Chapter Eight

B lessing kept her gaze locked on her folded hands where they rested in her lap. After last night's dismal outcome, she was in no mood for yet another of Chance's family meetings.

Serendipity sat on one side of her, occasionally reaching over to give her a reassuring pat. Fortuity sat on her other side, periodically doing the same. While Blessing appreciated their caring and concern, the best thing they could do for her was leave her alone and allow her to disappear into her observatory. She needed time to mend her wounded pride and bruised heart. Nurturing a growing affection, a feeling that might have possibly deepened into love was not for the weak or cowardly. It was a dangerous war. One that she had lost early on in the battle.

"Last night was little better than Lady Atterley's ball," Chance began in a firm, authoritative voice reminiscent of their father's. He paced back and forth in front of the seven seated sisters, hands clasped to the small of his back, his expression grim with disappointment. He halted in front of Merry and glared down at her. "One does not sneak upstairs to the nursery to play with the children."

Merry sat taller, squared her shoulders, and glared right back at him. "One does when the Marquess of Debt refuses to leave one alone. The man smells like an overripe chamber pot."

With a barely restrained huff, Chance shook his head and moved to stand in front of Grace. "One also does not slip out to the stables."

"There were puppies, Chance," Grace said. "You know how I feel about puppies."

"Do not even start with me," Joy said as he made his way to her. "I trounced everyone at whist, loo, and picquet last night. When the cards are in my favor, I daren't set them aside."

He arched a brow at Felicity. "Is it true that you actually went into the kitchens and asked their cook to show you how a particular dish was prepared?"

"It was so divine," Felicity countered. "I simply had to know how to make it."

"At least I'm safe this time," Fortuity whispered to Blessing. "I was a chaperone."

"You are not safe, Tutie. When Essie chose to spend the remainder of the evening in the ladies' retiring room, you failed to join Seri and me in our attempt to quell the newly sprouted rumors regarding our sister and the infamous Lord Knightwood." Chance's broad chest swelled with a deep intake of air, which he blew out in a frustrated whoosh. "Essie."

Even though he said her name with compassion, Blessing braced herself and lifted her gaze. "What, brother?"

His deep blue eyes darkened to the almost violet hue they always took on whenever he felt something deeply. "I am sorry. I know your evening was upsetting."

"But?"

He shook his head. " But nothing. I do not wish you upset in any way and wish I could have prevented your witnessing that unpleasantness on the terrace."

"It was not Lord Knightwood's confrontation with Lord Montagne that upset me." She might as well set the record straight for all and sundry. "It was his avowal that his ways could not be changed—or at least that he was unsure if they could be changed. That is what upset me. Apparently, I am not enough to make him aspire to do better."

"His poor character has nothing to do with you, dear sister." Chance's eyes flashed an even darker, angrier purple. "His weaknesses are his own. Not yours. The Almighty gave each of us free will, the ability to choose between right and wrong. Knightwood appears to be a damned fool controlled by his baser instincts."

"He thinks with the part of his anatomy below his waist rather than his brain," Serendipity snapped.

"Sister!" Chance stared at her in shock. "What would Mama say about such a statement?"

"I daresay she would agree," Serendipity countered.

"Be that as it may," Blessing interrupted, "I shall be forgoing any future engagements for a time."

"Nay, Essie, you must not cower." Chance moved toward her, eyeing her with consternation. "That would only inflame the tittle-tattle sheets. I fear Seri and I failed at squelching all of last night's whispers."

"What whispers? The man escorted me to the terrace, and we were accompanied by two of my sisters. Hang the ton and their intrusiveness." She closed her eyes and rubbed the spot above the bridge of her nose. A pounding headache had taken root and refused to give over, no matter how many cups of Cook's herbals she downed. "There are six other Broadmere sisters. I daresay I shall not be missed for the remainder of the Season."

"Yes, but none of the other sisters had their honor defended quite so loudly with the threat of a duel," Serendipity gently reminded her.

Blessing threw up her hands. "What would you have me do? I cannot control the chattering of fools."

"We shall start a rumor of our own." Chance stared at her with a thoughtful squint. He snapped his fingers. "Your dowry is the heftiest of the seven because you were Papa's favorite. That is what we shall leak to the tongue waggers."

