Gail Whitiker (20 page)

It was the last thing Joanna expected. ‘I don’t understand. What kind of mistake?’

‘One that will dictate how you spend the rest of your life.’

She smiled, because she knew what he didn’t. ‘But I know how I will be spending it—’

‘No, you don’t.
Ask
Sterne if he plans to allow you to travel to Egypt after you are married!’ Laurence said, cutting her off. ‘Do not assume that because you’ve gone with your father in the past that Sterne will allow you to do so after you are his wife.’

‘But...why would he not let me go?’ Joanna asked, ignoring for a moment the fact that she had no intention of marrying Captain Sterne. ‘He knows how important Papa’s work is to me.’

‘Perhaps, but he is more concerned with propriety than he is with your interests. Your father is of the same opinion—’

‘My
father
?’ Joanna said, wincing as the pain in her head intensified. ‘You’ve
spoken
to him about this?’

‘Yes, when I went to tell him I couldn’t accept his offer.’

‘But...you did accept it.’

‘Only after he told me that in all likelihood
you
wouldn’t be going.’ Laurence took a step towards her, his voice low. ‘Don’t you understand? It was the only thing he
could
have said that would have made me change my mind, Joanna. Surely to God you know the reasons why—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Winifred!’

Joanna whirled. Laurence’s younger sister was standing behind her, her cheeks as red as summer poppies. Clearly, she had heard the end of their conversation and had no idea what to make of it.

‘Yes, Win?’ Laurence prompted. ‘Did you have something to ask me?’

The girl blinked. ‘I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.’

‘It doesn’t matter. What do you want?’

The brusqueness of Laurence’s words caused the girl’s colour to rise even higher. ‘Mr Fulton asked me to...come and find you. He said he wanted to talk to you about something.’

‘Can it wait?’

‘I...don’t know.’ Winifred flicked an uncertain glance at Joanna. ‘I didn’t think you would be too busy to talk to him.’

A shadow of annoyance briefly darkened Laurence’s face, but his voice, when he spoke, was uninflected. ‘Tell Mr Fulton I shall be there directly.’

Winifred nodded and, with an uncertain smile for Joanna, fled.

Laurence stared at the floor, the muscles in his jaw working. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘Maybe I had no right to say what I did about Sterne, but I did it out of a genuine concern for you.’

Numbly, Joanna nodded. She wished he had never brought the other man’s name into the conversation. There was tension between them now that had never been there before and she hated it. ‘I am grateful for your concern, Mr Bretton, but...it really isn’t necessary.’ She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples in an effort to ease the pain. ‘That’s what I wanted to tell you—’

‘Whatever you wish to tell me can wait,’ Laurence said firmly. ‘You need to go home.’

‘No, I’ll be all right,’ Joanna said, though the churning in her stomach suggested otherwise. ‘Please, go and talk to Mr Fulton.’

‘He can wait too. You need me more than he does.’

What she needed, Joanna thought wearily, was to sit in the darkness of her room and sort out what was going on in her life...
and
what she was going to do about it. But for now, she had to deal with the situation confronting her. ‘Perhaps I do just need...a few minutes alone. You and I can talk later. For now, go to your sister and her fiancé. This is their night. Please don’t spoil it because of me.’

‘You could never spoil anything,’ he said with infinite gentleness. ‘But I
will
make arrangements for a carriage to take you home. We can talk when you are feeling better. In the interim, there is a room at the top of the stairs, second door on the right. Go there and wait for me to send word that the carriage is ready. You won’t be disturbed and you will be able to get some much-needed peace and quiet.’

With that, he finally did leave and Joanna closed her eyes, massaging her aching temples. She would have preferred to wait for the arrival of the carriage down here, but when another burst of laughter brought on a blinding stab of pain that caused the bile to rise in her throat, she realised it was better that she be alone.

She took a deep breath and stood up, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Then, slowly, she started towards the stairs, carefully putting one foot in front of the other. She was jostled almost every step of the way, until the pounding in her head brought tears to her eyes and made it difficult to see, but she had to keep going. She desperately needed a few minutes alone, not only because of her headache but because of what Laurence had just said to her...

...it was the only thing he
could
have said that would have made me change my mind. Surely to God you know the reason why....

Joanna closed her eyes, one hand on the banister as she began to climb the stairs. Yes, she knew why. How could she ignore the unspoken message? Laurence wanted to go to Egypt more than anything else in the world. More than he wanted to stay here in London and write plays. It didn’t matter that he had no experience of the desert conditions, or that Captain Sterne would probably have made his life hell. He had been willing to risk both for a chance to travel to a place he had always wanted to see.

