Brides of London: Regency Romance Collection Page 42

  “Please, Miss Smallwood, I beg of you.” Miss Martin’s voice was filled with desperation and she practically flung herself at Louisa’s feet, making Louisa start with surprise. This was not the Miss Martin she knew. This was not the lady who had been so sharp and so direct with her, almost from the very start of their acquaintance. Why now did she seem so upset?

  “I did not tell you the truth about Lord Williamson, Miss Smallwood—Louisa,” Miss Martin began, sounding more and more desperate as she spoke. “I confess that I did so for my own ends, as a way to punish Lord Williamson. I believe he deserved it, but it was not until last evening, when I saw the look on your face as you heard Lord Montague tell you of the rumors, that I realized just how much you have come to care for him.” She pressed a hand to her eyes and drew in a ragged breath. “I believe I understand everything now.”

  Louisa drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening as she stared at Miss Martin. “Do you mean to say that it has been you who has been treating Lord Williamson in such a cruel fashion?” she asked, one hand pressed against her thundering heart. “You have been spreading lies?”

  “No, no,” Miss Martin protested weakly. “No, I have not had anything to do with Lady Burton, nor the bet, nor even the stories that now meet our ears about his time in the bawdy house.” Wincing, she looked away, her skirts still billowed about her on the floor as she sat by Louisa’s feet. “I told you that Miss McBride was broken-hearted over Lord Williamson and that he had treated her ill. That was not the truth.”

  Louisa shook her head, her confusion growing all the more. “Then why did you say such a thing?” she asked sorrowfully. “Why did you try to push me from him?”

  Miss Martin closed her eyes, her throat working as if she were trying to hold back tears. “I wish to tell you everything, Miss Smallwood, but it would be best spoken of in front of Lord Williamson. You will have questions, I know, and he will be able to answer some better than I.”

  Louisa stared down at her companion, not understanding in the least anything that Miss Martin spoke of. It was evident now that Miss Martin and Lord Williamson had been previously acquainted, but what Miss Martin held against him, she had not even the slightest notion. It was clearly something that had caused her companion great anger and distress, but it was not a good enough reason to have told Louisa such lies about him.

  “He cares deeply for you, Louisa,” Miss Martin finished, slowly getting to her feet and brushing down her skirts. “I did not think that such a thing would be possible, but it seems that it is so. He wants to marry you, I believe.”

  Again, Louisa drew in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as she looked up at Miss Martin’s pale face.

  “He regrets not speaking to your father sooner,” Miss Martin continued, her head low and her voice dull. “I know that he will make you an excellent husband, Miss Smallwood, if you would only think of accepting him.”

  “How can I?” Louisa whispered, struggling to find her voice. “How can I when he is so covered with the lies and the rumors that all of the ton now speak of? My father will not stand for it.”

  “All will become clear, I am quite certain,” Miss Martin replied, finally looking back at Louisa and trying, it seemed, to smile. “He will be able to explain things to your father and I, too, shall do my part if it is required.”

  Louisa did not know what to say, for there was such a change in Miss Martin’s demeanor that she was quite overcome. Miss Martin was now dabbing tears from her eyes, her breathing ragged as she tried to regain some sense of composure. A slight pang of sympathy forced its way into Louisa’s heart, even though she did not want it there, did not want to feel any compassion for Miss Martin whatsoever, but it still lingered there regardless. Closing her eyes, Louisa leaned forward in her chair and pressed her hands to her eyes, her elbows resting on her knees. What was she to do? Either she could refuse to call upon Lord Williamson and, therefore, set herself towards her future with Sir Walton and all the sorrow that would bring, or she could attempt to find a little of her courage once more and go to speak to Lord Williamson, in the hope it would bring her some fresh understanding that might, in the end, bring a good deal of happiness with it.

  It was not a choice that she had any difficulty making.

