An Honest Heart (30 page)

Edith’s chest burned at the sight of her cousin Kate entering the sitting room on the arm of Stephen Brightwell, Viscount Thynne. But she reminded herself of the announcement that would be made at dinner, and she found a true smile.

“Cousin Katharine. Lord Thynne. Do come meet the baron and baroness.” Edith beamed at them. Kate seemed taken aback by Edith’s friendly demeanor and lagged behind Lord Thynne until he appeared to be pulling her by the arm. She recovered herself and regained his side.

Edith introduced them to Baron and Baroness Carmichael, and after the pleasantries, Oliver gave his greetings to them. Once all of the guests arrived, Edith graciously positioned Kate and Stephen at the door to lead everyone in to dinner.

Between his escorting Kate into the dining room and his assisting her with her chair, Lord Thynne’s connection to Kate was obvious and every head in the group of guests nodded in understanding. Tonight Sir Anthony would announce the engagement of his niece to the viscount.

And then Edith would make her announcement. She glanced down the table and smiled sweetly at Oliver as her father assisted her with her chair.

Lord Thynne came around and took his place at Edith’s left hand. She smiled across the table at Kate as if there had never been any enmity between them.

Edith relished the soup course, knowing what would come at the end of it, sending an empty bowl back with the footman to the kitchen. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, then beamed at Papa when he stood and raised his glass.

“Friends, thank you for coming. Three days ago, we celebrated my daughter Dorcas’s presentation at court, and many of you joined us here for the reception afterward. Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Dorcas Buchanan.”

Wishes for health and happiness followed the raising of glasses. Dorcas blushed prettily. Edith stopped herself from a sardonic lift of her eyes heavenward and raised her glass in honor of her sister.

Several people put their glasses down, but picked them up when Sir Anthony raised his again. “Tonight, we have more good news to celebrate. Please join me in congratulating Lord Thynne, whose proposal of marriage to my niece, Miss Katharine Dearing, has been accepted.”

The guests tittered and wished Kate happiness and congratulated Lord Thynne. Edith kept a smile plastered on her face as Kate blushed and feigned embarrassment. Edith knew better. The scheming fortune hunter had been after this since she arrived in England. But that was all about to end.

Papa had just regained his seat when Edith stood, heart racing with anticipation. “Father, may I say something?” She beamed such a smile across the table at her cousin that Kate’s face drained of color. Ah, so she was worried. As well she should be.

“Yes, Edith, of course. I am certain your cousin and Lord Thynne would be happy to hear your best wishes.” From his tone and expression, he obviously had no idea what his niece had been up to mere hours ago right in his own back garden.

Edith raised her glass. “To my cousin Katharine. You came as a poor relation to snare a rich husband, and you performed beyond everyone’s expectations.”

Gasps and whispers followed this statement. Papa stood. “Edith, that is quite—”

“And to Lord Thynne. May you find happiness in your choice of a wife. And may you be ever ignorant of her true nature—or at least possess the ability to turn a blind eye when you find her sneaking out of the house to carry on an affair with the landscape architect you have hired to redesign your gardens.”

Lord Thynne’s chair crashed to the floor. A phalanx of voices swelled around Edith, but she had no attention except for the woman seated across the table from her. Within minutes, the dining room was cleared of everyone save Edith, Kate, Lord Thynne, and Papa.

Lord Thynne paced the length of the room behind Edith, but she could not pull her gaze away from Kate long enough to gauge his reaction. Finally, he stopped to stare into the fireplace behind the chair in which Sir Anthony sat slumped, hand over his eyes.

“I must speak with Katharine alone.”

Kate flinched at the viscount’s soft voice. Papa lowered his hand from his eyes and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He wrapped his hand around Edith’s, squeezed painfully, and dragged her from the room.

“What was the meaning of that?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. Edith’s sense of triumph vanished. Never before had her father laid a hand to her in anger. In fact, she had never seen him so angry in her life.

“I am telling the truth, Papa. Kate kissed the garden designer this very morning. And it is not the first time. They sneaked off for an assignation in the garden folly several weeks ago too.”

