Chapter 13
T he morning of the masquerade arrived far too early for Thorn.
Unable to quell his nerves, he rose with the sun, watching its first rays bathe the sky in a glorious shade of purple. The wind rustled the leaves outside his window, the world waking up in quiet perfection. And yet, he knew, it was about to get even more perfect.
Today, he would see his bride.
She had insisted on taking her own carriage to the masquerade, and while Thorn had wanted to protest, he knew the timing wouldn’t allow for it. By the time her final letter had reached him, she had already left for London.
In her last note, she’d mentioned staying with her aunt and sneaking away with her cousin and a couple of footmen to attend the ball. Thorn didn’t like the sound of that at all. So, he had found the address of Mr. Prescott’s sister and discreetly sent his own men to guard the house, instructing them to quietly follow his bride to the event—without her knowledge, of course.
Thorn would be waiting by the door at the masquerade, a red flower tucked in his front pocket.
He knew his role for that night—he’d mostly be acting as a chaperone to his bride and her cousin at this lascivious event. It wouldn’t be a liaison or a tryst. And Thorn wasn’t certain if he wanted it to be. Conflicting feelings warred inside him.
For now, dancing with her would have to suffice. Perhaps, upon seeing her again, he’d better understand what it was he was truly feeling.
His heart thudded against his ribs, a loud drum in his ears.
He called for a bath, pacing the floor as he waited, the minutes stretching on. When it finally arrived, he shed his clothes and sank into the hot water. His fingers immediately found the chain around his neck, his hand curling around the ring that dangled from it.
The jewel had once been just an heirloom. It had represented the Thornton legacy, the power of his family’s title, a symbol of possession bestowed upon their brides. But the day he had given it to his first love, its meaning had changed. The ring, once a symbol of duty, had become a reminder of her .
And then she disappeared. Leaving the ring—and him —behind.
He had searched for her for so long, even when logic dictated that he should have stopped. Perhaps now it was time to let go.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Thorn unclasped the silver chain from his neck. The ring slipped down his chest, and he caught it, holding it tightly against his abdomen before bringing it to eye level.
The ruby caught the firelight, glowing with a radiance that seemed almost alive. A living flame.
It reminded Thorn of her hair. A smile tugged at his lips.
No longer an heirloom in his mind, it was a reminder of the girl he loved. A reminder of the girl he had lost.
He placed the jewel by the bath and proceeded to wash himself.
Once out of the bath, he hastily dressed and returned for the ring.
Vlad appeared in the dressing room. “Time for a shave, my lord?”
“Just a moment.” Thorn rubbed his thumb over the ruby, feeling its smooth surface beneath his touch. It was time to put it away.
He turned toward the safe, ready to lock it away in the past where it belonged, when a soft knock sounded at the door.
“My lord, you have a visitor.”
Thorn turned on his butler sharply. “Who?”
Cecil straightened as if he was preparing to announce the queen. “Miss Penelope Prescott.”
* * *
“She did what?” Honoria exclaimed loudly and then clamped her lips shut.
Lydia had sneaked into her bedroom and discreetly waved her down in the corridor. Honoria quickly excused herself from her duties and slipped into her room for a short break. That’s when Lydia told her everything about her late-night escapades at Hades’ Hell.
“Can you imagine? She kidnapped me in order to frighten me!”
“You don’t look frightened,” Honoria observed, although the color seemed to drain from her own face.
“No, I am not. And you know why? Because I am going to get the job done. Anyway, this is not the only reason I came to you today. While I was at Hades’ Hell, not to let that time go to waste, I stole a couple of masks for us.”
Honoria let out a chuckle. “But we already have masks.”
“Yes, but these are a lot more beautiful. Look!” She offered one intricate mask to Honoria. “Besides, Miss Monroe truly shouldn’t have angered me.”
Honoria chuckled nervously as she took the mask. It was a lot more beautiful than the simple domino masks they’d gotten a hold of for this masquerade. “It is wonderful. But won’t Miss Monroe be furious when she finds out you stole them?”
“I doubt she will. Besides, these masks cover our noses and cheeks completely, and the animal designs are a good distraction. Nobody will recognize us. Not that anybody will be in a position to see us up close. You are not to wander away without me.”
“I know, Lydia. I shall be a perfect debutante and will not stray far from my chaperone.”
“Good.” Lydia nodded her approval. “And do you have your things collected?”
“Things? I have but four dresses. I do not have much to collect.”
“Just be certain you have everything you need when we leave tonight. We are not coming back.”
Honoria hung her head, her fingers nervously playing with her mask.
“Honor?”
“Yes? Yes! Yes, I shall be ready for tonight,” she said with a tight smile.
