Deleted Scene 1

Lady Satterfield, however, was not smiling.

Ellie immediately tensed. Though she didn’t know the countess very well, she could tell that something was wrong. “Good morning,” she said nervously.

“Good morning, Ellie.” Unlike Lady Dunn, Lady Satterfield had accepted Ellie’s invitation to use her nickname rather than call her Eleanor. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” she lied. “You?”

“I did, although I’m afraid I awoke to some distressing news.”

Ellie’s insides curdled as she braced herself for the worst. It had to be something to do with what had happened with Emerson at Brexham Hall yesterday. “What is it?” She forced the question past her trembling lips.

“Last night, a bet concerning you was placed at Brooks’s.” Oh no. “An anonymous person wagered twenty pounds that you are Titus’s mistress.” Lady Satterfield’s expression was a combination of sympathy and, perhaps surprisingly, anger. Her auburn brows had pitched low over her dark eyes, which seemed to burn with ire.

A faint buzzing sounded in Ellie’s ears. Perhaps it was the echo of wagging tongues. “I thought he’d taken a mistress to quash that very rumor.” A fact Ellie had completely forgotten while they’d been exchanging kisses the night before. Her feeling of discomfort erupted into full-blown nausea.

“He did. However, he apparently hasn’t been seeing her.”

This revelation settled Ellie’s discontent and made her obscenely pleased. Obscenely.

“What’s more,” Lady Satterfield continued, “he’s attended more Society events this year than he has in nearly a decade. And he’s been seen with you on multiple occasions.” The arch of her auburn brow communicated what she didn’t say—his attention to her had been noted.

The dance. Their walk yesterday. But no one knew of their kissing. They couldn’t. Surely those two occasions wouldn’t cause people to leap to such a conclusion.

She recalled the reason for his visit last night. Did people know he’d warned Emerson away from her? That, she imagined, could lead people to all sorts of assumptions.

She considered asking Lady Satterfield about it, but decided the particulars didn’t matter. The damage was already done. People were already talking about her, whether linking her to Emerson or now Kendal. It seemed there was nothing she could do to escape scandal.

Defeat weighted her shoulders and turned her insides into granite. She stared at her empty plate and knew she couldn’t possibly stomach even a bite of toast. “Why did you invite me here?” she asked quietly.

“I beg your pardon?” Lady Satterfield’s question was soft and full of empathy.

Ellie looked up at her. “Why did you want to help me? I’m clearly a lost cause. I simply breathe and scandal follows me.”

“Nonsense. Yes, you’ve been unlucky . . . but we all have in some way. I’m only sorry misfortune seems intent on harassing you. I felt that way once too. That’s why I invited you here. I saw an opportunity in you to perhaps change our fortunes—yours and mine.”

Ellie blinked, not understanding. “You did?”

Lady Satterfield nodded. She dabbed her napkin against her lip and set it back in her lap. “I had a daughter once. After I married Kendal—the current duke’s father—I became pregnant relatively quickly. We were overjoyed when we were blessed with a beautiful girl. She was born early, and she was small. We were careful to keep her as healthy as possible, but she was always frail. I wouldn’t trade the three years we had with her for anything. I became pregnant again, but I birthed the child far too early and it didn’t survive. Then Margaret fell ill and I’m afraid I wasn’t well enough myself to care for her.” A tear cascaded down her cheek, and Ellie longed to comfort her.

“I’m sure you did your best. You had a nurse and a physician attending to both of you, I imagine.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. When you’re a mother, you’ll understand the emotional connection that happens between you and your child. In my grief over losing the baby, I didn’t give Margaret the care and attention she needed.” More tears flowed from her dark brown eyes, and she used the napkin to staunch the flow.

Ellie reached across the table and laid her hand down on the cloth. She didn’t want to touch Lady Satterfield unless she welcomed such familiarity, but she offered it nonetheless. “I’m so sorry for your losses.”

Lady Satterfield summoned a weak smile then patted Ellie’s hand. “Thank you, dear. I had Kendal.”

“You are an excellent mother to him.” Ellie could see it in the way they interacted and the manner in which they spoke of each other. It was the way Ellie thought of her own mother and made her wish she had such a relationship with her father.

