Chapter 12

Two weeks later

Running away to Edinburgh hadn't worked as Fitz had intended. Two weeks later, he returned to his London townhouse no less haunted by his night with Tabitha. Those memories of her in his arms clung to him like a faint perfume, or perhaps a faded dream. He had tried to bury himself in work with tasks meant to make the days spend themselves quicker.

But no matter what he did, he dreamed of Tabitha late into the night and woke with her name upon his lips. The knowledge that he could not turn to her and pull her into his arms in his bed was killing him day by day, hour by hour. He could not get her out of his mind or, it seemed, his heart.

Fitz stared at the fire that burned in the fireplace of his study. He braced a hand on the mantel and swirled his brandy, his thoughts a thousand miles away.

Where was she now? Was she dancing in another man's arms, with him believing she fancied him even as she deftly removed his gold pocket watch? The image almost made him smile, although the feeling was bittersweet.

His Merry Robin Hood. Lord, he missed her. What mischief would she be up to now?

After he'd returned to London this morning, Evan and Beck had showed up at his door and were all too eager to tell him that he had been wrong to leave the house party the way he had. Not to mention, he had let the thief go.

He told his friends that he'd confronted the thief and came to understand the person's true motivations behind stealing. When pressed about this, he would only say that he did not believe a prison sentence would be appropriate. Evan had demanded that Scotland Yard be notified, but Beck had been more reserved. He only wanted to know the identity of the thief, which Fitz had refused to give.

Now that he had returned from Edinburgh, their insistence on answers had only grown stronger. He told Beck and Evan that he'd allowed the real diamond to be stolen. He informed them that he given the thief the real one by choice. When his friends had stared at him, still confused, he then told them the one thing that he believed mattered about this situation. He believed the thief's cause was just, and they deserved to have the diamond more than him. That was the end of the matter.

His friends had reluctantly left him to brood alone for the rest of the day, and so he had. His desk was still littered with newspapers full of articles about the robberies when he'd first been keen to catch the Merry Robins, but as he'd read the articles and examined the newspapers, he'd found mentions of mysterious gifts to various charities by unknown benefactors. Knowing what he knew now about Tabitha and what she did with the jewels she stole, he saw clearly where the money was going.

Tabitha had told him the truth. She had been doing her best to help those who needed it. Now that he saw the truth so clearly he felt a strange sort of peace, despite the hollowness of not having her in his life. The Helston Diamond was his legacy, but it was one he'd never deserved. Now the jewel would be put to good use.

Turning away from the fire, he finished the last of his brandy before he sat at his desk and wrote several checks to the charities mentioned in the articles, as well as a letter to his estate steward to see that those same charities received two hundred and fifty pounds each to start. He had plans to make more frequent donations throughout the year.

With that done, he knew what he needed to do next. This was going to be the hardest part. He retrieved his hat and coat from a footman waiting by the front door.

"I shall be back later this evening. Please have Stewart pack my luggage for a month's journey and tell him to be ready to leave with me tomorrow morning."

The young man nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

Fitz left his home and walked down the lamplit streets alone, his thoughts turning to the uncomfortable task ahead. When he reached his destination only a few streets away, he hesitated a moment on the bottom step before finally going up and rapping on the door knocker. A butler answered a moment later.

"Good evening, Your Grace. How may I help you?" the butler inquired, his face passive though he knew Fitz very well.

"I would like to speak to Atherton."

"Please step inside, Your Grace. I shall see if my master is available."

Fitz removed his hat and stepped inside. Normally, no such formality would be required in visiting his friend. But things had changed, and he had a terrible feeling as to why. It left him feeling even more as though he was walking upon broken glass.

As Fitz stood in the entryway, the butler walked down the short corridor to Louis's study and stepped inside. The door was left slightly ajar, and given the quietness of the night, the butler's voice traveled enough for Fitz to hear.

"Sir, Lord Helston is here to see you. Shall I show him in?"

"Helston?" There was a painful beat of silence before Louis spoke again. "No. No, tell him I am not able to see visitors this evening."

"Yes, sir."

Fitz stood still, his hat in his hands, his chest tightening. He had hoped that he'd only imagined the slight in the cardroom the other night, but it seemed he hadn't. Louis had given him the cut direct.

The butler returned and with an apologetic look said, "The master is not at home for visitors this evening. He is indisposed."

"Thank you." Fitz cleared his throat. "Would you mind terribly giving him a message from me?"

The butler nodded solemnly.

