Rescued From Ruin. Georgie Lee

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СКАЧАТЬ used to catch in the shadowed hallways of Falconbridge Manor. Back then every kiss was stolen, each moment of pleasure fumbling and uncertain.

      There was nothing uncertain about Randall tonight, only a strength emphasised by his broad shoulders and the height he’d gained since she’d last seen him. Her body hummed with the memory of him standing so close, his musky cologne and hot breath tempting her more than his innuendoes and illicit suggestions. Yet she’d caught something else hovering in the tension beneath his heated look—a frail connection she wanted to touch and hold.

      She opened her eyes and smacked her hand hard against the chair’s arm, the sting bringing her back to her senses. There’d never been a connection between them, only the daydreams of a girl too naive to realise a future Marquess would never lower himself to save her. He hadn’t then and, with all his wealth and privilege, he certainly wouldn’t now, no matter how many tempting suggestions he threw her way. No, he would be among the first to laugh and sneer if the truth of her situation was ever revealed, and if she could help it, it never would be.

      She slid off the chair and knelt before the small trunk sitting at the end of the narrow bed, her mother’s trunk, the only piece of furniture she’d brought back to London. The hinges squeaked as she pushed opened the lid, the metal having suffered the ill effects of sea air on the voyage from Virginia. Inside sat a bolt of fabric, a jumble of tarnished silver, a small box of jewellery and a stack of books. It was the sum of her old possessions and the few items of value she’d managed to secrete from Belle View after Paul had taken control. They sat in the trunk like a skeleton in its coffin, reminding her of everything she’d ever lost. For a brief moment, she wished the whole lot had fallen overboard, but she needed them and the money they could bring.

      She pushed aside the silver, the metal clanking as she lifted out one large book on hunting from beneath a stack of smaller ones. It had been Daniel’s favourite and the only one she’d taken for sentimental reasons. She opened it and, with a gloved finger, traced a beautiful watercolour of a duck in flight, remembering how Daniel used to sit in his study, his brown hair flecked with grey falling over his forehead as he examined each picture.

      Guilt edged her grief. In the end, this book would probably have to be sold, too.

      She snapped it shut and laid it in the trunk next to the velvet case that had once held the gold bracelet she wore. It had been a gift from her father, given to her the Christmas before his ship had sunk off the coast of Calais, taking with it his life and the merchandise he’d needed to revive his business. Moving aside the silk, she caught sight of the small walnut box in the corner. She reached for it, then pulled back, unable to open it and look at the wispy curl, the precious reminder of her sweet baby boy.

      Squeezing her eyes tight against the sudden rush of tears, she fought back the sob rising in her throat and burning her chest with grief. Her hands tightened on the edges of the trunk, the weave of her silk gloves digging into her fingertips. Loss, always loss. Her father, her mother, her infant son, Daniel... Would it never end?

      She pounded one fist against the open trunk lid, then sat back on her heels, drawing in breath after breath, her body shaking with the effort to stop the tears.

      Why did she have to suffer when people like Randall found peace? Why?

      A knock made her straighten and she rubbed her wet face with her hands as the bedroom door opened.

      Theresa appeared, a wrapper pulled tight around her nightdress. ‘I heard a noise. Are you all right?’

      ‘I’m fine.’ She looked away, trying to hide her tears, but Theresa saw them.

      ‘You aren’t missing Daniel, are you?’ The girl knelt next to her and threw her arms around Cecelia.

      ‘No, I’m angry with him.’ Cecelia pulled herself to her feet, not wanting anyone’s pity or comfort tonight, not even Theresa’s. ‘When he recovered from the fever eight years ago, I asked him, begged him to write his will, to provide for me, not leave me at the mercy of Paul, but he wouldn’t. All his superstitions about making a will inviting death, his always putting it off until next month, next year until it was too late. Now, we’re lost.’

      ‘We aren’t lost yet.’

      ‘Aren’t we?’ She slammed the lid down on the trunk. ‘You saw everyone tonight, treating us like nothing more than colonial curiosities. How they’ll laugh when the money runs out, scorn us the way Paul did when he evicted us from Belle View and refused to pay my widow’s portion. Not one of them will care if we starve.’

      Theresa fingered the wrapper sash. ‘I think one person will care.’

      ‘You mean Lord Strathmore?’ Cecelia pulled off the damp gloves and tossed them on the dressing table. ‘It seems I can attract nothing but men like him and General LaFette.’

      ‘I didn’t mean Lord Strathmore. I meant Lord Falconbridge.’

      Cecelia gaped at Theresa. The memory of Randall standing so close, his mouth tight as he spoke of the difficulties of life flashed before her. Then anger shattered the image. She shouldn’t have bothered to comfort him. He wouldn’t have done the same for her. ‘I assure you, he’ll be the first to laugh at us.’

      ‘I don’t believe it. I saw the way he watched you tonight. Miss Domville did, too. She said he’s never looked at a woman the way he looked at you.’

      ‘I hardly think Miss Domville is an expert on Lord Falconbridge.’ Cecelia crossed her arms, more against the flutter in her chest than the ridiculous turn of the conversation. ‘And be careful what you tell her. We can’t have anyone knowing our situation, especially not Madame de Badeau.’

      For all the Frenchwoman’s friendliness, Cecelia wondered if the lady’s offer to introduce Cecelia and Theresa to society had an ulterior motive, though what, she couldn’t imagine.

      ‘I don’t like her and I don’t like Lord Strathmore.’ Theresa wrinkled her nose. ‘He’s worse than General LaFette. Always staring at your breasts.’

      ‘Yet he’s the man we may have to rely on to save us.’ She paced the room, the weight of their lot dragging on her like the train of her dress over the threadbare rug. She stopped at the window, moving aside the curtain to watch the dark street below. ‘Maybe I should have accepted General LaFette’s offer. At least then we could have stayed in Virginia.’

      ‘I’d starve before I’d let you sell yourself to a man like him,’ Theresa proclaimed.

      Cecelia whirled on her cousin. ‘Why? Didn’t I sell myself once before to keep out of the gutter?’

      ‘But you loved Daniel, didn’t you?’ Theresa looked stricken, just as she had the morning Cecelia and Daniel had met the newly orphaned girl at the Yorktown docks, her parents, Cecelia’s second cousins, having perished on the crossing.

      Cecelia wanted to lie and soothe her cousin’s fears, allow her to hold on to this one steady thing after almost two years of so much change, but she couldn’t. She’d always been honest with the girl who was like a daughter to her and she couldn’t deceive her now.

      ‘Not at first,’ she admitted, ashamed of the motives which drove her to accept the stammering proposal of a widower twenty years older than her with a grown son and all his lands half a world away. ‘The love came later.’

      Yet for all her tying herself to a stranger to keep from starving, here she was again, no better СКАЧАТЬ