Page 44 of His Scandalous Lessons
“Sometimes I do. Other times I’m so angry at him that I—” She let out a breath and grabbed the corners of the portrait to lift it. “It’s a terrible piece of work. I ought to have burned it years ago.”
When she moved as if to throw the painting in the fireplace, Richard grasped her arm gently. “Don’t.”
“It’s been seven years,” she told him. “If he had gone off to battle, that would be a long enough absence to have him declared dead. Why can’t he be dead to me? Why am I still holding onto a man who doesn’t want me?”
“Because you love him still. I wonder if he deserves you.”
She lowered her lashes. “Yes, I loved him. And he loved someone else.”
Caro had never told him that before. “Who?”
“Our friend Grace,” she said, extricating herself from Richard’s grip. She placed the portrait back onto the easel, and Richard didn’t miss how her hands lingered on it. “It wasn't reciprocated. She died of scarlet fever just after he and I wed. He never forgave me for how I trapped him into a marriage.”
“You trapped—”
“Yes. Youthful stupidity, Grace and me. She was so certain he would come to love me. But how could he, when Grace deserved his affection more than I? She was...wonderful. The best person I knew.” She looked up at Richard. “Hastings saved her from Kendal, once.”
Richard frowned. “Saved her how?”
“Grace was beautiful, even as a younger girl. She was uncomfortable with the amount of attention she received.” Caroline pressed her lips together. “Men tended to disrespect her space, you understand? She wasn’t from a wealthy family. Impoverished gentry. Except for Hastings, they were not interested in marrying her.”
Richard swallowed. “Go on.”
“Kendal came to visit when me and Grace were both thirteen, far too young for his attentions. He made her feel uncomfortable from the start. Hastings found Kendal in the gallery being very rough with Grace, and he hit Kendal over the head with a Ming vase. Hastings was only sixteen at the time, still gangly, but he roughed him up quite a bit.” She forced out a dry laugh. “The only time I ever saw Kendal again was when he wanted to become a patron for my orphanage, if you can believe it. I turned him down.”
Something was unfurling in Richard’s gut. Anger, rage, instincts honed from years of keeping secrets and using them against men. “What was the reason he gave for wanting to be a patron?”
Caroline pressed her lips together. “He said, and I’m quoting directly, that he had quite an affection for children. He made my skin crawl.”
Chapter 25
Anne knew she was being followed. She had counted on it. The man thought he was being careful, and he probably was, but Anne could memorize clothes. Faces. Movements. She had gone to the milliners and seen him outside reading a newspaper. She had gone for tea and seen him pass by as if he were every other patron.
Richard was having this man keep an eye on her.
While she ought to have been outraged, a part of her felt safe, protected. Richard trusted her to handle Kendal, but he would not leave her alone if she needed his help. She understood the concession he made in letting her return after seeing those bruises, in witnessing her fear. She had asked for too much, and he’d given it to her.
And now she had to warn him.
She needed to be careful. Her father had hired a new bodyguard for her — for her protection, he claimed. The ballot act was an important law to Irish separatists and he said it painted a target on them both. She wasn’t certain how she felt about the separatist movement, but she did know that allowing men like her father to dictate the votes of others only kept corrupt men in power. It had kepthimin power.
No, it wasn’t the Irish he feared. It was losing his grip on people who were too impoverished and desperate to vote against landlords who treated them like less than human. Landlords who gave her father money to ensure they always had control over others.
Corrupt men did terrible things in the pursuit of money and influence. Stanton was among the worst.
“I think I shall visit the bookshop,” she told the bodyguard, once she had memorized the movements of Richard’s man. He would be coming down the pavement in a moment, like clockwork. She’d gathered he did one circuit of the street — the approximate timing matched up to her outings.
“Mr. Sheffield’s asked me to have you home by mid-afternoon,” the man — Owens was his name — said.
“Quick visit,” she said, walking away from him. Richard’s man would come ‘round the corner any second now. “I shan’t be long, Owens, I pro —oof!” She collided with a man’s chest.Right on time, she thought. “My goodness,” she exclaimed. “I’m so terribly sorry, sir!”
“Ho there,” Owen called as he approached. “Are you all right, Miss Sheffield?”
“Perfectly fine,” she called back. She glanced at the man. “You?”
His smile was quick; he’d no doubt been instructed to go unnoticed. “Fine, madam.”
“Good. If you’ll excuse me.” As she passed him, she dropped a small piece of paper onto the ground, knowing he’d pick it up, and resumed her walk to the bookstore.
