Confessions of an Improper Bride, page 25
Aunt Geraldine gave a frustrated, “Humph.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned to pace the room as everyone else watched her. Serena allowed her smile to curl the edges of her lips.
Jonathan had won.
While Phoebe and Sebastian remained in Prescot to honeymoon until autumn, at which time Sebastian would begin the work on Jonathan’s estate, Serena and Jonathan returned to London with Aunt Geraldine.
In the carriage, Aunt Geraldine explained how she had come to know they were in Prescot. When Phoebe had left London in the carriage claiming to be headed to Bath, Aunt Geraldine had engaged a footman to follow her. The man had returned a few days later, bearing the news that Phoebe wasn’t in Bath but in Prescot with a young rogue named Sebastian Harper. Without causing a scandal by telling anyone, and with Serena too far away to contact, Aunt Geraldine had decided to pursue them on her own.
“I’ve not the endurance for traveling I had when I was young,” she sniffed. “I can only manage a few hours in a carriage every day.” Still, due to Phoebe’s pregnancy, Serena was certain that the end result would have been the same even if her aunt had arrived days earlier.
Dividing their time between the carriage and traveling inns with Aunt Geraldine, neither Serena nor Jonathan had an opportunity to discuss their future. Which was perfectly fine with Serena, because it gave her time to contemplate it on her own.
Regardless of the situation with Jonathan, Serena could no longer lie to Will. No matter what the future held, she needed to tell Will the truth. She needed to break the engagement and sever their connection once and for all. She couldn’t be the wife Will wanted and deserved. She could never be Meg. And, most important, Meg wouldn’t want this for either of them.
She would ask for Will’s forgiveness, for his understanding, but she wouldn’t blame him if he hated her. She’d accept that, and she’d accept with her head held high any public scorn and scandal that resulted from his anger.
Serena couldn’t entirely predict what the next few days held for her, so as the carriage ate the miles between Prescot and London, a lump of trepidation grew solid within her. But a glimmer of hope softened that fear—a hope that she and Jonathan would somehow find a way to be together.
At least Phoebe was happy and had been properly settled. After days of witnessing the relationship between her sister and Sebastian, Serena knew they possessed a powerful admiration for each other. She could only hope that it lasted. Further, Serena had no doubt that even if things didn’t work out between herself and Jonathan, he’d look after Phoebe and make sure she was well cared for.
“The final moments of our journey,” Jonathan murmured under his breath as they negotiated the traffic leading toward St. James’s Square, four long days after they’d left Prescot.
“Indeed.” Serena glanced at her aunt who was dozing on a silk-covered pillow she’d placed against her window.
“Was it a successful one, would you say?”
She smiled at him. So much was still undecided. They were plunging back in the mire that was London, and she still had no firm idea as to how she was going to claw her way out of it.
“I think,” she finally said, “Phoebe and Mr. Harper are ideal for each other, in spite of their relative youth.” The disparity in their social ranks? Meaningless, as far as Serena was concerned. It had always been meaningless to her, she realized; she had merely been acquiescing to society’s expectations. She regretted that now. She should have trusted Phoebe, seen at once the strong attraction shared between her younger sister and Sebastian.
They turned the corner onto St. James’s Square.
“Aunt Geraldine,” Serena said in a low voice, gently touching her aunt’s shoulder.
Aunt Geraldine popped out of sleep with a jolt. “Eh?”
“We’re home,” Serena explained.
Aunt Geraldine blinked, then patted the wisps of hair that had escaped her coiffure and searched around for her reticule, which had fallen on the floor. Serena handed the small bag to her aunt.
The carriage drew to a halt, and the three of them withdrew, twisting their backs and stretching from the long drive as the servants rushed forward to help with luggage.
At the sound of a high-pitched cry, Serena looked toward Jonathan’s house.
A brown-haired little boy, perhaps six years old, ran toward them, his arms outstretched, crying, “Oh, sir, it’s been so long since you’ve come to see us. Where have you been?”
He trundled across the drive, headed straight for Jonathan. Everyone froze. Even Jonathan stood there, statue still, as the boy rammed into his legs and threw his arms around him.
Again, Serena looked toward Jonathan’s house. A beautiful, dark-haired woman hurried toward them, hands twisting, voicing some apology Serena hardly heard.
She glanced back at Jonathan. His eyes were riveted to the child. Sensing this, the boy looked up at him, a questioning expression in his blue eyes.
Serena took a stumbling step backward. Jonathan’s child. The rumors were true, then, and he had lied to her. This was his son.
Jonathan’s son.
And that beautiful woman—Serena jerked her gaze toward the lady once again—was the mother of Jonathan’s son. The woman was obviously a lady—Serena could tell instantly from her bearing, her dress, even from her expression.
A hand clamped down over Serena’s wrist. As if through a fog, Serena turned her head to see her aunt standing beside her, her square jaw so tight it looked as though it might snap.
“Eliza,” Jonathan said, furrowing his brow and smoothing his hand over the boy’s dark head, “what has happened? Is something wrong?”
