making sure her steps in the hall were soft and even. Then, she crept up the stairs, taking care not to hurry and stumble again. When she reached the bedroom door, she opened it slowly and shut it gently and soundlessly.
Only then, when she was sure she was alone, did she throw herself face down on the bed and moan in frustration.
She had thought that she’d been embarrassed before. It had been a Season full of minor humiliations and social gaffes. Trips and falls, red wine spilled on white gowns, inappropriate laughter and equally inappropriate silences. The days had dragged on right up to the last ball at Almack’s where she’d spent most of the night as a wallflower.
Through it all had threaded the knowledge that she was not destined for great love or partnership, or even independence. She was meant to be a burden from cradle to grave. First on her father. Then on her grandfather. And eventually on her brother when he inherited the baronetcy.
It didn’t matter that Percy loved her and would be happy to take her in. He was the most considerate of brothers. But her parents had meant to take care of her too and look how that had turned out. What would happen if the woman Percy eventuallychose to marry did not want a sister-in-law always underfoot? It only took one jealous, greedy, vindictive person to ruin the best laid plans. Her grandfather was proof of that.
But this scheme to trick him out of her money? There had to be a better answer than that. And that the Duke of Bonham should pretend to be her husband…
She opened her eyes and started into the pillow, wishing that she could remain there for ever. Why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Why must it be the man she had dreamed about for the last fifteen years.
She could still remember her first sight of him, as if it had been yesterday. It had happened when her parents had still been alive and he had come home with Percy on a school holiday. The two of them had played in the garden of their old house and the fields around it, climbing trees and practicing their cricket bowling.
She had watched them from her bedroom window, quarantined with the mumps, unable to tag along and get involved in the way she’d wanted to.
Even then, Bonham had been magnificent, a strapping boy of thirteen with tan skin and brown hair that turned red in the sun. He had seen her, lumpy and miserable, watching from her bedroom window. He had smiled and waved, then offered a gallant bow, raising his cricket bat in salute and bringing it down in a dramatic slash that made her imagine knights coming to rescue the lady in the tower.
Later, he had picked a flower from one of her mother’s rosebushes, which was delivered in a vase on her supper tray.
She had been lost, from that moment on. She’d pressed the rose in a book and kept it, along with the stacks of letters that Percy had written from Eton and Oxford, which often mentioned his friend, who’d inherited a title and become a great and powerful man.
She had not seen Bonham again until she was old enough for her first Season and was sent to London to find a husband. It was hard to think of other men when she saw Thomas Carew almost every night. They went to the same parties and balls. He dined with Percy at least once a week and invited them both to dinner at his home almost as often.
She’d known her childhood adoration was silly. The real Bonham could never live up to the imaginary hero she’d created after years of dreams. But the flesh and blood duke still left her tongue-tied.
She’d said barely a word to him, afraid on all of those occasions that she would blurt out some bit of made-up conversation, or a private joke they’d shared in her daydreams. If he’d ever sensed her infatuation, he would probably have been terribly gracious about it. He would have given her a friendly speech about not having any reciprocal feelings for her. Then, he would explain his obligation to select his duchess with great care, for the good of the title.
He would likely finish by giving her some kindly encouragement and assuring her that the right man for her was waiting just around the corner. That it was only a matter of time. That she was a fine young woman any man would be proud to marry. Truly, a brick. Just not for him.
He would have done, had he noticed her at all.
Instead, he’d remained blissfully unaware that she existed for most of their lives. That should have been enough to bring her dreams crashing down around her. Instead, they had festered into something even worse. Now, when she fantasised about him, it was with the irrational hope that, one day, he would look up and see her and everything would change.
It was every bit as foolish as her earlier dreams. There would be no moment of revelation. The scales would not fall from his eyes because they were quite clear. It was her vision that wasfogged. She had wasted three years that should have been spent searching for real love because she’d been unwilling to let go of an illusion.
She needed to be put out of her misery, as one would a sick animal. Even if he was cruel and laughed at her, as he had today, it would be better than this. It would hurt, but at least it would be over quickly and she would recover.
Instead, he’d proposed this playacting that would require her to be ever in his presence for the time they would spend with her grandfather. She would have to pretend that she was in love with him, dote on him, hold his hand and smile into that beautiful face.
He would be doing the same to her, flattering, gazing fondly and doting on her. He would treat her as she’d seen him treat other girls he’d escorted for a time, only to ultimately reject. He might give her a bit more respect, since she was to be the mother of his imaginary children. And the grandmother of theirs.
According to Percy, Bonham had liked to take part in the little plays and skits they’d done at school. This would be more of the same. He’d have no trouble taking up this role only to toss it aside later.
For her, it would be twice as hard. She would have to pretend that she was only pretending and that none of it really mattered to her. Her life would be a play within a play, a Shakespearean nightmare. MoreHamletthanRomeo and Juliet.Even thinking about it made her cheeks blush hot and her lips tremble. She should go down there right now and tell them that she did not think she could manage the deception. She would rather be a pathetic spinster than to go through with their plan.
Or, for a few days, she could live a fantasy more magical than anything she’d found in a three-volume novel. As always, she would be the heroine. And though the man of her dreams had always been Thomas Carew, this time, he would be warm andalive. He could touch her hand and speak without her needing to create the lines for him. By the end of the week, she would have memories that could last her through a lifetime of loneliness.
If this mad scheme worked, she might even be free of her grandfather, as well. She would have enough money to go away and start the life her parents had wanted for her. She could be happy with the reality she had created and not living on fantasy as if it was bread and butter.
There was no decision to be made. The plan suggested was mad and only an idiot would agree to it. But when it came to the Duke of Bonham, she had never been anything but a fool.
CHAPTER THREE
