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  She had done it all in one desperate gamble to regain his love—if he had ever really loved her—and how had he reacted to the enormity of her deed? The agonizing answer to that question was below her bedchamber window—on the side lawn, where everyone was having luncheon—and it was there for her to see in every humiliating detail: the man she had lain with last night was dining with Monica, who was turning herself inside out to entertain him, and he looked perfectly willing to be entertained this morning. As Sheridan watched from her window, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze intent on Monica’s face, then he threw back his head, laughing at whatever she was telling him.

  Sheridan was a mass of shame and anxiety, while he looked more contented and more relaxed than she had ever seen him. Last night, he had taken everything she had to give and thrown it in her face with an offer to prolong her humiliation by making her his mistress. Today, he was socializing with a woman who’d never have been stupid enough to do what Sheridan had . . . a woman worthy of his own inflated opinion of himself, she thought bitterly. A woman to whom he would offer marriage, not some tainted liaison in exchange for her virtue.

  All those thoughts and more marched through Sheridan’s tormented mind as she stood at the window, staring down at him, refusing to cry. She wanted to remember this scene, she wanted to remember it every single moment of her life, so that she would never, ever soften in her thoughts of him. She stood still, welcoming the icy numbness that was sweeping away her anguish and demolishing all her tender feelings for him. “Bastard,” she whispered aloud.

  “May I come in?”

  Sheridan started and whirled around at the sound of Julianna’s voice. “Yes, of course,” she said, trying for a bright smile that felt as strained as her voice sounded.

  “I saw you standing up here when I was having breakfast. Would you like me to bring something up here for you?”

  “No, I’m not hungry, but thank you for thinking of me.” Sheridan hesitated, knowing some explanation was in order for her behavior yesterday when she had offered Stephen her favor, but she hadn’t been able to think of a single reasonable excuse.

  “I was wondering if you would like to leave here?”

  “Leave?” Sheridan said, trying not to sound as desperate as she felt to do exactly that. “We aren’t to leave until tomorrow.”

  Julianna walked over to the window and stood beside her, quietly looking down at the same tableau that Sheridan had been torturing herself with. “Julianna, I feel I ought to explain about what happened yesterday, when I said what I did to the Earl of Langford about holding him in deepest respect.”

  “You don’t need to explain,” Julianna answered with a reassuring smile that made Sheridan feel like the seventeen-year-old ingenue instead of her paid chaperone.

  “Yes, I do,” Sheridan persevered doggedly. “I know how much your mother was hoping for a match between you and Lord Westmoreland, and I know you must wonder why I—why I behaved to him in such a forward, and familiar way.”

  In what seemed like a change of subject, Julianna said, “Several weeks ago, Mama was quite despondent. In fact, I remember that it was less than a week before you came to stay with us.”

  Seizing her conversational reprieve like the coward she was at the moment, Sheridan said brightly, “Why was your mama upset?”

  “Langford’s betrothal was announced in the paper.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. His fiancée was American.”

  Uneasy under the unwavering gaze of those violet eyes, Sherry said nothing.

  “There was some gossip about her, and you know how Mama adores being privy to any gossip about the ton. His fiancée reportedly had red hair—very, very red hair. And he called her ‘Sherry.’ They said she’d lost her memory due to a blow to the head, but that she was expected to recover quickly.”

  Sheridan made one more bid for anonymity. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “So you’ll know you can ask me for help if you need it. And because you are the real reason we were invited here. I realized that something was very strange when I saw the way Lord Westmoreland reacted to seeing you at the pond yesterday. I’m surprised Mama hasn’t figured out what’s in the wind.”

  “There is nothing in the wind,” Sheridan said fiercely. “The whole awful matter is closed, over.”

  She tipped her head toward Monica and Georgette. “Do they know who you are?”

  “No. I’d never met them when I was—” Sheridan broke off as she started to say, When I was Charise Lancaster.

  “When you were betrothed to him?”

  Sheridan drew in a long breath and then reluctantly nodded.

  “Would you like to go home?”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Sheridan. “If I had anything to trade for the opportunity, I’d do it in a trice.”

  Julianna turned on her heel and started from the room. “Start packing,” she said with a conspiratorial smile over her shoulder.

  “Wait—what are you going to do?”

  “I am about to draw Papa aside and tell him I’m feeling unwell and you must accompany me home. We’ll not be able to pry Mama out of here early, but she will not want me to stay and give Langford a disgust of me by becoming quite terribly ill in front of him. Would you believe,” she said with an incorrigible laugh, “she still cherishes hope that he’ll look up at any moment and fall madly in love with me, despite everything that should be very obvious to her.”

  She was closing the door when Sherry called to her, and she poked her head back into the room. “Would you tell the duchess I’d like to see her before we leave?”

  “All the ladies left for the village a bit ago, with the exception of Langford’s ladies, that is, and Miss Charity.”

  The last time Sheridan had left them, she’d made herself look guilty and ungrateful. This time, she did not intend to flee in secret. She intended only to flee. “Would you ask Miss Charity to come up then?” When Julianna nodded, Sheridan added, “And don’t say a word about our departure to anyone except your father. I intend to tell the earl myself, face to face.”

  56

  Miss Charity’s face fell as Sheridan explained that she was leaving.

  “But you haven’t had a chance yet to speak to Langford alone and make him understand exactly why you disappeared,” she argued.

  “I had that chance last night,” Sherry said bitterly. She glanced at her bedroom window as she packed the few things she’d brought into a valise. “The result is out there.”

  Charity walked over to the window and looked down at the two women who were entertaining the earl. “How very vexing men are. He does not care in the least about either of those two women, you know.”

  “He does not care about me either.”

  Charity sat down on the chair, and Sheridan thought poignantly of the first time she’d seen her and been reminded of a china doll. She looked like one now—a very perplexed, unhappy one.

  “Did you explain to him why you ran away and never came back?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  The question came so quickly that it took Sheridan aback. “I told you most of it yesterday. One minute I thought I was Charise Lancaster, and the next minute, Charise was standing there, accusing me of deliberately impersonating her, and threatening to tell Stephen that. I panicked and ran, but before I could recover from the shock of realizing who I really am, I began to realize that everyone else had been lying to me about who they were. Among the things I remembered was that Charise had been betrothed to a baron, not an earl, whose name was Burleton, not Westmoreland. I wanted answers, I needed them, and so I went to see Nicholas DuVille. He at least was honest enough to tell me the truth.”

  “What truth did he tell you, dear?”

  Still embarrassed by what she had learned, Sheridan looked away and pretended to check the neatness of her hair in the mirror as she said, “All of it. Every mortifying bit of it, beginning with Lord Burleton’s dea