Edenbrooke (24 page)

Philip shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar. You shouldn’t even try.”

I glared at him, wracking my brain for the perfect reply. Nothing came to mind, however, which may have been because I could never think clearly when I was this close to him.

“You know, your glare is not quite the punishment you think it is,” he said.

His breath brushed my neck and made another shiver run through me. I lifted an eyebrow.

“And why is that?” I tried to keep my voice frosty.

The steps of the dance took us apart, and I had to wait, tense with anticipation, to hear his answer. Philip never looked away from me. When we finally met in the middle again, he said, “You are even more beautiful when you’re angry.”

I shot him a dark look. “Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m not,” Philip said. His eyes were still smoldering, and I sensed again that restrained passion within him that I had witnessed in the fencing room. “You should see yourself, with that flash of fire in your eyes. And when you press your lips together like that, a dimple appears in your left cheek, right next to your mouth. I find it . . . maddening.”

I burned with embarrassment and anger and severe discomfort. Philip was
flirting
with me, and it was very wrong of him. I had always known that his flirting was a game to him, and so that wasn’t what made me angry. What angered me was that his flirting made me realize that all of those other gentlemen I had danced with did not know how to flirt at all. Not one of them had made me feel as if I were turned inside out and set on fire all at once. And how could I ever be happy with another man when Philip was around to outshine them all?

Besides that, it was apparent that Sir Philip Wyndham was the most infuriating man alive, for now I couldn’t even give him an angry look without knowing he enjoyed the sight. I was left, in fact, completely defenseless.

There in the middle of the dance floor my armor was undone and the unthinkable happened. I remembered that Philip didn’t want me, and never had. My sadness flared to life, burning through my anger, melting every defense I had. Then I made a terrible mistake. At the height of my vulnerability, I looked into Philip’s eyes. Time seemed to slow, the music faded away, and the other dancers disappeared. There was nobody in the world except for Philip and me, and I was finally close enough to discover the secret I had sensed in his eyes.

It was there, shining so clearly, so obviously, that I wondered how I had never seen it before. I was so stunned I stopped dancing, appalled, while the truth I had discovered burned devastatingly bright within me. The most surprising part of my discovery was that it wasn’t Philip’s secret I had seen in his eyes, but my own.

I was in love with Philip Wyndham.

A second thought immediately followed the first: Philip was certainly not in love with me.

Dread dropped through me. Oh, what had I done? How had I been so great a fool?

“Marianne?”

I blinked and tried to focus on Philip’s face. His eyes were tight with concern. “You’re very pale,” he said. “Are you unwell?” He gripped my elbow tightly, as if to hold me up.

I nodded. I was unwell.

“Excuse me,” I said, turning away from him. I was surprised that he let me go so easily. Perhaps I wrenched myself free, though. I was too dazed to know how it happened, but suddenly I was free of him and pushing my way through the crowd of dancers. They were turning and smiling and talking and laughing, arms and hands and faces and legs and noise and ribbons and lips. I was jostled, and I pushed back harder, desperate to escape the tumult, when a hand snatched at mine.

It was Philip’s, and looking over my shoulder I saw his lips move—he said something—but I couldn’t hear what. Everything was too loud and too whirling and too hot. I tripped over dancing feet, and then an arm was around my waist, and Philip pulled me out of the dance, where his mother waited with a worried expression.

I sat in a chair by a window. Philip leaned over me, looking very worried, and Lady Caroline was there, too, fanning me and asking what had happened.

“She nearly fainted in the middle of the dance,” Philip said.

What an absurd thing to say. I never fainted—well, almost never. But I did feel strangely detached from my body. I couldn’t feel my legs or arms. I was floating, groundless. I looked down and was surprised to see Philip’s hand gripping mine. I couldn’t feel that either. Cecily was suddenly by my side, smelling like lilacs and exuding such soft beauty she looked like an angel.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I thought you looked terribly pale. Where are my smelling salts?” She took my free hand and rubbed it between hers. “Are you feeling faint now? Perhaps we should find a place for you to lie down. Or a drink.”

