A Lady to Remember Read online

  She wouldn’t hear the end of it from Leo’s mother if he became embroiled in a love affair with an actress, and she didn’t want to give the woman another excuse to call at Corbyn Place. Millicent had loftier goals for her sons, none of which involved penniless brides or expensive mistresses.

  “Havers!” The mild feminine exclamation came from outside of the breakfast room, drawing Adele’s attention away from her plate. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I am so very sorry.”

  “It is all right,” Harry said.

  “Dear me; how clumsy I am. Did I hurt you?” The female repeated how sorry she was while Harry tried to reassure her that he was fine. “Here, allow me to set you back to rights, Your Grace.”

  Adele left her seat to search out the source of the commotion and found Cassia, the newest housemaid fumbling with Harry’s cravat while he gaped at her in bemused horror. When the young woman reached to sweep away a wayward lock of hair from Harry’s forehead, Adele intervened.

  “Harry, is everything all right?” Her question startled the maid who jumped apart from Harry, blushing like mad.

  “Yes, yes,” her brother said with a thread of irritation running through his voice. “Cassia and I were involved in a small collision, but as I was trying to convey, I am fine.”

  Adele arched an eyebrow as he stalked past her and into the breakfast room. “Have you been injured?” she asked the maid.

  Cassia ducked her head. “No, ma’am.”

  “Report to Mrs. Walsh anyway. If the head housekeeper determines you are well, you may return to your duties.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The maid slunk away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

  A footman was sliding a full plate in front of her brother when Adele sauntered back into the breakfast room. She was stalling, pondering what might be going on with the maid, and hoping she was wrong. She dismissed the manservant with a smile and returned to her chair across the table from Harry.

  As she placed the napkin across her lap, she glanced at her brother. He pushed his food around the plate with the fork tines, frowning.

  “Are the eggs not to your liking?”

  He dropped the fork against the bone china and leaned back in his chair. “I ate too many biscuits before my morning ride and spoiled my appetite.”

  Adele tsked. “You and your sweet tooth. It is a wonder you do not weigh as much as your horse.”

  Despite her brother’s love for biscuits, tarts, and cakes, he retained his slender build, but neither was he idle. He’d grown accustomed to walking to his destinations in Paris when they could not afford to waste money on hired carriages, and he had continued the custom in London.

  “I should scold Cook for plying you with sweets before breakfast,” she teased.

  “Don’t you dare! Her biscuits are delicious.”

  Adele made a soft gagging noise. The cook used too much sugar for her tastes, but the staff at Corbyn Place seemed genuinely concerned with pleasing their new employer, and Harry was happy. Perhaps some were a bit too concerned with pleasing her brother.

  Adele touched the napkin to the corners of her lips. “May I ask the nature of your association with the maid?”

  “Who? Cassia?”

  “Should I be worried about other maids?”

  Harry frowned. “She is a maid. I am her employer. That is the extent of our association.”

  “I am surprised you know her name.”

  “I have learned every servants’ name,” he grumbled and returned to pushing his eggs around his plate. “Besides, she is underfoot constantly. Every time I retire to my study, she finds an excuse to interrupt me. I cannot help but know her name.”

  “She was making cow eyes at you and behaving in a most intimate fashion. Does she often touch you like she was?”

  “Good God, no.” Harry ogled her as if she had sprouted a horn in the middle of her forehead. “I believe she was truly flustered. I plowed into her quite suddenly. It is a wonder I didn’t send her flying across the room.”

  “How did it happen? Were you not looking where you were going?”

  “I do not know. One moment, she was not there and the next, we collided.” He reached for his cup of tea, holding it around the middle and foregoing the handle. “Was she making cow eyes? I thought I sensed an interest on her part.”

  Adele groaned. “Please do not tell me you are considering a liaison with the maid.”

  “Give me credit. You know I have better sense than to dally with the help, and I assure you, the attraction is one-sided.”

