The Casanova Code (23 page)

Though hesitant to sit due to the condition of her clothes, Edwina placed another towel on her shoulders to catch the drips from her hair and then lowered herself to the very edge of the cushion so as touch as little as possible. She scrubbed her lap and skirts with her towel before accepting a much appreciated hot cup of tea.

“Hastings was telling the truth. Ashton is not here.”

A memory nudged her brain, perhaps stimulated by the hot drink. Could Ashton’s absence be part of that test he’d mentioned? Of course, he hadn’t specified the nature of the challenge, or the timing. He could well be detained in another part of the city, proving his worth to the Guardians. She sighed then took another sip. That must be it. He would come to her tomorrow or the next day and she’d share her findings then.

Edwina rose, cup and saucer in hand. “If Ashton is not available, then I’ve no reason to take further of your valuable time,” she said. “I appreciate the opportunity to dry a bit, but—”

“Sit down, Miss Hargrove. There’s more you should know.”

The back of her neck tingled in warning. Something in the woman’s smug expression reminded Edwina of the Bengal tiger in its cage, only there were no bars to separate them. Still she lowered herself to the cushions as directed.

“He’s gone,” Mrs. Trewelyn said. “I don’t know when he’ll return, if indeed he’ll ever return.”

“Ever?” The words knifed through Edwina’s heart. “What do you mean?”

“Precisely what I say,” the woman raised her brows, then took a slow swallow of tea. “I assume you’ve slept with my stepson.” Edwina’s cup slammed to the saucer. “There’s no need for such dramatics,” Constance said, a smirk on her lips. “You aren’t the first, and you most likely won’t be the last.”

Edwina, mopping up the spilled tea that added to the water damage of her skirt, sputtered, “You have no right—”

“I have every right,” the woman insisted. “You see, Ashton did the same to me.”

Edwina’s hand paused. She didn’t really want to listen to this. Constance did not know her stepson the way she knew Ashton, or so she imagined. She should march out of the parlor and not listen to another word, but her feet refused to move. She didn’t know if curiosity or fear glued her to the cushion, but like the trapped tiger she listened.

“There now,” Constance gloated. “I see I have your attention. Five years ago, Ashton Trewelyn courted me in the manner of which every woman dreams. He was dashing, debonair, attentive, and skilled in a way few men can claim.” She closed her eyes as if lost in a memory. “The things he made my body feel. It was as if I’d awoken from a long slumber and come alive in his arms.”

A shiver raced down Edwina’s spine that had nothing to do with her clinging wet clothes. She knew that feeling, that sense of being awakened and truly alive for the first time.

Mrs. Trewelyn stared at her. “Did he take you to that den of iniquity off the library? Did he show you the pillow books and promise to do every disgusting thing pictured there?” Her eyes narrowed. “I can see from your wide-eyed expression that he did.”

The pattern shifted, she could feel it. The awakening she’d attributed to Ashton didn’t go hand in hand with words like “disgusting” and “iniquity.” Something wasn’t quite right. “He never promised—”

“To marry you?” The cold waves of Constance’s laughter chilled her more than her wet clothes. “Of course, he didn’t. Look at you. You’re not in his league. Not that it would matter.” Constance sipped her tea as if this were a proper conversation and not a dissection of her stepson’s virtues. “Ashton indicated that he wished to marry me as well. I waited and waited.” She patted her stomach. “And then I couldn’t wait anymore.” She smiled grimly, then selected a finger sandwich from the tray. “Eat something,” she directed. “You’re bound to need more sustenance now.”

The turmoil roiling in her stomach wasn’t really conducive to eating, but her host did more than insist—she demanded. Edwina selected a small watercress sandwich and nibbled at the edges, mindful of the similarities in their experiences.

“Naturally, I told Ashton, and what did he do? He ran off to play war hero with the King’s Royal Rifles.”

“Ashton told me that he left because you agreed to marry his father,” Edwina said tentatively.

“Is that what he told you?” Again she laughed, then looked at Edwina. “You truly are a gullible innocent. Have you not seen my son? Is he not the spitting image of his father?”

As Ashton resembled his father, the best answer to this question was no answer at all. Patterns, she reminded herself, listen for the patterns. Patterns don’t lie.

“Even Matthew instinctively knows his father. Ashton is the only one who can make him behave.”

From her observations, Ashton was the only one willing to spend time with the boy. Matthew looked up to Ashton. Of course he would do as Ashton directed.

“I was fortunate in that Ashton’s father agreed to marry me,” Constance continued. “I turned to him with my dilemma. He, of course, was anxious to protect the child and the family name.” She selected another treat from the tray. “What else was I to do?” Her eyes raked over Edwina. “Society is not kind to a used and abandoned woman.”