"You wish to use me as bait to silence the gossips?" Her brother had surely lost what little sense he ever had to begin with. "To what end, Chance? So that every dowry-hungry wolf of the ton comes howling at our door? Might I remind you that the will states we must marry for happiness and love? Your tongue waggers know that as well. I overheard Lady Westerbin relay that to her dinner partner when she thought I wasn't listening."

"The wolves would still try to win your heart. Would that be so terrible?"

Only the concern in his eyes kept Blessing from throwing her shoe at him. She rose from her chair and gave him a dismissive flip of her hand as she turned to leave. As far as she was concerned, this meeting was over. "Do what you will, as you always do, since you are a man—a duke, no less. I care not anymore."

Walters appeared at the parlor door and cleared his throat with a loud harrumph .

"Yes?" Chance said with a weariness that almost made Blessing feel sorry for him. Almost.

The butler lifted the small silver tray a little higher. "A message, Your Grace. Delivered just now."

"To whom?"

"The young man delivering it instructed that it was intended for the Broadmere family. " Walters puckered a disgruntled scowl as he hitched his way across the room to Chance and held out the tray. "Quite the rude young man, Your Grace, if I do say so myself."

"Thank you, Walters. That will be all." Chance flipped open the envelope and frowned. "Closed with a plain bit of wax. No seal. Nothing to identify the sender."

An ominous sense of something very dark about to happen curdled in Blessing's middle. Rather than escaping to her observatory as she had planned, she hovered near the door and waited to discover what the mysterious message held.

" The following is scheduled for tomorrow's edition of On Dit– What a Treat," Chance read aloud, his scowl growing more pronounced with every word. " Is it not strange that the seven diamonds of Broadmere, the beauties claiming to be in search of husbands, do not give so much as a passing glance to those who would gladly take them to the altar? Perhaps these glittering seven are not diamonds after all—but faux gemstones. Dare we say possibly even ‘used' bits of colored glass? At least one of them appears to be in the market for a benefactor rather than a husband. " Chance's mouth hardened into a fierce line as he slowly refolded the paper.

"Who would write such a thing?" Serendipity snatched it from him, opened it again, and stared down at it.

"My guess would be the odious Lord Pellington." Blessing moved closer, sniffing loudly as she walked. "Smell the paper. I'm certain the man's stench seeps into everything he touches."

Both Serendipity and Chance fixed her with dubious looks.

"I am quite serious." Blessing took the paper, wafted it under her nose, then frowned. With some disappointment, she announced, "I was wrong. It smells like parchment. But I still say it was him."

"What would he hope to gain by doing such a thing?" Serendipity asked. "We all talked with the man. What more does he want?"

"Our dowries." Blessing passed the note to Fortuity. "Whoever wrote that hopes to have us throwing ourselves at any man who happens to walk in front of us." She allowed herself a weary sigh. "Especially me, it would seem." The fact that her reputation teetered in the balance didn't bother her in the least. Her only concern was her sisters.

Merry rolled her eyes. Grace snorted. Felicity huffed, and Joy shook her fist and growled, "What a load of rubbish! How dare that churl insinuate such rot about us—and especially about our Essie!"

Chance bowed his head while pinching the bridge of his nose. "It might not be Pellington. Although I would not put it past the foul-smelling oaf."

"We must stop this," Serendipity declared, then turned and poked Chance in his shoulder. "You must go down there immediately and demand this not be printed."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Dearest Seri—if I were to do that, they would merely place it at the top of the page in larger print and double their production."

"We must act as though it doesn't matter." Blessing nodded at the note being passed among the sisters. "If we give it no notice and carry on as though it does not exist, the furor will die down much quicker than if we demean ourselves by responding to it. Do you not recall what Mama always said about defending yourself against gossip?"

"Hold your head high and carry on. Let the gossip hang itself," Fortuity said in a sadly reminiscent tone.

"Besides—what harm does it do?" Blessing shrugged. "If anything, I consider it a compliment that we do not throw ourselves at every eligible male of the peerage who happens into the same room with us. You've all seen how the marriage-minded mamas demean themselves and embarrass their daughters. The ton is simply not accustomed to women who know their own minds and are willing to wait for whom they feel suits them the best."