But he would
not
have gone if she had been there as Sterne’s wife. There was only one reason a man would say something like that. Only one conclusion Joanna could draw—

‘—hoped they would marry from our house, of course, but if Winifred’s heart is set on having the reception here, then here it must be...’

Joanna abruptly stopped. Opening her eyes, she glanced at her surroundings in confusion. Where had that voice come from? She had reached the landing, but there was only one door on the right, not two. Had she gone up one flight too many or had she still one to go? She had been so immersed in her thoughts she hadn’t paid any attention—

‘...I’m sure you understand when I say that her father and I wish to do everything we can to see her safely married to Mr Fulton,’ a different voice said. ‘She came so close to losing him over that wretched affair with Victoria, but it all came right once Laurence told Sir Michael that he was Valentine Lawe.’

Joanna’s eyes opened wide. She knew
that
voice. It belonged to Laurence’s mother. But who was the other woman? And why were they talking about Valentine Lawe—?

‘...of course it did,’ that lady replied. ‘Maintaining the story was the only logical thing to do. We would all be in very different circumstances now had Laurence not stepped forwards to claim the role.’

‘Yes, well, I think the least said about that, the better,’ Mrs Bretton said. ‘I cannot bear to think what would have happened had Laurence kept silent and let Victoria tell Sir Michael the truth about Valentine Lawe...’

Joanna choked back a gasp.
The
truth
about Valentine Lawe?
What in heaven’s name were they talking about? Everyone knew that Laurence was Valentine Lawe. She had been there in the theatre when his play had been performed. She had heard the audience calling his name and had watched him stand up and acknowledge their cheers. He even referred to himself by that name. He would
never
have done that if he wasn’t Valentine Lawe!

But his mother had just inferred that Victoria had not told someone the truth about Valentine Lawe. Then what
was
the truth? Who really was Valentine Lawe?

More importantly, if it wasn’t Laurence, why had he tried to fool everyone into believing that he was?

Chapter Eleven

I
n the dining room, Laurence stood and listened to his future brother-in-law’s request that he be a groomsman at the wedding, and wondered why the man felt it necessary to make that particular request at this particular moment. There were far more important things both of them should be doing—and going upstairs and apologising to Joanna was most certainly at the top of his list!

He should
never
have told her that Sterne had no intention of letting her go to Egypt after they were married. Joanna’s relationship with the other man was none of his business. If she wanted to marry him, let her! She had every right to do so.

But not to ruin her life! Not when you know something that could prevent her from doing that
, the voice argued.
If Sterne wasn’t going to tell her the truth, someone else had to. And Laurence knew damn well that he had no choice. That someone had to be him—

‘Mr Bretton?’

Laurence looked up to see Henry Fulton staring at him and realised the man was still waiting for an answer to his question. A question Laurence couldn’t have cared less about. ‘Yes, yes, of course, I will play whatever part in the wedding you wish. Now if you’ll excuse me...’

He didn’t wait for a response. The only thing that mattered was finding Joanna and trying to make her understand what was going on. There were things that needed to be said. Things he had to make clear between them. And he needed to find out exactly how she felt about him. Conflicting messages had been flying back and forth all night. How was a man supposed to know where he stood in a lady’s affections if he couldn’t make any sense of what the lady was trying to say—

‘Joanna!’ Laurence came to an abrupt halt. She was standing at the foot of the stairs and he could tell in a glance that she was in even more pain than before. Her complexion was grey, there were faint purple shadows under her eyes and her beautiful mouth was compressed into a thin white line. Whatever he wanted to say was going to have to wait. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and see if the carriage has arrived—’

‘No, wait. Please,’ she said, whispering the words as though speaking in a normal voice would only cause her more pain. ‘I must ask you a question.’

‘You may ask me anything you wish,’ Laurence said, hating to see her in such misery. ‘But can it not wait until tomorrow?’

‘No, it must be now.’ Joanna closed her eyes, her lashes casting dark shadows on her cheeks. ‘I heard something...just now. Something I was...not meant to hear and that I don’t know whether to believe or not. But I have to know the truth and you must be the one to tell me.’

‘I will tell you anything you wish,’ he said. ‘You have only to ask.’

He waited as she opened her eyes, watched her stare for a moment at the floor before slowly lifting her head and then raising her eyes to look at him.

‘Are you or are you not Valentine Lawe?’

* * *

So, this was how it began. With a simple question that had a far from simple answer. Laurence heard the drumming of his heart as everything else faded into the background. ‘Why would you ask me that?’

‘Because I heard someone say it. They claimed that...your sister didn’t tell the truth about Valentine Lawe,’ Joanna said. ‘That you...stepped forward to
claim
the role. Is it true?’

