Chapter Three
F ortuity crumpled the paper and tossed it aside, then propped her elbows on her writing table and dropped her head into her hands. Her characters’ conversations had left her. Last night’s painfully embarrassing debacle repeatedly squalled through her mind like a relentless storm, drowning out everything else.
“What was Blessing thinking?” she muttered. How could her sister not realize that if they had simply allowed the evening to play out however it would, the gossips would have soon grown bored and forgotten Matthew’s rather loud proclamation that she was nothing more than his friend? After all, she was a wallflower no one ever noticed unless to comment that they thought her the plainest of the Broadmere sisters, which was fine.
Well, no, it wasn’t fine. It hurt. But she refused to allow those mean-spirited sorts to dictate how she lived her life. Or, at least, she tried to refuse them most of the time. Sometimes that particular battle became wearisome and difficult to fight. A heavy sigh escaped her. Who was she attempting to trick? Those cruel, back-biting churls cast a shadow over everything.
Once the ton discovered her sympathetic sister had quickly recovered from her sudden ailment, the tongue waggers would realize what had actually happened: that a frailness of health was a mere ploy to remove the infamous Broadmere wallflower from an unpleasant situation. Everyone knew the siblings were close and would do anything to protect one another. It would take no stretch of the imagination for the tattle sheets to weave an intriguing tale everyone would easily believe. All of them were well and surely doomed.
“Dearest Blessing.” Fortuity gave in to a despondent groan as she spoke aloud to the sister whom she no longer shared a home with. “I thought you better at this game than me. What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”
A rapid tap on the door and the creak of its hinges made her lift her head.
“Chance has called for a gathering of the flock,” her youngest sister Merry announced. “I tried to tell him you were unwell, but he didn’t believe me.” She offered a sympathetic shrug. “If it helps, he’s angry with all of us, yet not so unhappy with you. At least you set your notes aside and danced. Or how did he put it?” She tapped her chin, staring upward as if the answer floated somewhere near the ceiling. “Ah, yes—you took part in the evening like a dutiful sister rather than the four selfish ones who did whatever they wished.”
“I presume Serendipity possesses immunity, since she assists him in throwing us at potential husbands?” Fortuity leaned back in her chair and rubbed at her ink-stained fingers. “Somehow that seems less than fair, since she must also eventually find love and marry.”
“When have you ever known Chance to be fair? He wants us starry-eyed, in love, and married off as quickly as possible, so he can be more than a duke in name only , as he puts it.” With her hand still on the door latch, Merry waved for Fortuity to follow. “Come along. Serendipity might not fight on your side, but the rest of us will. We swore an oath last night.”
Fortuity could just envision her four younger sisters joining hands and giving a hearty war cry, as they had often done as children when waging pretend wars against Chance and his chums at their country estate. Even though they were girls, Mama and Papa had indulged their every interest and imagination, never once limiting them to only subjects proper for young ladies.
“I might as well come down.” She eyed the crumpled balls of paper scattered across the floor. “I am doing no good at all up here.”
Merry looped her arm through hers and tugged her out into the hallway. “Blessing had a word with us last night.”
Fortuity cut a leery glance at her youngest sister. “Your tone concerns me.”
“She confirmed what the rest of us already knew. We are not young, oblivious things anymore, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Fortuity said, trying not to smile. “Why, you yourself are the ripe old age of ten and seven now.”
Merry lightly pinched her. “We know you love him.”
Fortuity swallowed hard before assuming as bored an expression as possible. “Love whom?”
Merry arched a feathery brow and stared at her, waiting for the truth as Mama used to do when one of them had been caught in a lie.
“I love my writing,” Fortuity said, but it came out weaker than she intended. She cleared her throat. “Matthew and I are friends, as he is friends with all of us.”
“He didn’t dance with all of us last night. Only you. Twice.”
“We were escaping Lord Smellington and Lady Serafina.”
“Hmm.” Merry studied her as they descended the stairs to the main hall. “That excuse is hard to counter.” She shuddered. “I do believe that man reeks worse than he did last Season.”
“I am sure he hasn’t bathed since last Season.” Fortuity slowed their pace as they neared the parlor. “Matthew says the man believes that bathing causes illness.”
“I thought only Scots felt that way?”