  “Despite my reservations and my deep confusion, I shall go with you to call upon Lord Williamson,” she said slowly, seeing Miss Martin’s eyes flare wide. “I shall not speak to my father either, until this matter has been resolved.” An apology was on the tip of her tongue, but the words seemed to stick to her lips, forcing her to speak carefully. “And,” she added, forcing the words out, “I am sorry that I spoke harshly to you, Miss Martin.” The sentiment did not come easily to her, but she said it nonetheless, aware that in threatening to terminate Miss Martin’s employment and refuse her a decent reference, she had been overly harsh.

  “You need not apologize, Miss Smallwood,” Miss Martin replied, her eyes still glassy. “Once you discover the truth in all its entirety, I am quite certain that you will regret apologizing to me.”

  “I doubt it,” Louisa replied as firmly as she could despite her own personal misgivings. “Despite what has occurred and what may yet occur, I ought not to have said such things. Upon reflection, Miss Martin, it may have been wise, however, for you to speak to me openly about whatever it is that has now presented itself.”

  She wanted to say more, wanted to give voice to the annoyance and the confusion that was roiling around inside her, but wisely chose not to. It was clear that Miss Martin was visibly distressed and to say more would only add to the lady’s difficulties. “I should prepare myself. If you will excuse me, I will not be long.” Rising to her feet and feeling a slight trembling taking a hold of her, Louisa moved quickly towards the door. Could it be true that Lord Williamson sought to make her his wife? That in itself was something of a weighty matter, given that she felt so uncertain about the gentleman himself, but Louisa had to admit that there was a rush of pleasure that came with that thought. Hurrying up to her room to change and ensure she looked her very best, Louisa tried her best to quieten her fractious thoughts. There was no reason to linger on what might be or what could be, not when she did not know the truth in all its entirety. She had to wait until she was, once more, in Lord Williamson’s presence.

  Louisa’s nervousness began to grow steadily as she sat down in front of her dressing table, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were a little flushed, her eyes holding both hope and doubt in equal measure. Just what was Lord Williamson going to say? And what would she herself do, once she knew the truth?

  “Miss Smallwood.”

  Louisa held her breath as Lord Williamson turned from where he had been standing by the window, tension swirling all through her as she tried to hold his gaze.

  A gasp slipped from her mouth as she looked into his eyes and saw the large, dark bruise that bloomed from one side of his forehead, reaching out towards his eye. It looked fresh and new, and for one horrible moment, Louisa thought the bruise must have come from the night he had supposedly spent at the bawdy house.

  “I was set upon last evening, at the ball,” Lord Williamson said quickly, reaching for her hand and taking it in his. Louisa blinked rapidly, not quite certain what she should say or do, looking at the bruise and wincing at the severity of it.

  “I foolishly threw my head back a little too hard against the wall,” Lord Williamson continued, by way of explanation. “Battling the pain, another gentleman slammed something into the side of my head. I was knocked to the floor.”

  “Goodness,” Louisa whispered, feeling herself sway just a little with the shock of what she had heard. “Why would someone do such a thing?” Forcing her eyes away from the bruise, she looked into Lord Williamson’s eyes and saw him shake his head, his gaze lowering to the floor.

  “I do not know,” he answered softly. “The fellow muttered that he was to take from me what I had taken from him, that he was to deny me what I had denied
him, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head again. “As yet, I have no knowledge as to who such a person might be.”

  Louisa swallowed hard and then, after a moment, tugged her hand carefully out of Lord Williamson’s grasp. There was still a good deal she did not understand and the last thing she wanted was to lose her focus. Lord Williamson, evidently realizing what she intended, cleared his throat and, with a tight smile, gestured for her to sit down. Louisa made to do so, only for the door behind her to slam itself hard against the wall as another gentleman flung it back and strode into the room.

  “Good gracious!” the fellow exclaimed, hurrying towards Lord Williamson. “I must apologize, old chap! I did not hear of what had occurred until this morning. Why did you not come and find me in the melee? I would have come to your aid at once.”

