Chapter 25
Lavender spun around and made a dash for the house.
She needed to be somewhere to sort through her thoughts.
A romantic garden was certainly not that place.
What she needed was a library. The Gilfordshire library was familiar to Lavender now, but it didn’t feel like the haven she’d experienced at the Duke of Fenleigh’s estate.
Her emotions frayed, she closed the door behind her and allowed herself to crumple at the base of the door.
Her mother would have cut out her tongue if she knew that she’d asked a man to kiss her.
It was yet another way she let her family down—a wallflower ought never ask for attention.
She refused to be disappointed in the way the night had turned.
The chaste kiss that he’d given her forehead had been more intimate than any other interaction she’d had before—Mr. Lanscombe and his ingenuine attentions included.
But she did have to remind herself that this situation was different from her past. Tom was not Mr. Lanscombe.
He was not turning her away because she was only a distraction . . . was he?
No.
She refused to believe that she was a convenient distraction from his work or that Tom’s mind mirrored Mr. Lanscombe’s, the only other man she’d thought she loved before.
But just like before, she’d been the first one to lay her heart on the line.
Tom was far kinder than Mr. Lanscombe, his words gentler, and his dismissal sweeter.
The only difference was that Mr. Lanscombe did have the ability to leave her and move on to greener pastures. Tom though . . . he had to remain here. Did he reject her because he wanted to keep his job or because he truly cared for her? And the worst question of all: did it matter?
Lavender had a duty to her family. She was supposed to be getting married soon. As much as she wished things were different, a lady didn’t marry a servant—it just wasn’t done.
If she did choose to love him anyway, maybe Miriam would allow her to be a maid in her house.
Lavender wasn’t afraid of learning to work.
She loved learning. But she would have to give up her books and trade them for an apron and rags.
She’d always valued her servants, seen the things they did to make her life easier.
But it was easier to notice something than it was to do it herself.
If nothing else, she could use the library to do some research and gain knowledge if she should ever take that leap.
She picked herself up and began perusing the shelves.
She picked out a book on mending and sat in a chair.
She flipped the cover open and stared at the words on the page without seeing them.
If she and Tom married, it would devastate her family.
It might kill her father. Her mother would disown her, and her siblings would be embarrassed by her.
For having been raised all her life to bring peace to those around her, one single choice could bring all their lives into utter chaos.
She sniffed and blinked fast so the tears didn’t fall.
This was why she'd been determined to leave love out of her marriage.
This was the reason she ought to accept Lord Chilcott for what he could offer her.
She could either bring peace to her family or bring peace to herself. It should be an easy choice. She’d always put the needs of others before her own. Lavender was made to live in the background, and she was good at it—most of the time. If only she’d never met Tom Smith, she could be happy.
Her feet beat a hollow steady rhythm as she padded up the stairs to her bedchamber.
She could feel the cloud of sadness drifting over her now that the excitement of telling Tom how she felt was dissipating.
She knew how to make the melancholy leave.
She’d done it a thousand times before. She needed to find a way to be useful.
She couldn’t help Tom, or herself for that matter, but she could help the lost duke.
Perhaps if she freed him from the rumors that made him disappear, she would feel better, needed.
Not only would the man’s name be cleared, she could see if Tom was correct that she and the duke would make a good match.
Until then, she would try to walk a fine line between encouraging Lord Chilcott and avoiding his advances.
A week did nothing to ease Lavender’s aching.
Part of that was her own doing. She’d refused to avoid the garden in the evenings.
But Tom was distant, if not physically, at least emotionally.
He avoided conversation, refusing to answer questions about Lord Fenleigh, and their evenings had become shorter and shorter.
Each meeting added weight to her weary heart.
Tonight though, they were finally attending the long-awaited dinner at Lord Chilcott’s townhouse. Lavender was determined to find some answers to the mystery of the lost duke. If she got the opportunity to snoop around as she hoped to, she would take it.
Lavender set her hand over her stomach to settle the nervousness niggling about inside of her as their carriage pulled up to Lord Chilcott’s address.
“Take courage, Lady Lavender,” the dowager put a hand on Lavender’s shoulder. “You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
The elderly woman’s words bolstered Lavender just at the right moment.
The door of the carriage swung open, and a footman not half so handsome as Tom helped her descend.
She found herself gathered in the entryway as Lord Chilcott descended the stairs, reminding Lavender of the young ladies presenting themselves at court.
His exaggerated entry made Lavender want to laugh, but she was certain it wouldn’t be appreciated.
Instead, she adjusted her long gloves and pasted a small smile on her face.
“Welcome,” Lord Chilcott said as he swept his arm out to the side. “I am so glad you were able to join me tonight.” He held out his elbow for Lavender to take.
She did so. “Thank you for the invitation. It is lovely to see your home once again.” She remembered how quickly she’d tried to escape this place after her encounter with him in his library, but she pushed the thoughts away.
Her goal tonight was to overstay, not to leave early.
They needed him to let down his guard and talk.
Dinner was six courses. It was likely that the food was quite good, but Lavender hardly tasted hers.
She had a difficult enough time keeping her attention on the conversation around her to notice the food.
Before she knew it, she and Miriam and the dowager duchess were following a footman to the drawing room so the men could take their port.
Before the footman left them, Miriam cleared her throat. “Pardon me, would you mind showing me to the powder room?”
“Of course,” the footman bowed. “Follow me.”
Lavender helped the dowager to a seat and then positioned herself to the side of the drawing room, hoping the servant that went with Miriam would forget about her.
After a couple minutes and without anyone else returning to check on her wellbeing, Lavender glanced out the doorframe into the short corridor.
“Be quick, child,” the dowager encouraged her.
Knowing there wasn’t time to waste, Lavender walked across the hall and let herself into what looked to be a study.
She poked around the desk that sat against the far wall and tested the drawers.
She ignored the ones that opened freely.
Lord Chilcott may have a misguided moral compass, but the man was not stupid.
She came to a locked drawer on the left side of the desk near the bottom.
This could be a potential place he would hide important papers.
But where would he keep the key? Most likely it was hidden in the room somewhere for easy access when he wanted to open the drawer.
Her eyes roamed over the room slowly. Where would she hide a key?
Probably in a book. However, the only books she could see in this room were past account ledgers.
Her eyes fell on the desk again. There was one book on top of it.
She fingered the new binding before picking it up.
She had to walk toward the window for extra light to make out the title. It was a collection of poetry.
Lavender’s breath hitched. Could Lord Chilcott have decided to read poetry after their conversation when she’d all but told him he was a liar?
She’d hoped that disaster of an outing had made an impression on him, but she didn’t expect him to do something like this.
No, that wasn’t precisely true. She expected him to tell her all about it if he did.
He did nothing if not for public acclaim.
She cracked the book open and almost forgot why she was there.
It was simply poetry—no key. She replaced the book where she’d found it on the desk.
She felt guilty, snooping around as she was, but taking a slow turn about the room, Lavender looked for anything that might give her a clue to the key’s whereabouts.
Nothing seemed to stick out at her. She ran her hand along surfaces that could potentially hold a key, but after a couple more minutes, she gave up her search.
It wasn’t worth risking being found out so soon in the evening.
She slipped back into the corridor just as Miriam walked around the corner.
Miriam covered her mouth with her hands and spun back around. “Forgive me, I think I left something,” she said to the footman who must have been leading her about the house.
Lavender made her way swiftly back into the drawing room. The dowager duchess sat in front of her and winked, then she closed her eyes, and Lavender was amazed by her ability to feign sleep.
“I do wish I had better news for you, Your Grace,” Lavender whispered, but the dowager didn’t stir.