Lydia studied her friend’s face curiously. She’d thought Honoria would be more excited about the prospect of finally leaving England. “Is something amiss?”
Honoria broke her concentration from the intricate mask and faced Lydia. Her frown quickly changed into an easy smile. “No, of course not. It’s just… I became quite attached to this household. I know I am just a housekeeper, but I feel quite close to the children.” She cleared her throat. “I like it here.”
“I know, Honor.” Lydia covered Honoria’s hand. “But we can’t stay here any longer. You can’t stay here; you know you can’t.”
Honoria nodded and smiled wider, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, I know. But it doesn’t mean I can’t be sad about it.”
Lydia swallowed a boulder in her throat. I know how you feel. But she couldn’t say the words out loud. She couldn’t say anything out loud or she would start crying. She couldn’t think about what she was leaving behind, or she would never be able to fulfill her mission.
“Until tonight then.”
* * *
She is here.
Thorn couldn’t believe it. Didn’t she say that they would meet at the masquerade?
Did she change her mind? His thoughts were in complete disarray.
He ran a hand through his hair and paced toward his looking glass. There was no time for a shave now, so he hoped she would excuse his unkempt appearance. With the ruby ring still cradled in his hand, he put it into his pocket. He would have to hide it after the meeting with his bride. Then, he quickly put on his waistcoat and cravat and ran a hand through his hair again. Why did she not tell him she was coming? Did she want to surprise him?
Well, then, the surprise was a complete success. Thorn was so nervous his hands shook.
He didn’t remember ever feeling this out of sorts. He was like a schoolboy before his first exam.
What am I still doing here?
Thorn shook his head and flew downstairs with a wide smile on his face.
He entered the blue drawing room and froze.
Miss Penelope Prescott, his bride, stood by the window, her father by her side.
“Mr. Prescott.” Thorn bowed then took a few steps closer, his heart drumming loudly in his chest. Penelope slowly turned, the sun from the window forming a halo around her angelic face. But instead of equal enthusiasm—or any enthusiasm, really—she had a pinched expression.
Thorn reached for her hand, but she took a step back instead. Taken aback, Thorn simply bowed. “Miss Penelope Prescott.” Perhaps she didn’t want to be too forward with him in front of her father.
“My lord.” She performed a curtsy.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Thorn looked from his bride to her father, and both looked as gloomy as an autumn night.
“We are here to sever the betrothal,” Mr. Prescott said dryly.
“Pardon me?” Heat rose to Thorn’s cheeks. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You should know why, Lord Thornton,” Miss Prescott said quietly. “You did not abide by your promises.”
Thorn frowned. She was very calm and collected, as though he had to understand what was going on. Yet, he felt as though he was thrust in the middle of the play, and he didn’t know the script. “I am afraid I do not understand.”
“And not just that,” Mr. Prescott chimed in. “There are some rather unsavory rumors going around about you that I do not care to repeat in the presence of my daughter.”
Thorn waved the ridiculous concern away. “I am not bothered by any rumors, Mr. Prescott. We have a betrothal contract, and it is not easily broken. Please, let me speak to your daughter in private and—”
“I will not leave you alone with her,” Mr. Prescott thundered.
Penelope lightly touched his forearm. “I believe I owe Lord Thornton an explanation from my own mouth.”
Mr. Prescott sputtered something under his nose before looking around. “I shall wait by the window a few feet away, but I am not leaving this room.”
Without waiting for Thorn’s acknowledgment, he moved to stand on the other side of the room, his back to them. Good enough.
“Lord Thornton—” Penelope started timidly.
“Thorn,” he swiftly interrupted. “I asked you to call me Thorn.”
She frowned, confusion evident on her face. “I do not believe I had the pleasure.”
Now it was his turn to be confused. She’d called him that in the letters many times. Perhaps she thought the etiquette was different concerning letters and real-life interactions. “I have to say I am rather confused. Just the other day we were planning a meeting in person and now you come here to sever our betrothal?”
Her frown deepened. “I am not certain if there was a misunderstanding, but I thought we agreed on letters instead.”
“Weren’t you the one who offered that letters weren’t enough?”
She licked her lips, her fingers curling tighter into her skirts. “I proposed we get to know each other better, to pursue a friendship. I agreed there was no need for love or affection—”
“Then what were those letters?” Thorn bit out, before thinking. Of course, that’s all he had wanted, too. He was the one who had told her that all he could offer was friendship. But that was before he fell for her wit and her incredible mind. And she had flirted with him during their correspondence, had she not? He tried to rein in his frustration and continued, calmer now, “You seemed to have a different intention in them.”