“I’m so very sorry, Jonathan. I know you told me I mustn’t come here. I didn’t mean to—”
Eliza. Jonathan. They were on a first-name basis. Well, it should be obvious, Serena supposed, since the woman had borne his child. Eliza’s accent was pure and aristocratic.
But if she were truly a lady, why hadn’t Jonathan married her?
Aunt Geraldine’s fingers tightened over Serena’s wrist. “We are going inside,” she said stiffly.
Serena had thought she and Jonathan had been candid with each other. He’d promised to be honest with her, he’d told her he had no children, and yet there was this boy, this child. His.
It all came crashing down. He’d built her a house of cards, and now it tumbled into ruins all around her. If he had lied about this, he could’ve lied about anything. Her logical mind—it had been right all along. She never should have believed a word he’d said to her.
Eliza had reached them, a flush washed over her delicate, aristocratic cheeks. She curtsied toward Aunt Geraldine and Serena. “Please forgive me. I’m so very sorry for the interruption.”
Aunt Geraldine wouldn’t even look toward the lady. Instead, she tugged on Serena’s arm again. “Come along, Meg.”
Jonathan didn’t seem angry to see his mistress and her child, only perplexed and concerned. Casting what looked like a guilty look at Serena, he wrapped his arm around the little boy, who smiled up at him. Obviously the child knew him well and they were fond of each other.
No, he hadn’t changed, after all. Moisture stung at Serena’s eyes as she turned away.
What else was there to do but go inside? She was an intruder to this familial scene. Numbly, Serena followed her aunt, leaving the awkwardness of the reuniting family behind her. She caught one last glimpse of them as the door closed behind her. Jonathan wasn’t looking after her. Instead, Eliza was grasping his hand, and he leaned toward her, his blond head contrasting with her dark curls in the sunlight as he spoke to her in low, gentle tones.
Chapter Nineteen
In no time at all, the scandal of Phoebe’s marriage to Sebastian Harper became the talk of London.
Serena retold the event in a flippant manner, waving her hand as if to say that young people did what young people did. She relayed the story as if they were a group of people having fun—irreverent and scandalous without being overtly shameful.
Aunt Geraldine still did not approve of Sebastian, but there was nothing that could be done about that now. It was far too late for her disapproval. When Mother received word, she’d be scandalized and furious, but again, it was too late.
Then there was Jonathan. After Serena had left him on the street the afternoon of her return, he had disappeared from London and she hadn’t seen him in the three days since.
If he had wanted to allay her fears, then he’d have said something, done something, by now. Yet he had made no effort to see Serena. He had serious business to attend to. Business that had nothing to do with her.
She’d seen the way he’d looked at that little boy and that lovely woman, Eliza. She’d observed the tenderness in his expression. He cared for both mother and child. It hurt to remember the little boy’s worshipful expression when he looked up at Jonathan.
The only person who was there for Serena—her constant support and her stability—was Will. He’d come as soon as he heard she’d returned home from Bath, full of disgust at himself for not having been there to be of any help with Phoebe and Sebastian.
She hadn’t been able to tell him the truth that day, or in the days since. She was searching for a time when they were alone, when she could speak freely to him. Yet Serena knew that each day she delayed made things worse for everyone involved, and every day that passed was one day closer to the wedding date, now only a little over two weeks away.
Jonathan’s lies and subsequent disappearance didn’t make it right for her to continue deceiving Will. It was no longer enough to continue the ruse for her mother and two remaining unmarried sisters. Serena knew that her decision to tell Will the truth would result in consequences—dire consequences, at that. But there was no other choice her conscience would allow her to make.
Earlier this evening, Will and Serena had dined with Aunt Geraldine. They’d eaten roasted beef in pleasant companionship, talking about Will’s business in trade, his hopes to redecorate his London town house, his intention for them to travel to his house in Northumberland later in the year.
It was easy; it was peaceful—or, at least it would have been if Serena weren’t so tied up in knots about her plans.
Aunt Geraldine retired shortly after dinner, leaving Serena and Will alone in the drawing room. Apprehension thrummed along Serena’s nerves, bunching her muscles tight. Tonight would be the night. She must be brave enough to tell Will the truth. Tell him that they couldn’t stay together. Couldn’t go through with this marriage.
They’d sat for some time in silence when Will, rotating his glass of port in his hands, looked up beyond the rim at her. “Why, Meg?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you allow them to go through with it?”
“Who?”
“Harper and your sister.”
Will’s disapproval of Sebastian hadn’t softened with his marriage to Phoebe. Until now, Will had said nothing, but Serena had felt it in him—that solid stiffness of disapproval that lurked just beneath the surface of his outward calm.
“Well…” Her voice dwindled. How to begin? How to explain how Sebastian and Phoebe reminded her so much of Jonathan and herself six years ago, but even better? Stronger? Sebastian Harper, she supposed, had grown into maturity more quickly and more solidly than Jonathan ever had.
“You know they’re wrong for each other.”
“Not at all,” Serena said. “On the contrary, I feel they’re quite a perfect fit.”
Will frowned into his glass. “How can you say that?”
“They love each other.”
He gave a low scoff. “What does that matter in the face of such a mismatch?”