Edwina needed to speak with Ashton about all this. The turmoil in her stomach seemed to have worked its way up her throat, so that her voice had lost much of its strength. She wanted to trust her heart about Ashton, but there was some truth in Constance’s words. Enough truth to make her uneasy. “When did Ashton leave?”

“Sometime last night. He took much of his wardrobe, his walking stick, of course, his razor . . . the sorts of things a man takes when he plans to disappear for a long, long time.”

A long time! Would a test from the Guardians keep him a long time, or were Constance’s insinuations true? She swallowed hard. “Did he leave a letter?”

“A letter? For you?” Constance laughed again and shook her head. “Ashton does not write letters. He certainly never responded to mine.”

One small flicker of hope ignited in her chest, and Edwina carefully nursed it to keep the flame burning. Ashton did write letters, and there was a good chance there was one waiting for her at home. She scolded herself; she should have gone there directly. Ashton must have had a good reason for leaving. At least the time of his departure explained his failure to meet with her at the Park.

Constance’s brow lifted in a determined arch. “Your mother tells me that you have a potential match with a Mr. Thomas. As a woman who made a difficult choice to protect my own security, I would suggest that you give serious consideration to his proposal.”

That proposal that hadn’t even been extended as yet but seemed to have been accepted by many on her behalf. Edwina sipped her tea to give herself time to think. Constance lifted her teacup, reminding Edwina of the tiger painted there. How apropos that she should choose that pattern. Could Edwina trust anything that Constance had told her? Her interpretations made sense, though. Maybe too much sense.

She glanced over Constance’s shoulder and saw a small, framed embroidered picture of cherry blossoms on an otherwise cluttered wall. The silk threads were woven with such intricate detail, the flower appeared luminous. In the lower corner, she noted the letter “S.” She could understand, if Constance’s facts were true, why she had married Ashton’s father, but Edwina wasn’t certain why Ashton’s father had married Constance. Clearly, he loved another enough to hang this small memento in a very public room. Curious, she smiled toward Constance. “Have you had second thoughts about your decision to marry Ashton’s father?”

“Not at all,” Constance replied. “It was the proper thing to do.”

The proper thing.
Why did it always seem that propriety took precedence over the right thing to do? Edwina tilted her head, listening for the drum of raindrops, but heard none. “Thank you for your advice, Mrs. Trewelyn. I shall lend it serious consideration.”

“Be sure you do.” She stood. “Allow me to have my driver take you home.” Constance squinted at Edwina. “You didn’t ride that awful bicycle here, did you?”

Edwina was about to protest but remained silent. The sooner she left this woman’s company the better. She did, however, accept the offer of a ride in a small gig. A letter from Ashton was bound to be waiting at home, she closed her eyes and prayed.
Please let there be a letter.

N
O
LETTER
WAITED
FOR
HER
AT
HOME
.

No letter arrived the next day, or the day after that. Edwina was dizzy and dismal and took to her bed, claiming that being trapped in damp clothes had given her a chill. That was not exactly accurate. She knew the cause of her malady.

She didn’t want to think that Ashton had used her and then abandoned her, but all evidence seemed to point in that direction. Regardless of what society might think, she didn’t regret losing her innocence to Ashton. That was a temptation well worth the taking. It was his departure without a word, without an explanation, that tore pieces from her soul. Had he been called to perform some task for the Guardians, surely he would have sent her word without actually disclosing his mission. Even if he had sent a letter in code, she would have understood.

Constance’s story played again and again in her mind. Had he left her as Constance claimed he had left her five years ago. Given their last night together, his absence was a betrayal of all they had shared.

Her own absence from the Crescent was noted by Claire and Faith, who came to call upon her. They ignored her mother’s cautions about contamination and insisted they be allowed to see Edwina in her bedchamber. Faced with Claire’s stubbornness and relentless demands, her mother acquiesced and allowed the girls upstairs.

Edwina sat in bed, writing yet another letter to Ashton to tell him how he had hurt her. The letter, like the others, would not be posted, as she had no address to which to send it, but writing her feelings on paper made her feel better for a short time. Then she’d remember that she couldn’t tell him how she felt because he’d run off as if she were an ordinary trollop. How ironic, as everyone insisted that she needed to be more ordinary. She had mistakenly thought her uniqueness had appealed to Ashton, but in the end it appeared it was the very thing that scared him away.

“Edwina, are you all right?!” Faith burst into her room and rushed to her bedside. “We were so worried when you didn’t appear at the Crescent.”

“You don’t look sick,” Claire observed. “Your eyes are puffy and red, and maybe your nose as well, but sick people don’t sit in bed and write letters.”

