The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(89)

“I didn’t do either for your thanks,” she said gently. She’d done it because Gertrude deserved more. She deserved to find the same happiness her sisters had.

“No,” Gertrude remarked. “But you spoke in support of me when I’ve been nothing but distant. I wanted to say, I don’t know what your reasons were for”—her face pulled, but then she settled for—“doing what you’ve done. But I trust you’d never betray us. And I would rather your plans for the future did not interfere with our friendship.” Gertrude held out her palm.

Reggie accepted that peace offering, and the other woman held her fingers a moment. “I am going to miss you so very much when you leave.”

Emotion stuck in her throat. “I’m going to miss you, too.” All of them. Even Stephen, who’d spent the past years making her life a misery when he could.

“And you . . . have to leave?”

She did.

Her decision was one of self-preservation. And given the scandal she’d brought down on the entire Killoran family, it was best for them as well. Loyal to a fault, they wouldn’t cast her out . . . even as they should.

“I need to start over.” Away from the Devil’s Den.

Away from Broderick.

Her heart spasmed.

“You love him,” the other woman blurted.

Reggie opened and closed her mouth, no words escaping; her thoughts twisted. “What?”

“Broderick,” Gertrude whispered, that name the faintest breath of sound.

Brows shooting to her hairline, Reggie gripped her by the arm and yanked her into the room. She shoved the door closed behind them. “What are you . . . ? Why . . . ? I don’t . . .”

“Of course—I don’t know how I didn’t see it,” Gertrude muttered, pacing back and forth, her hem kicking up about her ankles as she went.

Deny it. Deny. Deny . . .

Nothing came out. Protestations would be futile. Gertrude could piece together any puzzle, and when she did, there was no shaking her free from those facts.

Gertrude stopped abruptly beside the edge of the gold harp and clasped the high curve of that instrument. “It’s why you wanted to leave.” She spoke with a hushed understanding, and horror filled her features. “And instead, I trapped you here. I threatened your future and”—her throat muscles moved—“forced you to be with Broderick when you sought to esc—”

“Enough.” Reggie glanced back at the door. Oh, God. If anyone overheard and brought this discussion back to Broderick . . . Panic built in her breast.

“Broderick is not here,” the other woman soothed.

But if Stephen discovered she had feelings for Broderick . . . Newfound loyalty won or not, he’d undoubtedly share that secret with his brother.

Reggie shuddered. “How did you . . . ?”

“Cleo said nothing,” Gertrude was quick to reassure. “But when we met earlier . . . I just”—she locked her fingers and then stared at those intertwined digits—“finally saw the truth: you care about him.”

Nay. She loved him. She always had. Reggie’s stomach sank. Cleo. Clara. Gertrude. And more . . . who else . . . ? A secret did not stay a secret forever. Its future was cut all the shorter the more people who knew. Eventually Broderick would discover it, and she’d be an object of pity—and she could not be around when that happened. It would change the bond they’d shared in ways that even her betrayal hadn’t managed to. For even with his anger these past weeks, he’d still always been . . . her friend.

A gentle touch on her shoulder jerked her back. “I wanted you to know: this morning, Broderick released me from the expectation to marry a nobleman.”

Reggie gasped. “What?”

Gertrude nodded. “Cleo, Ophelia, Stephen . . . myself. We’ve all fought Broderick for years on this.” Yes, they’d been clear in their outrage. “We tried to reason with him and convince him that our having noble spouses didn’t matter.” She plucked a chord of the harp. “And today, he went against all that.” Reggie’s heart lifted, joy spreading through each corner of her person. The young woman peered at her. “Why, after years of our debating him on that point, would he do that?”

Reggie hesitated, but Broderick’s sister answered her own question. “Do you know what I believe? I believe it is because of you. You’ve been the only person to have any real sway over him. I believe you spoke to him, and because of that, he saw the wrongness in what he’d aspired to.”

“You make far more of my influence with your brother,” she said softly. Broderick was a man who knew his own mind.

Gertrude gave her a shaky smile. “And you make far less of it.” Her expression of amusement was fleeting, and with the restoration of the young woman’s usual somberness, a pit formed in Reggie’s belly.

It was a whisper of dread that dusted a person with fear, an innate, heightened sense that came only from having survived the Dials. “What is it?” she asked, curling her hands.

“It was Ophelia’s idea,” Gertrude whispered, straightening. “I would have you know that.”

“What was?” she asked hoarsely.

The young woman hung her head. “Broderick agreed to make an advantageous match.”

“What kind of match?”