“I believe that was long ago. Remember Lord MacKenzie? Even when he was ancient, that man smelled so divine, all the ladies flocked around him.”
Merry halted. “Surely you are not that na?ve? While I agree the man had an irresistible aroma that even I noticed as a child whenever he visited Mama and Papa, I overheard Serendipity whisper more than once that it was his charm that drew the ladies to him.”
“His charm ?” Fortuity couldn’t decide if Merry meant the way the beguiling old Scot always treated the ladies, some magical gift, or a forbidden carnal talent.
“The man fathered twenty-seven children, Fortuity. The last one was born the year he died at the ripe old age of four and eighty.” Merry leaned closer and lowered her voice. “And every woman he married was a great deal younger and always happy to become his wife and remain that way.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I never divulge my sources.”
Fortuity rolled her eyes. “You sound like Serendipity.” She nodded at the closed parlor door. “You go first.”
“Coward,” her sister accused with affection, then charged forward and threw open the door. “All right, brother. We are here. Commence with the inquisition.”
“Really, Merry?” Chance shot her a withering glare.
Fortuity took a seat between Serendipity and Grace. Old habits died hard. They always arranged themselves in birth order. Joy sat on the other side of Grace, Felicity next, and Merry took her seat at the end. “As Merry so eloquently put it, commence with the inquisition, brother,” Fortuity said. She was in no mood for what would surely be as humiliatingly painful as last night.
“How are you today?” he asked, the tensed line of his jaw softening.
“I am well. You?”
He scrubbed his forehead and groaned. “I am not the one who appeared to be the subject of the masked ball last night. Nor was I selfishly used to escape debutantes, then cast aside like a useless bit of parchment. I intend to have a word with Ravenglass. Friend or not, I do not appreciate his casual treatment of you, especially when it brings ridicule down around your ears.”
“I used him just the same to escape Lord Smellington. Matthew did nothing wrong. He simply stated the truth. We are friends, nothing more.” Nor will we ever be anything more, she silently added. She rubbed her temple in a vain attempt at ridding herself of the subtle pounding that was getting stronger by the moment. That was just what she needed today, one of her terrible megrims. “Lady Serafina goaded him into raising his voice. You know he would do nothing to hurt us or cause us embarrassment.”
“And yet he did.” Serendipity reached over and gave her hand a sisterly squeeze. “Why do you not speak to him about this friendship of yours?”
“Am I the only one who remembers what Thorne told us?” Fortuity pulled her hand away, frustrated with this painful subject. “Have I not been humiliated enough? Why would I confront the man and force him to tell me he would never want me as his wife because he has sworn he will never marry? I daresay that would do wonders for our friendship.”
“His incident was over five years ago,” Chance said. “Perhaps he has reconsidered.”
“I would rather have him as a friend than confront him and lose him completely.” And that was the bloody awfulness of it all. She heard Mama’s voice in her head, scolding her for using such unacceptable language even in her thoughts. She pulled in a deep breath and forced herself to maintain control. “Might we move on? I was not the only plump little Broadmere goose hanging in the butcher shop window at last night’s ball.”
“I did not go to the stables nor visit Lady Atterley’s hounds,” Grace said, lifting her hands in surrender.
“No, you hid most of the night,” Serendipity accused. “I only found you when you emerged from the jungle of the conservatory to fetch yourself a lemonade.”
“Poor planning on my part,” Grace grumbled. She tipped her head down the line at Joy and Felicity. “These two were no better.”
“I fattened my purse at a rollicking game of Commerce,” Joy said, “and I am not ashamed to admit it.”
Felicity twitched a shrug. “I simply had to discover how Lady Atterley’s cook obtained such a lightness to her Naples biscuits.”
Merry pointed at Grace. “I hurried after Gracie when I saw Lord Smellington on the prowl.”
Chance groaned again. “Lord Pellington ,” he corrected her. “If all of you insist on calling the man names, at some point, one of you will surely err and do so in public. Need I remind you how inappropriate such behavior is for a Broadmere lady?”
“Your Grace?” drawled a deep, raspy voice from the doorway.
“What?” Chance barked, then clamped his mouth tightly shut and bowed his head. “I beg your pardon, Walters. It is not your fault I am saddled with impossible sisters who drive me to the limits of my patience.”
