Chapter 20 #2
“Someone sold me out,” she whispered as he read it once, then twice. “Someone must have sold me out. No one else knew. I haven’t told a soul, and it would have been impossible—near impossible—for them to trace me.”
“Unless they saw you sculpting at Calloway’s studio,” Maxwell said, but his brows drew together, mouth turning down as he thought. “But even then—”
“It’s hardly unusual for ladies to have lessons with him.”
“No, but perhaps…” He broke off, evidently coming to the inevitable conclusion that there was no easy way for someone to discover the truth without tangible evidence. “Who do you suppose did it?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, more tears spilling free.
It couldn’t be Anna, and even if Simon had discovered her secret, she trusted him to be forgiving and understanding. Elliot would never betray her, but someone had.
Not Maxwell. Who did that leave?
Maxwell cursed and drew her into his arms, one hand on the back of her head. “I’m sorry. I know how important Rossi was for you.”
“Not Rossi, but sculpting. It’s…”
It was art. She put her entire life into her sculptures, her heart and her soul, and everything that she cared about. Sculpting was a part of her, and seeing people love her creations was one of the best joys she could ever have imagined.
All these opportunities had been open to Alessandro Rossi and not Lady Thalia. And not the Duchess of Marrowhurst. Duchesses did not debase themselves to such an extent.
Maxwell held her as she sobbed, and she knew then that no matter what he felt, she had passed the point of no return. Loving him had never been a choice; it had been an inevitability.
“I can go to the country today,” she said through her tears, her voice thick. “And hide away until it’s all over. And if you want, I can never come back. I know it must be embarrassing for you, but—”
“Thalia.” He leaned back on his haunches and smoothed his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away her tears.
“I knew you were Rossi before we ever married, and I proposed regardless. This was never a secret we could have kept forever. I knew it would be inevitable, even if I had not thought—” He glanced away, his jaw working.
“I had not thought it would be so soon, but that doesn’t change reality.
You are not going anywhere. We will face this together.
That is what you told me we committed ourselves to when we married, and so that is what we will do. ”
She blinked damp eyes, trying to focus on him through her blurring tears. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course, I mean it. In fact, I have a plan. We will hold the ball as planned, and we will show the world once and for all that we are united, and that I support your endeavors.” He leaned up and gave her a quick kiss. She tasted salt. “Do you trust me?”
Heaven help her, she did. She stared at him in wonder. How could it be that she had come to marry this wonderful man—and how could she ever have protected her heart against him?
“You always knew this would come out?” she asked blankly.
“Of course I did. It was inevitable.” He smiled a little as he looked up at her from where he knelt, as though amused at her naivety. “Did you think it would be your secret from the world forever?”
“I’d hoped.”
“You are talented and ought to be proud of what you do, and if you do so as a duchess, so be it. Let the ton talk. Now, there’s something I need to do. Will you be all right?”
She sniffed and nodded, wiping her face before Lydia or Joyce could see. Her shame would reflect on them, too, but there was nothing she could do about it, and as always, she would protect Lydia as long as she could.
“I’ll be fine, Maxwell. Go.”
He squeezed her fingers and rose, striding to the door, abandoning both his breakfast and the newspaper he had been reading. Thalia watched him go, her heart aching.
There he goes. And I suppose that is the last chance we ever had of making something of our marriage.
He might have said he always expected this to come out, and perhaps he had, but that did not change the facts. She was now his scandalous wife, and that would, in time, come between them. What was acceptable in private was very not acceptable in public.
She wondered if he would go boxing again. Or if, once he had weathered this storm with her, he would shut himself off from her entirely all over again.
And if she would ever find a way of surviving it.
Maxwell strode from the house, his heart pounding raggedly in his throat.
Someone had betrayed Thalia, but that would be a problem to solve later—and he had every intention of solving it.
He would get to the bottom of this mess and discover who had acted against Thalia in such a vile way, and then he would punish them.
But first, he would organize a showcase. The biggest London had seen, featuring specifically Rossi’s sculptures. People were all too keen to rid themselves of Thalia’s work, were they? Well, he would buy it, and the world would see the magnificence of her talent all within his own home.
Let no one challenge or judge her again.
His first port of call was to see Simon, explain the situation, and ask for help. Simon, perhaps assisted by his wife, who by now knew everything and was eager to help, immediately agreed to do everything possible to restore Thalia’s standing in the ton.
After that, Maxwell visited every household he knew had a Rossi sculpture, and either bought it off the owner or borrowed it for the ball.
Then he had his men collect all the said sculptures and begin assembling them in the ballroom, the drawing room, the hall, the saloon, and every room he could think of that guests might enter.
Meanwhile, Anna came to collect Thalia, taking her away so she might have some reprieve from the constant callers who were seeking some more gossip.
Not once did he allow himself to consider why he might be going to all these lengths to protect Thalia. She was his wife; that was his duty. Anything more, any other eagerness to protect her from the world, he would have felt if it were Lydia or someone else under his protection.
And he cared about her. That was utterly undeniable. It just was not love—it couldn’t be. For all their sakes, he could not let it go that far.
Not for the first time, he retired to bed alone.
Thalia would remain with Simon and Anna until the ball, at which point she would enter her own house as though she were the guest of honor, and she would see everything he had done for her, the product of her talent, all in one place, in all the different forms it took.
She would, he hoped, be pleased.
The sheets were cold against his back as he slipped into the empty bed.
Compared to the sofa in his study, this was positively a luxury now, but at least when he had been sleeping downstairs, he had known Thalia was up in this bed.
Now she was in a different house, and the distance between them gaped further than ever.
He had been the one to cause this. It ought to be a good thing.
But just like her sculpting, he feared it might have repercussions beyond anything he could imagine.