A sense of clarity came back to me as I looked into her familiar blue eyes. They were my mother’s eyes. And this was Cecily, my twin sister, who was in love with the same man I was, and who would undoubtedly be able to win his heart. And why shouldn’t she? After all, he didn’t want me.

“I’m fine,” I said, pulling my hand away from Philip’s, but not Cecily’s. I did not look at him. “I think it was the heat. Please don’t give me another thought. I’ll sit here by the window for a few minutes and be as good as new.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Philip said, but his solicitude only fired an anger deep within me. How dare he continue to try to deceive me? How dare he continue to toy with my heart?

“No,” I said, harshly, and saw out of the corner of my eye how Philip’s head jerked back with surprise. “You should finish the dance,” I continued, trying to soften my voice. “With Cecily.”

I was sure Philip was looking at me, but I did not return his gaze. It was part of the defenses I had raised. After a moment, I saw him bow his head and offer Cecily his hand. As soon as they walked away, I turned to Lady Caroline.

“May I go home? Please?” I couldn’t even think of an excuse to give her.

Concern touched her eyes, but she said nothing more than, “Of course. I am growing tired of dancing myself. I will accompany you.”

I waited at the door while she had the carriage brought around. I kept my back to the dancers so I would not have to watch Philip and Cecily dancing together. Lady Caroline was very considerate and only spoke a few times in the carriage about the ball and the weather. She didn’t ask me to confide in her, and I was grateful for that. I think if I had been given a chance, I would have burst into tears. As it turned out, I was able to keep my emotions in check until we reached the house.

Betsy was surprised to see me back so early, but I said nothing to explain myself, and after a few minutes, she stopped asking questions. As soon as I was out of my gown and into my nightgown, I dismissed her and crawled into bed. I lay awake, examining the workings of my heart. It was a painful and embarrassing exercise, but I needed illumination more than I needed shielding.

This is what I discovered: I had loved Philip all along. I had kept it a secret, even from myself, and I had shied away from that secret over and over again.

I supposed I had sensed intuitively that once I acknowledged the secret, I would also have to acknowledge the fact that Philip would never feel the same way about me, and that would ruin everything. And my intuition was right—Philip didn’t feel the same. In fact, he would do anything to be rid of me. Well, I would make sure he got what he wanted. He would be rid of me, as soon as possible. This paradise was ruined for me. As soon as Lady Caroline’s ball was over, I would find a way out of Edenbrooke, even if it meant going back to Bath.

At that decision, I broke all of my promises to myself. With a great, wrenching sob, my heart broke open, and I cried as I had not cried since my mother died.

Chapter 21

Philip was gone when I awoke. Betsy announced it to me in her breathless voice, elated about having new gossip to share. I sat in bed holding the cup of chocolate she brought me, feeling conflicted. The defensive part of me did not want to hear Philip’s name at all. The weak part of me wanted to hear of nothing else. I also had a throbbing headache from crying so much through the night. I said nothing as I listened to Betsy’s ramblings, as I was involved in a battle between my mind and my heart.

“I saw them before they left—Sir Philip and Mr. Wyndham, that is. I was coming from the kitchen and they were standing in the foyer and Sir Philip happened to see me. Imagine my surprise when he came and spoke to me!”

I nearly dropped my cup. “He spoke to you?”

“Yes. He said, ‘You’re Miss Daventry’s maid, are you not?’ And I said that I was, and he asked me how you were feeling. ‘Well enough, I daresay,’ I told him, and then I remembered that I still had the letter you had asked me to mail in my pocket, so I gave it to him and asked him to frank it. He said he would take care of it, and he took it with him. Now he and Mr. Wyndham are gone, but they will be back in a week, I’ve heard, for the ball.”

I stared at her. “You gave my letter to Sir Philip?”

“Yes. Wasn’t it a good idea?”

I did not want Philip to have my letter. It was personal. What if he somehow accidentally opened it and read it? I knew that was a far-fetched idea, but it was within the realm of possibility. I felt vulnerable knowing he had my letter, and I did not like the feeling one bit. But there was nothing I could do about it.

After dressing, I found Cecily lying in her bed, recovering from her late night. My good intentions were firmly in place when I asked her how she had enjoyed the remainder of the ball.