Thoughts raced wildly through Laurence’s mind: the ease of telling a lie versus the difficulty of telling the truth. The safety in keeping quiet versus the danger of revealing all. The consequences of what would happen—of what he stood to lose—either way.

‘I once told you that Valentine Lawe was a character in name only,’ he said.

‘You told me Valentine Lawe was your pseudonym,’ Joanna replied. ‘You led me to believe you were the author of those plays. But are you really or is your sister the one to whom all the credit
should
be going?’

The silence stretched long as Laurence waged a silent battle with his conscience.

Tell her the truth!
whispered the voice of his heart.

No! Don’t tell her anything!
argued the one in his head
. The welfare of your family depends on you keeping silent. Besides, she is going to marry someone else. Why should she be the one in whom you confide?

It was a persuasive argument. Joanna owed him nothing. Not loyalty, not a promise of confidentiality, not even her trust—

‘Oh, God, you’re not him, are you?’ Joanna said, her eyes growing wide in horror. ‘You didn’t write any of those plays.’

‘You would take my silence as consent?’

‘I think I must. If the accusation were false, you would tell me, but you cannot.’ She slowly backed away from him, shock and disillusionment written all over her face. ‘Why did you do it, Laurence? Why did you pretend to be someone you were not?’

He felt as though the weight of the world had suddenly dropped on to his shoulders. How did he respond to a question like that? What words did he use when there were no easy or straightforward answers?

He tried putting himself in her place. Tried to imagine what it would be like to hear a revelation like that from someone about whom he cared so deeply. Would he feel betrayed the way she so obviously did? Feel as though everything he believed in had been blown apart by a lie?

She would never have cause to trust or believe him again.

And yet, what were his alternatives? How could he put Winifred’s happiness at risk and Victoria’s reputation in jeopardy? How could he humiliate his mother, and hold his father and uncle up to ridicule? How could he do any of those things, when telling a small untruth prevented it all?

‘There are things I cannot tell you,’ he said finally. ‘Things that, were they to be made public, would be damaging to others.’

‘But surely you can be honest with me? I thought we were friends,’ Joanna whispered, her eyes begging him to tell her what she wanted to hear. ‘Indeed, given what you told me tonight, I hoped we were...more than that. Or was that just a lie too?’

‘No!’ Laurence snapped, his voice raw with emotion. ‘I would
never
lie about my feelings for you.’

‘Yet you would lie to me, and to all who know you, about being Valentine Lawe,’ she said. ‘You would accept our adoration and not feel guilty about deceiving us—’

‘Joanna, it wasn’t like that!’

‘No? Then what was it like?’ she flung at him. ‘It obviously isn’t enough that you are a gentleman and a scholar. You had to lie to your friends...to me...in order to make yourself look better in the eyes of the world. Is your ego so inflated that you need set yourself up as someone you’re not? Does the public’s adulation really mean so much?’

Laurence reeled as accusation after accusation slammed into him, cutting him to the bone and laying bare his soul. She didn’t understand anything about him—yet she was judging him regardless. ‘You believe I would do something like that just to gain notoriety?’

‘What other reason could there be? I have seen the evidence of your popularity with my own eyes,’ Joanna said. ‘Marriageable young girls follow you wherever you go. You mingle with the best in society and dine at the homes of viscounts and earls. It must be a heady feeling for a man who actually has so little to his name.’

Her disgust was evident—and it tore a hole in Laurence’s heart. ‘If that is what you believe, perhaps it is just as well we are having this conversation now. It has allowed me to see what you really think of me and to learn what your feelings towards me truly are. Because if you believe in your heart that I need the validation of others to make me feel better about myself,’ Laurence said, ‘you really don’t know me at all.’

‘No, Mr Bretton, I do not...and I am sorry to say that because I have come to like you very much. Indeed, far more than I should,’ Joanna said as tears pooled in her eyes. ‘But you have corrected my misconceptions and I shall not make the mistake again. I know now what you are and it is not a man to be admired.’ She turned to go, pausing only long enough to say, ‘For all your criticism of Captain Sterne, at least
he
hasn’t lied to me.’

Laurence made no move to stop her. Furious with himself and the situation, he walked back to the drawing room where he stayed only long enough to hear the speeches given by Mr Fulton and his father, before escaping to the privacy of his study and reaching for the decanter of brandy. He was in no mood for company and no one was likely to want his. Not after what had happened tonight.

He had fought for Joanna’s love, but not won it, and had won her respect, only to lose it.

It was a greater tragedy than even the Bard himself could have written.

* * *

He was on his fourth glass of brandy when Victoria found him.

