Chapter 12

Leah usually despised the winter, being away from the familiar comforts of Druidstone Abbey, forced into even closer quarters with her mother and father—her father, especially. She could not recall a single year where they had wintered in London and had not had an explosive argument that had led to father and daughter not talking to one another for weeks on end, but as she breezed into the parlor, humming to herself, she wondered if this year might be different.

"Cease that wretched noise," her father snapped immediately, violently folding down one half of his newspaper, so he could scowl at his daughter. "Do you not know that it is eight o'clock in the morning, and some of us have had no rest thanks to the commotion of their wayward daughters?"

Leah halted, confused. "What commotion? I was as quiet as a mouse!"

"A mouse with iron boots and a penchant for stomping, perhaps!" her father retorted, his entire face puffy and red—more a symptom of too much fine brandy, rather than being awoken by any noise Leah could possibly have made when she returned to the apartments the previous evening.

Leah rolled her eyes. "You have been told on countless occasions that you should not imbibe liquor if you cannot be disciplined with it. Goodness, I can smell you from here."

She could not, but she could not resist riling him when he was in one of his moods.

"If you continue to be insolent, I shall have you sent back to Druidstone where you can freeze as penance until the spring!" Discreetly, he cupped his hand over his mouth and breathed into it, sniffing. He pulled a face. "I do hope you behaved yourself at the dinner party last night. I could not get a word out of Mrs. Sharples other than, "It was a pleasant evening." What use is that? That tells me nothing."

Mrs. Sharples was the neighboring widow, from the apartments above, who had always chaperoned Leah during the London season whenever her mother did not wish to attend a gathering. Mrs. Sharples was the perfect chaperone, in truth, for she knew half of the society ladies and had a tendency to wander off and leave Leah to her own devices while she gossiped with old friends. All of the Spinsters' Club were similarly acquainted with somewhat negligent chaperones, for it served the five women to not be observed too closely.

"She told you the truth," Leah said with a shrug. "It was a pleasant evening."

Her father pursed his lips. "That is all you are going to say on the matter?"

"There is nothing more to say, unless you would like to hear of Phoebe's stomachache after the fish course?" Leah had already heard from her dear friend that morning, a note arriving with the post. It simply said: Feel terrible. Apologies. Will see you soon. Fondest regards from my sickbed, Phoebe.

Ezra pulled a face. "Not while I am eating my breakfast."

"Those coddled eggs are rather reminiscent," Leah teased, erupting into laughter as her father paled and pushed the plate away. "I am only jesting with you, Father. Eat your eggs."

"I cannot now. You have ruined my breakfast and my rest," he grumbled.

The parlor room door opened, and Leah's mother entered, carrying a rather large box. "I do hope that was not the two of you I heard arguing," she said, setting the box down on the small table they used for their breakfasting. "Indeed, I shall be quite content to believe that Mrs. Sharples was arguing with herself, for I will not tolerate quarreling before nine o'clock at least—not if we are to survive the winter together."

"Did you hear me "stomping" last night?" Leah cast her father a challenging stare.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "No, my darling. I heard you enter, heard the close of your bedchamber door, and then I fell asleep. You were very quiet and very prompt; I was exceptionally pleased. Why, I was going to ambush you to hear everything about your evening, but I thought you might need your rest first."

"Oh, you both slept like logs while I tossed and turned from dusk until dawn!" Ezra complained dramatically. "And now, I cannot eat my eggs."

Sarah raised her eyebrow a notch higher. "Why is that? Are they too hot? Too cold? Too runny? Too firm? Goodness—you and your eggs, darling. I doubt there is a cook alive who can make them the way you want them."

Leah squashed her lips together so a laugh would not slip out. Her father already seemed to be sprinting toward a tantrum, and she did not wish to quicken the detonation.

"What have you been purchasing?" Leah asked, coming around to the head of the table to see what was written upon the box.