  Uneasiness inched up her spine. She didn’t doubt Harry was telling the truth, but even the appearance of impropriety could set tongues to wagging. A scandal in the household would not reflect well on either of them. “Perhaps I should reassign Cassia to the kitchen.”

  “I defer to your judgment,” he said and took a sip of tea.

  “Well, that is reassuring. I will remember you said so when I tell you about my outing this afternoon.”

  His dark eyebrows lifted toward his hairline.

  She made use of her napkin once more, hesitant to share her plans after practically accusing him of seducing the maid. “I encountered Marcus yesterday.”

  Her brother set his cup down hard. Tea sloshed over the rim and splattered the white linen tablecloth.

  “Harry, please watch what you are doing.”

  He ignored her reprimand. “What did the blighter have to say for himself? Has he jilted you or not?”

  “It is complicated, but I have reason to hope our differences can be reconciled.” A very slim hope given Marcus’s disdain for Harry, but she didn’t wish to share that detail with her brother. “We have agreed to meet privately to continue our courtship. If we are both satisfied that a marriage between us is desirable, we will make our betrothal public.”

  “An understanding already exists, and if Mr. Fletcher believes I will allow him to use and discard you, he is a damned fool. I will sue him for breech of contract.”

  “You will not.”

  Harry surged to his feet, planting his hands against the table and looking quite fierce with fire flaring in his eyes. “Don’t presume to tell me what I can and cannot do. I will meet him on the field and put a ball through his chest if necessary.”

  She sighed, accustomed to his fervent rants. Soon he would calm himself, and she could reason with him.

  “Meet with him privately.” He scoffed. “Where does privacy exist in this overcrowded city?”

  “He was at the theatre yesterday when our brothers and I called on Tilde and Lars. The owner is his friend. We have agreed to meet at the Drayton today, and Leo is providing his escort.”

  “Hmmph,” Harry grunted, apparently losing some of his zeal for arguing. “You needn’t bother Leo. I could accompany you and see our friends, too.”

  “Uh...” Adele wet her lips. “Leo wants to go. Besides, you are expected at the Lords, are you not?”

  “Unfortunately, I am.” He exhaled, stirring a lock of hair that had fallen forward on his forehead. “Egads, this business with the Queen and Pergami is dragging on, and there does not appear to be an end in sight. I do not know how much longer I can endure the hypocrisy of listening to her being accused of something the King has been guilty of for years.”

  “It is a disturbing turn of events. I do not envy your position.”

  “One would have to be as mad as a March hare to want this responsibility. I wonder if the duchy weighed on our father as much as it does me.”

  Adele smiled sadly. “Maybe.”

  There were many unknowns when it came to their father. Not for the first time, she wished their circumstances had been different. Her brother had deserved their father’s attention. As his heir, Harry should have received guidance and grooming to prepare him for his title. Instead, her brother had been banished from their father’s home—just as Marcus wanted her to banish him from her life.

  She couldn’t foresee how that would ever be possible when her bro
ther had been the only family to ever care about her, nor could she imagine how she could become Marcus’s wife if he refused to reconsider. Somehow, she must find a way for the two most important men in her life to reconcile.

  Perhaps it would require a miracle.

  Eight

  The next day Marcus arrived at the Drayton Theatre during rehearsal for the play, and he was promptly banished from the auditorium. The manager had accused him of pacing the aisle like a nervous grandmother and disturbing the players, but Marcus hadn’t been pacing or nervous. He had merely been checking outside in case Adele had arrived early too and lost her way.

  Rather than argue with Oliver Jonas and cause a scene, he had marched backstage like a good soldier to help one of the crewmen install new dressing room doors.

  Marcus knew very little about doors—aside from how to operate one—so his main contribution consisted of lending brute strength. He lifted and balanced the blasted cumbersome doors while Jerome hammered in the hinge pins. Jobs such as these typically fell to a brawny fellow named Benny, but Benny had been cast in the play and was needed in rehearsal.