"But Essie," Serendipity said, "you could be ruined by this."

"I am only ruined when I decide I am ruined." Blessing held her head higher, determined to convince everyone, including herself, that she didn't care a whit about the cruel gossip. She clutched a fist to her chest, pressing hard to settle her heart's unhappy yet rapid thumping. "I know I am a good person. A lady. If others are unable to see that, they can happily go to the devil for all I care."

Chance groaned while covering his face with both hands. "Gads—this poor attempt at blackmail has made all of you even more determined to make my life difficult."

"You have made our lives difficult since we were born," Blessing shot back with a toss of her head. "Turnabout is fair play, if you ask me."

"I still say we start the rumor of your dowry being the largest. That will make those who read this vitriol quickly forget all about it." He gave her such a determined look that Blessing knew it was useless to argue. "That might also leave the impression that Knightwood was sniffing around you for the dowry rather than pursuing a dalliance or making you his next mistress."

A shocked gasp burst free of her. She whirled away and rushed for the door. This was simply too much to bear.

"Essie!" Chance caught up and barred her exit. "Please forgive me. I should not have said that."

"No, Chance, you should not have." She stared at him, willing him to feel her pain. "But one cannot un-ring a bell. Can one?"

He had the decency to bow his head and unleash a sigh of regret. "No. One cannot."

"Excuse me, Your Grace?" Walters said from just outside the doorway.

"Yes?"

He lifted the silver letter tray once more, revealing another lone envelope waiting to be opened. "For Lady Blessing."

"If it does not bear an identifying seal, I will not waste my time on it," Blessing snapped. She was thoroughly finished with this nonsense and seriously contemplating the benefits of a spinsterhood spent abroad.

"There is a crest, my lady. A familiar one, I believe." He offered her the tray, his lined face and saggy jowls reminding her of their elderly hounds that Grace tended to as though they were her children.

She glanced down at the letter and immediately recognized the script. "Take it away, Walters. I do not wish to read it." Lord Knightwood had made his position very clear last night. Whatever that letter held would only make matters worse by splitting the wound wider and causing it to bleed even more. "Thank you, that will be all."

"And the messenger?" the old butler asked with a quirk of a bushy gray eyebrow.

She held her breath and counted to ten—a habit Mama had instilled in her at a young age as a means of controlling not only her temper but whatever questionable words were at risk of rolling off her tongue. "Return the letter to the messenger and have him tell his master I refused it."

"Essie? Are you sure?" Fortuity asked. "He told you he needed time and did not wish to hurt you. Perhaps he has had a change of heart."

"And perhaps the moon is made of cheese and the stars lemon drops!" A heady mix of anger, humiliation, and heartbreak made Blessing tremble. She fixed a stern glare on Walters and pointed at the letter. "Please do as I asked. That will be all."

The butler dismissed himself with a tip of his head. As he slowly ambled away, she panicked and dashed after him. "Walters!"

He turned and waited, his face devoid of emotion.

"Give me the wretched thing." Ashamed of her inability to remain steadfast, she hung her head and waited in the hallway. A distinct shuffling behind her betrayed that her overly inquisitive siblings were watching from the parlor doorway.

After dismissing Walters with a look, she gave her family her back, started to break the seal, and then stopped. No. She would read this in private—in her observatory—then ring for the butler to carry a reply when she finished. She turned and charged down the hall.

"Where are you going?" Serendipity called after her.

"Privacy." A rare thing in the Broadmere household, but if they valued their lives at all, they would grant her the solitude she required. Using the key tied to the ribbon pinned to the band around the empire waist of her muslin gown, she unlocked the door to her observatory, stepped inside, then locked it once again.

With her gaze fixed on the letter, she made her way to the bench in front of the wall of windows overlooking the garden. Sunshine streamed in, flooding the room with light. But it did little to belie the bleak darkness that threatened to swallow her. If only she had not allowed herself to entertain the thought of becoming attached to this man. She snorted at that. If only. Another dangerous game.