“But why must you keep insisting they’re mismatched?”
“She’s a lovely girl. If she played her cards to her advantage, she could have had her pick from the young bucks of the ton. She could have chosen someone rich, titled, someone with morals. Instead, she chose a scoundrel of low birth.”
Serena went stiff all over. “I don’t believe he’s such a scoundrel. Not anymore.”
“He’s an upstart who enjoys pretending to be something he’s not. At this moment, he’s probably congratulating himself on his great coup at winning your sister.”
Serena clenched her teeth, bemused by her protective instincts, which now, apparently, had grown to include her new brother-in-law. “I don’t think so, Will. She had no dowry, remember?”
Will stared at her. “She is in possession of a far superior bloodline than he has.”
“Why on earth should that matter? They’re not horses.”
He ignored the horse comment. “It matters a great deal. Without rank, where would our civilization be?”
“Perhaps you are too deeply enmeshed in the hierarchical systems of our military and our society.”
She shouldn’t have said that. Or maybe she should have. She’d bitten her tongue too often in Will’s presence.
Will hesitated, then set his port on the side table. “Perhaps I am.” Slowly, stiffly, he rose. “I should take my leave. The hour is late.”
She glanced at the mantel clock. He was right—it was after midnight. Yet it was time for him to know the truth. She rose, too, and set a placating hand on his arm. “Please stay, Will. For a little while longer. There’s something I… well, there’s something I must tell you.”
He hesitated. She could practically see him debating with himself whether to stay.
She was petrified of the truth. Afraid of what it would bring her. Her future in Antigua loomed before her, harsh and lonely. Even though Jonathan had shattered all her hope about a future with him in one fell swoop, her decisions regarding Will hadn’t changed. No matter how dismal her future would be in Antigua, she could never marry him. She was a fool to think she could have succeeded in playing Meg to him for the rest of her life.
“We’ve that afternoon meeting with the draper tomorrow,” Will said. “We could speak then, perhaps.”
The draper. Will was redecorating his house with her in mind. With their marriage in mind.
“Please.” She tried not to flinch, hating the sound of dread in her voice. “I must speak with you now, Will. It’s important.”
Will studied her closely. Then, with a tight nod, he lowered himself onto his chair.
“Very well.” His quiet voice had seemed to take on some of the dread her own had held.
They stared at each other. Will looked beautiful tonight, in a black and gray pin-striped tailcoat, gray trousers, and a crisp white cravat. But his beauty, unlike Jonathan’s, did nothing to prickle her flesh and turn her insides molten.
He cleared his throat and spoke softly. “I want you to be comfortable, Meg. With me. Always.”
Will Langley, ever the gentleman. For some reason, her eyes stung, and she blinked hard, remembering the feeling that had swirled through her when she’d watched Jonathan with his son. She was certain she’d never feel comfortable with Jonathan again.
Perhaps she’d never feel comfortable with anyone. Perhaps she was destined to be alone.
She pushed those dismal thoughts aside and swallowed hard. “You don’t have any children, do you, Will?”
That was an impertinent question beyond any other—she realized that right away. He stared at her, frozen, and she instantly flushed. “I’m sorry.”
Will’s Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “You were the first woman I ever…” He cleared his throat, hesitating, but he’d made his meaning clear enough.
The truth sucked the air from Serena’s lungs. She stared at him, mouth agape.
This couldn’t be! Will and Meg had made love? When? How? Sweet, wholesome Meg, and honorable, gentle Will? How was it possible?
“Oh, Lord,” she murmured, hardly knowing what she said. Her face was on fire.
He and Meg had had carnal relations. And she’d behaved like such a fake innocent with him, making assumptions that were entirely untrue. What on earth did he think of her odd reactions to his advances?
“I wanted to wait for you,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “For us to be together again. I couldn’t bring myself to want anyone else.”
“Oh, Will.”
Still not looking at her, he winced. “And yet…” Serena stopped breathing altogether as he met her gaze. “I have an idea what it is you wish to tell me.”
He reached forward, took up his port, and drained his glass. Serena didn’t move for fear of betraying her own emotions.
Finally, he looked up at her. “You’re not Meg.”
Serena went still all over. “No.”
His eyes turned glassy. “You’re Serena. Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. A part of her registered that he’d said the words for her, made it easier on her, but the rest of her cringed in wretched shame.
“Is Meg…?”
“Yes.” Serena nodded and swallowed hard. “She was lost at sea.”
Will looked down at his knees. After a long, loud silence, he spoke in a soft voice. “I always knew. I didn’t want to believe it. At first, I wondered why things had changed. It was more than the changes wrought by time and tragedy, though I tried to convince myself it wasn’t. I struggled against the truth of it, but it was there, staring me in the face, ever since I kissed you in Hyde Park.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“I’ve buried myself in work, even when it wasn’t necessary, so I could avoid you. Avoid what I knew was the truth.”
“Why didn’t you confront me the minute you suspected?”
“A part of me didn’t want to know… didn’t want to hear that Meg…” Pressing his lips together, he looked away, seemingly unable to continue.
“That Meg is gone,” Serena finished for him.
“Yes.”