"Tell him... tell him I've been a damned fool and I'm traveling to New York tomorrow to make things right."

The butler's eyes widened. "I... I will relay that message, Your Grace," the servant promised.

"Thank you." Fitz put his hat back on and let the man show him out. As he stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the distant blanket of stars, he drew in a slow, steady breath.

Tabitha was right. He had been wrong to separate Louis from his beloved Anne, and they had both suffered terribly because of it. All he could do now was try to fix it. He only prayed he could.

* * *

Fitz's voyageto America had taken more than two weeks, and yet he still didn't feel prepared for the reason he'd traveled all this way. He stood inside the ballroom of the current queen of New York society, Caroline Astor. As he searched the crowd, he was amazed at the number of men and women who'd braved the wintry weather just to be seen by the rest of New York society at the grand Fifth Avenue home.

As he entered the house a few moments ago, he'd passed through a domed vestibule lined with the busts of Mrs. Astor's ancestors. Past the vestibule, there was a great marble hall and a large cantilevered staircase. He followed the other guests into an Adam style reception room with curved domed ceilings and intricate plasterwork. Beyond the reception room, he came to the entrance to the ballroom, which was flanked by two large vases and gold satin curtains. He felt like he was stepping through the curtains on a stage and was about to become an actor in a play.

The Astor house could easily rival many of the homes back in London, and Fitz admitted he was impressed by it. He had always thought of Americans as a bit desperate in how they showed off their wealth.

As he stood half a head taller than most of the men near him, Fitz felt the curious gazes of people settling on him. He'd only been in the city a few days, just long enough to book a room at the Fifth Avenue Hotel and let the evening newspapers print his arrival, when Mrs. Astor's calling card and invitation to her upcoming ball had arrived. He was grateful for his title and the opportunities his dukedom presented to him.

And that was how it came to be that he now stood at the edge of Mrs. Astor's ballroom.

A dark-haired woman in her forties came toward him, her eyes bright with mischief. He supposed that some would call her plain upon a passing examination, but there was something about her presence that made her captivating and powerful.

"Good evening, Your Grace," she greeted as she reached him.

He bowed over her hand and pressed a kiss to her gloved fingertips.

"My goodness, the reports from London simply do not do you justice," the woman exclaimed, a blush heightening the color on her cheeks. "I expected a handsome man, but you are something far beyond that."

"I am pleased that I live up to your expectations, Mrs. Astor," he said with his most charming smile.

She flirted back with an amused chuckle. "I believe you do, Your Grace. Now, you mentioned in your response to tonight's invitation that I could assist you in some way. I would be more than happy to do whatever I can for the Duke of Helston."

He proffered his arm, and Mrs. Astor slipped her arm through his as they moved around the edge of the ballroom, keeping away from eavesdroppers. Dancers swirled to the music, their colorful gowns painted in a thousand different hues. It made the women appear like beautiful exotic birds taking flight as their bustled skirts swirled around their legs. The wealth on display was staggering. It seemed as though all of the ladies' gowns were designed to rival one another in decoration and detail, just as the houses on Fifth Avenue had been built to rival the castles of Europe.

English society liked to display their wealth as well, but never to such a fierce degree of competition as this. Fitz wondered what Tabitha would say if she were here tonight. He'd passed a breadline in Greenwich Village, seeing the poor men and women waiting for scraps. It deepened his resolve that much stronger to do the right thing. If Tabitha saw such wealth, he knew she'd be wishing that the men and women here tonight would spend more on helping others than gilding their own cages with luxury.

"Well, Your Grace? What may I help you with?" Mrs. Astor pressed in a conspiratorial whisper. "Are you bride hunting? I know quite a few young ladies here who would be more than fit to be your duchess."

"Alas, I am not bride hunting. Well, I suppose that's not entirely true. But she would be a bride for a friend, not me. She was engaged to him, you see, and..."

He paused, swallowing his pride. Mrs. Astor needed to know the truth, at least enough to get her to assist him.

"I foolishly interfered and the match broke up. The young woman was forced to pursue a match here instead."

"Did she perhaps come here to also escape the rumors as to her suitability as a bride?" Mrs. Astor guessed astutely. "You are speaking of the Girard girl, aren't you?"

He shouldn't have been surprised that Mrs. Astor would know who he meant, but he was. She chuckled and patted his arm when she saw his face.

"This is my city, Your Grace. There is not one person in high society that I'm unfamiliar with when they arrive. The Girard girl was a special charity case. I do not typically allow the nouveau riche into my realm, but she met a friend of mine on her journey from London and impressed her with her genuine sweetness and charm. I chose to overlook the rumors that followed in her wake and have taken her under my wing."