The ancient butler stood in the doorway, blinking like a great horned owl waking for its nightly hunt. The duke’s apology obviously made him uncomfortable.
Fortuity had to smile. Old Walters had been with the Broadmeres since before any of them were born. The devoted servant refused to take his pension. And, in truth, she couldn’t imagine their household without him and their equally ancient housekeeper, Mrs. Flackney.
Chance lifted his head and squared his shoulders. “What is it, Walters?”
The butler extended a small silver salver bearing a single note. “A messenger awaits a response, else I would have placed it in the library with today’s correspondence for your later perusal.”
Frowning, Chance took it, eyed the wax seal, then arched a blond brow at Fortuity. “It is from Lord Ravenglass.”
It took everything within her to maintain a nonchalant facade. Her family already possessed an opinion regarding her feelings toward the viscount, but there was no sense in fueling that opinion. “Open it.”
He opened the single page and stared down at it, slowly shaking his head as he read. “I cannot possibly,” he said under his breath. He looked up and motioned for Fortuity to come closer. “He wishes us to join him on an outing to Dulwich Picture Gallery of Southwark. Today.”
“Us? There are a good many of us currently in this parlor, brother. How many carriage loads of Broadmeres does Matthew hope to entertain?”
Chance gave her a look that shouted he did not appreciate her levity. “You and I, dear sister. But I cannot possibly. Not when our infernal solicitor insists upon my meeting with our estate steward before spring is fully upon us.”
“I am sure Mr. Sutherland, the elder, is only following Papa’s wishes.” Relief filled her. If Chance couldn’t accept the invitation, then neither could she, and that would relieve her of the uncomfortable task of facing Matthew again so soon. “Besides, I do not think it wise, do you? If Matthew and I are nothing more than friends, how would it look for me to join him on an outing today after dancing with him twice last night?”
Her brother’s eyes took on a dangerous twinkle. “As I said earlier, perhaps Ravenglass’s feelings toward you have changed. He needs an heir, since his cousins are female, and I daresay he would rather one of his own blood inherit the fruits of his labors rather than some distant relative he has never known.” He turned and eyed the other five sisters still seated in the lineup always formed for family meetings. “Serendipity?”
With a pained look, Serendipity shook her head. “I couldn’t, possibly. I already committed to tea with Lady Burrastone.”
“I’ll go,” Merry volunteered.
“I cannot,” Joy announced. “Lady Edith’s daughter is dying to learn how to win at whist, and I promised to teach her this afternoon.”
“Ahem?” Merry waved both hands. “I can go.”
“I am busy as well,” Felicity said, “helping Cook with next week’s menu.”
“What about me?” Merry asked quite loudly.
“You are the youngest, Merry,” Chance said with a shake of his head.
“I am ten and seven and quite able to tattle on my sister should she attempt to steal a kiss.”
“No,” Chance told her, then pointed at Grace. “Congratulations.”
Grace slid lower in her chair. “I abhor the Picture Gallery, and besides, I was not invited.” She wagged a finger at him and Fortuity. “The two of you were named. It would be most rude of me to step in. Politely decline.”
“She makes a fair point,” Fortuity said. She didn’t wish to go either but knew if she fought Chance too vigorously, it would only make him dig in and strive harder to make her go. Her brother was the most stubborn of all of them. “Besides, I agree with Grace. I would much prefer a visit to the British Museum. Perhaps we can consider an outing there at some other time when the memory of yesterday evening’s gossip fades. All you need do is tell the messenger to relay our thanks, but today’s diaries—in fact, the remainder of this week’s diaries—are full.” She inwardly cringed at Chance’s thoughtful expression. Instinct warned she may have pushed a mite too hard.
“No. You and Grace shall go, but we will inform the messenger of your preference to visit the British Museum rather than the Picture Gallery. Lord Ravenglass may call for you at three, thereby making your outing quite appropriate and before intimate calling hours.” He moved closer, his smile growing broader with each step. “Discover his intentions, Tutie.” He turned and arched a brow at Grace. “Help your sister in this effort, please?”
Grace rolled her eyes and deflated with a dismal huff.
