Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T wo days later, there were two things that had not happened: Worthe had not called, and the reverend had not replied to Scarlett’s letter.

“Worthe had better hope he sees me before I see him, for when I do see him,” Adelaide promised angrily, “I shall first box his ears, and second demand an explanation for such infamous treatment.”

“I have never seen anything like it,” Bess added. “He is like a ghost, making love to you one minute and disappearing in a puff of smoke the next!”

The ladies were seated in Bess’s sitting room. The days since the ball had been filled with diversion, from tea with Miss Gladstone, Lady Sarah and Lady Sarah’s mother, Lady Evenleigh, to promenades in the park with various gentlemen who presented themselves at Stratton Street and begged the favour of a walk. The opera had been an experience Scarlett found nothing short of magical. The music, the singing, the audience—it was all far above and beyond anything she had ever experienced in her life, and she should have enjoyed it enormously…but could not. Not when there was forever some small part of her mind wondering where Worthe was, what he was doing, and if he had decided she was simply not worth his notice. Had her behaviour at the ball repulsed him? Had his family told him she was not good enough for him? Such were her worries that she had hardly even noticed the multitude of people who Adelaide had assured her were noticing her from the audience.

“Maybe he is ill?” Scarlett offered weakly. It was the only explanation she had come up with, that he had been struck by sudden illness since she saw him at Tipton House and been rushed away, back to his house, and even now lay abed with fever dreams of her.

“Nothing short of his deathbed could excuse him,” Adelaide declared. “And if he fails to offer some satisfactory excuse for this?—”

“He did not owe me his attention,” Scarlett interjected. “Things go off. Even I, who have not been in London, know that much.”

“True,” Bess replied. “Look at Beamish and me. I do not like to believe myself fickle?—”

“To be fair,” Scarlett interjected again, “Beamish has had ample opportunity to secure you and has not done so.”

“I have been out two years,” Bess told Adelaide. “This is my third Season. Beamish has been coming around all that time, in and out and in and out, and I had long believed myself to be quite in love with him.”

“But now you are not?”

Bess considered it a moment. “The thing about Beamish is that he likes me very well at country assemblies. In Luton, I am his darling. In St Albans, we are inseparable, and in Stanbridge, he makes love to me like there is none other. But when we come to town…”

She shrugged. “My mother thinks it is high time I should be done with it all.”

“I have seen at least one gentleman who particularly admires you,” Adelaide replied with a sidelong look at Scarlett. They had discussed it previously, on one of their many strolls in the park, the preference that Oakley appeared to be showing to Bess. “So perhaps it is time to show Mr Beamish to the door.”

“We shall see. I do believe Beamish will be at Lady Thornhill’s card party tonight,” Bess said. “Let us see how he is to me there. But forgive me—we were speaking of Scarlett’s troubles, not mine.”

“Oh, hang my troubles,” Scarlett said. “Perhaps I am mad to have fallen in love with a man I scarcely know.”

“Happened to me,” Adelaide said.

“With one enormous difference which is that Kem fell in love with you too,” Scarlett replied glumly.

“He did, although we had misunderstandings enough between us to cause difficulties along the way,” Adelaide said. “Perhaps that is what all of this is—a misunderstanding. ”

Scarlett nodded, but in truth, it did not signify. The very notion of misunderstandings made her itchy with impatience as she increasingly felt like her time in London was running out.

The reverend’s silence felt ominous. She wished she understood what, if any, hold the reverend had over her. Was she free to be the Richmond that she was by birth? Or could the reverend prohibit that? She had asked Lord Tipton about it; he had promised her that his solicitors were looking into matters, but of course that took time. The uncertainty was driving her mad, particularly coupled, as it was, with the sudden and inexplicable absence of Worthe. She sighed unhappily, thinking that this was surely not how she had imagined London life to be.

“Perhaps you will see Worthe at the card party as well,” Adelaide suggested.

“I was thinking I ought not attend,” Scarlett said. “I am not good at playing cards.”

“Pray do not be silly. Everyone is better at some games than others,” Adelaide said.

“Not me,” Scarlett said with a little laugh. “I am dreadful at all of them. The reverend, you see, thought they were sinful and would never permit me to play. I am not even certain I know the rules for most of them.”

“Leighton and I have tried to teach her, but you know how it is,” Bess inserted. “If you do not play regularly, it is almost impossible to even remember all the rules to them. ”

“But surely you do not wish to remain back on your own?” Turning to Bess, Adelaide asked, “Your mother will escort you, I am sure?”

Bess nodded.

“I shall be perfectly content,” Scarlett insisted. “I could use an early night, if I am being honest. I am not accustomed to all of this.”