“He may not be my son by blood, but it never mattered to me. He is my son. I’m quite lucky.” She sniffed and straightened in her chair. “I wasn’t ever able to carry a child following that and after two more failed pregnancies, any fertility I had seemed to dry up completely.” Her lips stretched into a regretful smile. “When I met you, I saw the chance to perhaps have the daughter I lost.” She shook her head. “But please don’t think of yourself as a replacement or that you need to fulfill some sort of expectation I might have. I have none, other than to support your pursuit of happiness.”

Ellie felt tears well behind her own eyes, but she blinked before they could fall. “I am the lucky one. Even so, I think it’s time I return home. I don’t think I can endure another scandal.”

Nor would her father. What would he do this time? He’d likely keep her under lock and key. Or maybe he’d send her away to a remote relative or find her a distant position as a governess, something he’d threatened to do nine years ago. And honestly, one of those might be preferable to returning to St. Ives, where people had never quite looked at her the same since she’d returned in disgrace. She imagined it would be far worse this time.

Lady Satterfield took Ellie’s hand, and her compassion was nearly Ellie’s undoing. The last time she’d been driven out of London, no one had showed empathy or concern, and they certainly hadn’t held her hand. “Ellie, we can overcome this difficulty. I’ll speak with Kendal. He’ll dispose of this silly wager—I’m sure you’ve seen how much influence he carries.”

She had, but that hadn’t stopped some nameless individual from placing the bet. It was no surprise they’d done so anonymously. Apparently that was the only way a coward dared challenge the Forbidden Duke. “I wonder who made the wager.”

Lady Satterfield frowned. “Like as not, it was some young buck who doesn’t realize the lion he’s just poked. Kendal won’t tolerate being the subject of such gossip.”

He’d said as much last night. Oh, last night . . . the sensations wrought by his kiss washed over her for a brief, glorious moment. She let go of Lady Satterfield’s fingers and tucked her hands in her lap. “Do you think he’ll go to the bother of discovering who placed it?” Ellie asked.

“Probably. It may be, however, that someone will simply tell him in order to gain favor.” She exhaled a weary sigh. “Sometimes, I wonder why I bother with the absurdity of the Season. Perhaps we should retreat to our country home (NAME?).” She looked at Ellie. “But then that would defeat your purpose of finding a husband.” She smiled brightly. “No, we’ll figure this out.”

Ellie appreciated her optimism and wanted to share it, but she just couldn’t. She felt as beleaguered as the sound Lady Satterfield had just made. “I think I’d like to return to St. Ives.” “Like” was perhaps not the most accurate word. It was necessary. What she liked didn’t really matter—it never had. “I think it’s best if I go home. I do appreciate all you’ve done. I can’t ever repay all you’ve given me, and I pray nothing I’ve done will impact you negatively.”

“My dear, you haven’t done anything!” Lady Satterfield looked at her earnestly. “Truly, you couldn’t possibly impact us negatively.”

Her kindness was almost too much, but it was simultaneously not enough since Ellie had made up her mind. “I’m afraid I won’t be swayed. I hope you’ll understand. Would you mind if I go upstairs to pack? I’d like to return to St. Ives as soon as possible.”

The creases in Lady Satterfield’s forehead were deep enough to qualify as canyons. “I think you’re being premature. Won’t you allow us to try to rectify the situation?”

“I’m afraid it would just be one situation after another.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh—she had to expel something and it was the only thing she dared, else she’d be a blubbering mess. “It seems I can’t escape the specter of scandal.”

Her gracious patroness nodded sadly. “I’ll speak with Lord Satterfield about your transportation to St. Ives. I’m sure we can send you home in a private coach tomorrow.”

Ellie stood. “Thank you.” She left before she lost her composure completely.

 

* * *

 

Deleted Scene 2

 

Titus returned from his usual morning ride feeling refreshed and, he was surprised to acknowledge, a trifle giddy. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good in London. He could attribute it to riding since it was the one pursuit from his country life that he insisted on maintaining when he was in town. However, he knew it was more than that. It was Miss Lockhart.

