Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
“So you see the predicament I’m in. Sarah and Joshua must have somewhere to go, and I must return the fortune to my uncle’s daughter. It is all right, of course. I shall be all right. I am only unclear as to what to do for Joshua and Sarah.”
If I were not so horrified and still a bit numb, I would have cried at the words I’d just spoken to Lady Derringer and Lord Brookhaven, for both of them were at home, and they both received me in Lord Brookhaven’s drawing room.
The situation was humiliating. No doubt I would groan enough over it when I was back in Milford, just a poor spinster schoolteacher, remembering the weeks I’d spent in London as a wealthy heiress.
A pity I hadn’t accepted one of the marriage proposals I’d so quickly rejected. It was a joke I repeated to myself. The irony was quite amusing—or would be, if I could feel anything.
But why was Lord Brookhaven looking as if all the blood had drained from his face? Was he so appalled that I should lose my fortune and be penniless once again?
“Yes, we must think what to do.” Lady Derringer herself seemed quite alarmed as she stared pointedly at her nephew.
“That blackguard.” Lord Brookhaven’s voice was low but vicious.
“Who?” I asked.
I could see the muscles twitching in his jawline. But he remained silent.
“It wasn’t my uncle’s fault. He was trying to find his daughter,” I said. “But according to Mr. Sullivan, she intentionally misled him to believe that she was dead.”
“That woman is not the rightful heir,” Lord Brookhaven said.
“But Mr. Sullivan said he investigated her claims and that she is—”
“She is not the daughter of your uncle.”
“How do you know that?”
Lord Brookhaven spoke slowly but steadily. “I know it because you have no uncle.”
“What do you mean? John Robert Robbins was my uncle.”
“No.”
Lady Derringer raised her brows at Lord Brookhaven, but he ignored her and looked me in the eye.
“You cannot give that woman your fortune because she isn’t your uncle’s daughter. And she isn’t your uncle’s daughter because your uncle never existed. I invented him. The fifty thousand pounds . . . actually came from me.”
I studied Lord Brookhaven. Had he gone mad?
“What about Mr. Sullivan? What—?”
“Mr. Sullivan was acting on my behalf when he gave you the money. But now he is only trying to take advantage of your good nature to get the fifty thousand pounds for himself. He may give the woman a small fee, but . . . I never should have trusted him for this task.”
“I don’t understand. The money came from you? You gave me fifty thousand pounds?”
“I did.”
“But . . .” It made no sense. “Why?”
He looked at his aunt. “Now you can say you told me so.”
I stood up. I was confused, but I was angry too. “Were you making sport of me? Playing a game with my life?
“Never. I never . . .” Lord Brookhaven said. “Let me explain.”
I wanted to hear his explanation, to understand how this made any sense, but at the same time, I could feel the flood of tears starting to sting my eyes. I turned and hurried from the room.
As I entered the hall, Lord Brookhaven caught me by the arm.
I kept my back to him while I wiped my face. I said, “Explain.”
“I wanted . . . I wanted you to know what it was like to have a fortune of your own. I wanted you to be able to choose for yourself, to enjoy having the wherewithal to experience life in society. You had so few choices in life, and I wanted to give you that.”
“But why? Was this some kind of . . . twisted entertainment? To see what I would do? To see what would happen?”
“No, not at all. I—”
“And why, pray tell? What would you have done if I had accepted Mr. Welton’s marriage proposal, or Mr. Merritt’s?
Would you have sent Mr. Sullivan to me with a woman you had hired and told me that the rightful heir had just shown up?
So that you could demand the fortune be returned to you and see if my fiancé would marry me anyway? Was that the plan?”
“No, of course not.”
“There is no ‘of course not,’ for I never would have believed you capable of deceiving me with a fake uncle and a fake inheritance.”
“The money was yours. You could do whatever you wished with it. I never planned to take it back. You weren’t supposed to ever find out it came from me.”
“I see.”
I did not see.
“So you just gave me a fortune for no reason. You created a grand, elaborate scheme to give away a huge sum of money, and for what reason? I cannot imagine. How would you explain it? How?”
I was nearly hysterical, and I knew it was unbecoming, which was why I kept my face turned partially away from him and didn’t look him in the eye. But he stepped in front of me.
“I am sorry if this has hurt you, but—”
“No, you are not allowed to say ‘if this has hurt you.’ You have no right.” I was sobbing now. I felt embarrassed, but more than that, I felt manipulated and deceived.
He just stood there like a fish that had been caught and dragged onto dry land.
I pointed my finger at his face, not caring how rude it was. “I will return the fortune to you, every farthing. I am no one’s plaything.”
I stomped out the front door and walked home as fast as I could, my thoughts going every possible direction, feeling as if nothing made sense.
Nothing. But now I knew that the large inheritance that I’d had such difficulty believing was real .
. . wasn’t. And my hope of making a love match felt impossible now.
And worst of all, I’d promised to keep Joshua and Sarah safe, and I could no longer keep that promise.
