“Are you quite all right, Tavy?”
“Yes. But please, I truly do not wish to speak of the particulars.”
“Octavia,” St. John said, looking grim. “In the absence of your father from town at this time, do you wish me to call upon Lord Doreé and demand his obligation to you?”
“Oh, Lord, no. Please. But thank you for asking me. I appreciate you not taking the decision without my consent.”
Alethea glanced at her husband. St. John withdrew a folded paper from his pocket and gave it to Tavy.
“I received this before I left here this morning.”
Tavy took it with impressively steady hands that grew rapidly unsteady as she scanned the words.
Sir, Your confidence in matters of business at this time is appreciated. Upon my honor, Doreé
“What does it mean, Tavy?” Alethea asked.
“Your guess is quite as good as mine.” She folded the message and gave it back to her brother-in-law.
“Lord Styles approached me at Leadenhall Street this morning concerning a rumor he heard of a project I am pursuing with the marquess,” St. John said.
Tavy’s heart stumbled. “What did you say to him?”
“I said that matters remain uncertain.”
“Are you involved in business with the marquess?”
“I am not. Octavia, until this morning when Alethea informed me of your absence last night, from all I have known of Lord Doreé I have respected and trusted him. But one word from you, and I will pursue this.”
“No. Do not.” Ben must have good reason, especially if it involved lying to his closest friend. She could not imagine otherwise.
“At least his intent seems clear enough,” Alethea said.
Yes, that he was perfectly capable of sending a message to her brother-in-law concerning a mysterious business matter but no message at all to her.
Tavy’s heart thudded. This could not continue, swinging between misery and elation, hopelessness and the ecstasy of finally allowing herself to be completely in love with him again. But this time a great deal more so. Because now she understood much better what he did with his time, which he did not fritter away on fashionable activities and wicked women, and his wealth, which he did not reserve for expensive horses and cards. In truth she had known it all along, borne home intimately when he revealed to her his pursuit of Marcus’s blackmailer.
But something about how he left her in the middle of the night drove the reality deeper. To him, helping people was not an adventure, not a project or diversion to escape discontent. He helped people because he simply could not do otherwise.
“He must be confident of your discretion, sister,” Alethea said. “And, perhaps, of your feelings?”
“Possibly.” Quite.
“Are you certain you do not wish St. John to speak with him?”
“And demand that he marry me? Yes, very certain. That sort of thing is nonsensical, except I suppose in the case of the obvious consequence.” Due to lack of caution. Tavy’s heart fluttered, her stomach twisting.
“What will you do now?” Alethea asked.
“Do?” She had not given it a single thought. She was living the greatest adventure of her life, yet she had no atlas, no dictionary, and no idea at all of how she would travel hereafter. For the first time ever, she was taking the moments as they passed. It was a state at once marvelous and terrifying.
A footman appeared at the door. “Lady Constance Read.”
Constance’s eyes were rimmed with red, her mouth unsmiling. Tavy took her hand.
“How kind of you to call.” She drew her into the chamber. St. John bowed and Alethea smiled, stiff greetings. Of course, like the rest of society they had no reason to believe that Constance and Ben did not intend to marry. Tavy hadn’t either, except Ben’s assurance, gotten from him at a moment when some men might say anything. But she’d had this conversation with herself a dozen times already, although not, of course, since she told him she loved him and he responded with silence. Rather, near silence. He had cursed.
“I must be returning to work.” St. John offered Alethea his arm.
“Octavia, we will continue our conversation later,” Alethea said, then nodded to Constance and departed with her husband. Tavy led Constance to a seat, but the duke’s daughter only perched agitatedly upon the edge.
“They are quite good,” she said upon a slight quaver. “Quite good to leave you to me.”
“You are clearly distressed, Constance. How may I help you?”
Tears tumbled over the rims of her azure eyes onto her cheeks. She thrust her palms over her face.
“Oh, Octavia,” she uttered, her shoulders slumping. “I have made such a horrid mistake.”
“Dear me, I cannot believe it of you.”
“But you should. I am a wretchedly selfish person and I often act first and think later. And this time I acted quite, quite unthinkingly.”
Tavy tucked a handkerchief into her fingers but Constance seemed content with silent tears dribbling from her palms and soaking the lacy hem of her sleeve.
“You have not shown any wretched selfishness with me,” she comforted, “only kindness since the moment we met.”
“That is because I like you. But, you see. I have betrayed your friendship horridly, and you will never forgive me for it. And oh, Octavia, I must tell him, but I am afraid to.”
Tavy blinked several times.
“Tell who?”
Constance lifted guilty eyes. “Ben. He persuaded me to it, of course, but this will change everything. He will be furious with me, yet I cannot do anything about it now. I should have thought of the consequences. He should have.” Constance dissolved into tears anew, one hand covering her trembling lips, the other curving over her belly.
Tavy stared at her friend’s fingers clutching her abdomen and her breaths thinned.
The consequences.
“I cannot imagine him being furious with you for anything,” she said without revealing a hint of the panic rising in her.
“I acted without caution, because I wanted him to—” She broke off, her eyes full of misery. “I cannot even say it. Not to you, of all people. I thought I could, but I cannot.”
Tavy did not want to go where her thoughts rushed, and part of her could not believe it of him. But the other part—the part that had spent two nights in his bed without a promise of any sort whatsoever from him—told her she was still quite as foolish as she had always been when it came to Benjirou Doreé.
“Then do not say it to me.” Her blood ran fast and jittery but her voice remained smooth. “Say it to him.”
Constance’s eyes flicked wide. “You are right. I must. But how can I?”
Tavy stood and drew her to her feet.
“I will take you, so you will not need the courage to make yourself go.”
Fresh tears stained Constance’s face. She resisted Tavy’s attempts to draw her away from the couch. “I do not deserve your kindness, especially in this.”
“Don’t be silly. I suspect you would do the same were our positions reversed.” It actually hurt to say the words. But Constance’s gaze softened.
“No. I am not honest like you, Octavia. Or brave.”
“If you knew how wretchedly dishonest I have been these past several weeks you would not be looking so admiringly at me.” She would, however, award herself points for bravery at the moment. She tugged, and this time Constance came along.
She gave Constance’s coachman their intended direction. They sat in the closed carriage in silence that grew thicker as the minutes passed and Tavy’s heart thundered harder with each turn of the wheels. In front of Ben’s house, a footman let down the steps and handed them out. Tavy guided Constance before her into the colonnaded foyer.