Adelaide looked like she might protest again, but Bess stopped her, saying, “My mother has tried every cajolery and trick she knows to persuade Scarlett to come. There is no moving her, I fear.”

Adelaide considered that for a moment, then enquired, “Shall I come to spend the evening with you?”

“Oh, no,” Scarlett said. “No, I could not have it. Go and enjoy yourself, and in the morning, we can all meet again.” Adelaide was at last persuaded to agree, to Scarlett’s relief. She needed, she felt, some respite from the tumult of her feelings, happy to sad, comfortable to discomfited. Even looking into her sister’s eyes, her own eyes, gave her the occasional jolt. It has only been a few days , she reminded herself. Naturally things still feel displaced.

Despite all her best intentions, Scarlett did not get a good night’s sleep. She fell asleep early enough but was awakened by the sounds of Bess entering her bedchamber next door at who knew what hour. Then she lay awake, long past the time the rest of the house was deeply in slumber, fretting over…well, everything. A fitful sleep finally claimed her when the sky was just beginning to lighten, but spat her right back into wakefulness at an hour when London was just beginning to rouse itself. Scarlett rose and went to the window, seeing the milkmaids and house boys scurrying about the streets beneath her, tending to their duties.

No sense sitting here in my nightgown for hours , she mused. Might as well go and take a walk.

It was not entirely proper to go alone, but she had often walked about alone in Stanbridge, and reasoned it could not be so scandalous, not when the park would be deserted of anyone who might care about it.

Taking care to dress very quietly, she donned one of the muslins that she had brought with her from Stanbridge. They felt coarse and strange to her now, but she reasoned she ought not to get ahead of herself. These were the only things she knew were truly her own. The silks and lace she had been swanning about in were borrowed, just like her time here in London was.

She crept down the stairs, happy to evade anyone’s notice, and soon found herself outside in a damp spring air. She inhaled deeply, still wanting to shake off the vestiges of the fretful night, then crossed the street and entered the park.

As fate would have it, she saw Worthe almost immediately, at the same unfortunate moment that it seemed he saw her.

He looked dreadful. Evidently he too had endured a poor night’s sleep…unless he had not slept at all? She glanced at his attire, noting that it did not seem like morning dress. It appeared he was dressed for an evening out; his finery was rumpled and dishevelled, although she was certain it had not begun that way. Out all night? She longed to ask, but it was none of her concern, was it?

She decided that she would nod briskly and keep walking, but her heart would not have it. Instead she found herself stopped on the walkway, staring at him.

“Miss Scarlett,” he said, touching the brim of his hat, his eyes not meeting hers.

“Lord Worthe,” she said coolly in reply.

A silence fell between them. She knew not what he did during that silence; for herself, she was looking determinedly at the ground beneath her feet.

“You did not come to the card party last night,” he said.

She gave him a brief tilt of her head by way of acknowledgement but still did not look at him. She heard him sigh heavily.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Of course not.”

“It seems that you are.”

Now she did look up at him, smiling with artificial sweetness as she said, “Why should I be angry with you? My understanding is that this happens regularly in London. I am simply delighted that I should have the full experience of it all. ”

“What happens regularly in London?”

“Female disappointment,” she replied. “If you will excuse me.” She curtseyed, quickly and briefly, but he stopped her.

“Pray do not go.”

“I do not understand you, but I do understand myself, and it is best that I should move on.”

“There is something I must tell you.” Quickly, he licked his lips, then looked away from her.

How she wished he was not so handsome! Even unkempt as he was, the fine lines of his countenance and the strength in his aspect were appealing. “Very well. Tell me, then.”

He stared down at the path, seeming to gather his thoughts before raising his eyes again. “You are new in town,” he said at last. “You have a new family, a new life ahead of you, and I fear that rushing into anything with…with any man would be detrimental to you…and to that man, if I am being honest.”

“I am afraid I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”

“I am saying a woman needs time to know herself and her mind,” he said, finally looking at her fully. “Particularly when that lady’s entire world has been so recently wholly upended.”

“Should not the woman herself be the judge of that?”

He dropped his head and shrugged.

It sounded like a bag of moonshine to her. He had decided that he did not like her, and alas it had come right about the same time she had decided she loved him. She closed her eyes briefly against that pain. Well, it is not the first time I discovered I am unloved, is it? Not even the first time this month , she thought with dark humour.

“I thank you for explaining that to me,” she said, unable to disguise the bitterness she felt.

“If it was a year from now,” he said suddenly, “even a few months, and you had had time to…to?—”

“You do not need to go further,” she said. “I understand completely.”

She turned to walk away from him, but the sound of him saying her name, sounding almost despairing, almost made her turn back. Yet she did not. She straightened her shoulders and, with as much dignity as she could summon, left him.