The Plain Bride by Chasity Bowlin
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Four Months Later
Charlotte was pacingthe floor again. In her hands, she held the shredded remnants of a letter. “Why won’t he read them?”
“Perhaps he had deeper feelings for Lady Mayville than you realized?”
The suggestion had come from Mary, Lady Peckham. It was greeted with a rage unlike anything Penelope had ever witnessed. Charlotte’s temper, always volatile, had been positively incendiary since Lord Mayville had fled London. In response to Lady Peckham’s gently voiced question, Charlotte began hurling things directly at the poor woman. She ripped the pillows from the settee and began shredding them, feathers flying everywhere in the small room.
“He can’t love her! He promised to love me forever!” she shouted. “No man has ever rejected me! No man! And Sinclair Wortham will not be the first!”
Penelope felt the guilt welling up inside her again. Might they have been happy if she hadn’t interfered on Charlotte’s behalf? Without her spying and carrying tales, would Lord and Lady Mayville still be residing together, happily married? It was a question without answer. She had interfered, and what-ifs were an impossible game.
“Forgive me, ladies. I’ve developed a terrible megrim. I must go,” Penelope said, rising from the needlepoint-covered chair that was her normal spot for their morning gathering.
“You cannot leave me, Penelope!” Charlotte hissed accusingly. “I need you here! You are my right hand, after all.”
“I cannot be that today, Charlotte. Forgive me,” Penelope said, and made for the door. She didn’t expect that it would go well, but she was not prepared for the ultimatum that followed.
“If you walk out on me now, Penelope, in my hour of need, you will never be permitted to return,” Charlotte said haughtily. “No true friend would desert me so!”
“You have no true friends,” Penelope said bluntly. “You have people that you have bullied and manipulated into toadying for you. And I am done with it. I have a headache, and I mean to leave. If you are such a terrible friend, Charlotte, that you do not even care when someone who has been by your side for months is ill, then I want no part of your friendship. Good day, ladies.”
Penelope stepped through the doors of that morning room and into the center hallway of Bruxton House. She was both terrified and relieved. She’d done it. She’d freed herself from Charlotte, but at what cost?
You are freed from Charlotte, but you have amends to make yet.
That little voice in her mind was all the urging she needed. Rushing from Bruxton House, she stepped outside into the morning air and immediately made her way toward the home of the Earl of Winburn. It was early yet to call, but it wasn’t really a social visit, she reasoned. It was a confession.
The Earl of Winburnwas having his breakfast and reading his correspondence as the Countess of Winburn was reading hers. They did not sit at opposite ends of the table, but rather sat side by side in the small breakfast room. His letter was from Mayville. Hers was from Althea. Wordlessly, as each of them reached the end of their respective letters, they traded them. There was a great deal of head shaking and tongue clucking.
“They’ve certainly made a muddle of it,” Gray observed.
“He’s made a muddle of it. He and that viper, Lady Bruxton!” Sabine shot back. “Poor Althea. She’s miserably heartbroken.”
“He fares no better. Both are too stubborn to ever see reason.” Gray reached for his teacup and lifted it to his lips. Before taking a sip, he added, “Not that you’d know anything about stubbornness. Why, you’ve no more than a passing acquaintance with that flaw.”
She didn’t take the bait. Instead, Sabine smiled at him. “Should you like to test how stubborn I can be about opening my bedchamber door for you?”
“Our bedchamber,” he corrected and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “We both know you’d never lock me out of it.”
He was right, drat him. “Fine, I admit it. I would not. But you are stubborn as well.”
“Of course I am. I would never dream of denying it. The question now, my dear, is what do we do to fix this? They are our dearest friends, and they are terribly unhappy.”
“What can we do?” he asked. “They are entitled to make their own choices, however foolish we might think them.”
It was a conversation they’d had many times over in the past months. But based on the contents of Sarah’s last several letters, simply waiting on them to come to their senses was no longer an option. “And if it only impacted them, I would agree, but…”
It was a terrible breech of confidence to relay what she was about to. In fact, Althea herself had never shared the news. She’d received a very troublesome note only two days earlier from her friend’s maid, confessing her mistress’s secret. Althea was with child, and she was faring poorly. Sick at all hours of the day and night, she could hardly rise from her bed on most days.
“I’m not supposed to know. Althea has told no one. I only know because Sarah, her maid, wrote to me out of fear for her mistress.”
“And what is it that you are not supposed to know, Sabine?” he asked suspiciously. “Has she betrayed him?”
“Oh! You’re infuriating. Of course she hasn’t! She’s in love with him!”
“And he’s in love with her and pickling himself in enough brandy to float an armada,” Gray protested. “Love doesn’t prevent them from being stupid.”