“Chance—” Fortuity closed her mouth, giving up before she even started. There was no use fighting him on this. He had made up his mind. All she could do was go along with it, apologize to Matthew, and advise him to stay as far away from the as-yet-unattached Broadmere sisters as possible. That realization hurt her heart and made her eyes sting with tears she couldn’t possibly let anyone see. She shooed him away as she turned to leave the room. “Do as you wish—as you always do. As Blessing once so accurately noted, you are a male. You always get your way.”
*
“We should have offered to meet him at the British Museum and then gone elsewhere.” Grace dropped onto the settee in the small parlor, still pouting about being forced to act as chaperone.
“That would not have been kind,” Fortuity said. Although she had to admit the idea held merit. “And sit properly. You know how Mama felt about poor posture.”
Adopting her usual defiant glare, Grace remained slouched against the cushions. “Do you truly wish to see Lord Ravenglass today?”
“I think you know the answer to that.” Fortuity paced the width of the small room, keeping an ear tuned to the entryway just beyond the partially open door. A distinctive clatter outside made her hurry over to the front window and peep through the sheer lace panels hanging between the heavy draperies of the deepest blue. Her heart fluttered like a captured bird beating its wings against the cage. “They are here.”
“Calm down. You’ve gone all red in the face. You’ll have Mrs. Flackney running for that awful bottle of tonic she and Mama always poured down our throats at the first sign of frailty. Sometimes I think they gave it to us out of spite.” Grace rose from the settee, shook out her skirts, and grudgingly joined Fortuity in the middle of the room to stare at the doorway. “Are we going out there to meet them, or standing here and pretending we don’t know they have arrived?”
“Shh.” Fortuity turned her head and strained to pick up on every word from the hallway. The voices she heard perplexed her. “Matthew is not alone,” she whispered, then wrinkled her nose and stifled a groan. “He brought his cousin.”
Grace pulled a face. “The back-biting cow?”
Fortuity nodded.
“Lovely. Today should be interesting, to say the least.” Grace resettled her stance. “I make no promises regarding my behavior.”
Fortuity eased closer to the door, picking up on another voice. “And Mrs. Sykesbury as well.” She turned and grimaced at her sibling. “Why on earth did he bring the two of them?”
Her sister immediately brightened. “With such a wealth of chaperones, I shall not be needed after all.”
Fortuity caught her arm and tugged her closer. “Oh yes, you are. Do not think to escape. I need you for moral support.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “As you wish.”
Walters pushed open the door to the small parlor and gave Fortuity what she interpreted as a befuddled scowl. Or, at least, the poor old butler appeared more confused than usual. “Lord Ravenglass, Mrs. Sykesbury, and Miss Sykesbury,” he announced in a deep, raspy drawl Fortuity always heard in her mind whenever writing ghostly graveyard scenes. “Will refreshments be required before the outing?”
“No thank you, Walters. Only our cloaks, please.” She invited the trio into the room with a wave of her hand, noting their expressions appeared somewhat strained. “Is something wrong?” she asked Matthew.
After angling a disgruntled glare at his cousin Eleanor, he tipped a formal nod that suggested he was tensed tighter than an overly wound watch. “I do hope the emergency that called His Grace away is not dire.”
“Sorry?” Fortuity sidled a glance at Grace, who responded with a shrug that said she was just as confused.
Matthew smiled, but it was a tight, miserable smile that held no joy. “I simply found it strange that he would invite us on an outing if his diary was full, so I assumed today’s meeting must have been urgent and unavoidable.”
Fortuity noticed how Eleanor backed up a step and drew closer to her mother. There was ill afoot, and that little chit had something to do with it. “ You invited us—Chance and I—on this outing, but we replied it would be Gracie and myself, since Chance had prior obligations. Shall I have Walters fetch the note to clear away any confusion?”
“No. That will not be necessary.” He shifted and offered her another polite nod. “I understand everything now and will address it with the responsible party at another time.”
“Are you not the lucky gentleman, cousin?” Eleanor said in an overly bright tone. “Escorting four ladies to the British Museum?”
“Return to the carriage, Eleanor. Immediately.”
Eleanor’s mother gasped. “My lord, please do not be harsh with her.”
“You may go with her,” Matthew said in a somewhat gentler tone. “I wish to speak to Lady Fortuity and her sister privately before we are on our way.”
