She hurried across the garden and entered Lady Scattergood’s house via the back door, as usual, then swiftly ran up the stairs to her bedchamber.
She broke the seal and opened the note.
My dear Miss Benoît,
I am writing to apologize for embarrassing you on the dance floor last night. You were right in refusing to discuss our past together in such surroundings. It was discourteous of me to insist. There are, however, matters—important matters—that you and I need to discuss in private. Last night’s brief conversation revealed several misunderstandings that I would dearly like to have cleared up.
I would be most grateful if we could please meet—at a time and place of your choosing. You may communicate with me at the address below.
Yours very sincerely,
Julian Fox, Earl of Foxton
Below that was an address, and below that, in a hastily added, bolder, much less tidy script was:
Please, Vita, I beg of you, meet me.
She read it through swiftly the first time, then again, pondering the phrasing and the intent behind each word.
It started quite formally. The apology was acceptable, but as for the rest…What were these important matters? She wasn’t going to give her precious painting back, and she’d made that clear. And she certainly wasn’t going to compensate him for taking it.
In any case, now that she was in London, there was almost nowhere she could go to be private. Lady Scattergood wouldn’t let him in the house, and from the sound of things, neither would Leo or Race.
Was there any point at all in talking to him? It would just stir up her emotions again. Though who was she trying to fool? Her emotions had boiled up and threatened to swamp her the moment she’d paused on the stairs and spotted him staring up at her.
And now that her sisters were involved…They seemed to know, somehow, that she had feelings for him, feelings she didn’t want to have. She could tell they were eager for her to continue her acquaintanceship with Reynard. Lord Foxton. They thought him handsome and charming—and he was, but that wasn’t all he was.
They didn’t know, and she didn’t want to tell them, thathe was a cheat and a swindler. And she really didn’t want them to know she had spent the night with him.
Or what a magical night it had been.
Before she woke the next day and the scales had fallen from her eyes.
Breaking her heart.
She glanced at the note again and sighed. For two pins she’d toss it in the fire. But if she did that, he would only keep trying to find ways of speaking to her. And the more he did, the more likely it was to start gossip.
No, she would have to meet him and hear him explain those so-called misunderstandings.
But where could she talk to him in private? She ran her mind through some possibilities, but almost all of them involved her being with someone who’d chaperone her. Unless…
She fetched a pen and ink and wrote a note, suggesting he meet her in Hyde Park at five that afternoon, driving an open carriage. He could take her up in the carriage and drive around the park without causing scandal, just a little gossip. They would be under everybody’s eye but could still speak in private: it was perfectlycomme il faut.
She sealed the note. How to deliver it? Jeremiah, Lady Scattergood’s young footman, might do it, but she didn’t want to get him into trouble. No, his note had come via Matteo, so the reply could go the same way.
She ran lightly down the stairs and hurried out the back door, cutting through the garden to Leo and Izzy’s house. As she passed the summerhouse, a movement caught her eye and she glanced inside. And saw a hunched figure sobbing.
She entered. “Milly, what is the matter?”
Milly looked up, utterly woebegone. Her eyes were red and puffy with tears, and her left cheek was red and swollen.
“Milly,” Zoë exclaimed. “Did someone hit you?”
Milly nodded, gulping back tears. “Mama.”
“Your motherhityou?” Zoë could hardly believe it. Milly’s mother had always been such a doting parent. She sat down and took Milly’s hand. “What happened?”
Between sobs, Milly explained. “The marquess came calling, you know, to make the betrothal formal. And he—hekissedme. And it was awful, Zoë. He has terrible breath and he put his tongue…his tongue…”