  “A little to the left,” Jerome muttered. “Too far. Back to the right. No, your right.”

  Marcus gritted his teeth. It was stifling in the corridor outside the dressing rooms, and his shirt was beginning to cling to his body. Fortunately, he’d had the forethought to undress to his shirtsleeves before lending his assistance. Otherwise, he would be unfit to receive Adele this afternoon.

  “There!” Jerome set the top hinge pin and hopped from the ladder to insert the bottom one.

  With the door secured, Marcus stepped back, swiping the back of his wrist across his forehead. Jerome grabbed the ladder and tucked it under his arm.

  “That was the last one,” the crewman said.

  Applause erupted behind Marcus. “Bravo, Mr. Fletcher. Well done.”

  Adele was standing alone in the corridor with a brilliant smile on her lovely face. Her praise generated warmth in the center of Marcus’s chest that expanded and filled him in a way he couldn’t put into words. It was oddly pleasing to earn her adulation, though he had accomplished no great feat.

  “How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

  “A while. I did not want to interrupt you. It appeared to be an onerous task.”

  Jerome cleared his throat, reminding Marcus they were not alone. “I have more tasks awaiting me. I should see to them.”

  “I imagine you do. Russell can be quite the taskmaster, can he not?” Marcus inclined his head to express his gratitude to Jerome for making himself scarce.

  “Keeps me busy and out of trouble, that he does,” Jerome said. “Claudine has a basin and pitcher in her dressing room. She wouldn’t mind you using it if you want to clean up.”

  “Thank you, Jerome.”

  The man grinned at Adele. “G’day, miss.”

  “Good day, sir.”

  Adele did not seem the least bit uncomfortable with the informality observed at the theatre or the sight of Marcus in his shirtsleeves. In Paris, she had seemed fragile and in need of a protector. She had needed him. Now she was the picture of composure, and he couldn’t help wondering if she had changed or if he had never known the real Adele.

  “I require a moment to set myself back to rights,” he said.

  “Of course.” She stepped aside to allow him to pass and followed him into Claudine’s dressing room.

  The lead actress had left a lamp burning on low to compensate for the lack of a window. Adele stopped in front of a poster displayed on the wall advertising a circus act. “I loved when the acrobats performed in Brussels. They were very daring.”

  No more daring than she was being by meeting him when a fall from grace could be just as damaging as falling from the sky. He turned up the flame on the lamp. “Did you come alone?”

  “No, Leo stayed to watch rehearsal. The novelty appeals to him.”

  Some of the tension he held in his shoulders eased at learning she had a chaperone of sorts.

  She continued to examine the contents of the dressing room, keeping her back to Marcus as he poured water into the basin. After splashing several handfuls on his face, he scrubbed his skin dry with a small cloth.

  “Not many are allowed the privilege of attending rehearsal,” he said. “Would you like to return to the auditorium to watch?”

  “No, thank you.” She sat on a gold brocade fainting couch that was wedged into the corner and peered up at him with her hands resting on her lap. The lamplight shimmered off her dark eyes. “Would it be forward of me to admit I only came for you?”

  “Perhaps.” He smiled, intrigued by this bolder version of Adele. “Yet, I am pleased none-the-less.”

  Setting aside his misgivings about protecting her reputation, he sat next to her on the couch. His thigh brushed hers. He heard the soft intake of her breath. She shimmied on the cushion to create a sliver of space between them, pasting on a smile. Her shyness seemed to return with the flood of pink rushing into her cheeks, and she had difficulty meeting his gaze.

  “Did you enjoy a pleasant morning?” she asked in a breathy voice that caused his heart to swell with affection. Adele was still an innocent when it came to men, which he only now admitted had worried him.

  “I had a very pleasing morning,” he answered, “and you?”

  She glanced at him from beneath her lashes as if she couldn’t quite trust that he wished to engage in mundane conversation. He didn’t particularly, but he wished to put her at ease, and engaging in familiar actions often created a sense of comfort.

