Chapter Twenty-Seven

Myfanwy spun back to the carriage door, checking her reflection in the window to see if her hair was somewhat respectable. She brushed a few wisps off her face, sticking them in the bun at the base of her head and underneath her bonnet. Samuel had tried to help her recoup her propriety before she left his office; however, when he attempted to convince her to let her hair down for the afternoon, Myfanwy realized they had vastly different ideas on what that meant.

Hair down? When she was calling on Jennifer’s home? Mrs. Hallett would have a fit at the sight, and no doubt, bar her from entering the respectable abode.

Samuel had also left her with the annoying thought that Mrs. Hallett would be able to smell their signature erotic scent the second she entered the house. Here, Myfanwy was on more solid ground. Mrs. Hallett might have four children, but Myfanwy doubted that the unyielding woman had any idea what lovemaking smelled like. If her husband ever tried to drape her over his desk, the rigid woman would probably break in half.

As the butler ushered Myfanwy into the foyer to wait, she was racked with guilt from the uncharitable thought. And then she felt even worse, because when Mrs. Hallett met her, she was positively glowing with delight at Myfanwy’s unexpected appearance.

Myfanwy couldn’t remember a time that Mrs. Hallett ever smiled at her before. She was so used to dismissive indifference that it took her a few beats to smile back.

“I’m terribly sorry, my dear, but Jennifer has not been feeling well,” the older woman chirped. Myfanwy had never heard anyone speak so glowingly about another’s ill health before.

“Oh,” she said, becoming cagey under Mrs. Hallett’s bright gaze. “Is it bad?”

Mrs. Hallett let out a billowing laugh, waving a thin hand in the air. “Oh, no, no. You mustn’t worry yourself. It’s just a little cold. She’ll be back to her old self in no time.”

“Oh,” Myfanwy repeated, nibbling on her lip. She glanced at the stairs. “Do you think I could go up and visit her for a few minutes? Nothing too taxing—she just missed our last practice today, and I want to make sure she’ll be ready for the match on Saturday.”

Mrs. Hallett swept her arm behind Myfanwy’s lower back, discreetly ushering her toward the door. “Oh, I don’t think so. She’s been sleeping all day. Best not to wake her.”

Myfanwy resisted the pull. “It sounds worse than a little cold.”

The older woman’s cheeks flushed, and for the first time, Myfanwy saw her grow flustered. “I told you it’s nothing, just a small fever. She’ll be—” Mrs. Hallett dropped her arm when Myfanwy refused to take another step. She cocked her head, scrutinizing Myfanwy as if she were a diamond riddled with flaws.

Then, after an interminable pause, a wide grin broke out on the woman’s face. She clapped her hands in front of her, hiding her excitement like a sheepish child. “Oh, I just can’t lie to you, can I?” she crowed, sweeping Myfanwy into her arms.

Instantly, Myfanwy turned into a board as Mrs. Hallett swallowed her in a hug. She was too flabbergasted to even worry about Samuel’s scent, which she was certain still clung to her like redolent vines.

“I…I suppose not,” Myfanwy stammered, waiting to be released.

Finally, Mrs. Hallett stepped back, her skinny lips pink with joy. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but”—she squinted at Myfanwy playfully—“I have a feeling you already know and you just won’t let on. I should be furious with you! All three of you,” she said, swatting Myfanwy’s arm lightly in jest. “I had such wonderful ideas for the wedding.”

Myfanwy gulped. A cricket-sized ball was lodged in her throat. “Wedding?” she peeped.

“Of course!” Mrs. Hallett replied, not noticing Myfanwy’s discomfort. She was too busy gazing off into the air in a dreamy trance. “It was going to take place at St. George’s, and Jennifer’s dress was going to be white like the queen’s, and she was going to wear red roses in her hair.” Her face dropped in a pout. “It was all going to be so perfect.”

“But?”

She pointed her long nose back to Myfanwy and shrugged. “My daughter and Sir Bramble had other ideas. It was all in the letter.”

A letter?“I don’t understand.”

“Stop pretending, Miss Myfanwy. I know you know. You probably put the idea in her head in the first place. I’m not angry at you, truly.” She flicked a piece of hair off her face. “Well, to be completely honest, I was angry the first day—furious—but I’m over it now. All that matters is that no one finds out that they eloped. We’ll just announce it later, say it was a small, lovely, private wedding, and that will be that. My mother was a seamstress. Now my daughter will be a baroness. Who can ask for anything more?”

