Love's Promise (30 page)

“You make it sound as if you were off on holiday.”

“I had a much needed rest. He was kind to me.”

“Was he?” Camilla snickered. “Believe me, Fanny, I’m fully aware of what your pathetic
holiday
entailed. Lady Rebecca was very descriptive. She’s a jealous little shrew, isn’t she?”

Camilla was smug, being her usual spiteful self, and Fanny cringed with dismay. If Lady Rebecca had provided Camilla with the sordid details of the affair, Fanny would never hear the end of it.

“We need a place to sleep, Camilla. It’s growing dark, and we’ve been traveling forever.”

“You poor things,” Camilla sarcastically jeered. “You must be exhausted.”

“Please, Camilla,” Fanny pleaded, positive that Camilla would respond well to groveling.

“All right,” Camilla ultimately grumbled. “But just for tonight. Tomorrow, you and I are going to have a long talk.”

“Thank you.”

Camilla frowned at the butler. “Show them up to the rear bedrooms. Have someone take up supper trays.”

She leaned closer to him and whispered something Fanny couldn’t hear.

“Of course Miss Camilla.” He glared at Thomas. “I’ll handle it as soon as I have them situated.” He walked to the stairs and gestured for Fanny and Thomas to follow him. “This way, Miss, if you would.”

They trailed after him, when Camilla spoke from down below.

“I have guests coming, Fanny. You will lock yourself in and keep quiet. I won’t have anyone knowing you two are here.”

“As you wish, Camilla.”

“If I so much as see your face, I’ll toss you out on the street and bar the door after you. I’m not joking.”

At having the cruel words voiced in front of the butler, Fanny’s cheeks flushed with shame, but she didn’t reply. Let the man think what he would. Fanny had never understood Camilla’s hostility, and she wasn’t about to explain to a servant why her sister hated her.

Fanny had never had any idea.

Camilla entered Fanny’s bedchamber, and she paused, then smirked.

Fanny was in the dressing room, retching, which could only indicate one thing: Lord Henley was a virile dog, and there was another Wainwright bastard on the way.

With her party about to start, she was in no mood to parlay with self-righteous, prim Fanny, but the discussion had to be held.

Camilla sat in a chair, waiting until Fanny trudged back in. She looked pale and drawn, her hair scraggly with snarls. She was clutching a wet cloth that was pressed to her lips, and she staggered over to the bed and fell onto the mattress.

“Was it something you ate?” Camilla taunted.

“It must have been,” Fanny lied, which surprised Camilla.

Camilla didn’t remember Fanny ever having told a lie before. Then again, Fanny was so naïve, she probably didn’t have a clue as to what was wrong with her, and Camilla was too aggravated to play any games.

“How far along are you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?”

Fanny was very still, steadying her breathing, staring blankly out the window.

“You might as well confess,” Camilla said. “It won’t go away like a bad case of the flu.”

Fanny remained stoically silent, as Camilla assessed her stomach, her breasts.

“I’m guessing three months. He took you to Henley Hall in August, so he must have knocked you up the first day.”

“I wouldn’t know...” Fanny mumbled.

“All right, Miss
Perfect
Fanny, here’s what we’ll do.”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t be snide and call me
perfect
as if you hate me for being who I am.”

“Aren’t we putting on airs? You always badgered me about how to act, but in case you haven’t noticed, things have changed between us.”

“Yes, they have.”

”So you listen to me and listen good: You’re in a peck of trouble, and there’s only so much assistance I’ll offer to get you out of it.”

“I’ll do whatever you say, Camilla. I don’t care what happens to me anymore. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“You can stay here for a month.”

“Fine.”

“During which time, you will get up in the mornings and help with the housework. In the afternoons, I will expect you to search for a job so I can be shed of you.”

“I’ve never been lazy. I’m happy to search for employment.”

“And you have to rid yourself of the baby.”

Fanny’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’m acquainted with a competent barber. He doesn’t guarantee his services, but he usually succeeds, and it doesn’t cost much.”

“Are you saying I should...should...kill my baby?”

“What other choice is there? This isn’t some fairytale. This is real life. This is London. How will you survive if you don’t? How will you support yourself, let alone a baby? If you think it’s possible, we’ll go for a carriage ride, and I’ll show you some of the street women who once believed the same. I’ll introduce you to the orphans of those who’ve perished from disease and starvation.”

Fanny roused herself to a sitting position. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill my baby. It’s Lord Henley’s child.”

“Lord Henley, bah!” Camilla scoffed. “He’s marrying in two weeks. Two weeks, Fanny! Your bastard brat is the last thing on his mind, and if you suppose any differently, you’re even dumber than I always imagined.”

“If I harmed it, he’d be devastated.”

“Didn’t you learn anything from my situation? Where is your dear Lord Henley, Fanny? He’s John Wainwright’s brother. Where the hell is he? I’ll tell you: He’s abandoned you when you’re miserable and pregnant, and he’s about to wed another woman. Why is that?”

“He has to marry her. It’s all arranged.”

“Yes, it is, so you’re being absurd, and if you can’t grasp the facts of your predicament as they currently exist, there’s no hope for you.”

“He cared about me,” she foolishly claimed.

“He did not! His kind
never
cares about people like us. It’s not in their nature to lower themselves that much.”

“You’re wrong about him.”

“I’m not. You were his sexual toy, and now, he’s moved on. If he told you he wanted you for more than a few tumbles under the blankets, he was lying.”

