26
Marissa pulled her cloak tighter as the carriage rolled up the drive to deposit her at Lady Ralston’s doorstep. It was a crisp, cool night. There were even stars twinkling in the darkness if she peered out the windows of her sleek carriage.
“They will never profit from Reggie’s death again. Even with the dowry Miss Higgins brings, the family will remain impoverished.”
At least Lydia wouldn’t benefit any longer. Marissa had received the news last night from Tomkin that Lady Pendleton, after drinking a substantial amount of brandy, had tripped in her son’s drawing room while sitting in her chair before the fire. Lydia hadn’t fallen into the roaring flames on the hearth, which would have been a fitting end. Witches are often burned to death.
Instead, she’d hit her head on a portion of the mantel which, ironically, was made of Blue John.
Marissa breathed on the glass of the window, seeing it fog immediately from the cold outside.
According to Tomkin’s report, the physician summoned had declared Lady Pendleton had likely suffered a fit of some sort before hitting her head. Lydia couldn’t speak. Or walk. She would be bedridden for the remainder of her life. Simon was, even now, making plans to have her removed to Brushbriar where Catherine could care for her.
Marissa felt a rush of pity for Simon’s beautiful, wanton sister. Catherine would now be trapped playing nursemaid to the incapacitated Lydia in the hollowed-out husk of Brushbriar.
“You’ve won, Aunt.”
Marissa should be gloating over Lydia’s unfortunate but timely accident; instead, it was the loss of Haddon which was foremost in her thoughts. Nearly a fortnight had gone by since she’d seen him. Not since the evening before Arabella had visited with her unwelcome news.
He’d been telling me goodbye.
There was no question any longer that Haddon knew of Marissa’s revenge against Pendleton. Shortly after her niece’s disturbing visit, Marissa had fortified herself with another glass of whisky. There had to be a logical reason why Haddon would beggar himself for Pendleton, Marissa just didn’t know what it was. Unable to wait a moment longer to confront her lover, she’d dashed off a note to Haddon, requesting he call upon her directly to discuss something of import.
There was no immediate reply. In fact, Marissa didn’t receive a response until well after tea. Business, Haddon had written, would keep him from calling on her. He expressed his deepest apologies for the inconvenience but gave no indication of when he would call. Or if he meant to.
More unsettling, Jordana declined to visit Marissa for tea the following day, claiming she was feeling ill.
Marissa pressed her fingers into her stomach as Lady Ralston’s mansion came into view. The sickening dread, the same darkness she’d felt since Haddon had left her after promising he never would, filled the carriage, threatening to strangle her.
Two more days had gone by with no word from Haddon, so Marissa had tried again, this time asking him to join her for dinner.
An immediate reply came from Haddon’s secretary. Lord Haddon, the missive read, had left London for a few days on personal business. There was no indication of his return.
Her heart had lurched painfully at thinking of Haddon, and Marissa bent, her palm on her chest, trying to stop the anguish she felt. Only the knowledge that Haddon hadn’t closed his house and fled back to his estate in Derbyshire gave her hope.
There was absolutely no doubt in her mind Haddon knew exactly what she’d done thus far and what she meant to do to Miss Higgins. Worse, he’d made no effort to ask her to stop. There was no ugly confrontation in which Marissa could explain herself. No Haddon at her door, pleading mercy for himself or Pendleton. She didn’t see him in the park. Or at the theater. Nor at the few events she halfheartedly attended with Spencer and Elizabeth.
Haddon was very deliberately avoiding her. Jordana, as well.
Nighter informed Marissa, through Tomkin, that Miss Higgins was enamored of him. She’d even written him a love poem and assumed her affection was returned by the ex-soldier. He assured Tomkin that Miss Higgins would do whatever he asked of her.
Including agreeing to leave her future husband’s side to indulge in an indiscretion with Nighter at Lady Ralston’s ball tonight. The girl thought Nighter meant to marry her. The entire breadth of London society was in attendance this evening. Pendleton wouldn’t dare wed Miss Higgins after such a public disgrace, not if he wanted to hold on to the tiniest shred of dignity. Sir Richard would certainly not expect him to.
The scandal would completely eclipse Haddon’s rescue of Marissa on Bond Street.
Marissa pressed her palm harder against her chest as if attempting to stop a wound from bleeding.
The carriage crawled up Lady Ralston’s congested drive at a painfully slow pace. Finally reaching the entrance, Marissa stepped out, automatically smoothing her deep sapphire skirts. She’d wanted Haddon to see her in this gown, a gorgeous confection she’d ordered from Madame Fontaine. He would appreciate the low, heart-shaped neckline skimming the top of her breasts and the way the gown bared her shoulders before tightening at the waist. Tiny bits of jet decorated the bodice and skirts, which sparkled in the light when she walked.
A perfect gown to witness a ruination in.
As Marissa entered the crush of bodies, the smell of pomade assailed her. Pasting a smile on her lips and telling her nose not to wrinkle at the scent, she dove into the crowd, spotting Adelia immediately. Her friend’s red hair was brighter than usual tonight, more copper than dark auburn.
“Marissa,” Adelia cooed as she came forward, ivory skirts swirling about her slippered feet.
“Adelia.” Marissa leaned over, brushing her lips to her friend’s cheek in greeting. “I can see your nipples.” Two half-moons of pink were visible through the froth of lace lining Adelia’s bodice. The neckline of her friend’s gown made Marissa’s seem positively matronly in comparison.
“Oh good, darling.” Adelia didn’t so much as