Sarah shrugged. "It is not for me, dearest. It is for you. It arrived just now while I was passing the front door." She looked at her husband, pre-empting the rebuke she was about to receive. "I would have allowed the housekeeper to answer the bell, but I was already there, and it seemed foolish to just stand there when I have two perfectly good hands of my own."

"For me?" Leah saw her name there, written upon the top of the box in elegant handwriting. Unfamiliar handwriting.

Sarah nudged her lightly in the arm. "Perhaps, it is from that dashing Duke of yours. How was your evening? Tell me everything."

"It was lovely, and it was awful. I still cannot decide which had the majority," Leah admitted, explaining the events of the night in as much detail as possible. "But His Grace could not have been kinder or more encouraging. He understands, I think, in a way that not many gentlemen would."

Sarah clasped her hands together. "Do you hear that, Ezra?"

"Yes, I did," he sulked. "So, you can say more than "it was a pleasant evening." You just will not say so to your father."

Sarah nudged Leah again. "Ignore him, darling. My goodness, we must have the Duke to dine with us. I must learn more about this wonderful gentleman. Truly, I am overjoyed that he was in attendance last night and that he was so sweet to you in the presence of those two scoundrels. After seeing them at that ball, I have been so worried that they might appear again."

"Not scoundrels," Ezra chimed in. "Our daughter was the one who ruined things, and she will undoubtedly ruin this too if you do not take charge of her and this courtship."

Leah drew in a breath to cool her ire. "I suppose, I should open this," she said, choosing to heed her mother's words by ignoring her father entirely.

"It has been so long since I have received a gift," Sarah sighed, casting her husband a pointed look. "Oh, I do hope it is from His Grace."

"Do not raise your hopes too high," Leah warned softly and not merely in regard to the mysterious box. When things between Leah and Nathaniel came to their natural conclusion at the season's end, she knew it would hit her mother harder than anyone else.

I hope you will forgive me,Leah prayed, opening the box.

"Oh my goodness," her mother gasped.

"Indeed," Leah whispered, her eyes widening.

Inside, wrapped in a protective layer of gauzy fabric, was the most exquisite gown that Leah had ever seen. And as Leah removed it from its box, it only became more breathtaking. The Empire line gown was fashioned from the finest, smoothest lavender silk with capped sleeves that puffed slightly. A half bodice overlaid the bust in a muted gold lace, interwoven with golden-colored seed pearls that perfectly complemented the lavender hue. Further gold lace and seed pearls ran down the center of the gown in two columns then circled around the gown in an embroidered hem. The sleeves, too, were finished with that same delicate lace while matching, muted-gold gloves had been placed in the box to accompany the gown.

"My darling, look at this!" Sarah plucked something else out of the box: a brooch designed for the neckline. The frame of it was diamond shaped, and in the center was an amethyst the size of an egg while smaller, paler purple gems surrounded it.

Leah could not find any words as she delved into the box and took out a letter addressed to her. Not wanting her mother and father to see what it said, she took it to the window and perched upon the sill, opening it up. Her heart fluttered in ways it was not supposed to as her eyes absorbed Nathaniel's words, intended for her eyes only:

My unexpected beloved,

I hope this gift does not upset you or disappoint you, for it is not my intention, but even as I am writing this, I worry that you might think I am trying to change you or that I paid any heed whatsoever to the words of that oaf last night. I insist, once again, that you could adorn yourself in a potato sack, and you would still be the most interesting, wondrous lady in the room.

That being said, I suspected you might desire a new gown for the Countess of Grayling's winter spectacular so that you will be every bit as glorious as your heroine when you meet her. That is the only reason behind this gown… and the accompaniments. The brooch is a temporary loan, but the rest is yours to keep. If I could, I would allow you to keep the brooch too, but it is my mother's, and she has earmarked it for my future wife. So, perhaps it does belong to you as you might be the closest thing to it.