“But cousin—” Eleanor stepped forward, then halted at the viscount’s icy glare. “Come, Mama. Let us wait in the carriage.”
After the women departed, Matthew closed the parlor door behind them, then turned back and faced Fortuity and Grace. “I must apologize for my cousin. It would appear she took it upon herself to create today’s outing. I presume she did so to draw closer to your brother. After all, he is an eligible duke and quite coveted by the Marriage Mart—or so I am told.”
“But she had to know he wouldn’t be joining us,” Fortuity said. “We sent a reply explaining his full schedule.”
“Why would she continue the game if she failed at drawing in all her players?” Grace asked.
“She overplayed her advantage.” Matthew’s jaw flexed as if he struggled to restrain himself from baring his teeth in a snarl. “She probably told me about the invitation and arranged our part of the outing before she knew her prey had escaped her snare.”
“I see.” The painful realization that Matthew had not instigated the meeting knotted in the pit of Fortuity’s stomach like a poorly digested meal. He hadn’t wanted to see her. In fact, had probably not planned on seeing her again until another function accidentally brought them together. And apparently, she was the silliest of ninnies for dwelling on last night’s events. She could now do the only thing she knew to do: dismiss the poor man and give him his means of escape.
“Do not feel obligated to continue this farce,” she said. “I am sure you have much more important things to do.”
“Nothing is more important to me than you.”
Grace bumped into her hard enough to bounce her to one side. “I am going to go see where Walters has gotten to with those cloaks. Leave the door wide open and maintain an appropriate distance between each other until my return, or I shall set my hounds on you.”
Before Fortuity could stop her, her sister rushed from the room. She threw up her hands and shook her head. “Today’s madness appears to be contagious. I am so very sorry.” When he didn’t smile or answer, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and wondered how one of her characters might handle this situation. How would she write her way out of this scene? “All really is well between us, Matthew, if that is your worry.”
“But it is not,” he said softly while moving closer. “I hurt you last night. Do not deny it, Fortuity. Your eyes reveal everything you feel.”
She forced a smile, inwardly cringing when she felt it slipping. “You protected me from Lord Smellington, twice. You helped me fight the crush to get a glass of lemonade, and you told me I am your friend. How is any of that hurtful?” She swallowed hard, wishing he would just go away and take his cousins with him. Could they not just pretend as if his overly loud conversation with Lady Serafina hadn’t happened?
He stared at her, the somber gray of his eyes darker than she had ever seen them before. “When I say that you are my dear friend whom I hold in the highest regard, I beg you to know that there are very few in my life whom I trust as I trust you.” Closing the distance between them, he took her hands in his.
“Your sister’s hounds can just be damned,” he said with a sad grin, then fixed her with a woeful gaze. “I no longer trust easily, Fortuity, and I am sure your brother-in-law has told you why. The man gossips worse than the tattle sheets.” He squeezed her hands, sending such a series of warm tingles through her that she struggled to breathe.
“I know of your history, my lord.” She cut herself off and clenched her teeth. No, she could not nudge him as Chance and Serendipity wished her to.
“You know of my history—but what?”
She tried to pull her hands away, but he held them tighter. So she bowed her head, finding herself too great of a coward to look him in the eyes. “How is it you read me so easily?”
“Because I have watched you closely at every opportunity. You fascinate me,” he whispered.
With a hard yank, she pulled her hands free and turned away from him. “Why do you say such things?”
“Because it is the truth. Should I not always speak the truth with you?”
“You should not speak the truth and make it sound as if it is so much more.” There. She’d said it.
“So much more?”
At the risk of her already aching heart, she faced him. “Chance and Serendipity wished for me to use this outing to discover if you had perhaps changed your mind about marrying. They feel your behavior shows more than simple friendship.”
“And how do you feel, Fortuity?”
“Very confused.” She allowed herself a heavy sigh.
He nodded and bowed his head. “I am sorry.”
“As am I,” she quietly agreed.
He scrubbed a hand across his face, looked aside, then faced her once more, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, just as she had known he would be. All was ruined between them now. Now she would not even have him in her life as a friend.
“Perhaps you should go,” she gently suggested. “I promise Gracie will not be disappointed. She was my chaperone under duress.”