Penelope straightened her shoulders, more confident in her indignation. “What letters do you speak of? The ones you did not answer?”
Thorn’s breaths quickened, his head beginning to ache. “The ones I did not answer? If there’s a single one I’ve missed, I would not know. But the ones I have received, I’ve answered them all!”
“Do not mock me.” Her expression was awash with confusion. “I sent you two letters, and you’ve not answered a single one. You broke your only promise to me, which I take as your retraction of your proposal.”
Thorn stepped away, his fingers on his temples. “I would never.”
“So, you still want to marry me?” Her voice sounded as though it came from afar, her expression incredulous. Thorn’s mind was in complete chaos.
She’d never received his letters. Neither did he, apparently.
Then who was he communicating with? Were any of the letters from her? Or were even the first ones faked?
What was this—a game? Had someone purposefully made a fool out of him? Made him fall in love with them just to break his heart? But why? And who would do such a thing?
Was it one of his jilted lovers?
He didn’t think he’d hurt anyone enough to concoct such a heartless ruse. He rarely spent more than one night with a woman, and who would go through all this trouble because of one night?
The woman he’d had relations with last—or rather the one with whom he apparently had failed to have relations—seemed rather angry. But he didn’t think she would go through all this trouble just to spite him.
No, this was no jilted lover. This level of planning and meticulously carrying out the deceit required hatred that went deeper than a meaningless tryst. There was only one person who hated him so. Coincidentally, this person was currently residing under Thorn’s roof, possessing the ability to easily intercept his mail. And she also had a vested interest in breaking his betrothal.
Rosemary . His step-witch.
Thorn thrust his hands in his pockets, his fingers encountering the ruby ring. Once again, he’d almost lost another bride. And he’d almost thought he’d fallen in love.
What a foolish idiot he was.
Rosemary was neither cunning nor clever enough to pen those letters, though. Besides, he would have recognized her penmanship. She must have hired someone. Someone who had managed to touch his heart. He squeezed the ring in his fist.
What about the masquerade? Was that when she planned to end the ruse?
He shook his head. Whatever her plan was, he was going to find out either during or shortly after the masquerade.
“I thought so.” Miss Penelope’s voice brought him back from his troubled thoughts.
Thorn raised his head sharply, pinning her with his gaze. “Nothing has changed. We are still betrothed.”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “What makes you think that I will still consider you as a prospect?”
Thorn took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. He couldn’t let his enemies get away with breaking his upcoming marriage. If his father died, Thorn would be left with nothing. His personal feelings did not matter. Not now.
He cleared his throat. “I assure you that I have responded to your letters. They were probably lost along the way. I should have sent follow-up missives to make certain they were delivered. The fault is mine, and I apologize for that. But I have no intention of breaking our arrangement.”
She blinked at him, watching him closely, no doubt considering his trustworthiness. She didn’t have many choices though. Thorn knew it. If she did, she would have left already. “That still doesn’t solve the issue I have emphasized. I would like to know my fiancé before marrying him.”
Thorn licked his dry lips and nodded. “But you’re here now, in London. Why don’t I pay a call on you on the morrow, and we can go for a ride?”
Miss Penelope considered him silently for a moment then murmured, “My father might not be receptive to the idea.”
“Is that a yes? Do you agree to continue our betrothal?”
She gave a timid nod. “If my father agrees, then yes.”
“He will.” Thorn took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I shall see you tomorrow.”
He spun on his heel and strode toward Mr. Prescott, who faced him in anticipation of his approach. “Whatever you said to my daughter—”
“What is the rumor you have heard, and who have you heard it from?” Thorn interrupted sharply.
The man’s brows climbed up in surprise. He didn’t expect such directness from Thorn, but it seemed he appreciated it. “Something about your inability”—he cleared his throat—“to perform your marital duty. And since I am in need of an heir, this is an important aspect for consideration.”
Thorn snorted. “And who did you hear it from?”
Mr. Prescott hesitated, visibly uncomfortable, color rising up to his face. Thorn just raised a brow. “A blonde, gorgeous woman. Miss Ivy or some such.”
Thorn nodded. “Do you require proof by a doctor you trust? Because I assure you the rumor is false. I am willing to undergo any inspection to ease your mind.”
Mr. Prescott shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. “I don’t require—”
“Set up a meeting with your doctor. I want you to be comfortable with your decision. In the meantime, I shall call on your daughter tomorrow. We shall go for a ride and officially start the courting process. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to, I am sure you understand.”
He shook the confused man’s hand, then turned on his heel and walked away.
Plucking the ruby ring out of his pocket, he threaded it onto his chain and hung it onto his neck, where it belonged.