Page 88 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

“I am Lady Sutton,” the woman added with a slight inclination of her head. “I am Lord Raine’s great-aunt. I shall meet your other sisters shortly. First, I should like to provide you with a full account of the arrangements made for their household and instruction.”

Darcy attempted a smile, though it trembled at the edges. “Yes, of course.”

She curtsied, listening with only partial attention as the viscountess continued, her words careful, efficient, entirely practical.

“Let us withdraw to the drawing room while my valises are unpacked.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, summoning a polite smile.

Darcy listened as they crossed to the drawing room and took seats upon opposing sofas. Lady Sutton explained that she was a respected matron, well received in society, and had agreed to take the girls under her protection. Lord Raine had already engaged a governess and several tutors so that their education might continue without interruption and their manners be refined to the standard expected of young ladies of fortune.

Emelia, she explained, would be prepared for a formal introduction in two years’ time. Not within the full glare of the London ton, but among the local gentry and the wealthier families of the region, where advantageous connections might still be secured.

“With proper guidance,” Lady Sutton said, “Emelia may make an excellent match. A younger son of good family, perhaps, or a respectable baronet whose estate would benefit from her portion.”

Darcy inclined her head as though she absorbed each carefully laid plan and measured word, but her attention remained fixed upon the letter in her hands. His seal pressed against her palm. Cold uncertainty unfurled within her chest.

She scarcely registered when Lady Sutton rose to oversee the unpacking of her rooms, her measured steps carrying her from the drawing room with quiet authority. The door closed softly behind her, leaving Darcy alone in a silence that seemed to press inward from all sides.

For a moment, she did not move. Then, with a breath that trembled despite her effort to steady it, she broke the seal. Her eyes moved quickly over the page, her pulse loud in her ears.

Whatever explanation, assurance, or farewell he had chosen to send in place of himself would change everything. Darcy knew it before she read the first line. With unsteady hands, she unfolded the letter and gasped softly when a bank draft slipped free.

One thousand pounds.

She set it aside with care, though her fingers lingered upon it for a moment before forcing herself to read.

Miss Whitley,

I trust this letter finds you in good health.

Circumstances have arisen which require my full attention and oblige me to reconsider certain associations that were, upon reflection, ill-advised in their continuation. It is therefore necessary that I bring our acquaintance to a close.

You have my sincere thanks for the friendship you extended during your stay at my estate. I wish you every success in your future endeavors and trust that your talents will secure for you the independence you so clearly value.

Enclosed, you will find a bank draft in the amount of one thousand pounds, in settlement of the wager made between us. I trust this will be accepted in the spirit in which it is given.

I shall write separately to the young ladies to inform them that, for the foreseeable future, I will not be in a position to receive them or to visit. They may, however, correspond with me by letter, and I shall ensure their continued provision as previously arranged.

My great-aunt, Lady Sutton, will oversee the transition from Derbyshire to the estate in Hertfordshire, which is well situated and suitably appointed for their needs. She will have a full complement of servants at her disposal, and I anticipate that all arrangements will proceed without difficulty.

Raine

Darcy remained motionless, though something within her quietly came apart. She had never believed Sebastian would want her beyond a fleeting attachment, yet the cold indifference of the letter followed a connection once marked by such tenderness. It struck with the force of betrayal, not because he had broken a promise, but because he had written as though nothing of consequence had ever passed between them. It felt as though something fragile within her had been carelessly broken, leaving behind a hollow, aching sense of loss she could not contain.

Darcy rose and schooled her features before leaving the drawing room. Her sisters had always read one another too easily, and she could not allow them to see her while every emotion strained against the thin wall of her composure. She climbed the grand staircase without haste until her chamber door closed behind her. Only then did she cross to the writing desk, set Sebastian’s letter down with exquisite care, and draw out a fresh sheet of paper. She would answer at once.

As she reached for the quill, a drop struck the polished surface before her. Darcy paused, looking down in confusion, then felt the dampness on her cheek. The realization came slowly, almost reluctantly, that tears had begun without her noticing.

“Oh, stop it,” she whispered. Her throat felt raw, not from weeping, but from the painful effort required to hold back everything pressing against her reserve.

There had been no promises between them and no declarations that might justify such grief. She had never believed he would offer more than a connection both intense and fleeting, and she had accepted its limits with open eyes. Though she had come to love him, she had done so without expectation. Or so she had believed.

Yet her heart ached with such force that it seemed something inside her had been divided beyond repair. Darcy drew a steadying breath and set her shoulders. Whatever she felt would not dictate her conduct, nor would Sebastian ever know how thoroughly his letter had wounded her.

She dipped the quill into the ink, wiped the excess against the rim, and brought the nib to the page with a hand that had finally steadied. She would answer him with the same civility and restraint he had shown her, allowing no trace of injury to appear in her words.

The reply would be composed, measured, and entirely devoid of sentiment, as though nothing of consequence had passed between them. It was the only dignity she had left to claim.