Gerald stared at her, shocked. “He said goodbye by letter? Without even trying to see her? That swine. His own daughter! How did she take it?”
Alice shook her head. “She’s devastated, of course, but determined not to show it. She says it’s nothing new. It seems she’s quite accustomed to being abandoned by that wretched man—but honestly, how could any young girl become accustomed to such carelessness? Especially as he’s her only living relative. And she’s such a dear girl. Oh, I could strangle him.”
“You’ll keep her with you of course.”
“Yes, of course, though she has her pride. My guess is she’ll try to insist on leaving.” Alice snorted. “To go where? That man has left her with nothing. I’m just thankful she is safely betrothed to you. Were it not for that . . .” She shook her head.
Gerald frowned. The betrothal was currently as strong as wet paper. He would have his work cut out for him now. “Perhaps this visit to my grandmother might cheer her up.”
Alice gave him a skeptical glance. “You think so?”
“Why not? At least it will be a change. I’ll go and speak to her now.” On the point of leaving, he turned back at the door. “There was no mention of the letters, I suppose?”
“None.”
“Damn him—sorry, Aunt Alice.”
“Don’t be,” Alice said. “I quite agree.”
He found Lucy in her favorite spot, under the spreading plane tree, painting. Or rather, pretending to paint. He stood in the shadows and quietly watched her for several minutes. Her brush never moved. She just sat, staring blankly into the distance.
He couldn’t imagine how she must feel. To be so callously abandoned, so entirely alone . . .
No matter how unsatisfactory his own parents were, they were at least there.
He must have moved or made a sound, for she turned her head and sprang up. “Gerald.” She put her paintbrush down, smoothed her dress and faced him with a forced smile. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s time this sham came to an end.”
He strolled toward her. “What sham would that be?”
“The betrothal.”
“Oh, that. There’s no hurry.”
“You don’t understand.” She took a small square of paper from her sleeve and handed it to him. “I received this today. My father has left the country. As you will see, there’s no longer any reason to continue this betrothal charade,” she said in a colorless voice.
Gerald unfolded the square and started to read. As he did, his anger grew. The smug self-satisfaction of the man. His complete disregard for his daughter’s feelings. Not even a pretense that she would be welcome to visit or that he intended to share any of his good fortune with her.
“You see?” she said when he’d finished reading. “It’s time I set you free. I’m not quite sure how to proceed—do I send the notice to the papers? Or is it more proper for you to do so? Only I don’t want people to think you have been in any way dishonorable.”
He refolded the letter and passed it back to her. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not ready to cancel our betrothal yet.”
A troubled crease appeared between her brows. “Why not? We only did it to bring my father out from wherever he was lurking. Now he’s on his way to America, there’s no point.”
“Yes, but there are other things to consider,” he said vaguely.
“What things?”
“People. My grandmother for a start.”
She stared at him, puzzled. “What does your grandmother have to do with it?”
“She’s very much looking forward to our visit tomorrow. I’d hate to disappoint her.”
“But she doesn’t even know me. And won’t she be even more disappointed if we break off the betrothal after the visit?”
“She’s expecting us. And if you don’t come with me,” he added in a burst of inspiration, “Alice won’t be able to go and stay with her friend—and you know how she hates to let people down. As a betrothed couple, with a maid in attendance, you and I can travel quite respectably, but if we were no longer betrothed, it would be quite scandalous.”
She eyed him with a doubtful expression. “Really?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “By staying betrothed, we can make both my grandmother and Alice happy, and nobody will be put out or disappointed.”
“I suppose,” she agreed reluctantly.
He gave her a quizzical look. “Are you so keen to get rid of me?”
She gave a halfhearted laugh. “It’s not that, it’s just that— Oh, my father has embroiled us all in this dreadful tangle, and I can see no way out except to cut right through it and leave everyone free and clear.” Her lovely eyes were troubled. “I am truly grateful, Lord Thornton, for your—”
“What?” He staggered back as if in shock.
She put a concerned hand on his arm. “What is it? Are you ill?”
“You called me Lord Thornton.” And then when she didn’t respond, he added, “Not Lord Thorncrake or Lord Thorndyke or Lord Thornbottle.”
She looked self-conscious. “Oh. Yes. Well, I’m sorry about that.”
He fixed her with a gimlet look. “Who are you and what have you done with Lucy Bamber?”
She laughed, a genuine one this time.
“That’s better,” he said. “I don’t like seeing you all crushed and guilty. None of this mess is your fault, and your father is gone, so let us put it all behind us.” Before she could argue the case, he hurried on. “Now, I plan to collect you at half past eight tomorrow morning. It’s not too early for you, is it? It will take us most of the day to reach my grandmother’s.”
“It’s not too early,” she said. “But I still don’t like the thought of getting her hopes up.”
“Let me worry about that,” he told her.
* * *
* * *
Lucy ate a hearty breakfast. Alice had toyed with a piece of toast but hadn’t been able to bring herself to eat more than a mouthful. She was too tense.
She waved off Lucy and Mary shortly after half past eight. It was a rather grand affair. The smart traveling carriage had the Charlton coat of arms on the door and was pulled by a team of four fine horses. The driver wore livery, as did the footman traveling at the rear. Gerald accompanied them on horseback.
As they turned the corner and disappeared from sight, butterflies started up in Alice’s stomach. James would be here in half an hour. She was all packed, but was she ready for what was to come? She had no idea.