"Very magnanimous of you," Fitz murmured.

"So what is it you've come to do, exactly?" Mrs. Astor asked.

"I've come to beg the young lady's forgiveness." He paused, considering his next words. "And if that doesn't result in her demanding that I leave or being slapped, I will ask her to return to London with me so that I might restore the union between my friend and Miss Girard."

Mrs. Astor was quiet a long moment. Her gaze swept over the dancers with the eyes of a woman who ruled over her people as a social monarch.

"I admit, this is most intriguing. A woman must wonder what could bring about such a change in a man like you. From what I've read in the papers, you are not the sort of man to make apologies."

"I harmed an innocent woman and lost my friend because of my pride and vanity," he replied. "I intend to fight to win him back, and that means I must first win his lady back. I trust that you will handle my presence with discretion?"

Mrs. Astor chuckled. "My dear duke, I shall not breathe a word, but people here are aware of your opinion of Miss Girard. Your sudden appearance might raise questions, and a few assumptions."

"That is unavoidable," Fitz admitted, "but my desire to mend this situation outweighs all concerns as to my own reputation."

"Very well then, Your Grace. I believe I see Miss Girard sitting among the wallflowers over there. I could call her to you for a private meeting, if you desire."

"No, thank you. I believe what is required of me is a very public action. I shall ask her to dance."

"A dance would send quite the message, wouldn't it? To have been chosen by the Duke of Helston? It would help recover some of what she's lost."

Fitz hoped it would do far more than that, but he would worry about that soon enough.

"If you require my assistance, you have it," Mrs. Astor assured him as they moved together through the row of ladies wilting sadly against the wall.

"Thank you. I shall owe you a favor, Mrs. Astor," he promised.

The woman smiled. "And I shall be glad to collect on that favor someday. Good luck to you, Your Grace." She moved away to speak to some guests nearby, leaving him to enact his plan. Fitz squared his shoulders and walked toward the lovely young woman in a merlot bustle gown.

Anne Girard was a blonde beauty with a faint smattering of freckles upon her nose and hazel eyes that once held light and warmth. She sat in the middle of the row of wallflowers, her face downcast. As he drew closer, Fitz saw a quiet brokenness in her expression, and despair seemed to drag her shoulders down in a slump.

I've done to this to her.

He had played his powerful hand and driven his friend away from a good and decent woman whose only crime was her family's humble beginnings. Damn his pride and vanity. All this because he had clung to the idea of social status as a life preserver, to the point where he could not bear the idea that even his friends might put their social lives at risk.

Tabitha had been right. Loving someone was worth the risk, worth the struggle.

Anne was no different than Tabitha. Fitz had fallen in love with Tabitha in just a few days and then lost her. He couldn't begin to imagine how Louis must have felt to lose his love only a few days before they were to be married.

As Fitz journeyed across the Atlantic, he had stood on the deck of the steamer ship at night countless times and stared into the dark, churning waters of the sea. He let himself imagine that he and Tabitha were to be wed, only to have Evan come to him in the final hour before their ceremony and tell them that he must break it off.

The very thought turned his stomach, and he found it difficult to breathe. He had done that to Louis... he had caused that great and wrenching wound to someone he cared about and to this young woman.

I will not be a coward now. I will own up to my follies, no matter the price.

He stepped in front of Anne and cleared his throat. She raised her head in mild surprise, then recognized him. Horror and shock replaced her surprise.

"A dance, Miss Girard?"

She stared at him, her lips parted, her eyes wide as she realized her dilemma. Everyone knew she had no dances taken on her dance card, and it would be rude to refuse him.

"Please, Miss Girard." He softened his voice a little. "There are things I wish to say, and I believe you would like to hear them. I would not have crossed an ocean if I did not believe you would wish to hear what I have to say."

She slowly stood up, and when she met his gaze, he saw her courage as she chose to accept his offer and hear him out. Fitz had the strangest feeling that he'd been blind to a great many things until he'd met Tabitha. Now he was truly seeing the world around him.

She placed her hand in his and led her to the floor as a waltz began. She placed a hand on his shoulder and her other hand in his. He kept a careful eye upon the crowd and steered her away from anyone who came close enough to overhear them as they spoke.

"What are you doing here, Your Grace?"

"I am here to apologize," he said, and her dark-gold brows arched in surprise.

