The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(43)

“Have you forgotten that I have work to do in the shop? I cannot abandon the Erstwhiles, not while Mrs Erstwhile is unwell.”

She wasn’t saying no even though she knew she should.

“Estelle, while I admire your loyalty to them, you no longer need to work for a living.”

Anger erupted. Such an intelligent man should know better than to preach nonsense. “Oh, and what do you suggest I do, my lord? Perhaps I should call my man of business and ask him to increase the rents. Perhaps I might sell the family jewels to give me an income while I sit about idle.”

“A man is not idle because he owns land,” he admonished. “And you would want for nothing if you stayed with me.”

The comment robbed her of breath. Good Lord, her worst fears had come to pass. Ross did not see her as a woman of equal status — not anymore.

“So you’re proposing I become your mistress.”

“Mistress?” He seemed confused.

“That is the name for a woman who has intimate relations with a man who supports her financially.”

She should not scoff at the offer. A mistress was all she could hope for should anyone discover the truth about her scandalous time in France. If only she could forget this man, move away to the country and take a husband, raise a family and let society believe she had perished in the shipwreck.

“Are you saying you would accept the offer should I be inclined to make it?” Ross sat forward awaiting her answer with a look of keen interest.

“The fact you have asked the question means you do not know me at all.”

Ross snorted. “Forgive me for thinking that the eight years we’ve spent apart has changed us irrevocably. How am I to know what you think or want when you keep so many secrets?” He dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “The lady I remember would not have permitted me to make love to her in a carriage.”

Estelle gasped at the implication that she was somehow loose with her affections. She had given up everything so that this man could sit on his gilded throne.

“You self-righteous ass,” she spat. Anger bubbled away inside, but it was merely a reaction to years of hurt. “I permitted you to make love to me because you’re the only man I have ever wanted. You’re the only man I would ever willingly give myself to, and yet you have to ruin what would have been a beautiful memory.”

Ross gulped at her sudden outburst, shock tainting his features. “Estelle, I did not mean it like that. I was—”

“I don’t care how you meant it. Clearly, we are different people now, but I do not need you to remind me of my shortcomings.” Estelle glanced out of the window, relief flooding through her when she noted the familiar surroundings of Whitecombe Street. “If tonight proves anything it is that we cannot live for the past.”

The carriage slowed. The wheels were still rolling when she grabbed the handle.

“You’re beginning to sound as philosophical as Mr Erstwhile,” Ross mocked. “Why do I get the sense this is all my fault? So I spoke thoughtlessly. Forgive me for being human. Forgive me if I fail to understand what the hell is going on.”

The carriage stopped, and she opened the door. Despite the torrential rain, she stepped down to the pavement. Tears welled. The memory of what could have been, pushed to the fore. She could have been his wife not his whore.

“It is not your fault, Ross.” Estelle turned to face him. “It is mine. I was too weak to fight for us. I was too frightened to do anything but surrender to those who professed to have our best interests at heart. And I will spend my life living with that regret.”

The dam burst. Tears fell. She swung around, rushed to the front door of the apothecary shop and hammered hard with her fist.

“Estelle, wait.” Ross jumped down and came up behind her.

“Leave me be.” She knocked again. “Go home, Ross.”

The soft glow of candlelight appeared and drew closer to the door. Mr Erstwhile peered through the glass pane. He raised his hand in recognition. “Just a moment.”

“I should have stayed in France. I should have stayed away.”

“Come back to the carriage.” Ross gripped her shoulder. His touch almost made her yield. “Talk to me. Tell me what the hell just happened. Tell me how we have gone from sharing a heavenly experience to this.”

Mr Erstwhile turned the key and sheltered behind the door as he opened it. “Heavens above, come inside before you catch your death of cold.”

Estelle stepped over the threshold. She turned and placed her palm on Ross’ chest when he attempted to follow her. “Good night, my lord. Thank you for escorting me home.”

“Wait. At least explain what you meant when you said you were frightened,” he said as she closed the door. “Estelle!”

Estelle turned the key before Ross had an opportunity to try the handle. She hurried from the shop to the small parlour, aware that Mr Erstwhile traipsed slowly behind.

A cloud of confusion filled her head.

Love was not always perfect — she knew that. Love often required a sacrifice. But she would rather be without Ross than be his mistress. She would rather be without him than be made to feel inferior. She paced back and forth while wringing her hands. Ross called out to her again, his voice but a faint mumble now.

“Would you care for some tea?” Mr Erstwhile, said ignoring Ross’ pleas. “Or would something stronger suffice?”