The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(90)

Gertrude gave her a long, pitying look.

“Oh.” It was a whisper-soft exhalation that slipped out. A peculiar humming echoed in Reggie’s ears. Numb, she walked over to the pianoforte. She leaned against the heavy instrument, and those chords pinged a haunting timbre.

“He did it to spare me,” Gertrude said on a rush. “I believe that. He agreed to do this not because of who he was in the past,” she finished lamely.

Reggie’s heart splintered and then cracked in half. Who he’d been in the past? It was who he’d always been. Reggie stared beyond Gertrude’s shoulder to the flames dancing in the hearth. His marrying another woman had been inevitable. Reggie, however, had believed she’d be gone long before he found the one who’d be his partner in every way—as Reggie herself had longed to be.

Emotion stuck in her throat, a miserable wad of despair that she struggled to swallow back.

For in all the most agonizing imaginings of who that fortunate miss was, Reggie had imagined he’d marry . . . for love. But through that eventual and agonizing match, she was never to have been around to bear witness.

How odd that this should also cleave her heart in two, him marrying his fine, fancy lady for no other reason than—

“Ophelia put forward the idea in the hopes it might save him from the gallows,” Gertrude entreated.

Reggie bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.

He’d marry to save his life, and as one who put the fate of his staff at the Devil’s Den before all, he’d also make that sacrifice for so many others.

She felt Gertrude’s gaze searching her face. “Will you not say something?”

Reggie stalked over to the walnut sheet music cabinet. She absently sifted through the disorganized pages, tidying them into proper piles. “There’s nothing to say,” she said quietly. “This is best for you both. You never wanted to belong to the ton, and . . .” He always wanted into that world. He wanted peers for brothers-in-law and a lady for a wife. And ultimately, he got what he desired.

“If he knew how you felt—”

“It wouldn’t matter.” Knowing what was in her heart had no bearing on his own.

It was better that he’d never seen her standing there. She never would have been enough for him . . .

Gertrude wrung her hands. “He doesn’t really want this. Not really.”

Reggie smiled wistfully. “Your brother could take two pieces of coal and turn them into a fortune if he so wished.” She looked squarely at the sister who’d so staunchly defend him. “Whatever he wanted, whatever dream he carried, he made it into a reality.” And when so many faltered, Broderick had stood resolute in these streets, rising up and creating something that had saved so many, Reggie included. “He wanted this,” she said softly. “Perhaps it is as you said, and his motives are different . . . but he always craved more.” And in his eyes she’d always been, and would always be, less for her birthright. Or rather the lack thereof.

“You’re wrong, Reggie.”

Ah, Gertrude. So certain and so optimistic. It was a remarkable gift that invariably died in the Dials. Except with Gertrude. She’d long proven the exception.

“Why are you telling me this?” All of it. Any of it. Reggie’s moments with the Killorans were limited, and she was no longer entitled to those intimate arguments that existed between the siblings. Arguments that she’d served as mediator for countless times.

“My Season is officially . . . ended.”

The implications of that statement slammed into Reggie.

With Gertrude no longer intent on securing a match, she’d not be expected to attend ton functions, and Reggie’s role as companion was—

Gertrude nodded. “You are free.”

Free.

For all intents and purposes, she’d fulfilled the terms of her agreement with Broderick. She could be . . . nay, would be allowed to leave and start again with Clara. Their hopes for their own futures and the futures of so many other women who’d been so similarly shattered by life could at last be a dream achieved.

It also marked . . . goodbye.

She was required to say something. Express a proper gratitude. Except . . . “I will miss you,” she whispered. All of them.

Tears glossed Gertrude’s eyes, and where Reggie had fought them through the years, the other woman let them freely fall, proudly owning those emotions. “I will miss you, too.” Her voice broke. She started over to the door. Gus darted out from under the pianoforte and rushed after his rightful mistress. Gertrude stopped, glancing back. “You deserve more, and I’ll be damned if I let you remain and watch . . .” Broderick marry his flawless-in-every-way miss.

Her heart buckled. The woman he eventually married would be virginal and delicate and would serve in the role of hostess. She’d be everything that Reggie had never been. Nor could ever be.

Oh, God. Reggie hugged her arms tight around her middle. “Thank you.”

“Stop that.” The other woman offered a watery smile. “You are another sister to me.”

With that, she left.

Reggie stared at the doorway. Time was marked by the noxious ticking of the clock, that errant beat that signaled the shrinking moments she’d spend within this household.

Broderick would marry another, and she would be far from this place when that happened.