“How do you know of this?” Sir Anthony shook her again, then snatched his hands back as if only now realizing what he was doing.

If she told her father she’d had one of the maids follow Kate to see if she would do anything that Edith could use to break up the engagement with the viscount, Papa would not be happy with her. “My maid told me. She was . . . out for a walk and saw them go into the folly together, then close the door. She was curious, so she peeked through the window and they were kissing.”

Papa rubbed his hands over his eyes and then through his silver hair. “Why did you not bring this to my attention—privately?”

“I thought nothing of it, then. At the time, Kate and Lord Thynne were not engaged.” And that was true. She’d wanted better ammunition to use against her cousin than one stolen kiss on a rainy afternoon.

The dining room door opened, and Lord Thynne came out into the hallway. Edith’s heart leapt. Surely he would thank her for saving him from marrying a faithless woman and show his gratitude by asking for Edith’s hand in return.

“Sir Anthony, would you please come in for a moment? There is something I need to discuss with Miss Dearing, and I believe you should be present.”

Papa nodded, then turned back to Edith. “Go up to your bedroom. We are not finished with this conversation.”

Edith almost laughed at her father’s severity. Once he witnessed the dissolution of Kate’s engagement, he would be thrilled to come to betrothal terms for Edith to marry the viscount.

In her room, Edith sat at her dressing table and examined herself in the mirror. She imagined herself at a state dinner at Buckingham Palace, answering to the name Lady Thynne. She had never seen the Thynne viscountess’s coronet, but she was certain it would look magnificent in her raven hair. And the gowns she would have . . .

She sighed. No more lowering herself to visiting a dressmaker’s shop. No, the finest modistes patronized by the other ladies of the high aristocracy would clamor for her business. She would finally be able to tell Lady Carmichael exactly what she thought of her. And she would laugh behind her fan at, if not give the cut direct to, whatever woman Oliver ultimately convinced to marry him.

Once she had given Lord Thynne an heir, she might even take Oliver as a lover. If she could find no one better with whom to tryst.

Her bedroom door banged open and Papa marched in, her lady’s maid following demurely behind. The young woman did not look up at Edith even after executing her curtsy.

“Pack up all of your mistress’s belongings,” Sir Anthony directed the maid in a chillingly calm voice.

Edith bounced from her stool, tripping over her petticoats, but quickly regaining her balance. “Papa, what—?”

“You are returning to Wakesdown on the first train to Oxford tomorrow morning.” He turned to leave the room.

She ran across the rug and caught his sleeve. “What? Why?”

He once again took her by the shoulders, though this time he did not shake her. “I have grown tired of your antics, Edith. I overindulged you after your mother’s death, so it is my fault your character is lacking. I spoke with your maid. She informed me—I believe honestly for fear of being turned out with no reference—that she followed your cousin Katharine at your behest and reported back to you on her activities.”

“But if Kate had acted with propriety, there would have been nothing for her to report, would there?”

“That is not the point. Ever since your cousin arrived, you have been nothing but a contentious woman, inhospitable at best, downright vicious at worst. I know you are disappointed that Lord Thynne did not offer for you. I was as well. I invited him here with that very hope. But with the way you have been behaving the last few months, had he asked for your hand, I would have pointed out all the reasons he would not want it.”

Papa leaned his head back, eyes closed as if in great pain. “You will leave for Wakesdown in the morning, where you will have time and solitude to think about what you have done and to pray for forgiveness.”

Tears sprang to Edith’s eyes—tears of rage rather than repentance. “But . . . the season. How will I find a husband if I am not here?”

“God save any man who would wish to court you when you behave thusly toward a member of your own family. You will return to London only at my invitation, once I determine you have had enough time away to change your ways.”

He pulled away from her and left the room, softly closing the door behind him.

Edith threw herself across her bed and pounded her fist into her pillow. How dare her father speak to her so!

