Page 71 of Deception and Desire
“Yeforgotto tell me yer father is alive, and yer mother will hate me.”
“I’m so sorry, Lachlan. Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you,” she sobbed.
“Is there anything else ye’ve forgotten to tell me? Is Fenella yer true name?” Disgust finally overcame the shock. He cleaved to it, a lifeline to pull him from this nightmare.
“Yes,” she whispered, “that is my name.”
“Good. I’ll be sure never to let it pass my lips again.” He stormed from the house, from the betrayal, fromher. It was time to find a barrel of good whisky.
*
Fenella sank toher knees. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t stop the tears. She couldn’t bear the thought he was gone, forever. The pain gripped her, then the shame. Why had she waited so long? By the time her grandmother’s hand touched her shoulder, Fenella had no more tears.
She looked up with swollen eyes, tried to swallow but her throat hurt too badly. “I’ve ruined everything,” she rasped.
Aileen grasped her by the elbows and pulled her from the floor. With an arm around her shoulders, she led her to the settee. Rose entered with a tray of tea and poured them all a cup.
“Drink this,” said her grandmother, adding a splash of whisky, “then straighten yer shoulders. It’s no’ the time for self-pity.”
She sipped at the hot tea, wincing as the liquor ran down her raw throat. “He hates me.”
“He’s a Scot with a temper. Ye need to give him time to adjust to the news.” Aileen added some of the golden liquid to her own cup. “What did ye think? He’d nod and smile and say it was all right? He’s a prideful mon, and ye startled him.”
“He proposed.”
Rose gasped. “And then you told him?”
“I made a muck of it. I rattled about Lady Franklin and that my father is a baronet but not noble.” Fenella shook her head. “I’d planned how to tell him in my head a hundred times. But when he asked me to marry him, I panicked.”
“I imagine ye did,” soothed her grandmother. “Now, it’s time to look ahead and win him back.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Matrimony and Machinations
Mid-September 1819
London
Exquisite. It wasthe only word that did Evie justice. She stood before the mirror while the modiste fussed and clucked with pins held between her teeth. Mid-morning rays slanted through the open sash, cooling the room. A light breeze billowed the sheer cambric curtains across the arched windows. As Evie fidgeted, clingy white satin shimmered beneath a champagne overdress of Brussels point lace that added a glow to her skin. Gold embroidery trimmed the cap sleeves and hem, as well as the satin and lace train. Gold silk gloves and slippers finished the ensemble.
“You will be the most beautiful bride,” Fenella said, blinking back tears. “What accessories will you wear?”
“Brecken’s mother gave me a tiara of thin twisted gold and clusters of pearls. It looks like white roses entwined in golden vines.” Evie’s voice was wistful. “She wore it at her wedding.”
“So, the two of you get along well?” she asked.
“Of course they do,” interrupted Lady Franklin. “Who would not appreciate Evelina’s delicate beauty and flawless manners?”
Fenella rolled her eyes, determined to ask her sister again when they were alone.
“We’ve come to an understanding,” Evie said quietly. “She’s not pleased the ceremony will take place in London rather than their family home in Wales.”
“No one would travel so far to a Welsh estate. He spends most of his time in London anyway,” huffed their mother.
“Mama, could you give Fenella and me some time alone? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.” She gave Lady Franklin a sweet smile. “Please, Mama?”
“Well, I suppose.” Their mother moved to the door and paused. “I want to see the final fitting before Madame leaves.”