"You want to apologize to me?" She inhaled sharply, and he pulled her a little closer and kept his voice down as they danced.

"I shall be brief and to the point, Miss Girard. I never should have said anything to Louis about his engagement to you. I was a damned fool, and I've hurt you both beyond words. For that, I am truly sorry. I swear it on my honor, what little I still possess."

Anne looked away, her eyes overbright with unshed tears. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat before speaking.

"What... what did I do that was so abhorrent to you that you would tell Louis I would destroy his life? What could I have done that would have made you convince all of London to believe the worst of me? I've asked myself that every day since Louis broke off our..." Her voice hitched. "Louis said you were the best man he'd ever known, and if you thought me unsuitable for him, I must have done something for you to think so."

Her assumption stunned him. Louis had thought so highly of him that he'd believed Fitz could do no wrong. How wrong that belief had been.

A lump formed in Fitz's throat. "It was nothing you did. The fault was entirely mine. My assumptions, my foolish beliefs. I thought I was helping my friend, but in truth it was my own insecurities that cause me to act the way I did." He saw now the power his words had, and it was a power he never wished to wield again.

"Louis listens to you because he loves you like a brother," Anne said, her tone gentle as she spoke of him. Somehow that only made the pain in Fitz's chest worse to know that he'd hurt a woman who would love his friend so well.

"He still loves you, Anne," Fitz said, daring to use her given name when he knew he had no right to take such a liberty.

"How could he? If he loved me, he would never have broken our engagement."

"He didn't want to—he believed he had to. I painted a picture of financial ruin that would destroy you both, and I had built that image out of nothing but my own fears. I convinced Louis. It wasn't until much later that he saw my words for what they were. Now I am being punished for it, and rightly so. I am his trusted friend no longer. He has cut me from his life in retribution for losing you, and I cannot blame him," Fitz confessed. "Please come back to England with me. Let me right this wrong I've done to you and Louis."

The waltz ended, and Anne stepped back, studying him carefully.

"What's changed, Your Grace?" she asked softly. "The man I knew wouldn't have crossed an ocean for this. He wouldn't have cared what became of me."

The barbed comment stung, but it was well deserved.

"I met someone not unlike yourself in many ways. She is brave, beautiful, her heart is full with a level of compassion that I can never match. It has filled me with wonder to simply be near her. And I realized... I wasn't worthy of her. Not even close."

Comprehension lit Anne's face. "You did something terrible to lose her, didn't you?"

He swallowed hard. "I'm afraid it's worse than that. I let her go. We've lived such different lives. She tested me and found me wanting. It made me realize she was right, I am not the worthy one. I played God amongst my friends, and it cost me Louis. She showed me that truth."

He couldn't have told anyone else this, only Anne, the woman who would understand his pain the most yet had the least cause to show any sympathy.

Anne reached out and touched Fitz's forearm. "I will come back to England with you, if you think I still stand a chance to win back Louis's heart."

Fitz shook his head. "He is the one who must win you back. A lady's heart is the gift, not the man's. I may have led him astray, but it is still he who must earn your trust and love again. But I shall do all that is in my power to remind him of that."

"Then I must pack everything as quickly as possible," Anne said.

"I must warn you. There will certainly be talk when we return, scandalous gossip and rumors," Fitz warned. "I will do what I can to quell them, but it won't stop everyone speculating about your return. Especially if it is with me."

"If Louis and I marry, I will have no care as to what people say about me," she replied without hesitation, and he believed her.

After briefly thanking Mrs. Astor for her assistance once again, Fitz escorted Anne from the ballroom and helped her inside his coach. Once she was safely at her house packing her things, he returned to his hotel and sent his valet to purchase their fares for the journey home on the first ship available. It turned out the next ship bound for Southampton was leaving the day after tomorrow.

As Fitz undressed that night, he couldn't help but think of the woman who had sparked this change in him. He closed his eyes, touching his fingers to his lips as he replayed their last kiss as they lay in bed together.

He wished he could go back to that moment, to bury himself forever in that brief stretch of time. But that was the thing about life—those perfect moments were so exquisite because they could never be repeated, only remembered. Tabitha was in his heart, no matter how the years would stretch and grow between them. And for that, he was grateful.

He knew his last conscious thought upon this earth would be of her, and when he faded into deepest night, she would still be a part of him and whatever he became beyond death.

So many things could be lost in the passing of time, except one. Love, true love, never surrendered to time. It endured in spite of it, and for once the pain of love and loss he felt was something Fitz welcomed... because it was all for her.