A Christmas Bride (25 page)

“Yes, he is alive and, last I heard, quite well. Your father is Sir Philip Loughlin.”

“Sir Philip?” The name reverberated through her head. “Is he the Sir Philip who was your son's friend?”

“How do you know that?”

“Timothy told me how a man he called Sir Philip was his father's friend and helped him design the Chinese folly in the water garden.”

Again the earl nodded. “We are speaking of the same man. His estate borders Robin Hood's Bay to the east of here. Although he seldom leaves his estate to go farther than Town now, which explains why you and Timothy never met as children, before he wed your mother, who was the younger daughter of a baron, he traveled often in the East. His knowledge of Eastern art and culture is unparalleled in England.”

“That explains how I knew what I knew of the temple lions and chopsticks.” Her eyes widened. “Did you suspect the truth when I knew about the temple lions?”

“It did plant a seed of suspicion in my brain.” Again he sighed. “I sent a message to your father to ask him obliquely if his daughter might be missing. When I got no response from him, I decided my suspicions were wrong. Now I understand why I got no reply. The letter probably remains at his house, because there was no urgent request to forward it to Sir Philip wherever he might be.” He looked back at the page she held. “The poor man must be beside himself with fear for you.”

The letter crinkled again as she clasped her hands. “Can I send him a note right away?”

“Of course. As soon as it is written, I shall have it sent to him.” A hint of a smile returned to his taut lips. “What better gift could he receive in this Christmastide than the return of his daughter?”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“One thing I still do not understand. Although Timothy may not have recognized you, for as I said I doubt if you ever met, because of your father's focus on his studies, Felix must have spoken to you during the calls his father made upon your father.” Again he smiled. “Not that I am excusing Timothy from any of this, but I am baffled about why Felix did not identify you from the onset.”

Serenity recalled how she had suffered that strange sense of having met both Felix and his father previously. Had their odd expressions when she was introduced to them as if for the first time been because they knew she might recall their earlier meetings?

“I don't know,” she replied.

“I don't expect
you
to know, my dear, but I expect both Arnold and Felix to have a much better answer for me than that.” He pushed himself to his feet. “They do not have a bumped head as an excuse for forgetting what I doubt Arnold shall ever forget.”

“What is that?”

The earl refilled her cup with mulled cider, then took one for himself. “Your father, my dear, was foolish enough to let Arnold sit down at the card table with him. Your father graciously agreed to accept Arnold's chit for his losses. They were massive losses. Apparently one of the things your father learned during his travels was to judge those around him with ease while hiding his own thoughts. That is an inestimable skill while playing cards.”

“And he still owes my father this money?”

He nodded.

“And if Timothy had seduced me as Felix urged him to—”

Lord Brookindale's oath silenced her. “I shall disown that boy completely. No debt between gentlemen should include a lady's honor.”

She pressed her hand to her bodice. She recalled Felix's triumphant grin as he had entered the ballroom with Melanda this evening. Had he been so sure then of getting his vengeance that he was enjoying his victory even before it happened? She did not want to believe that Timothy would be a part of such a thing, but he had lied to his grandfather to serve his own needs.

“Do you mean that Felix wished to have me ruined to repay my father for besting his father at a game of cards?” she whispered.

“It looks that way, doesn't it?”

“To own the truth, I no longer know what to think about anything, my lord.”

Sorrow filled his eyes. “My child, I hope you will come to call me Grandfather, as you once did.”

“But—”

“'Tis no different than it was before, for you never had any intentions of marrying my grandson, did you?”

“No.” She dampened her abruptly arid lips. When had she taken on Timothy's horrible habit of lying in an attempt to protect this dear man from the truth? If she told him how she had hoped Timothy would speak of the dream in her heart and ask her to become his wife on Twelfth Night, the earl would denounce her as an air-dreamer. Mayhap she was, for she had dared to believe that Timothy might truly love her, too.

Why had she convinced herself of that when everything around her had been woven of a tapestry of lies?

“If you wish to retire,” the earl said, setting his cup on a table as a knock came at the door, “I will make your excuses to the guests.”

“Thank you.” She added nothing else as a maid hurried in to clean up the spilled cider, which Serenity had forgotten in the morass of discovering a truth she never had expected existed.

Serenity raced up the stairs to her room. Closing the door, she was glad to see Nan was nowhere about. Her abigail would not have guessed she would return so early from the evening's entertainments.

With a sob, she pulled the flowers from her hair. She opened the closet and grasped her cloak. Throwing it over her gown, she tied it at her throat. She kicked off her slippers and drew on her high-lows.

She rushed back out into the hallway. No servants were in sight, so she paused by Timothy's door and went in to place the letter on his desk. It should have come to him. Once he read it, there would be no need for her to leave him a note to tell him good-bye.

A sob burst like a wretched bubble from her lips. She did not want to leave him—and her heart—but she could not stay. If she discovered he had known more than he had told her about her past, she would be shattered beyond repair.

It was easier than Serenity had guessed to slip down the stairs without being seen. When she reached the foyer, she bit back an oath. She had not guessed that Branson would not be at his regular post. She should have realized he would be busy with a multitude of tasks for the ball.

She motioned to a footman, who was rushing across the foyer. He paused and asked, “Miss Adams, is something amiss?”

She wanted to bite her tongue as she prepared another half-truth, but she had no choice. “Is Branson nearby?”

“Yes, miss. One moment please.”

Although she wanted to rush out the door and put all of this behind her, she waited in the foyer. She stayed in the shadows, not wanting to chance being seen by Timothy or someone else in his family. She had no idea what she would say to any of them.

Branson smiled as he came into the foyer. That smile faltered when his gaze alighted on her cloak. “The night is very chill, Miss Adams.”