She would show him; she would show all of them. Edith Buchanan was not to be crossed.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
HREE

O
liver escaped his mother’s ranting by slipping up to his room as soon as the carriage arrived at their townhouse. All the way to the Buchanans’ city home, she’d indulged in a tirade about how degrading it was that they’d accepted the invitation from the baronet—it would look as if she could not garner better invitations from those of higher rank in London. But then, to have been present when Edith Buchanan caused what might be the biggest scandal of the season—unthinkable! He wasn’t certain she’d paused to breathe the entire drive home.

No doubt, when she recovered from the shock, she would be certain to tell all her friends exactly what happened because she had witnessed
everything
.

After freshening up, Oliver went back out, having the driver drop him at the club he and his friends frequented when in London. Not as posh as the more prestigious London establishments, Boodle’s attracted politicians as well as aristocrats from the more rural shires. While Oliver didn’t go in for politics, he found himself much more comfortable around the country set than the London snobbery he’d experienced at other clubs.

In a back room on the second floor, he found Radclyffe looking on as Doncroft finished a rousing round of cards.

Radclyffe looked at Oliver in surprise, then checked his pocket watch. “You are two hours earlier than you estimated.”

Oliver nodded. “I shall tell you why when Doncroft can join us. This is a story that must be savored. But first—I’m half starved. Dinner was called off on account of . . .” He grinned at Radclyffe. “But I shall tell you of that shortly.”

He motioned for a footman, and fifteen minutes later sat down to a steaming bowl of stew and a fresh loaf of bread. No ostentatious French food here. Just hearty country fare—the kind he got at home only when he went down to the kitchen and ate the food meant for the house staff before dinner. Though all he’d had at the Buchanans’ tonight had been soup, he imagined Edith had set out a menu fit to please the most snobbish of society matrons, a few of whom had been present.

He chuckled, remembering the scene after the soup course. He could not have orchestrated his escape from his agreement with Edith any more perfectly. Given his mother’s reaction, the recoil from the shot Edith had taken at her cousin would knock her off every invitation list for the remainder of the season. He could not marry a woman who had been given the cut direct by London society and make her the future Baroness Carmichael.

The last bit of gravy had been soaked into the heel of the loaf of bread when Doncroft joined them, jangling his coin purse before tucking it into his pocket.

“Either I am drunker than I realize, or you got here early.” Doncroft slouched down into the chair opposite the small table from Oliver.

Oliver wasted no time in telling his two closest friends what had happened at the Buchanan townhouse tonight.

Doncroft crowed with laughter; Radclyffe frowned with what looked like genuine concern.

“Do not tell me you are sorry for the Dearing woman. If she was indeed sneaking kisses with the gardener, she deserves any censure that comes upon her.” Oliver waved over a footman to clear his bowl and plate and refill his glass. He motioned his friends to three comfortable club chairs away from the roaring fireplace. Though outside, the evening had brought cold rain, inside, the club was more than warm enough without sidling up to a fire.

“It is not the Dearing woman I worry about. It is Miss Dorcas Buchanan—and how this will affect her season.”

Doncroft leaned over and punched Radclyffe’s arm. “All the better for you if it does affect her season. You knew the young bucks would swarm around her once they realized that a dowry the size of hers comes with such a pretty face. But if she is cut from the invitation lists, you have much less competition to court her and win her hand.”

“You are right about that.” Radclyffe’s face transformed into a smile as he pondered Doncroft’s words. “Though I would hate for anything to mar her debut season, I do actually hope that her sister’s actions will mean she gets struck from the invitation lists.”

Doncroft gave Oliver an exasperated look, and both shook their heads. Sometimes Radclyffe could be so simpleminded.

“What will you do about Edith Buchanan?” Doncroft asked.

Oliver shrugged as if he did not care. “She has broken our agreement and engaged herself in scandal. I am a free man now.”

“I visited my mother today.” Doncroft drained his glass and waved for a footman to refill it. “Apparently the dowager Baroness Cranston has returned to London now that her period of mourning is ended. While my mother told me this in hopes I would snag the young widow of a wealthy baron, I have my eyes set elsewhere.”