Blast that Claire. She was always too observant for her own good, and too quick to put those observations to words. Edwina quickly slipped her letter into her lap writing desk, then closed the lid before setting it aside. Isabella quickly abandoned attacking her blanket-covered feet with her tiny kitten teeth and claws and investigated the heavy lid on the lap desk instead.

“What is it?” Faith asked. “Is it Mr. Thomas? Did he not ask for your hand?”

The question so surprised her that she managed a sort of sad smile. “I haven’t seen Walter since church on Sunday,” she admitted. “He sent flowers.” She pointed to the colorful bouquet of daisies, carnations, and roses arranged in one of her mother’s blue vases.

“How lovely,” Faith said, rising to inspect the bouquet.

“It’s that Trewelyn, isn’t it?” Claire said, her gaze never leaving Edwina. “That Casanova fellow. He did something to you, didn’t he?” It was more statement than question.

“Claire!” Faith admonished. The raised voice frightened Isabella, who stopped rattling the lap desk momentarily.

“Look at her face, Faith.” Claire pointed with an extended arm. “She’s been crying her heart out.” She dropped her voice. “She wouldn’t be crying that way over Mr. Thomas.”

She was right. Edwina had to admit that as nice of a person as Walter was, he never managed to capture her heart as had Ashton. If Walter disappeared from her life, she’d feel a little sad, but she doubted she would have soiled as many handkerchiefs as she had crying over Ashton’s abandonment.

“He’s gone,” Edwina said, and immediately tears welled in her eyes. “He left and I don’t know where he went.” She lifted her hands in the air to express her helplessness. The gesture had to work, as her throat had constricted enough to make words impassable. “No letter,” she squeaked.

Faith rushed back to her side at the onslaught of tears. “Now, now, Edwina. Don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about. You knew his reputation. You knew there was a chance he would do this. It’s a good thing that he left now before he took advantage of your sweet nature.”

Claire marched around to the opposite side of the bed to offer comfort. As she lifted the kitten to move it from the lap desk, stationery that had snagged on its needle-sharp teeth slipped from beneath the lid as well.

“What’s this?” Claire caught the squirming kitten in the crook of her arm and unfastened the paper. She started to read.

Edwina’s face heated. “That’s personal,” she said, trying to grab the letter out of Claire’s hands, but Claire stood out of reach.

Her eyes widened. She gazed down at Edwina. “It most certainly is. I can understand your concern over Ashton’s disappearance.”

Faith looked from one face to the other. “What is it?”

Claire handed Faith the letter with the kitten-mangled corner. “May I read this, Edwina?” Faith asked, with a glance to Claire.

“You might as well. You’ll most likely know soon enough.” She stared daggers at Claire while Faith skimmed over the words. Her hand shook when she handed the letter back to Edwina.

“Did you expect him to marry you, Edwina? Did he make promises?”

“No. No promises.” While she could honestly say she didn’t think marriage would result from their interlude in the secret gallery, she hadn’t really thought through what would result. All she knew was that she wanted to feel what it was like to be intimate with a man like Ashton Trewelyn. She wanted to know why all those Japanese women were eagerly looking at the pillow books. She wanted to experience life just once before . . . before . . . before she was forced to play the role society had assigned to her.

“It’s a good thing the no-good, son of a—”

“Claire!” Edwina admonished. “He’s not like that. What he did . . . what we did,” she corrected, “I wanted as much as he did. I don’t know how to explain it. Everything was so . . . perfect and I wanted to know what a man felt like.”

“But you have Mr. Thomas,” Faith said. “Won’t he be upset?”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Claire replied. The other two turned to stare. Claire dropped the kitten on the bed before lowering herself closer to the other ladies. “Mr. Thomas wants to marry you, not your—” She wiggled her fingers at Edwina’s lower regions. “Men have all sorts of intimate experiences before marriage, why not women?”

“Because we’re not men,” Faith said hastily. She turned to Edwina. “What are you going to do?”

“I haven’t decided,” she said, though that wasn’t true. Even before she’d met Ashton, even before she’d lost her innocence, she’d planned to marry Walter. She wasn’t certain she ever had another option other than to accept his proposal. After meeting Ashton, she’d begun to hope for something different. She’d begun to hope that all her dreams and desires were actually obtainable . . . that she wouldn’t have to sacrifice them for the sake of security. Now that Ashton was gone, so were those flights of fantasy. She always thought she’d marry Walter; in fact, it was one of the reasons she did what she did. She just didn’t want to admit that her deception was intentional to her friends. She wasn’t certain they’d understand she was trying to make the sort of memory that would last a lifetime.

“So . . . what was it like?” Claire asked. “What was he like?”

“Did it hurt terribly?” Faith asked.

Edwina smiled, remembering the innocent pushed into the secret gallery almost two months ago. She’d been curious about those things and more before she became experienced. “It pinched a little. There was some bleeding,” she told Faith.

