Chapter Eighteen #3
‘Since you are determined to know my business, I suppose I had best tell you before you reveal my identity in your mother’s drawing room, which is doubtless what you intend to do.’
Was it? Such a thing should feel like a betrayal, and he didn’t want to be disappointed in her character.
She was the only woman who had come close to touching his heart.
Whoa! Where had that admission come from?
Reuben’s thoughts hadn’t seriously been veering in that direction, had they?
His mother was always harping on about the coup de foudre that would knock him sideways when he met a lady who stirred his passions.
Farrah had made an impression upon him, he craved her company and desperately wanted to be of service to her, but he had not thought beyond that point.
‘It was supposed to be light-hearted fun.’ Her melodic voice roused Reuben from his reverie.
‘That is what my friend who started the periodical suggested when she persuaded me to help her out. She said she needed a fresh idea. Something to interest the younger set. We neither of us expected Madame Celeste to become all the rage and for her advice to be treated as gospel.’
‘Then you should have desisted.’
She swung on her heel and fixed him with a bitter look.
‘And how would we have eaten?’ she asked.
‘You know what my father has done. You know how irresponsible my mother is. She does not understand the meaning of economy and has convinced herself that Papa will reappear with his pockets overflowing.’ She threw up her hands.
‘Although she is unable to say where this abundance of funds will suddenly appear from. In the meantime, someone has to pay the tradespeople. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, of course, because you have never had to face financial and social ruin. ’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, meaning it, as all the anger drained out of him.
He touched her arm, grasped it loosely and forced her to stop pacing.
She was trembling, either from cold or anger, it was hard for him to tell which.
He slipped his arms from the sleeves of his coat and draped it around her shoulders, not caring if the entire population of his mother’s drawing room was watching them.
He regretted being so judgemental as the truth behind her words struck home.
How was it possible for a mere slip of a girl to rouse him to such heights of anger?
And then to a passionate desire to protect her?
‘Not nearly as sorry as I am. I do hope that young lady did not harm herself too badly.’
‘I don’t suppose she did,’ Reuben replied. ‘Young women do silly things when they find themselves crossed in love and then exaggerate in order to garner sympathy.’
‘Yes well, Madame Celeste will have to hang up her pen now. I cannot have any other cries for help, or worse, on my conscience.’
‘How will you manage?’
Farrah spread her hands. ‘I don’t have the first idea.’
‘Come inside. We can talk privately in my library.’
‘We will be missed,’ Farrah replied, not sounding particularly concerned if they were.
‘I have found some things out about Mrs Armstrong’s late husband that you need to be made aware of.’
Reuben took her hand, which was as cold as ice, and kept it encased within his as he led the way around the terrace and opened a door directly into his library.
The fire had been banked up since Reuben had quit it earlier, and the room was blessedly warm.
Percival rose from his slumbers and offered them a fulsome welcome that implied separation from Reuben for months rather than an hour or two.
The dog made a welcome distraction for Farrah, Reuben sensed. She slipped her hand from his and gave her full attention to Percival for a protracted moment. She then slid his coat from her shoulders and handed it back to him with a nod of thanks.
‘Tell me what you found out,’ she said, seating herself beside the fire and holding out her hands to its warmth.
She looked more composed now and obviously had her emotions under better control.
Even so, Reuben sensed that she had reached the end of her tether, tired of propping up her family while the rest of its members did precisely as they pleased.
Reuben was ashamed of the anger he’d displayed about her role as Madame Celeste and hoped that he had not forfeited her friendship as a consequence.
‘I think John Coachman must have told Freeman about my role as Celeste,’ she said.
‘I trusted him to sometimes deliver my replies to the Society Post, thinking he was loyal and trustworthy. Ha!’ She threw back her head and closed her eyes.
‘Now that I suspect our coachman and steward of being in league, it makes more sense that he would betray my secret. Not that I ever told him outright, but presumably he guessed.’
‘I imagined it must be something of that nature,’ Reuben replied.
‘Freeman must have followed me to our meeting the other day. He assumed he could prevent me from delving too deeply into the estate’s affairs.
How hard would it be for him to fob off an ignorant female with platitudes?
But if he thought you were helping me … well, he could hardly patronise you and hope you’d be satisfied with half-baked explanations.
’ She glanced up at him. ‘Even so, he took an almighty risk sending you that note. It implies a desperate attempt to distance you from my problems.’
‘What did you make of Mrs Armstrong?’ Reuben smiled in an effort to keep the censure from his voice. ‘Presumably you made yourself known to her in spite of my warnings.’
Farrah rolled her eyes. ‘I do not answer to you.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Reuben muttered.
‘She implied that she knew I was Madame Celeste too.’
‘How the devil?’
‘I didn’t get an opportunity to ask, but here’s the thing.’ She opened her eyes wide, looking worried and adorably vulnerable. ‘I said that Papa must have informed her, and she did not deny it, but how could he possibly know?’
‘That is a question we will put to your father when we find him,’ Reuben assured her. ‘But for now, let’s forget about Madame Celeste. We have more pressing matters to discuss.’ Reuben paused. ‘I have learned a great deal since we last met about the late Armstrong and his headstrong wife.’