CHAPTER 13
Desperation spurred Michael on as he arrived at his family’s London townhouse.
He was frantic to see Josie again. To bask in her smile and kiss her lips.
He could kick himself for his stupidity, for all the time he had wasted in Cumberland on a wild goose chase.
He had spent a week—a week!—in the godforsaken place, attempting to catch a glimpse of Josie.
He had tried to call at the house first, an ugly building of gray stone that resembled a fortress.
Only to be told that the family was not in residence.
He hadn’t believed it, of course. Rumors had it that the earl had arrived and was staying at the estate. And he would lay odds that Josie was being kept there as well.
Michael would have lost that wager. After almost a week of staking the house, he had finally been able to bribe one of the maids who had come to the market, and the girl had said that the earl was in residence, but the rest of the family was not.
Now he felt like an idiot. Why had he instantly assumed they had brought her there?
The least he could have done was check the other family properties before haring all the way to Cumberland!
His research had revealed that the earl had a hunting lodge in Scotland and a smaller estate in Lincolnshire.
He did not think she was being kept in Scotland.
That would make it too easy to marry her if he found her.
A quick check on the Lincolnshire property on his way back convinced him she was not there either.
The manor house was smaller and a lot more accessible.
It was easy to discern there was no one living there at the moment.
Which only left London. Why, oh why, had he not checked the London townhouse first?
No matter. Before the day was over, he would see Josie, even if he had to break into the townhouse.
The time for subtleties was past. They could not keep her away from him.
His long strides carried him straight into his father’s study.
As much as he would like to march straight to her family’s townhouse and demand to see her, he knew that would get him nowhere.
He dispatched a note, giving instructions to the footman to ask to deliver it to Lady Josephine and to wait for her reply.
He had shamelessly used his father’s seal to make the note appear as if it had come from the duke himself.
He had to let her know he was back in London and to be ready to elope in the early hours of tomorrow.
They would catch the first train bound for Scotland and would be married before the day was over. He could hardly wait.
But when he finally received a reply, it was not Josephine, but her brother who replied to his missive.
It merely said they needed to talk about his sister and invited the duke to pay a call at his earliest convenience.
That sounded ominous. A chill of dread settled on Michael’s chest. Had something happened to Josie? Was she ill, after all?
No. More likely, her family wished to discuss her engagement to his brother.
By now they had probably realized the betrothal could not stand, and they would wish to apologize and perhaps demand Michael did his duty and marry her.
Especially if Josephine told them they had been intimate.
Would she tell something like that to her family?
He didn’t think it was likely, but it didn’t matter either way.
He would be more than happy to stand by her.
It was what he wanted most in the world.
Unable to wait anymore, he decided to pay a visit straight away. Without even changing from his traveling clothes, he set off on foot for the earl’s townhome.
He was immediately escorted to the study.
But it was her brother who stood from his seat behind the desk at Michael’s entrance, looking surprised to see him.
He had a split lip, a black eye, and he moved with the careful motions of someone who had a few bruised ribs.
“I say, Lord Michael, I did not expect you to be the one to call.”“My father is in the country, and so is my brother. Since I am in London, they asked me to call on Lady Josephine and inquire about her health.” A fib, but at this point, he didn't know how much they knew and he had to play cautiously.“I guess it doesn’t matter. You can relay the message to your father and brother.” Lord Benenden sighed and motioned for Michael to sit. “Have a seat, if you will.”
Relay the message to his father and brother? So maybe Benenden didn’t know it was Michael whom Josephine wanted to marry? What exactly had she told her family? Edginess and foreboding were crawling up his spine. He had no wish to sit and discuss anything with her brother.
“I need to see your sister,” he ground out, barely leashing his impatience.
“It is about my sister that I wish to talk.” Benenden shuffled toward a credenza that held bottles and very deliberately poured himself a drink.
Every muscle in Michael’s body urged him to action, to run up the stairs and search the house until he found Josie, but sanity prevailed.
He would get nowhere by acting like a madman.
“Brandy?”
“No, thank you. Let’s get straight to business. Your family left my father’s estate under distressing circumstances. I wish to see Lady Josephine to reassure myself of her well-being.”
The other man furrowed his brow and made a show of returning to his desk and resuming his seat, contemplating his drink as if the answers to everything were found at the bottom of the glass. His dithering did not reassure Michael in the least.
“I wish I could be sure of my sister’s well-being myself,” Benenden finally said. “Alas, she has made her choice.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Where is she? What happened to her?” Michael was not even aware of stalking toward the desk until he banged a fist on it, upturning a small figurine sitting on top of a stack of papers.
Benenden held his hands up placatingly. “Our family would like to offer our most sincere apologies for any embarrassment caused. We are as distressed as you are at the possibility of scandal. At least her betrothal to your brother had not been formally announced yet, so it should not affect your family much.”
“To hell with scandal!” He was screaming now and did not care. “Tell me this instant what happened to Josephine and where is she or I will jump over this desk and choke it out of you!”
“Jaysus, man, calm down. Don’t know why you are acting as such. This will affect our family much more than yours. My sister has eloped. She ran off with a man. A foreigner.”
“What?” It was all he could utter. His chest had caved in on itself and then dropped to his stomach.
“I’m so sorry. She had met him a time or two during her season and flirted with him, but we thought nothing of it, as she appeared to be happy with her betrothal to your brother. We are absolutely baffled by her choices, I assure you.”