“He never told me anything.” She looked so wounded, so hurt. “He never made any promises.”

“Then you’re doubly out of luck, aren’t you? You don’t even have the benefit of a fantasy to rely on.”

“I wish I was dead.”

“But you’re not, so haul yourself to Thomas’s room and eat a hearty supper. You need to increase your stamina for the ordeal at the barber’s. I’ll hire a hackney to take you there tomorrow.”

Fanny appeared as if she might argue, or wax on about wonderful, loyal Lord Henley, but Camilla wouldn’t listen to any romantic drivel.

Camilla understood how the world worked: It was hell being a woman, and there was no justice for men. Fanny would bear the entire brunt of Henley’s reckless behavior, and no one would be concerned over her plight.

No one would save her. She had to save herself.

Fanny walked into Thomas’s bedchamber, struggling to hide her discomfort. Her bout of nausea had passed, but she still felt awful. He was very astute. If he realized she’d just been ill, he’d want to know why, and she was too weary to make up the necessary lies.

He was on the bed, devouring his meal, and she sat with him, pretending to eat, as she studied the furnishings.

Everything was the height of fashion, the best that money could buy, and while Fanny comprehended that the Wainwright’s were giving Camilla an allowance, it had to be less than what she was spending.

How did she keep on? How did she pay her bills? It was typical of Camilla to be extravagant, to saddle herself with debt, but Fanny wouldn’t worry about it.

For the moment, she had a roof over her head and supper had been delivered. She had severed her relationship with Lord Henley, and had stolen away without being caught. Thomas was with her. Right that second, it was more than enough.

The food was hot and delicious, and there was a pitcher of warm water for washing. They had just finished their ablutions, when heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Camilla was out in the hall, saying, “He’s in here.”

Fanny froze, stunned, as the door was flung open and four footmen entered, wearing the blue and gold livery of the Duke of Clarendon.

“That’s him.” Camilla pointed at Thomas. “That’s the Duke’s grandson.”

Fanny and Thomas rose, and Thomas slipped his hand into Fanny’s.

“Camilla,” Fanny stammered, “what is it? What’s going on?”

“He can’t remain here, Fanny,” Camilla scolded. “I can’t figure out why you brought him.”

“There was nowhere else for him to go!”

“You are being as ridiculous as ever. There are a dozen places he can
go
, but he shan’t stay here.” Camilla signaled to the men. “Take him and be quick about it. I can’t abide a big fuss.”

“Aunt Fanny”—Thomas was terrified—“what’s happening?”

Camilla answered for her. “You’re returning to your grandfather’s.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Thomas said. “I don’t want to leave Aunt Fanny.”

“Has anyone asked your opinion?” Camilla gestured again. “Take him.”

The men hesitated, then one of them stepped forward. “Come then, Thomas. Your grandfather is expecting you.”

“Do I have to go, Aunt Fanny? Do I?”

Fanny tried to shield Thomas with her body. “Camilla, stop it!”

“Fanny, I can’t have a young boy living here, and I won’t jeopardize my arrangement with the Wainwrights. He doesn’t belong to us anymore, and he has to go home.”

The footman pushed Fanny aside, gently, but it was a push all the same. He grabbed Thomas by the arm.

“Let’s be off, Thomas. There’s no need for a huge ruckus.”

Thomas began to cry. “Aunt Fanny, don’t make me.”

“Please!” Fanny implored to the footman, starting to cry, too. “He’s my nephew.”

“That’s as may be, Miss,” he kindly but sternly replied, “but the Duke sent us to fetch him.”

“He doesn’t belong to us, Fanny!” Camilla repeated. “When will you get it through your thick head?”

The man was proceeding to the door, and Thomas was wrestling and dragging his feet.

“Aunt Fanny, come with me!” he pleaded over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to Grandfather. I’ll tell him I want you with me.”

“She can’t come with you, Thomas,” Camilla interjected. “She can’t.”

“I tell Uncle Michael then,” Thomas insisted. “I will! He’ll listen to me.”

The footman glared at Camilla, his disgust obvious. “This is a dirty business, Miss.”

But though he claimed to be sickened by the task, he didn’t shirk from it. He led Thomas into the hall, the other three footmen closing ranks behind them, and swiftly, they were marching down the stairs.

Fanny ran after them, shoving Camilla when her sister tried to block her way.

“I’ll write to you every day, Thomas,” she yelled. “I swear it! If your grandfather says you’ve had no letters from me, you call him a liar!”

“I’ll write, too, Aunt Fanny. I’ll write every day, too.”

Then they were outside, and Fanny hastened to the window and peered out as Thomas was lifted into the Duke’s coach. With a crack of the whip, the footmen jumped on board, and the vehicle raced away.

Feeling as if she’d died all over again, Fanny stumbled to a nearby chair.

How many losses could a woman suffer? How was she to carry on through such torment?

Camilla strutted into the foyer, completely composed, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, as if Thomas had been a used piece of furniture she’d donated to the poor, and Fanny’s temper began to boil.

For years, she’d tolerated Camilla, had endured her vicious remarks, accepted her faults, and ignored her cruelty. No matter how despicably Camilla had acted, Fanny had never uttered a word of protest, but she had to face the fact that Camilla was—and had always been—undeserving of any sympathy.

“How could you do that to him!” Fanny charged, her eyes flashing daggers as she advanced on Camilla. “How could you!”

“My guests will arrive shortly,” Camilla calmly said, declining to argue, “and you’ve wasted so much of my time that I’m not ready to greet them.”