I couldn’t possibly keep Lord Brookhaven’s fifty thousand pounds. Why had he given me that fortune, why? At his own expense and the expense of his own heirs? He’d shown so little interest in me that I’d given up hope of him asking me to marry him.
That’s not true. I knew deep down that was, in part, why I had rejected Mr. Welton, Mr. Merritt, and Lord Markeley. I’d been hoping that Lord Brookhaven might love me. I’d flirted and danced with other men, but he was the one I was thinking of.
And now I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing him again.
Finally, I reached my own door—although it wouldn’t be my door for much longer. I stepped inside and raced up the stairs to my room to cry in peace.
Over and over in my head came the words, No one will love me now. And, What will become of Joshua and Sarah, after I promised to give them a home?
This was an unmitigated disaster. What had he been thinking, giving her that fortune?
William paced back and forth in the drawing room, Lady Derringer looking on.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I did tell you something like this would happen.”
The only thing saving Lady Derringer’s life right now was that she looked distraught, because if she’d looked snide or triumphant . . .
“Not helpful,” he said.
Lady Derringer sighed. “Well, there is only one thing to do.”
He glared at her. He would not ask. Even though he secretly hoped she would tell him, since he didn’t trust his own judgment, nor did he have any ideas.
“You must court her.”
“Court her?” What hope did he have now of ever winning her heart? She must hate him. She was so angry with him, and rightly so.
“Yes. That is, if you want a woman who is full of Christian charity and compassion for the poor, a lady who has refused the marriage proposals of gentlemen simply because she didn’t love them and they weren’t in love with her.
She hasn’t squandered her fortune—your fortune—and if you don’t want to lose her, you had better show her that you can give her what she wants. ”
“And what does she want?” It was irritating to hear Lady Derringer sounding so certain of what he wasn’t certain of at all.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No.”
“She wants love, William.”
He thought about her face just minutes ago. Her voice, how distraught she had been. Her tears. What a despicable man he was to cause her such pain. He thought he was giving her choices, but what she wanted was love.
“Can you give her that?” Lady Derringer asked.
Could he? He could give her money and status, but .
. . he’d thought he was incapable of loving anyone again after Letitia had run off with the marquess.
He’d been in so much pain. And he felt such humiliation, his pride injured for all to see.
How could he have been so mistaken in her character, in her love for him?
She hadn’t loved him at all, but he’d been convinced she did.
He was sure she was the pure, guileless, worthy girl she seemed to be.
And though he couldn’t admit it, he was afraid of being fooled again.
He could not, would not be fooled again.
But how foolish would he look now, for people would surely hear of his elaborate ruse to give Miss Robbins fifty thousand pounds?
Lady Derringer had warned him.
“Well? Can you?” Lady Derringer was waiting for an answer.
He was glad he hadn’t confided in anyone else but his aunt, and he might as well continue to be honest with her. “I don’t know if I can love her as she deserves, but I do love her. I just don’t think . . .” He fell silent.
“What will you do now?” Lady Derringer asked.
“I’ll write her a letter.”
She raised her brows. “I hope you make it a good one.”
“I don’t know if she will ever forgive me for deceiving her.”
“I suppose this just proves that it wasn’t money she wanted.” Lady Derringer tilted her head, a cocky tone in her voice.
He went to his room, took out paper, pen, and ink, and started to write.
Before he could get more than a sentence written on his letter, a note arrived from Charlotte Robbins.
Lord Brookhaven,
Please advise me on how I can transfer the balance from my account to yours, as I do not trust my ‘solicitor’ Mr. Sullivan.
Miss Robbins
His heart sank. For some reason, the fact that she didn’t sign her first name to the note made his heart feel as heavy as a stone.
Lady Derringer was right. This proved that it hadn’t been money that she wanted, and it proved she had enough integrity to not accept his money.
Charlotte Robbins was not like other young ladies, the ones he’d known his whole life.
She’d listened to him and said things he hadn’t even known he’d been longing to hear.
She’d been intelligent, intuitive, and thoughtful.
She was a competent and capable teacher when she was with Samuel and Annabelle, but also was kind and enabled them to play and be children in a way he hadn’t fully understood they needed.
He’d enjoyed her companionship, looking forward to talking with her every day on his walks.
He felt compelled to understand her, but he also wanted his friends and the rest of society to accept her, which was why he decided to have a house party and invite her.
Perhaps he also wanted to see how she would conduct herself, but what he’d found was that his friends had conducted themselves very poorly, while Charlotte Robbins had been everything he could have wanted.
Why hadn’t he just told her he loved her and wanted to marry her? But he was afraid of being that vulnerable, especially now when she was so angry with him.
But he needed to write the letter quickly, as he had to go and deal with Mr. Sullivan before much more time had passed, so he wrote the letter and took it to her house on the way.
Mr. Sullivan was no doubt packing as many of his belongings as he could carry to take with him to France or Italy or wherever he was fleeing to.