He was absolutely correct, of course.
“She’s with child,” Sabine stated simply. “And her health is suffering greatly from it. I fear that her unhappiness is contributing to that. And, more than that, I fear what will become of Mayville if something happens to her before they make amends.”
Her husband was silent for a moment, then he sighed with resignation. “What would you have me do? I know you’ve formulated some sort of plan.”
Sabine looked back at Mayville’s drunken, rambling letter. “Well, you will need to go to Boston Spa and get him sorted out first. He’s too drunk now to see reason.”
“And what will you do?” he asked gently.
“I shall be taking the waters in Bath, it seems. The season is almost over, after all. No one will think twice of us leaving a bit early.”
At that moment, the normally unflappable butler entered the breakfast room and appeared to be…well, flapped. “Is there a problem?” Sabine asked.
“There is a young woman here to see you, my lady. She insists it is an urgent matter and that it relates to the very serious situation with Lord and Lady Mayville.”
“Is it Lady Bruxton?” Sabine demanded, eager to give the troublemaking woman a piece of her mind.
“No, madam. It is a Miss Dennings,” the butler replied.
“Show her to the morning room, and I shall be along shortly.”
Gray was frowning. “The only Miss Dennings that I am aware of is a bosom companion to Lady Bruxton. This does not bode well.”
“Agreed,” Sabine concurred as she rose from her chair. “And that is why I should see to her immediately and discover what I can about Lady Bruxton’s plan.”
Gray shook his head. “This girl cannot be trusted.”
“Oh, I’m well aware. I’m also aware, as you may not be, that Lady Bruxton has a revolving door of bosom companions. Most never last more than six months. She drives them away with her demand for attention and her temper.”
“How do you know that?”
She grinned. “Dressmakers are barely above servants, my dear, at least in the eyes of some. I’ve seen sides of Lady Bruxton most in society would never dream of—and I do not mean her figure.”
Sabine left the breakfast room, her husband chuckling behind her, and made her way to the morning room, where Miss Dennings awaited her. When she opened the door, she saw the very teary-eyed young woman pacing worriedly. Immediately, Miss Dennings looked up and halted her steps so abruptly she nearly stumbled.
“I’ve done a terrible thing,” she confessed.
Sabine smiled softly. “We’ve all done terrible things, my dear Miss Dennings. The question is what can you do to make it better? Sit, and we can discuss it reasonably.”
Half an hour later, after copious amounts of tea and many wasted minutes comforting the distraught young woman, Sabine had the whole of it.
“And that is why I came here today,” Miss Dennings said, her breath still hiccupping from her many, many tears. “I felt so terrible about what I had done. I truly thought she loved him and that he’d played her false by promising to wait for her until she was widowed.”
Sabine sighed heavily. “Miss Dennings, Lady Bruxton has been bemoaning her impending widowhood since her wedding breakfast. All the scandal sheets talk about how frail Lord Bruxton is, yet when you see him, he is dancing a jig and speaking with great enthusiasm about when he can next get to the countryside for a spot of hunting. Lady Bruxton wants to be a widow, I think, but wishing for something does not make it true. And her wish for Lord Mayville to be madly in love with her and pining for her because she chose to marry another…well, that hasn’t been true either.”
“Does he love Lady Mayville? Have I played a part in separating a couple that would otherwise have been happy?”
“They have a complicated relationship,” Sabine admitted. “They have very deep feelings for one another, but right now, all of that is terribly muddied through their own stubborn pride, as well as the interference of others. But I will go to see Lady Mayville and, best as I can, explain the situation to her. I cannot do that and keep your involvement a secret from her. You do understand that.”
“I do,” Miss Dennings replied tearfully. “Please convey my deepest apologies to her. I thought… Well, I only wanted to be liked. And if I did what Charlotte asked, she would like me. But I’ve come to realize that she doesn’t like anyone. Perhaps not even herself. And I’d rather have a clear conscience than popularity.”
Sabine smiled at her, a true smile filled with warmth. “That is a credit to you, Miss Dennings. It is easy to be swept away when a person is charming and beautiful, whether that person is a friend or a potential suitor. Appearances often hold more sway than their character.”
Miss Dennings wiped the last of her tears away. “What an unfortunate truth that is, Lady Winburne. And of course you must tell Lady Mayville of my involvement. Anything that can help set it all to rights! She will hate me, but it is no less than I deserve.”
Sabine rose to her feet as Miss Dennings did and walked the young woman to the door. “You are not hated. You were misguided, and no doubt, in time, all of that can be forgiven. Be kinder to yourself, Miss Dennings. We all fall short from time to time.”