“It was not as enjoyable as I had hoped,” she said, covering her yawn with a dainty hand. “Sir Philip was in a strange mood. He hardly spoke two words to me when we danced together, and as soon as the music ended, he walked away. I didn’t see him again until the carriage ride home. But luckily Mr. Kellet was very attentive.” She flashed me a sly smile. “
Very
attentive.”

I was taken aback by her look. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “Marianne! I thought you were a little bit wiser now.” She leaned forward and whispered, “He told me to meet him outside, and when I did, he grabbed me and kissed me.”

My smile froze. “And how was it?”

She leaned back against her pillows, grinning. “It’s like I told you—the rakes are the best kissers.”

“Cecily!” I stood abruptly. “How can you . . . how can you act like that and talk like that? How can you even
think
of another man when you’re supposed to be violently in love with Sir Philip?”

“Well,
he’s
not trying to kiss me, now, is he? So I might as well find my pleasure where it’s available until he does act on his feelings.” She raked her hands through her hair. “And there is plenty of pleasure to be had from Mr. Kellet.”

I reeled back, shocked. And then I remembered that Philip was off seeking the same type of pleasure. I turned away from her in disgust and walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, sounding surprised. “Don’t you want to hear more about the ball?”

“No,” I said, opening the door. My good intentions had fled. “I have no desire to hear anything at all about rakes or . . . or kissing . . . or whatever it is you elegant people do in pursuit of pleasure. You may talk to Louisa about it.” I slammed the door shut behind me.

Mr. Beaufort called on me later that morning. I had a talk with myself as I walked downstairs to meet him. Here was a handsome, respectable young gentleman who seemed interested in me, and I told myself I should do all that I could to encourage him. After all, a little encouragement from me might lead to an offer of marriage. And right now, when it appeared nobody in the world wanted me, an offer of marriage seemed like a light in the darkness.

Lady Caroline sat with Mr. Beaufort in the drawing room. He still looked dashing and handsome, but now that I had a chance to really look at him, I saw a dullness in his hazel eyes that disconcerted me. But that didn’t matter. He wanted to be with me. I focused on flirting and encouraging, and set to it as if it were an arduous task. After half an hour, Mr. Beaufort stood, looking pleased, and bade me good-bye.

“I hope I may call on you again soon,” he said.

I watched him leave before I glanced at Lady Caroline, who had kept us company while we visited. She set aside her embroidery and turned to me with a smile.

“I am going to cut some roses in the garden. Will you join me?”

I wanted to refuse—I was exhausted from my attempts at flirting—but she smiled at me with such warm affection that I couldn’t find it in my heart to tell her no. I went upstairs to get my bonnet, and when I returned, she was waiting for me with two baskets and two shears. We walked to the rose garden. I tried not to remember the time I had spent wandering through the gardens with Philip. I tried not to think of Philip at all, actually. Not what we had done, and certainly not what I assumed he was doing right now.
That
thought made me feel as if I had plunged the shears right into my heart.

I started cutting roses and laying them carefully in my basket. After a moment of companionable silence, Lady Caroline said, “There is nothing in my life that makes me happier than to see my children happy. Especially Philip.”

Oh, no. She was going to talk to me about Philip? That was the last thing I wanted to hear about.

She went on. “It has been so nice—no, more than nice—it has been a real joy to see Philip so happy lately, to see him laughing again.”

I looked at her in surprise. “He didn’t laugh before?” The idea seemed absurd—incomprehensible even.

“Oh, no, he used to laugh. He just hasn’t recently.” She brushed a bee away from the rose she was cutting. “As a boy, Philip was lighthearted and carefree. He had a talent for charming someone out of the sulks or turning a fight into a comedy. There was always a new energy when he entered a room—as if he carried a ray of sunshine with him wherever he went.”

She sighed. “But he seemed to lose that part of himself when he took on his father’s role. I think the weight of his responsibility made him take himself too seriously. And then, being flattered and pursued by so many ambitious women . . . well, I fear it ruined him.” Her mouth set in a firm line. “He became an arrogant boor.” She snipped a rose.