“You are lying. She would not have run off with another man. What have you done with her? Where is she? Answer me, or I swear I will call the police!”
“The police? As distressing as this news is to both our families, there’s no need to involve the police. My sister left of her own free will.”
“That is not possible. She had promised to marry me.”
“You? Surely not! She was betrothed to your brother.”
Something terribly foul was afoot. Benenden was pretending he didn’t know about his sister’s intention to break her engagement.
Michael needed to think, but he could barely breathe.
Josephine was missing. He did not believe for one second she had eloped with another man.
Her brother was lying, God knows with what intent.
Maybe they meant to send her out of the country and force her to marry someone else.
Could they do that? Was that even legal?
He had to consult a barrister. He had to call the police.
“She broke the engagement.” He managed to speak past the knot desperation had lodged in his throat. “She spoke to your parents about that. It was likely the reason they departed the house party so precipitously, before the announcement was made.”
“I assure you that is not the reason. The morning they left the house party, she was indeed ill. Or maybe she just pretended to be, for she recovered quite swiftly as soon as she arrived in London. She never said a word about breaking her engagement. We had no idea she was dissatisfied with the marriage the family had arranged for her until she eloped.”
“I don’t believe you. Who is this man she allegedly eloped with? Where is the proof that she left of her own free will?”
“The man is Pasha of Suez. He has spent quite some time in London this season, as our government is interested in the negotiations taking place for building a canal. My sister met him at a ball, and they danced one dance too many. So we forbid her to see him again.”
“No. This story doesn’t make sense.” This was a nightmare from which he couldn’t wake up. None of this was real. It didn’t make sense. “Why would she promise to marry me if she planned to elope with another?”
“I don’t know. Who can understand my sister? Her choices have baffled all of us. But I promise you it is the truth. The injuries you see I’ve sustained were received while trying to prevent her departure. The pasha’s men attacked me.”
Benenden indeed looked the worse for wear. But still… he could have received those injuries in a fight. That was no proof.
“No,” he denied for what felt like the hundredth time since he had arrived.
“My son speaks the truth.”
Michael swiveled at the sound of the voice to find Josephine’s mother standing on the threshold to the study.
Michael looked at the woman who had birthed Josephine and felt instant dislike.
Her eyes were red and her face haggard, as if she were distressed, but there was a hardness about her mouth that belied her unpleasant nature.
Josephine had told him about her mother’s cold and harsh treatment of her.
Looking at this woman, he could well believe it.
“With all due respect, madam, I am not going to take your word for it.”
“No? Would this be sufficient proof to convince you, then?” The unpleasant woman sneered, holding out a paper.
“My disgraceful daughter left this letter. It is addressed to Lord M. I thought it was for Lord Montfort, her fiancé, but in light of your revelations, it might be meant for you. It does not signify. Either way, she is a harlot and—”
Michael ripped the letter from her hand with such force that it cut off the woman’s tirade.
He unfolded the piece of paper with a hand that, to his infinite shame, was not quite steady.
Recognition hit him as he first identified the paper as a page of Josie’s notebook, and then he beheld Josephine’s elegant hand.
Dear Michael,
It is with a heart full of both sorrow and newfound clarity that I write these words, knowing they may cause you pain. Please forgive me for not delivering them in person; my courage fails me in that, though I know this letter alone must seem a betrayal.
It is not because of any flaw in you that I must say what follows, but rather because I have come to realize that the life you offer, that of an officer’s wife, would not suit me.
The pasha has offered me a world of discovery and learning, unraveling Egypt’s ancient mysteries of perfumery.
He promises to lay such ancient knowledge at my feet and grant me a place in which I might chase my passion freely, crafting scents from exotic flowers and breathing life into my art.
His promises hold for me the allure of a life spent in the pursuit of something that feels like my soul’s true calling.
I hope that, in time, you may forgive me and think of me with warmth and understand why I had to take this path.
With gratitude and fondness,
Josephine
His eyes scanned the note while his mind fought to find a reason to discredit what he was reading.
This could not be real. There was a terrible hoax taking place.
The girl who had laughed and talked with him, who had kissed him with such passion and abandon, who had given herself to him in the ultimate act of love, would not write this.
But the words sounded like something she would have said. Her passion for perfumery came off the page with vivid intensity.
No. It couldn’t be. He needed to retreat and regroup. He couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t breathe. He was a moment away from breaking down in front of these people.
“This is not over,” he rasped as he stumbled to the door.
The walk to his home was a blur. The words on the paper resonated through his brain with the cruelty of whip lashes.
When he got to his room, he searched inside his valise for the vial of perfume and the note she had written with the formula.
The paper. The handwriting. The faint smell that lingered on the parchment, like a ghost of the woman who had written upon it. Everything matched.
The fragrance she had made for him taunted him.
She had given it to him the night she had given him her virginity.
Or had she? He had believed she was a virgin, but there had been no barrier, no blood.
He never thought to question that. It wouldn’t have mattered to him anyway, because he loved her.
But now… the actions of that night took a different significance in his brain.
He wanted to deny it, but it was useless. Yes, Josephine had deserted him. With the abundance of proof, there was no option but to believe it.
Perhaps the more foolish notion had been to believe that a woman like her, made of passion and emotion, one who had heirs to dukedoms and foreign dignitaries at her feet, would settle for a lowly second son whose main commendation was the love he felt for her.
She had left. Breaking his heart and destroying his ability to trust with her betrayal.