He frowned at her, not an angry or unhappy frown, but an apologetic one. “Perhaps I should, but I would like to make amends and heal our friendship. I cherish you, Fortuity, and wish for things to be well—truly well—between us.”
She shook her head to deny him, but he held up a hand to silence her.
“I can help you publish your stories if you will let me.”
Those words would have been magical to her at one time, but now they were hollow, no longer holding a bright, shining hope for the future. She felt as if she had just unwrapped a much-longed-for gift only to discover it wasn’t what she wanted after all.
“Publish my stories?” she repeated, forcing the question through the dismal fog clouding her mind. She had to say something but didn’t have the heart to disappoint him by declining an offer that would invariably cause her more pain by bringing her into his presence more often.
“I am well connected with several reputable publishers who will listen to my recommendations.”
His surge of confidence made her want to weep and shout that she didn’t want that from him. He had made her want so much more, made her want that which she could never have. She swallowed hard, afraid to speak, afraid her composure would slip. The best she could manage was a smile and a nod.
“Of course, I would need to read your stories to speak intelligently about them, but I am sure they are wonderful. How could they not be, after all the care you took to study human nature?”
“My studious scribbling from the shadows,” she said more to herself than him.
He laughed, oblivious to her struggle. “Yes, indeed. I have no doubt your studies have been quite fruitful. Will I recognize any of your characters? Have you changed the names to protect their true identities?”
No longer able to face him, she crossed over to the front window and swept the panels of lace aside. “All the names are different, my lord. Never fear.” After all, it would seem strange indeed if every dashing hero in her love stories was called Matthew. “Your cousins must be quite cold by now. Should you not get them home?”
“They have throws. I am sure they are fine.” He joined her at the window. “What say you, Fortuity? If you gave your stories to me today, I could read them tonight and start speaking with publishers tomorrow.”
The idea of allowing her stories out of her possession made her bristle. Her precious tales were the last of her privacy, the last of her soul, the deepest imaginings of her heart. How could he expect her to hand them over like yesterday’s tattle sheets? “I am not comfortable with that, my lord, but I thank you.” She kept her gaze locked on the street outside the window, willing him to go away and leave her to the task of licking her wounds.
“Not comfortable with what? I must read them to more intelligently convince the publishers of their worth.”
Fisting her hands, she forced herself to look at him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“This,” she said, hissing the word through her clenched teeth. “Go home, Matthew, and busy yourself with whatever viscounts do.”
His dark brows drew down, and he dragged in a deep intake of air. “I cannot give you marriage, my dear little wren, but I can give you my friendship and help you achieve your life’s dream. I beg you—please—let that be enough.”
“I think it best we part ways and be done with it.”
“With my help, your stories will be published. The title pages will read: written by Lady Fortuity Abarough. Alone, you have no option other than your brother using his power to coerce someone into accepting them. Is that what you wish? For your tales to be published because of coercion?”
“Is that not what you offer?” she snapped. “Using your connections to force your business acquaintances into doing what you wish?”
“No.” He scowled at her. “I intend to read your stories and sing their virtues until every publisher I know begs for permission to be the one to put your books out into the world. I shall start a bidding war for your tales.”
“For one who has never read them, you think highly of my writings.”
“That is why you should give them to me today.”
“No. My stories do not leave my possession. If you are to read them, you may do so in my presence, then give your opinion.” She jutted her chin higher, determined to hold strong. “They are all I have, Matthew, and I daresay I do not trust allowing them into your household without myself to guard them.”
“I would guard them,” he said in a hurt tone.
“The way you guarded the details of today’s outing?”
He flinched and bowed his head. “I understand, my lady.”
“Good day, Matthew. Take your cousins home. Get them in out of the cold.”
He fixed her with a stare that sent a shiver through her. “Only if you promise to bring your stories to me tomorrow. Bring your sister or however many sisters you deem appropriate to protect your reputation, although I will take great pains to ensure that Agnus is also there as a proper chaperone. In fact, as far as anyone is concerned, you are coming to visit her. I daresay it would be too great a stretch of the imagination for anyone to believe you are coming for tea with Eleanor.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to do this for you,” he said. “I need to do this for you.”
“Why?” she asked again, softer this time.
“Because this is the only thing I can offer you, Fortuity. Please, allow me to do this.”