  A slight frown wrinkled her porcelain brow. “It was typical, I suppose.”

  He lounged against couch cushion, propping his arm along the back. “And what constitutes a typical day for Lady Adele now?”

  “My days are rarely boring.” She chuckled, but soon her rich cocoa brown eyes clouded over and the furrow between her perfect brows deepened.

  He sat up straight again, concerned by her words and change in demeanor. “Has something happened at home?”

  “No... Well, I cannot say exactly.” After a slight shake of her head, she gazed up at him with clear eyes and a smile. “It is unimportant. Let’s speak of something else.”

  “Your mannerisms suggest otherwise. Why are you changing the subject?”

  She sighed. “I want to enjoy our afternoon together, and I think you would prefer not to discuss my home life.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she launched into a critique of a book she had borrowed from the lending library. Her refusal to confide in him was like rubbing salt in a wound. Niggling at the back of his mind had always been the thought she might have known about her brother’s plans to steal from Monsieur and Madame le Shavell, and she had slipped away to the gardens with Marcus to hide the truth.

  “How long did you know your brother was a thief?”

  She reared back, speechless.

  He aimed a cajoling smile at her. “You may tell me. It wasn’t his first time, was it? Did he ever ask you to aid him?”

  “No, never.” The color drained from her face. “I only learned what Harry had done that evening, just as you did.”

  Not exactly like Marcus had—she hadn’t lost her freedom—but he had no desire to revisit the past. He wanted to know what the future held, whether he could trust her.

  Adele fidgeted with her skirts and glanced around the crowded space. He captured her chin, urging her to look at him. “Swear to me your brother acted alone, and I will believe you.”

  Her eyes glittered with earnestness. “I swear it. I suspected he formed attachments to support us, but I never...” The tip of her tongue swept over her lips, moistening them; he stifled a groan.

  He longed to believe her, to forget about Paris and love her without reservation. Adele had become woven into the fabric of his being. The man he had been before allowing her into his heart was a stranger to him. Lord knew he had tried to return to normal when he had arrived i
n London, but his old haunts and entertainments had lost their appeal. Now he was stuck in a state of ambiguity, aching for her yet needing to keep his distance—and failing.

  Without conscious decision, Marcus caressed the gentle swell of the apple of her cheek before tracing the slope of her jawline. He reveled in the exquisite softness of her skin as he stroked the length of her elegant neck to her collarbone and back. She swallowed, her throat moving against his fingers. Passion darkened her eyes. Her breathing sounded rushed. His own blood surged, throbbing inside him.

  He swept his thumb over her lush lips still moist from when she had licked them. “I believe you,” he whispered, kissing the sensitive corner of her lips. “I trust you.” He kissed the opposite side of her mouth, lingering.

  Her sigh was a wistful sound that echoed his longing.

  “I missed you, Adele.”

  “I’ve been bereft without you.” The slight hitch of her voice caused him to draw back. Her eyes shimmered in the lamplight. Her gaze overflowed with raw pain that would have knocked him to his knees if he had been standing.

  His words of trust had been hollow until now. To see that her suffering was as real as his own demolished the last of the wall he had wanted to keep between them. If protecting himself meant hurting her, he couldn’t do it.

  “I am here, sweetheart.” He wrapped her in his arms, offering comfort—a covenant. “I am with you.”

  She collapsed against him with a great sob; he held her. Her tears felt like his own, the ones he had never shed that had been weighing him down. As she cried and he whispered soothing promises, the dark heaviness inhabiting his heart began to dissipate. She held the key to his freedom, and she was offering it to him with an open hand. All he had to do was accept it, accept her.

  When her crying slowed, he eased her away and retrieved a handkerchief from his jacket. She sniffled as she traced the embroidered M at the corner. Her eyes were round and luminous when she looked up at him. “You kept it.”