  Louisa blinked in surprise, realizing that the gentleman in question was Lord Townend, to whom she had been introduced before.

  “Townend,” Lord Williamson replied, his voice rather quiet although holding a good deal of mirth. “I do have guests.”

  “Oh.” Lord Townend turned around at once, his face flushed with color as he noticed both Louisa and Miss Martin who, as yet, had not said a word. For whatever reason, his gaze lingered on Miss Martin for a moment or two longer, although Louisa noticed that Miss Martin looked away almost immediately. It was, mayhap, merely that Lord Townend was surprised to see Miss Martin sitting here in Lord Williamson’s house when, no doubt, he was very well aware of the lady’s apparent dislike of Lord Williamson.

  “All the same, it is good that you have arrived,” Lord Williamson continued, his hand on Lord Townend’s shoulder for a moment. “You might be able to, at the very least, confirm to Miss Smallwood that I was not at the bawdy house two nights ago, as the rumors have stated.”

  Louisa sat down quickly, seeing Lord Townend nod fervently, his expression now growing serious. Her heart quickened at the look in Lord Williamson’s eyes, having heard the eagerness in his voice as he had encouraged Lord Townend to speak.

  “Miss Smallwood, I must inform you that the rumors you have heard are nothing more than lies,” Lord Townend began, spreading his hands wide. “Lord Williamson cannot have been at such a place for he and I spent the evening at my residence. My staff can all vouch for it.”

  Sweat began to bead on Louisa’s forehead as she let out her breath slowly, seeing Lord Williamson stare back at her with a desperate hope shining in his eyes.

  “I do not understand,” she murmured faintly, her gaze darting from Lord Williamson to Lord Townend and back again. “You say that Lord Williamson was with you. Why, then, does someone else say that he was with him at the bawdy house?”

  At this, Lord Williamson began to frown, taking a step closer to Louisa as his brow furrowed.

  “Do you mean to say, Miss Smallwood,” he began, his hands coupling in front of him, “that you know the identity of the person who has begun this rumor?”

  Louisa nodded, not quite understanding the significance. “I do, yes. I discovered it last evening, for I was quite determined—as I have always been before—to ensure that the rumors have basis in fact rather than being mere stories that grow in all manner of direction.” She closed her eyes momentarily, unable to hold Lord Williamson’s intense gaze. “But the gentleman in question stated that he had not only seen you there but gambled with you also.” Her eyes opened. “That is why I could not immediately disregard the notion.”

  Lord Williamson let out a long breath and then rubbed one hand over his forehead. “I see,” he muttered, sounding frustrated. “For you see, Miss Smallwood, last evening I overhead a gentleman speaking about me in such an intimate fashion that I felt certain that all those he spoke to would believe him without question.” Dropping his hand, he gestured to Lord Townend. “Lord Townend and I had thought to speak to Lord Mercer, for we had discovered that he had been present in White’s on the evening that the bet I supposedly made was written. Last evening, Lord Mercer was playing cards in the card room and I made my way to it, only to hear someone state that he had seen me the previous evening in practically a state of undress!”

  This brought such a blush to Louisa’s cheeks that Lord Williamson, upon seeing it, had to quickly stammer an apology before he could continue.

  “I could not immediately enter the card room to speak to Lord Mercer or to confront the gentleman out of fear that my actions would thereafter be known throughout the ballroom and, yet again, more rumors would spread.” He swallowed and looked away. “I could not bear it, Miss Smallwood. Knowing that you were already affected by what had been said of me and what you mayhap already believed of me, I knew that I had to be careful. Therefore, I decided to wait until Lord Mercer left the room, so that I might speak to him privately.” One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “It was not to be. I believe that the gentleman who spoke to Lord Mercer was the very same who, thereafter, knocked me to the floor. He is also, most likely, the gentleman behind the other rumors, who wrote the bet and encouraged Lady Burton to pretend that she and I had already a prior engagement.” Sighing, he spread his hands. “And the motive, for whatever reason, is that he wishes to deny me something that I supposedly denied him. I cannot understand such a thing, Miss Smallwood. Therefore, if you are quite certain that you know the fellow behind such a rumor, then I beg of you to speak his name to me now, for mayhap then I might be able to rest a little easier. Mayhap then all will begin to make sense.”