Anyway, I would relish it if you would wear this gown in a fortnight's time—do not tell anyone, but that shall be the night of the Countess's extravaganza. Oh, and I should also like to invite you to meet with my mother this coming week. Wednesday evening at seven o'clock at the address above. A simple dinner for three—or four if your mother would like to join us, too? You do not have to wear this gown though you can if you would like a rehearsal of how it will look. I certainly shall not complain.

I hope you are well, dear Leah. I enjoyed our dinner together.

Fondest regards,

Nathaniel.

"He wants me to have dinner with his mother this week," Leah explained, her throat tightening as a conflict of emotions twisted around it, squeezing. "You are invited too, Mama."

Ezra snorted like a bull. "And what of me? Am I not invited?"

"I believe it is just an evening for the ladies, Father," Leah replied. "As His Grace has no father anymore, it might be uncomfortable if you were there. But you will, of course, meet him later in the season at any gathering you have an inclination to attend."

Ezra swept a hand across his hair: a pensive habit. "I had no desire to attend anything this season, but I shall attend whatever event is next so that I may have my share of time with the Duke." He narrowed his eyes at his wife. "You are behaving as if he is your suitor, Sarah. It is most embarrassing."

"Oh, hush," Sarah replied, grinning from ear to ear. "You shall not put a pin to my happiness, darling. Not today. I refuse to allow it." She ran to her daughter and took hold of her hands, dancing Leah around the parlor while Ezra looked on with almost a smile upon his face.

And as she danced, Leah nearly forgot that it was all pretend and meeting with Nathaniel's mother was just a means to prevent her from bothering Nathaniel for the rest of the season, just as it was supposed to give Leah a season free from being a disappointment. Instead, her heart swelled, and her own happiness bubbled, swept up by the enthusiasm of her mother.

"That jewel must be a wedding gift!" her mother cried. "A promise of it, at least."

With that, reality struck Leah like a cold, wet fish to the face. The gown, the brooch, the letter, the meeting with Nathaniel's mother, the events they were to attend as a pair—it was all a performance, and everything that might come from him were merely props and rehearsed lines and the illusion of a suitor. She felt quite stupid, dancing around the parlor like a giddy girl.

But this is my performance, she reminded herself. All she had to do was look at her mother and father, and their obvious delight, to know that it was working. They believed every part of it, and the only way to ensure that their belief continued was to continue acting as if it was all real.

"I shall have to purchase a new dress to match the elegance of yours. And we shall have to have a seamstress alter it to fit properly though it does look as if it was made for you," Sarah decided, and for once, Ezra did not try to protest.

Instead, he smiled. "Let a new dress be my gift to you, my darling, since you are apparently sore about the lack of them." He chuckled—a rare sight. "Take what money you need, but do not be frivolous. Choose well, and Leah, you may acquire the services of a seamstress and purchase something else for yourself, too. I do not know what you ladies prefer, but something to complement this gown that the Duke has selected."

Leah should have been overjoyed that everything was falling into place far better than she could have imagined, but her enthusiasm had ebbed as quickly as it had arrived. Perhaps, this was not the triumphant idea she had thought it was. Perhaps, in the end, this would prove to be a cruelty to the two people she had already disappointed the most in the world. And while she usually did not care for her father's judgment, seeing him laugh and smile and offer to let them buy what they pleased pinched at her heart.

There will be no salvaging our relationship after this, she knew, for letting a viscount slip through her fingers had been one thing, but to let a huge fish like Nathaniel off the hook would be quite another.

But how could she undo what had already been done? How could she put an end to the pretense now when they had already waded in too deep? The gown arriving had tied a stone around her ankle, dragging her further into the depths of what she and Nathaniel had conspired together. She had thought she could sever the agreement at any time as detailed in their contract, but she now realized it was impossible.

Whether it happened the following day or at the season's end, the outcome would be the same. Even if he took the blame, as he had promised he would, there would only be one person responsible in the Bolton household: her.