“I’ve heard that
some
women secret a small bottle of blood on their wedding night, then smear it on the sheets. That way the husband believes his wife is pure.” Faith and Edwina just stared at Claire. “What? It’s not as if he would actually look down there.”

“Walter wouldn’t,” Edwina agreed. She suspected Walter had very little experience in this particular area.

“You mean Trewelyn did!” Faith said, shocked. “Oh, my! Oh, my!” She looked around the room, then grabbed Edwina’s black feather fan from the bureau to wave at her face. Tiny feather filaments lifted in the furious created current.

“He was tender and kind and . . . talented,” Edwina said, remembering the way her body exploded in waves of pleasant titillation. Her eyes drifted shut reliving the memory.

“Where were you that you were able to do this in privacy?” Claire asked. “Did he take you to an inn outside of London?”

Edwina didn’t want to answer. Fortunately, she was spared when Faith interrupted. “But what was he like? You know, his thing—was it very big? Were you scared?”

“At first,” she admitted. “I suppose he was normal.” Who was she to compare him to? Trewelyn said the jade stalks in the pictures were exaggerated, thank heavens. So how was she to know about comparisons? “I know that once he pushed inside me, he felt enormous, and powerful, and so much a part of me that we couldn’t be separated.”

They all fell silent until Faith spoke up. “What are you going to do now that he’s gone?”

Edwina felt the lump return to her throat. “I’m going back to my old life. The way things were before Mr. Trewelyn purchased a pot of tea for me because he thought I was chilled.” The memory of his thoughtfulness slammed into her chest. Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t blink fast enough to keep them at bay.

“Can you do that?” Claire asked skeptically.

“I haven’t a choice,” Edwina answered, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a bit of the blanket.

“I know how babies are made,” Faith said, her eyes downcast. “Is it possible he left one inside you?” She tapped her fingers on the bed for Isabella to attack. Edwina imagined it was Faith’s way to avoid looking at her face.

“I don’t know,” Edwina replied. “I hadn’t considered the possibility at the time.” Or maybe she had and wanted to keep a piece of Ashton in her life. “Sarah will be so disappointed in me if I have a child out of wedlock.”

The three of them sat still, though Edwina suspected they were all thinking the same thing. Marriage to Walter would solve that problem as well as many others. But would a marriage based on a lie really solve anything? Could she keep such a secret from a man she would see every day of the rest of her life? The answer was clear. “I’ll have to tell Walter.”

Faith’s eyes widened. “Will he still have you?”

“I don’t know, but I won’t live with that sort of lie between us. It would eat away at our relationship.” The painful constriction eased in her throat. Perhaps she’d been hiding in her bedroom, not to avoid his proposal, but to avoid telling him the truth. She would always mourn the loss of Ashton in her life and the promise of adventure and excitement they’d shared, but he’d run away, leaving her to face reality . . . and Walter.

A sense of calm and, yes, maturity settled over her. “Thank you,” she said, patting her friends’ hands. “You’ve helped me see what must be done.” The two exchanged a dubious glance, but neither said a word.

Claire rummaged in her reticule. “You asked me to do some research for you. I’m not certain you’re still interested.”

“Yes,” Edwina said, curiosity chasing away lingering maudlin thoughts. “I am. What did you discover?”

Claire pulled out a small notebook, the sort that Sarah had given her to take notes at Lady Sutton’s soiree. She wondered briefly if Sarah had supplied them all with such notebooks for newsworthy opportunities.

“You asked me to check on husbands or businesses that include an image within a circle as a symbol of their business. I discovered there are quite a few of them.” She glanced up from her notes. “Including your father.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised. She had her suspicions, after all, but there was something about the confirmation . . . “May I see the list?”

“Tell me first, what does it mean?” Claire asked. “I have at least twenty men on this list in various industries and all of some financial significance.”

“I believe they’re all part of the Guardians.” Edwina waited, wondering if they’d remember the reason for the evening surveillance of the Trewelyn residence.

Claire’s eyes widened. “You mean that group of men who lure innocents to a life of debauchery? The ones who advertised their meetings in code?”

Edwina shook her head. “We don’t know that they lure innocents—”

“They did one,” Faith said quietly.

Edwina turned toward her. “That was my desire, my curiosity, and my decision. That was not the Guardians. I haven’t found evidence that they are a malicious group at all.”

“Then why the secrecy?” Claire asked.

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” she admitted.

• • •

L
ATER
THAT
EVENING
, E
DWINA
DRESSED
FOR
DINNER
. A
S
she walked down the steps, she checked the hall table to see if any letters had arrived while she was abed. The silver receiving platter was empty. Unfortunately, after so many days of silence, that was not unexpected . . . disappointing, but not unexpected.