“I know.” She did not add how much colder she found the lies that had enmeshed her. “Do you know a Sir Philip Loughlin who lives near Robin Hood's Bay?”

“Loughlin?” He nodded. “Yes, I know the name, Miss Adams. Do you wish to have a message taken there?”

“Is the house far?”

He shook his head. “Not far, miss. If you were to start at dawn, you would be there before sunset.”

“Will you have a carriage brought around?”

“Now?”

“Yes, please.”

“Miss Adams, if you plan to drive all the way to Robin Hood's Bay, you would be wise to wait until the morrow to begin.”

She smiled tautly. “I cannot. Branson, will you please have a carriage brought?”

For a long moment she thought he would refuse, but then he nodded. “At least allow me to take a message to my lord for you.”

“I have informed the earl of my plans.”

Branson lost his usual smile as his face dropped into a frown. He must believe that she had misunderstood him, and mayhap that was all to the good. If the butler thought that she and Timothy had had a falling-out, Branson would not rush to Timothy with the tidings of her leaving. He would leave that horrible task to the earl.

The cold wind swirled into the foyer, bringing sharp flakes of snow with it as Branson sent a footman to have a carriage brought. The snow must be blowing up from the ground, because the stars pierced the sky with the intensity that they reserved for freezing winter nights.

More quickly than she had expected, but much more slowly than she wanted, a closed carriage was driven under the porte cochere. Bidding Branson farewell, she hurried down the steps and let the footman hand her into the carriage.

She pulled the cloak more tightly around her shoulders as she settled herself on the carriage's cold seat. She knew Branson's counsel had been wise. She
should
wait until dawn to travel, but she could not remain a moment more in that house amid the lies and counterlies.

Raising her hand to slap it against the side of the carriage, she took a steadying breath. She did not want to leave. She could not stay.

Her breath burst from her in a scream as her wrist was seized. She whirled on the seat to stare through the window. “Timothy!” she gasped.

“Where do you think you are going?” he demanded.

Serenity slowly lowered her hand. She said nothing as Timothy threw open the door so hard that it crashed against the side, and climbed into the carriage. He sat on the seat facing her.

“I was sure Mrs. Scott was mistaken when she told me that she had seen you stepping into a carriage in front of the house,” he said, each word as icy as the night wind.

Mrs. Scott!
She should have spoken to the housekeeper before she had taken her leave to allay Mrs. Scott's mind as she had Branson's.

“She was correct.” She could keep her voice as emotionless as his, but she had to clench her hands in her lap to do so. Her fingers wanted to course along his strong face and slip up through the gold richness of his hair … just once more, while she believed that love was possible.

Love
? Her heart was witless. This had been just a masquerade, with the greatest hoax being played upon her. She had believed she was doing something kind to help Timothy, but that kindness could have destroyed her father.

Her hands clenched in her lap. Why couldn't she see her father's face? Hints of his voice played through her head, but the words were ones an adult would speak to a child. No memories emerged from any time more recent than when she had been barely old enough to have a tutor.

“You did not answer me,” Timothy said, his voice still harsh with barely repressed anger. “Where are you going at this hour?”

“I am going home.”

“Home?” He stared at her as he whispered, “You have remembered who you are?”

“Not completely.” Closing her eyes, so she was not tempted to soothe the emotions in his, she whispered, “All the answers you need are in a letter I left on your desk.”

“You wrote me a letter and—”

“The letter is from your solicitor.” She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes. She could not hide from the truth. “It was misdelivered to me, but it told me that I am, in truth, Helen Loughlin.”

“Loughlin?” he choked, and she knew he had made the connection as swiftly as his grandfather had.

“It seems that your finding me was a most happy happenstance for your cousin, who may not have been as puzzled by the truth as I was.”

Timothy cursed with rare fervor. “Of course he knew who you were. He and Uncle Arnold have called several times on Sir Philip in recent years.”

“Enough so that your uncle owes my father a heavy debt.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “But that is not important. What is important is that my father must be frantic with worry that his daughter is dead. I must not delay a moment longer going home to reassure him of the truth.”

“Let me send a rider. The message will reach your father far more quickly than a carriage.”

“Thank you, but no.”

“You can leave on the morrow.” He reached for her hands. “If—” He cursed again when she drew her hands away.

“I must leave now.”

“At the very least, allow me to escort you home. You should not be traveling alone all night.”

“Yes, you may escort me home.” She held up her hand to halt him from replying before she had said all she must. “But only because I want you to assure my father that nothing untoward happened between us, in spite of your cousin's determination to see you enjoy the rights of the lord of the manor with me.”

He slapped the side of the carriage to give the command to leave. The sound of the endless ringing of the bells grew fainter as he said, “I would never have done something to dishonor you, Serenity. I mean, Helen.”

She looked down at her gloved hands again. “Mayhap it would be better if you addressed me as Miss Loughlin, my lord.”

He grasped her hands. “Sweetheart, do not toss what we share aside as if it had no value.”

“What value can lies have? They have no more substance than the colors of a rainbow, even though they are just as beguiling and seductive to the want-witted.”

“'Tis no lie that when I hold you in my arms, I am certain that nothing in the world can be as wondrous. Then I kiss you and—”

“Timothy! No more!” She pulled away, edging to the far side of her seat. “I have been mired too long in lies, and I do not trust myself to know what is the truth any longer.”

“I know what I did was wrong. Even doing what I did for a good reason was wrong.”

She nodded. “Yes, it was.”

“You will allow me no latitude on this, will you?”

“If I do,” she whispered, leaning forward to cup his face in her hand, but pulling her fingers back before they could touch his rough skin, “my heart will demand the same latitude.”

“Your heart?”