She laid the letter on the bench beside her, wishing she could know its contents without breaking the seal and revealing her inability to resist temptation. "Oh, to the devil with it!" She snatched it up, snapped the circle of blood red wax in two, and unfolded the parchment.

My dearest Lady Blessing,

I am sorry. More so than you will ever know, and I beg your forgiveness. There are so many things I wish to say, but now that I take quill in hand, the words escape me. Nothing could begin to describe the depth of my remorse as I watched you dash away from me last evening. You are a rare and precious jewel, a lady who deserves only the very best—and I fear that I am not it.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, refusing to give way to tears as she had last night. The cur had made his intentions known then. Why did he feel the need to rub salt in her wounds today? She had not pursued him nor tried to change his mind. No—she had accepted his answer and considered the matter settled. After a hard swallow, she opened her eyes and braced herself for the remainder of his cruel note.

Yet I am a selfish man.

"That is quite apparent, my lord," she grumbled, half tempted to crumple the paper and toss it into the grate.

I can think of nothing other than you. Your eyes. Your smile. Your cutting wit. I find myself loath to forgo the delight of your company.

She frowned, refusing to let the slightest flicker of hope burst into flame and burn brighter. "The man appears unable to make up his mind," she said, forcing a nonchalant tone she in no way felt.

Once more I beg for your patience—for time to see if I can overcome my immoral history.

She growled in disbelief. "I have read enough. This man is a spoiled child, and I shall take no part in teaching him the concept of free will or developing a conscience based on decency." She crumpled the letter, hopped up from the bench, and lobbed it into the fire. "What a load of nonsense! What woman in her right mind would tolerate such a fool?"

You almost did, her inner voice accused. "Oh, be quiet—do!" she snapped. She leaned against the hearth, watching the flames lick their way across the paper and curl it into oblivion. As the letter twisted and turned into a wide black ribbon of ash, a line jumped out at her: …have already captured my heart, my dear lady, and I beg…

"Damn you, Lord Knightwood," she told the ashes. Both regret and thankfulness about not reading the letter in its entirety churned through her, and she hated that feeling, the not knowing all that he had said.

"It is time to clear the air once and for all!" She stormed over to her writing desk, laid out a sheet of her finest notepaper, and inked her quill.

To Lord Knightwood,

It would be a cold day in the devil's waistcoat pocket before she addressed this letter with something as kindly as My dear Lord Knightwood. She stared down at the sheet, sorting her thoughts and choosing her words carefully.

You are a conundrum, my lord. A riddle that has become quite tiring. Even with six sisters and a most fractious brother, I have yet to meet someone as unable to know their own mind as yourself. I would welcome an open and honest conversation with you, but only if it ended in a clear, logical course of action rather than all this waffling about and begging for an undetermined amount of time. I will not be suspended from a shelf like a bundle of herbs set aside to cure. I have a life, sir. One of which I intend to enjoy and make the most of. If my beloved parents taught me anything, it was that one must not wait for one's happiness. One must seize it with both hands and make it happen with every expediency because, sadly, life can end at a moment's notice.

Do with this response what you will.

Cordially,

Lady Blessing Abarough

She sprinkled pounce across the wet ink to dry it more quickly, then curled the paper and tapped the powder back into its container. After folding and sealing it with her personal stamp of a crescent moon and several stars, she went to the door and yanked on the bellpull for Walters. With the door ajar, she waited for the elderly servant to appear in the hallway. Under no circumstances would she emerge from her observatory until she absolutely had to. She had neither the energy nor the temperament at the moment to deal with her siblings and knew they would be champing at the bit to know what the letter from Lord Knightwood had said.

"Yes, my lady?" Walters called out as he came into sight.

"Please give this to the messenger." She handed him the note, then lowered her voice while warring with indecision. "And please have the messenger inform his master that I did not read Lord Knightwood's letter in its entirety. Halfway through the paragraphs of indecision, I found myself compelled to toss it into the fire."

Walters remained stoic except for the slightest upward twitch of his brows. "Yes, my lady. I shall stress the importance of your message to the young man waiting at the door. Will that be all?"

"Yes, Walters. That will be all—at least for now."