  Louisa hesitated for a moment, going over the conversation she had shared with Lord Raeburn and Lord Montague last evening. Was she quite certain that Lord Raeburn had pointed to Lord Montague? There could be no doubt now, could there?

  “I believe I am quite certain,” she told Lord Williamson, her fingers twisting together as her hands sat in her lap. She felt as though she were a coiled spring, under a good deal of pressure and about to spring apart at any moment. “I spoke to Lord Raeburn and insisted that he tell me the name of the gentleman who told him of your appearance at the bawdy house.”

  “And who might that gentleman be, Miss Smallwood?” Lord Townend asked, his own expression suddenly dark. “What is his name?”

  Louisa drew in a quick breath, settled her shoulders, and gazed directly into Lord Williamson’s face. “It was Lord Montague, my lord. Lord Montague is the man you want.”

  14

  At that moment, everything in his world shifted. Lord Montague was the gentleman behind the rumor about the bawdy house. Daniel blinked rapidly, color draining from his face as he realized that Miss Smallwood was now looking at him with a good deal of concern in her expression.

  “That name is significant to you, I think,” Miss Smallwood observed as Lord Townend cleared his throat and hurried to the small table in the corner of the room, where he quickly poured two glasses of whisky. Handing one to Daniel, he gave him a small nudge, forcing Daniel to recollect himself.

  “Yes,” he said, hoarsely, looking at Miss Smallwood and wondering why he had not thought of such a thing—although, to be entirely fair to himself, he had barely even noted that the gentleman was back within London society. Balls and soirees were always busy and, given that he and Lord Montague did not have a good deal to say to each other, it was not at all surprising that he had not noticed the fellow.

  “I do not understand,” Miss Smallwood murmured quietly, looking from Daniel to Lord Townend and back again. “Why would Lord Montague treat you so?”

  “It makes sense now,” Daniel admitted, running one hand through his hair and turning to face Miss Martin. “Does it not, cousin?”

  He both heard Miss Smallwood’s swift intake of breath and saw, out of the corner of his eye, the way she visibly started. However, he did not look at her but held Miss Martin’s unsteady gaze, seeing the way tears clung to her lashes. It had to be explained now. He had kept his silence for far too long and whilst he had done so out of a sense of loyalty and a desire to keep his word, there was no need for such secrets to be held any long
er.

  “Cousin?” he heard Miss Smallwood breathe, her voice ragged. “You are Miss Martin’s cousin, Lord Williamson?”

  “I am sorry, Miss Smallwood.” Miss Martin was crying now, her eyes squeezing shut as tears dripped off her chin. “I had made a decision to keep myself far from Lord Williamson, after what he did. I could not bear it.”

  “I—I do not understand.” Miss Smallwood’s voice was barely audible, forcing Daniel to turn towards her so that he might hear her better. “You are related to Lord Williamson?”

  Daniel swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how much of a shock this was to Miss Smallwood. Her face was ashen, her knuckles whitening with the obvious tension that now coursed through her. Daniel’s heart burst into a racing beat, suddenly fearing that this would be too much for Miss Smallwood to accept, that she might turn from him entirely.

  “I am sorry I did not tell you from the very first,” he stammered, taking a stumbling step towards her. “I had promised Miss Martin—Christina—that I would do as she wished and be as a stranger to her. It was the only way I could bring a smidgen of relief to her apparent torment.”

  Miss Smallwood blinked. “Torment?” she repeated, as Lord Townend cleared his throat gruffly, a similar expression of confusion on his face. “I cannot… I do not…” Frustrated, she shook her head, lowering her gaze for a moment. “None of this makes sense.”