Page 83 of The Lady Knows Best

“My cat. Well, our cat, really. Mine and Daphne’s. But I was the one who insisted on bringing her to Lyneham. If I hadn’t . . .”

Miles gripped the back of the pew on which he sat, to keep from shouting that he couldn’t care less about the bloody cat.

But of course, he knew full well it was unfair to pin his agitated state on poor Eileen.

He had only himself to blame for what Daphne had done—been driven to do.

Unable to drag himself to his feet, Miles motioned for Bellis to sit in the pew behind him and twisted himself sideways to listen to her story.

“It’s funny, really,” she began, with a faraway look. “Eileen’s also partly responsible for Daphne joining the mag—the, er, that is to say—”

“The Magazine for Misses?” Miles inserted wearily.

“You knew?” Bellis gasped. Alistair looked equally incredulous.

“I knew. From the night of the Clearwaters’ ball.”

“Oh.” Bellis nodded. Then, “Oooohhhh. So, you must know that she—?”

“Advised Miss Grey to break our engagement? Oh, yes. That’s why I insisted she find me a replacement bride. Under the circumstances, she had very little choice but to agree.” He couldn’t meet either set of eyes as he revealed the awful thing he had done. “Two nights later, she offered to marry me herself, on the stipulation that I courted her first. I agreed. Over the course of the next week or so, I . . .” He shoved his damp palm over his bent knee, smoothing the wrinkles there. “I fell in love with her.” Bellis made a little squeak; Alistair said nothing. “I brought her to Lyneham, thinking, perhaps, she could come to care for me too.”

“She did—she does,” Bellis insisted. “That’s why she—”

“Left me at the altar?” Miles suggested, mustering a wry grin. “Funny way of showing it, that.”

“No. You see, she was . . .” She fidgeted with the ribbons of her reticule. “She was working on an essay. About rakes. About . . . you. She wanted t-t-to expose you, she said. I think . . . I think she wanted to make you angry.”

“So angry I’d refuse to marry her after all?”

One of Bellis’s shoulders rose, a silent acknowledgment. “Lady Stalbridge was to pass it on to Mrs. Goode in London for publication. She took it straight to Town from here.” Here, she paused to tug open her reticule and slid some folded papers from it. “But unbeknownst to her, Daphne had begun a second essay. Because she had realized that the more she saw of you, the more she . . . she . . .”

He didn’t realize she was sobbing until the a few teardrops pattered onto the papers she held. Alistair whipped out a clean handkerchief and gave it to her—a typically gentlemanly gesture, as well as a significant sacrifice on his part, as his own eyes were distinctly red, though the church was free of flowers.

Bellis dabbed at her eyes and quickly pulled herself together. “She does care for you, Lord Deveraux. And here”—she handed him the folded papers—“is your proof.”

Miles shook his head, even as he took the papers from her. “I would have preferred she deliver any message to me in person. Even if she has decided she can no longer marry me.”

“It’s not a m-message,” she hiccupped. “It’s the second essay, the one Daphne intended to give to Lady Stalbridge. But she accidentally gave her the first, b-b-because I let Eileen get into her papers and m-m-mess up everything.”

Her explanation almost defied belief. “Where is she?” Miles demanded, when he could find his voice.

“Bellis says she’s gone to London,” Alistair chimed in, since she was now crying too hard to speak for herself. “To try to stop the essay from being printed.” He sighed. “I think she hopes to spare your reputation.”

Those words were a punch to the gut, driving a sound from Miles’s lungs that might have been either a wry laugh or a sob. Even he did not know. It echoed against the church’s rafters as he dropped his head to his hands.

And then, “Wait,” he cried, squaring his gaze to Alistair’s. “When you first came in, you said she’d left on horseback.” Good God, why had he told her the horse was docile enough for her to go for a ride alone? Absently tucking the papers Bell had given him into his breast pocket, he pushed to his feet. “Surely she doesn’t mean to ride all the way to London?”

Had she been that desperate to get away?

“She was devastated when she realized the mistake,” Bell said. “I think she’d do whatever it took to get there.”

“Your curricle stands right outside,” Alistair reminded him. “With two of the fastest goers in the kingdom between its traces.”

Needing no further encouragement—whatever Daphne thought of him, he would make sure she came to no harm—Miles slid from between the pews and started down the aisle. Only when he laid his hand on the door did he pause. “But what of my grandmama and the others? They’ll wonder what’s happened.”

“I’ll tell them,” Bellis offered, then added reassuringly, “as little as I can. If you hurry, you can still be back for Lady Deveraux’s birthday celebration, at least. As for the rest, I’ll explain to the vicar that there’s been a delay.”

A delay. Miles wished he could believe her choice of words was significant, but a twice-jilted bridegroom had little cause for hope.