‘There you are, Laurence!’ she said, walking into the room. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The Northrups are ready to leave, but they cannot find Joanna.’

‘She left.’ Laurence raised the glass to his lips, surprised at how steady his hand was. ‘Hours ago.’

‘On her own?’ Victoria frowned. ‘Why would she do that?’

‘Because she found out something that made it impossible for her to stay.’

‘Found out? What could she have found out that would—’ Victoria looked more closely at his face, and then glanced at the empty decanter. ‘Oh,
no
! Please don’t tell me she knows about—’

‘My not really being Valentine Lawe?’ Laurence said. ‘Yes, I’m afraid she does. And she was none too pleased about it, I can tell you.’

‘But how on earth did she find out? Surely
you
didn’t tell her?’

‘Do you think me mad?’ Laurence snapped. ‘Apparently, she overheard a conversation.’

‘Between whom?’

‘Who knows, though it had to be someone in the family. No one else knows.’

Victoria abruptly sat down. ‘Mama and Aunt Tandy went upstairs for a while. It’s possible they may have said something that Lady Joanna overheard. But...what did
you
say to her when she confronted you with it?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘She asked me if I was the author of those plays and I refused to answer,’ Laurence said. ‘She drew her own conclusions.’

‘Oh, Laurence. Was she very angry?’

‘Let’s just say that whatever hopes I might have had in the lady’s direction no longer exist.’

‘Oh, my dear, I am so very sorry. Why didn’t you tell her the truth?’

‘Because telling her the truth would have put everyone else’s happiness at risk and I wasn’t in a position to do that,’ Laurence said. ‘Winifred told me the other night that the
only
reason Fulton had proposed to her was because I had stepped forwards to claim the role of Valentine Lawe. Had I not done that, we would not now be celebrating their engagement. What do you think Fulton would do if he were to find out the truth now?’

‘I don’t know. But surely it will not come to that? You cannot be certain Lady Joanna will tell anyone.’

‘No, but neither can I be certain that she will not and therein lies the problem. She doesn’t owe me her loyalty. She’s going to marry Captain Sterne.’

Victoria’s eyes widened. ‘Did she tell you that?’

‘No, but I know he intends to ask and circumstances demand that she marry a wealthy man. Sterne fits the bill.’

‘Oh, Laurie, I don’t know what to say,’ Victoria said. ‘I was much more inclined to go along with the story when it was only my own happiness that was at stake, but now to see the lie become the source of so much heartache for you—’

‘Don’t, Tory,’ Laurence said, though his voice was gentle. ‘None of this is your fault and recriminations won’t do us any good. We knew the risks when we made the choice to continue with the charade.’

‘So what are we going to do?’

‘
We
aren’t going to do anything,’ Laurence said, putting his empty glass on the table. ‘Winifred is going to marry Mr Fulton, you are going to carry on exactly as you are and I am going to continue playing the role of Valentine Lawe. That is what we, as a family, decided to do. I do not intend that everyone should be called together again for a change in direction.’

‘But what if Lady Joanna says something?’

Laurence felt a stabbing pain in the middle of his chest, as though his heart was being cut out by a dull knife. ‘I would call her story false. As much as I would hate to do it, I would stand by the story we have been telling all along and let society make up its own mind.’

‘Oh, Laurence, I cannot bear to think that this might all fall down around us,’ Victoria whispered. ‘Everything was going along so well.’

‘Everything still is. We just have to carry on.’

‘Do you really think Lady Joanna would be so vengeful?’

‘I have no idea,’ Laurence said in a voice of deep regret. ‘Before tonight, I thought I knew the lady. As it turns out, I really didn’t know her at all.’

* * *

The megrim did not go away. Joanna stayed to her room and suffered with it through two more days before the throbbing finally began to subside. But even as the pain in her head eased, the crushing ache in her heart took over.

How could this have happened to her? How could she have fallen in love with a man who had to lie in order to make himself look better in the eyes of the world? A man who would pretend to be someone he was not?

It was hard to believe she had let herself be so thoroughly taken in.

Laurence was
not
Valentine Lawe. He had lied to her outright and hadn’t even had the decency to admit it. Maybe he did have a good reason for claiming to be someone he was not, but if he cared about her the way he said he did, surely he would have found some way of telling her what she needed to know. By refusing to answer, all he had done was make it painfully obvious that he didn’t trust her with the truth.

Then he had turned everything back on her by trying to blame
her
for not having enough faith in him! What kind of a man did that?

Clearly, one with no conscience. One who didn’t care that he destroyed other people’s lives in the pursuit of his own happiness.

A man she did not wish to know.