“I said, you’ll be rich soon.”
She snorted. “The pamphlet will not make money. It will cost me dearly. I shall sell those items I bought on your account to pay for it.”
“I mean your dowry. Fifteen thousand pounds. When I called on your father in London, he agreed to give it to me. My solicitor is making arrangements so it comes to you instead.”
Her knees failed her, and Thea plopped down on the nearest chair.
“You villain,” she said, her voice cracking. “How dare you do something like that?”
“It seemed right.”
“It makes it hard for me to hate you.”
“It’s better for us both if you do hate me.” He headed for the door. “There is no place for you here.”
“I never said there was.” She sat up straight and donned her most imperious look. “I shall go, of course, but when I’m good and ready, and not before.”
“Fine. Stay. Go. Don’t stay. Don’t go. I don’t care what you do.”
With another shake of his head, Rafe disappeared out the door.
After Thea had changed into a dry gown and tidied up, she headed downstairs. In the foyer, a pair of maids shot her a look and whispered behind their hands before darting away. But no one came to throw her out, so she went into the library, where she found a thick letter from Arabella and tore it open.
Enclosed in Arabella’s letter was a note from Helen. Thea scanned her sister’s words hungrily, relieved to confirm she had married Mr. Russell at the Scottish border, as planned, and the happy couple were heading to Brighton to flaunt their marriage before fashionable society.
“Perhaps now you’ll believe it’s true love, for we haven’t a single regret between us,” Helen wrote. “Except one: I regret I had to leave that smelly greatcoat behind.”
A reflection in the glass caught her eye. Thea whirled around, to face Sally and Martha.
It seemed an age before anyone spoke.
“So. You are not really the countess,” Sally said. “You are neither his wife, nor his lover.”
“I was pretending.”
Thea’s voice sounded too small and she didn’t like that in herself. Whatever else happened, she had vowed that never again would she give up her voice.
“I am sorry I deceived you,” she said, loud and clear. “It was to help a friend and my sister. I was pretending to be someone I am not.”
To Thea’s surprise, Sally responded with a broad smile. “We’ve all done that. What woman hasn’t?”
Thea waited. Surely there would be more. Surely they would next tell her how awful she was.
But Martha only shrugged. “That explains the other matter.”
“What other matter?”
“The matter of separate beds. I thought he needed some medicine to help him, but he got upset at my suggestion.”
Thea thought of Rafe’s hard body pressed against hers—exceedingly desirable, he had said—and her cheeks heated. “He was being honorable.”
“If a man could impregnate a woman with a look, you would birth triplets,” Martha said.
“Um.” Thea thought about this. “That’s rather disturbing, Martha.”
The older woman only laughed.
“His lordship has agreed to let me stay a little longer,” Thea added, glossing over the details of their argument. “But I should move out of the countess’s chambers. If you have a smaller room?”
“Moving you will be work,” Sally said. “You want to make more work for us, my lady?”
“Of course not. But I’m not a real lady. My name is Thea. Thea Knight.”
“Have you learned to play billiards yet, Thea Knight?” Martha asked. “We’ll see you after dinner.”
And with that invitation, the pair turned to leave.
Thea stared at their backs, perplexed at their lack of anger. But as they seemed to have no interest in scolding her, she risked another question.
“Sally, may I ask—”
“No.”
“You and Lord Ventnor seemed to know each other.”
Sally hesitated, before turning back. “After Katharine died, I went to London, where I encountered Lord Ventnor. We argued, and he threatened me. I was frightened and I came back here. To my home.”
“Today, you ran away from him. That must have been some argument.”
“It was very unpleasant.”
“About?”
Again, Sally hesitated before answering. “Katharine. It seemed to me that Ventnor did not grieve her suitably. I told him as much, and he didn’t like that.” She sighed. “I beg you, Thea, I prefer no questions. Even if we are friends.”
Without another word, they went out.
Alone again, Thea turned to Arabella’s letter, which contained an account of her trip to London to order a costume for the Prince Regent’s party. The letter ended with a paragraph so astonishing that Thea had to read it twice:
I have long suspected you are withholding information and now I have proof. During our journey, we stopped in a market town, where we watched a short play performed by a traveling theatre troupe. It was astoundingly similar to your pamphlet: It told the tale of Rosamund, a winsome lass who was cruelly wronged by two dastardly knaves. (Although the ending was…surprising.) Why are they performing your story? You will write immediately and withhold nothing of your adventures.
Despite everything—or perhaps because of it—Thea began to laugh. Her impromptu performance in the coaching inn that night must have been seen by someone connected to a traveling theatre company, who thought it worthy of a repeat. Now people were hearing her story in a way she had never dreamed!
Grateful for the distraction, Thea dropped into the big leather chair and reached for quill, ink, and paper. Much of what she had withheld could not be put on paper, but Arabella deserved something for her nagging. If she wanted adventures, well, Thea could pen a whole novel of them!
Oh. Oh. She had never considered that. The sole purpose of her pamphlet was to clear her name; never had she imagined writing for fun. But it would be fun, wouldn’t it?
And it would certainly help take her mind off…people.
It could begin as a letter, claiming to tell the true story of a young lady, who was—yes! An outcast with a secret fortune. She was kidnapped and taken to a castle by a cruel sorcerer who carried a magical ebony stick. It would be a proper castle, of course, gloomy and crumbling, with skeletons and musty books and creatures in jars. And a ghost, who came out of the portraits. No— Who came out of the lake.
Thea looked past her own reflection to the lawn and the lake beyond. Her eyes still burned with the image of Rafe, wading toward her, brandy-colored eyes intent, water trickling down those hard muscles, his body both powerful and scarred.
Suddenly, every part of her ached. Rafe did not want her, and even understanding why did not ease that hurt. One more day, he had said. What if they did have one more day? What if she went to him now and said, “Just one more evening?”
No. That would be a mistake. Rafe had turned out to be as unreliable as everything else in her world. There was no rock for her to stand on here, nothing but the same shifting sands as everywhere else. Rafe offered nothing but another adventure, to keep her entertained until she found her way home.