Myfanwy was starved for breath. How had this happened? And right under her nose. She and Jennifer told each other everything. And for some inexplicable reason, her best friend had failed to tell her about the most important thing in her life.

Jennifer had run off with Sir Bramble like a thief in the night. The more Myfanwy thought about it, the more it made sense. Jennifer had never wanted a large, ostentatious wedding. She didn’t care a fig about the ton’s acceptance of her. So she’d fled with Sir Bramble. Away from her overbearing mother, who always made everything about herself…and her best friend, who wasn’t much different.

Somewhere a line had been drawn, and Jennifer had seen fit to place Myfanwy on the other side of it.

Myfanwy shut her eyes. Her stomach rolled like she could be sick. “Um…” She cleared her throat. “Did the letter say when she’d be back?”

“Saturday, I think, why? Oh.” Mrs. Hallett’s eyes settled on her shrewdly. “You’re still worried about your little match. Dear girl,” she said, ushering Myfanwy, who was in no shape to stop her this time, to the door. “She can’t possibly play with you now. She’s a wife. She has much more important things to concern herself with.”

Myfanwy didn’t have the heart to resist her. Mrs. Hallett opened the door and shoved her across the threshold. “But…but…”

Mrs. Hallett’s smile was rude and patronizing. “Don’t be upset, Miss Myfanwy. You should be commended. Your little club did exactly what I needed it to do. It put my Jennifer in the right circles and helped her pass the time until her real life could start. You will always have my gratitude.”

It was like she’d stepped in quicksand, and fighting was useless. Myfanwy felt herself sinking one miserable inch at a time. “But…but…”

“I know you’re sad, but don’t worry,” Mrs. Hallett went on, slowly closing the door. “I’m sure your time will come soon. Every woman deserves a husband, and you’re no different.”

*

Something odd happenedin the short drive from Jennifer’s home back to the Flying Batsman.

The fog lifted from Myfanwy’s opaque, insidious grief, and anger replaced it, strengthening and feeding off itself as she came closer to the tavern. It was as if Myfanwy had swallowed the fury, and it thumped and scratched inside her body, threatening to rip out of her unless she released it willingly.

And as she stormed through the busy tavern, whipping Samuel’s office door open without knocking, she was more than willing.

He looked up from his desk, a ready smile on his face. “Missed me, did—” His words broke off as he sobered, realizing swiftly that now wasn’t the time for teasing. “What’s wrong? Is it Jennifer?” he asked, rising from his chair.

With long strides, Samuel came to Myfanwy, attempting to take her in his arms, but she smoothly evaded him. “Yes, it’s Jennifer,” she spat, holding her middle, closing herself off. “And don’t act like you don’t know what’s happened. Were you ever going to tell me? Or was this always going to be your little secret with your business partner?”

Recognition flickered over his face. “Sir Bramble? What does he have to do with me?”

Myfanwy shook her head, amazed that the anger could roar so unrelentingly inside her. “I told you not to get involved. I told you not to pass their letters. And you didn’t listen to me.”

His features hardened. He was finally aware of where this argument was heading. Good. The last thing she wanted was for Samuel to grovel or beg her forgiveness. Myfanwy wasn’t in the mood to play—she wanted to fight.

Samuel’s voice was remarkably calm. “I told you. They asked me to help, and I helped. I thought it was harmless.”

“But it wasn’t harmless, Samuel!” Myfanwy railed, bent over from the pain of the betrayal. “They ran off to Gretna Green. They’re probably exchanging vows as we speak. And we’re here. We’re…here and can’t do anything about it.”

“What’s there to do, Myfanwy? It’s out of your control. They love each other. They want to spend the rest of their lives together. This isn’t the catastrophe you think it is.”

Myfanwy’s eyes narrowed.

Samuel hurried to continue. “You love Jennifer. She’s your best friend in the world, and I know you want the best for her. Trust that she knows that Sir Bramble is that. So she won’t play in the game on Saturday. You don’t have to worry about that; you know we’ll still win.”

“This isn’t about winning,” Myfanwy said, annoyed that it came out on a sob. Tears and anguish pulled at her until she was helpless to fend them off. She wiped the mess off her face, but it just kept coming. “It’s about staying together. Being in charge of our own lives, doing what pleases us, and not what pleases a husband. We are a unit. A family. We have each other. And now that dream is over. Can you see that? Now can you see what you’ve done? Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve ever wanted, is now gone.”