He’d dreamed of her all night long, despite having relieved his sexual frustration as soon as he’d returned home last night—without the aid of his mistress, whom he kept in a small house in (FIND). He could’ve gone to her. Lord knew she was bored, or so her daily missives indicated. She was puzzled as to why he’d set her up in a house as his mistress and hadn’t been to see her even once.

He was puzzled by that too.

Not enough to let it trouble him, however. She drifted from his mind and was quickly replaced with the person he thought of more and more—Miss Lockhart. Eleanor. Such a formal name for such a lively and enchanting woman. Did she go by a nickname? He’d have to find out next time he saw her.

He wondered what she was doing this evening. Perhaps he could invite himself over for dinner. His stepmother was always pleased to have his company.

His butler met him just as he arrived at the morning room. “Your grace, this was just delivered.” He handed Titus a letter written in his stepmother’s hand.

Another note? He stiffened, recalling her last note hadn’t contained good news. “Thank you.” He went into the morning room and sat down to read the letter while the footman prepared his breakfast plate.

As he perused the note, every muscle in his body grew tighter and tighter until he feared he might snap like a bowstring. Some imbecile had made a wager last night at Brooks’s, and he was fairly certain he knew who it was.

Emerson.

Titus thought about who he could ask to be his second. He didn’t have any close friends, at least not here. When his father died and he’d reformed his behavior, he’d cut everyone out of his life—everyone that hadn’t been worthwhile. He supposed his closest friends were his steward back at Kendale and his secretary here in London, neither of which could serve as his second. Satterfield would do it.

Titus reread the letter because he realized he hadn’t finished it. A cloud of fury and the need for a plan of action had diverted his attention. As he read all the way through, his anger hollowed and withered into regret. It was the last paragraph that filled him with dread.

 

So you see, Miss Lockhart feels she has no choice but to retreat to St. Ives. She’s done nothing wrong, but the mere hint of scandal, given her past, is enough to ruin any opportunity she had. I wish I could persuade her differently, but she is, I’m afraid, quite defeated. I can’t blame her, but I am saddened by this unfortunate turn of events.

 

The footman placed his breakfast plate in front of him, but Titus ignored the food. He stared at the letter, feeling a helplessness he rarely—maybe never—encountered. He’d botched Miss Lockhart’s chances for happiness again. In his effort to give her the Season and the life she’d been denied, he’d inadvertently set her up for failure. He was, in a word, a witless jackass. Yes, that was two words, but in truth he could think of at least a dozen of which he was more than worthy.

“Your Grace, is there something wrong? Shall I remake your plate?”

Titus looked up at the footman. “Yes.” There was something most definitely wrong, but it wasn’t his food. “No.” He shook his head in an effort to clear the frustration away. “The plate is fine.”

He’d made a complete mess of things, but he could fix it. He could erase the entire wager and in the process give the ton something to really talk about.

He could marry her.

The food on his plate blurred together as a vision of her as his wife took hold of him. He imagined her sitting across from him here, riding with him at Kendale, tangled in the bedsheets upstairs.

His vision came into focus as his brain worked to process this surprising solution to her woes. Marriage was the last priority he had—hell, it wasn’t even a priority. It was a necessity he’d put off for some unknown future date and attached to some faceless female. Only now she had a face and it bore the alluring smile and sparkling tawny eyes of Miss Lockhart.

He took a bite of toast, shocked that he wasn’t dismissing this idea out of hand. Indeed, the more he considered it, the more he realized it was an excellent plan. He could think of far worse things than marrying Miss Lockhart.

He ate a bit of breakfast to appease his hunger, but was soon out of his chair and asking Abbott to have his coach brought around.

His stepmother was going to faint dead away when she found out his plan. He smiled, glad he would bring her joy. She would be ecstatic to have a daughter-in-law, and God willing, grandchildren.

Grandchildren?

Abbot handed him his hat and he set it on his head. How had he gone from obtaining a mistress last week to contemplating children? It was too bad no one had placed that wager. Not that anyone would have taken it. The ton would be shocked when they learned he was to marry, particularly when they learned the identity of his betrothed. This made him perversely ecstatic.

How would Miss Lockhart feel? He assumed she’d accept his proposal, but he had enough self-awareness to know that nothing was certain. Not even for the Forbidden Duke.