Samuel’s words were quiet; nevertheless, they still managed to prick at her sensitive skin. “She’s not Lilly fucking Gladwell. Just because she’s married, doesn’t mean she’ll leave you behind.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, yes I do,” he said, taking tentative steps toward her. “And the other girls will get married too. You know it. It’s inevitable. You’re fooling yourself if you don’t see it.”

Myfanwy lifted her head. “Then maybe I’m a fool. Because I allowed myself to picture this life years ago, and it only took a couple of men a matter of weeks to ruin it for me.”

Ruin. Yes. There was that word again. Samuel had ruined her—only not like she’d thought he would.

She lumbered past him to his seat, flopping down in it, holding her head in her hands. Myfanwy felt like a petulant child, but he couldn’t understand. Of course she knew Jennifer would get married someday. But she’d always pushed that day off to the far horizon of her mind, always thinking they had more time—and the same with the other women. This was her group. She’d found them. She’d made them. And now she had no idea who or what she would be when they left her.

Thoughts of rebuilding the team, year after year, season after season, seemed exhausting. Inviting in new members, investing in them, as others married and moved on, always playing against her old friends, and never with them. As Cremly had told her, Myfanwy would always be looked on as the loser in life, despite what the scorecard read at the end.

A lonely existence spanned out before her, one where meeting new ladies—creating new relationships—would only compound the heartache.

“Have I ever asked you to stop playing cricket?”

Myfanwy lifted her head out of her hands, dashing at her eyes to see Samuel clearly. He hadn’t moved from his space. Everything about him, from his voice to his figure, reminded her of stone. Implacable and stagnant, just like her future.

She shook her head. “No.”

Samuel nodded, his jaw tight. “That’s good. I wanted to make sure you remembered that.”

“That’s not what this is about—”

“No, let me tell you what this is about,” Samuel said. He reached out and pulled Myfanwy up from the seat, clutching her shoulders so she was forced to listen to him. “You built yourself a family from the ground up. You took that vow you made as a little girl, and for years you’ve been single-minded in making it come to life. But in the process, you’ve allowed your fears to take over. And I understand. You’ve been left behind by so many—your mother, your father, your friend, and now Jennifer. But you’ve become so obsessed with it that you’ve failed to see what’s in front of you. You are a member of a team and a family. You have me and Annabelle and Aaron and your aunt. You have us. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Myfanwy observed the vulnerability in his features, and she desperately wanted to believe him.

But she didn’t.

“Another lie,” she said quietly. “You’re going to leave too. I heard you talking to Sir Bramble that day. It’s only a matter of time before you start playing again. And then it’s like I’ll be a child once more, watching you from the sidelines.”

Samuel shook her, frustrated. “You’re not listening to me. I’m yours. I’m here. I wouldn’t do anything without knowing that you were behind me. I love you. And you love me—you’re just too scared to admit it.”

“Don’t do that,” Myfanwy said, breaking out of his grasp. “Don’t tell me how I feel, and don’t use those feelings against me. We were playing. You said it yourself. It—you—were never meant to eclipse everything in my life.”

Samuel’s face went white.

But Myfanwy couldn’t stop. She couldn’t get a hold of the thousands of feelings beating against her breast. Pain and betrayal and bitterness were like ink spilling on a white sheet, forever running and bleeding over everything else. “Bet on yourself, right? It was your father who said it. He’s the one that told you to trust yourself and no one else. Well…” Myfanwy shrugged hopelessly. “It’s good advice.”

She headed to the door. It was stupid to have come here. She should have known it wouldn’t help matters. Jennifer was still gone, and now Samuel had just muddied the waters further. Now was not the time to tell her that he loved her. Not with anger and resentment and irritation cracking the foundation beneath their feet. She had to think. She had to plan. She needed to find some semblance of control.

“Don’t leave,” Samuel barked as she clasped around the handle. He sighed. “I’m sorry I turned your life upside down; I’m sorry that your loving me—and you do love me—changes everything. But that’s life, Myfanwy. It’s an unrelenting, twisted, malevolently lovely thing that sometimes, just sometimes, gives us what we need instead of what we want.”

There was a flutter against her palm. Myfanwy’s face crumpled in a sob when she felt Samuel reach out to hold her hand, reach out to stop her, reach out to save her from being alone.

“You need me. You know do. Just as much as I need you.”

But she wasn’t ready. So much of Myfanwy’s young life had been warped by change she hadn’t seen coming. She refused to let it dictate her decisions when it was staring her in the face.

“That’s the thing about growing up lonely,” she said, imbuing her voice with steel. “You learn that you don’t really need anybody.”

And she unwound her hand from his and left.